‘In a way that can only work for us. Everyone loves old Dicky and no one’s going to swallow him getting hurt,’ Tommy said tentatively.
Dean looked dubious. ‘I dunno so much. I heard this morning that the same men have bought up night clubs in Essex and Surrey. They’ve also been after a few of the old East End haunts. The thing is, Tommy, our generation don’t give a fuck about the Dicky Drakes. What with the ICF, the Inner City Firm, and the National Front, the world’s changing, mate. Nowadays people don’t look at the old lags and say: “Give him respect, he was a face once.” Now they say: “Kick the cunt’s head in and get a bit of his rep.” You know that in your heart. Even your dad’s not frightening any more to a lot of the youngsters.’
It said something about the relationship between Dean and Tommy that he dared talk as he had about Joey Pasquale. Before Tommy could answer they were joined at their table by a large bald-headed man carrying a pint of Guinness.
‘Hello, Tommy lad. Dean. Now what’s two nice Catholic boys like yourselves doing in here, eh?’
Tommy looked into Richard Gates’s face and laughed. ‘Fuck off, Mr Gates. Get back to your nice little police station and leave the men and the boys to sort themselves out.’
Gates sipped his Guinness and said in a low voice that now held a menacing tone: ‘How’s your dad’s new club then? Pulling in the right customers, is it? I saw a few famous faces go in there the other night. Be a right shame if I was to raid it now, wouldn’t it? Especially with all this trouble coming from up Liverpool like.’
He leant towards the younger man and said slowly, ‘Don’t take me for a cunt, all right? I know what’s going down and I want to try and avoid a complete gang war if I can. You villains can kill each other day and night for all I care. It’s innocent bystanders getting hurt that bothers me, see. If the Liverpudlians decide to torch the club or one of the betting shops, then I have to try and sort it all out. I assume you’re insured like, so you have to call me in to get your few quid. Now I know about this Liverpool firm and we could work together there. It’s completely up to you. Either way, I’m up for it.’
Tommy ignored the policeman. Dean stood up and went to the toilet, leaving them alone.
‘Up yours, Gates,’ Tommy told him. ‘I don’t need the filth, never have and never will. Now why don’t you fuck off and go and put out some parking tickets, or whatever it is you do to earn your keep.’
Richard Gates was furious and they both knew it. In his own way he liked Tommy, and had always liked the boy’s father. Gates believed that you were better off with the people you knew running things. He accepted that the Soho sex industry would always be run by someone, and that someone would never be the government.
He, like the old-time villains, believed that it was better off being run properly by one person than carved up and run piecemeal by too many people, all wanting a bite of the lucrative cherry. He didn’t want O’Hare’s lot getting a foothold in Soho. They were already in Blackpool, Nottingham, Leicester and their home town. They wanted it all, and that was not going to happen.
Anyway, like most Southerners he hated Scallies. They used intimidation and force, guns, fire, even dynamite to attain their ends.
He knew that this could turn into the biggest gang war Soho had ever seen, and he also knew that the blacks and the Chinese were keeping out of it.
The Scallies knew that Gerrard Street and the rest of Chinatown was out of bounds to them, and were sensible enough to accept that. The Chinks wouldn’t roll over; they never had and certainly would not start doing it now. In fact, the Chinese were the best inhabitants of Soho in many ways. They sorted out their own differences and kept out of everyone else’s.
The blacks were still in their own areas and only really came Up West to wine, dine or deal. That suited him as well. The blacks knew their limitations and accepted them. They were sometimes employed as heavies which fitted them down to the ground. The black community still hadn’t bothered to unite. They fought each other as well as everyone else. Bob Marley’s concept of all being brothers was great on a record but a non-starter if you lived in Brixton.
Gates’s chief worry at this time was the Liverpool men, and he knew much more about what was going on there than he was going to tell Tommy Pasquale.
As he left the bar ten minutes later he felt more worried than he had in years.
Cathy looked lovely and she knew it. Dressed in a handkerchief skirt and gypsy top, she appeared much younger than her twenty-two years - the epitome of the fashionable young woman.
It was still early, only seven-thirty, and already there were people in the club’s bar. This pleased her. The bar was Cathy’s pride and joy, and as she smiled and waved at the customers she kept a sharp eye on the glasses and optics, seeing if anything needed replacing.
One of the customers, an MP who lived in London during the week and near his constituency at the weekends, grinned at her, showing expensive capped teeth. ‘Hello, darling girl, and how are you?’
Cathy laughed. Fluttering her eyelashes, she said suggestively, ‘You’re looking very handsome tonight.’
He preened himself and Cathy inwardly laughed at the man who would one day be in Number 11 Downing Street. He was a complete arsehole and she was constantly amazed at the way he lived a double life. She had seen him in full drag and school uniform. She had also seen him on
Panorama
, shouting his mouth off about the Labour Party’s waste of resources and monetary instability. Still, she reasoned, whatever turned him on.
As she walked through to the front room, she saw Tommy come in at the shop and went over to him, smiling a greeting. ‘Hello, Tommy, how are you?’
He stared at her, ranging his eyes over her from head to foot before answering. ‘Kicking. And you?’
Blushing from his intense scrutiny, Cathy said stonily, ‘I’m not too bad. Can I get you a drink? Your dad’s up in the office with Desrae.’
‘I’ll have a large Scotch and then I’m going to take you outside and lick you all over until you scream.’ He said this in a low voice and watched as her blush deepened painfully. He laughed cruelly and then was ashamed of himself for always trying to embarrass her. It was a self-defence mechanism.
Years before he had tried to kiss her, and when she had pushed him away he had continued, as men and boys do, to pull her against him and seek her lips. At the time she had kicked him so hard he had come away with tears in his eyes and since then had been obsessed with her. He knew some of her story from his father, but even though he understood why she felt as she did about sex, relationships and men, he still couldn’t resist teasing her.
She was in his blood. He would do anything for her, even die for her, his feelings were so strong. Yet he knew she felt nothing for him, not even sisterly affection, and that hurt him more than he would ever admit.
Making his way up to the office, he caught his father embracing Desrae - something that always made him feel uneasy even though he had accepted their relationship years ago.
‘All right, love’s young dreams. Daddy’s little soldier is here now, so can we have less of the tonguing in public?’ he said cheekily.
Desrae laughed. ‘If this is public, love, I’d love to see somewhere private.’ Then he discreetly left the office, knowing the two of them had things to talk about.
Tommy looked into his father’s face and said simply, ‘I’m going after them, Dad. I have to. This is personal now. They even striped up old Dicky Drake. I mean, these people have got to be stopped.’
Joey knew nothing he could say would change Tommy’s feelings. ‘I’ll back you all I can, son, but I warn you: they won’t be easy to get rid of.’
Tommy shrugged, that nonchalant gesture he had developed as a small boy with a villain for a father and a lush for a mother. It was another self-defence mechanism. ‘You’ll leave it all to me then?’
Joey laughed suddenly. ‘Well, that’s what you want, isn’t it?’
Tommy nodded gravely. His father was handing everything over to him. This was a big day in his life and yet it felt wrong, as if his father was copping out somehow.
‘Whether I want it or not, Dad, it looks like I’m getting it anyway, doesn’t it?’
Joey didn’t answer.
There was nothing more to say.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Richard Gates sat in his unmarked police car and watched people going in and out of the small club in Wardour Street. The gay clubs didn’t bother him. If it was all consenting adults, he didn’t really give a toss. Unlike many of the men who worked for him, he wasn’t a queer basher, racist or misogynist. He was after villains who committed real crimes, not just broke the law of the land. Everyone knew he turned a blind eye to many things. Since joining Vice, for instance, he had stopped a lot of the older women from getting busted for soliciting. He couldn’t see the sense in fining them in Bow Street only to have them straight on the street again, earning money for the fine.
He wanted the youngsters off the streets, the ones who were not caught up properly in the life yet. He wanted them out of it once and for all. He knew how quickly people adapted to the life and the money. Especially younger women. The trouble was, though, they took drugs to make going on the game easier, then ended up permanently hooking to get their drugs. It was a vicious circle. At least if they worked for people like Susan P they had a bit of prestige and could save a few quid. Susan wouldn’t touch addicts, and made sure that her girls were fully aware of that.
Gates watched the club for a couple of hours, taking down the names of anyone he recognised. He was impressed by the clientele and knew that Susan P would like half of them on her books. It showed Desrae had done his market research well. He had kept out the rougher elements; even rowdy nobs were not allowed inside. Laurence Olivier himself would have had trouble getting in with too many drinks inside him.
Gates got out of the car and went into the club; he followed on the heels of a High Court judge and his long-time male lover, a daytime television reporter. Walking through the sex shop, the two men in front averted their eyes from the magazines.
Brabusters
and
Big Jugs
weren’t really their cup of tea.
Big Boys in Big Beds
was much more their line, and such titles were sold as art books for a high price in the very same establishment. Gates knew because he had had the shop raided a few months before. Now it had changed ownership, he was happy to let it be as long as he could gain access any time he wanted. Hard-core porn didn’t bother him, unless it contained minors or animals.
Even Gates drew the line at that.
Desrae smiled at him prettily and signed to the doorman to let him through. As he walked into the smoky atmosphere he was accosted by a tall woman in a peach-coloured flowing dress and platform boots.
Desrae moved towards them both and said sotto voce: ‘He’s the filth, love, and not one of the friendly ones, OK?’
The man sighed and walked away and Richard Gates chuckled as he said, ‘How do you know I ain’t changed what side I do me partin’?’
Desrae grinned, all lip gloss and pencilled-on eyebrows, and answered him happily. ‘If you ever do that, love, I’ll be the first in line. Always loved a man with a belly. Something to grab hold of. Now drink first and then we’ll chat. I do hope this isn’t an official visit? I have more Masons in here than on the bench at the Old Bailey.’
‘Or in the fucking dock for that matter, darlin’. I’ll have a small Scotch, please. No, it’s your man I want to see - Joey.’
As he spoke he saw Susan P come into the club dressed in a black leather catsuit. Her dark hair was blow-waved into a pageboy and her make-up was a work of art. She was half catwoman, half punk rocker, and it suited her. She was with two pop stars, both known pederasts.
Gates took his drink from Desrae and followed him up the stairs to the office. Cathy was in there with Joey, telling him about her plans for the next club, when they walked in. Her face broke into a wide smile as she saw DI Gates. ‘Hello, Richard, what a surprise.’
He looked into that elfin face and felt the tightness in his guts he always experienced when he saw her. Her story had made him more aware of what was happening in the world, and now he followed up children’s cases as much as he could. Seeing her in this club grieved him at times, because he knew she was in effect a fag hag now. At ease with the gay community because she knew they wanted only her and not her body.
And Cathy’s body was made to be loved by a man, though he knew she would never believe that. Even a dirty joke upset her. That was how she had been left. That was what the so-called caring profession had done to her.
‘I’ve come to see Joey about a few things, ladies,’ Gates said briskly. ‘Can I ask you two to leave us alone for a while?’
Pleased as punch at being referred to as a lady, Desrae ushered Cathy out of the room. Sitting down, Gates looked around the office and said: ‘Fuck me, it’s like being caught in a queer’s dream, this lot.’
Joey chuckled. ‘You know what Desrae’s like - over the top or what. Now what can I do for you?’
Gates said without any preamble: ‘There’s going to be a war unless I can stop it. You know and I know that the Scallies are out for the lot of it - everything you’ve got and more. I want to know what you know, and if you won’t tell me, I’ll drag your arse into the station.’
Joey laughed gently. ‘Come on, Richard. You must know I can’t talk freely about anything like that. You’re a good Bill, a good filth, everyone knows that. But at the end of the day that is what you are and what you’ll always be: a policeman. No one who grasses on the Scallies will live to tell the tale.’
Gates listened with his usual quiet demeanour. He knew that what this man was saying was true. If the Liverpool men were grassed, then that grass had better be ready for death.