Authors: Lynda La Plante
‘I can’t see him,’ Connie said petulantly.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I hate his guts.’
Dolly turned on her and pushed her backwards. ‘Then unhate him, just do it. That goes for all of you. We get through today and then maybe tonight we’ll talk.’
They watched her walking out, calling for Angela and the girls to get ready.
‘What did that cop want?’
Dolly stopped as she reached the door. ‘You’ll know later.
Angela!
Dress them up in warm clothes.’ She turned back to the angry women. ‘We’re going on a
boat. See you later for the ride.’ The door closed behind her.
‘I think she’s bats,’ Gloria said.
Ester shrugged. ‘Well, she’s got until tonight and then we force her to come out with whatever she’s got inside that twisted head of hers.’
‘She is twisted, isn’t she?’ Connie said.
Julia sprang up, ‘Well, let’s get cracking. We’ll know by tonight so why waste time talking about it? Let’s just do what she wants and keep her happy.’
Dolly began to row. She had one oar, Angela the other, and they began to propel the boat slowly to the centre of the small lake, the three girls sitting on the seat at the
bow.
‘Look, look, it’s a bridge,’ Sheena said, pointing.
Dolly nodded. ‘Yes, love, it’s a bridge. Maybe we’ll see a train crossing it today.’
The boat made its way, rocking – neither Angela nor Dolly was adept at rowing. It took them a while to get to the centre of the lake and then they sat and rested as Dolly caught her
breath. She leaned on the oar and carefully monitored the bridge: there was at least a good twenty-foot drop down to the lake beneath at the lowest point of the bridge. She then glanced at the
boathouse on the other side.
‘Is this your boat, Dolly?’ Kate asked.
‘No, love, it belongs to an old man, lives not far from the manor, in one of those cottages. He lent it to me.’
‘Can we come out again?’ Sheena piped up.
‘Yes, we can borrow his boat any time we want.’
They shouted with excitement and Dolly spotted the floating dock. ‘Let’s go over to that boat-house, Angela, maybe we can go ashore for a little walk.’
The innocent-looking boating party headed towards a small wooden jetty. Two speedboats were tied up, well covered with green tarpaulins. Dolly made each girl remain in their seat until she
herself had stepped ashore to guide each one out with Angela’s help.
‘Can we go in a speed-boat?’ Sheena asked.
‘Not today, darlin’, another time maybe.’
Angela was told to take the girls for a ramble, while Dolly remained sitting at the side of the jetty. She began to make notes in her little black book, her eyes flicking from the jetty to the
bridge, from the lake to the undergrowth, and then she focused on the bridge for a long, long time.
The women lined up to practise with the shotguns. It was not as much of a fiasco as Gloria thought it was going to be. She showed them over and over how to load and unload the
cartridges before she would allow them to fire. She told them sternly that they must pay close attention. She’d not listened when her dad was first showing her – it had been at the
fairground – but she’d been over-confident. She held up her left hand. ‘See that? Did it when I was twelve. It wasn’t a shotgun, it was an automatic but it snapped back and
bang, me thumb hung off at a very dodgy angle, so listen to what I tell you. We can’t afford no accidents. Take the weight into your shoulder, left hand to steady and support the barrel,
right index finger on the trigger, but no need to give it much strength, they’re oiled and you need just a light squeeze, don’t jerk it. They got a big kick these shotguns, so be
prepared for it. If you don’t hold it right, like what I’m showing you, you’ll get a bruise on yer collarbone an’ it could whack into yer cheekbone, bring tears to your
eyes, I’m tellin’ you.’
Dolly stopped rowing as they heard the shotgun blasts. She turned towards the woods and then waved to Angela to stop rowing as she took out her notebook and quickly jotted
something down.
Bang!
the shotgun went again.
‘Somebody’s firing a gun,’ Angela said.
‘Yeah, be up in the woods. Duck-shooting around here.’
Angela said, ‘I haven’t seen any ducks.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Soon as they hear a blast they take off.’ Dolly suddenly roared with laughter. Another bang. This time Dolly frowned. It was very loud and the
last thing they needed was some nosy parker wondering what they were doing.
Bang. Bang.
She started to row as further gun blasts went off. She couldn’t blame them, she’d told
them to do it, but she hadn’t reckoned it would be quite so loud.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Julia lowered the shotgun. The tree they were aiming at was splintered. ‘Maybe we’ve done enough for today. The last thing we want is some bastards coming up here
to find out what’s going on.’
They all agreed, and under Gloria’s beady eye unloaded and collected all the spent cartridges before they started back to the manor. Midway they stopped. The shotguns were now wrapped in
their waterproof covers, and the women stashed them in the trunk of a dead tree.
Ester had already left for London and Connie for the builder’s yard. Julia was sitting at the kitchen table, cutting old sacks with a knife. ‘I can use these with a
drawstring, pad it out with some sawdust, that should be enough.’
‘Fine. Do it in the stables, not in the kitchen. And when Gloria comes back get her to help you.’
Julia snatched up the sacks. ‘Right, and we got a ride booked for five o’clock. I found out the stables’ key is always left under a plant pot and . . .’ But Dolly was
ushering the girls ahead for an afternoon kids’ programme on TV, so Julia went out to the stables, closing the gate behind her. Opening one of the packets of cocaine, she took out a pocket
mirror, and laid a small amount of the powder on the mirror. She chopped it deftly and fast. Then she took an already tightly rolled five-pound note and snorted, sniffing hard, licking the residue
off the mirror. She felt better, carefully replaced the mirror and the fiver in her pocket, and then started hacking at the sacks. Stacking the squares in a neat pile at her feet, she had cut up
about eight when Gloria burst in.
‘Bleedin’ walked to the local shop. What a load of halfwits! I dunno, they look at me like I got two fuckin’ heads.’
Julia studied Gloria. She was wearing a pair of jeans that were too tight, a strange purple silk shirt, knotted at the waist with her tits half hanging out from some wire contraption
brassière that went out in the fifties. Her blonde hair was in need of bleach, the black roots over an inch long. She was also wearing a baggy man’s riding jacket. ‘It’s
the wellington boots, Gloria, they’re very sexy.’
She laughed, a loud barking sound. ‘Piss off. I need them, having to wade through that bloody mud lane. Them potholes get you every time.’ She squatted down, picking up one of the
cut squares. ‘What’re these for, then?’
‘The horses’ hooves.’
‘Oh, of course! Any fool would have known that. ‘What you talkin’ about?’
‘Dolly’s orders, Gloria, so don’t ask, just start sewing.’
Connie leaned against the hut door and peeked in. ‘Hi, how you doing?’
John looked across and went back to opening his bills. She strolled in and leaned closer. ‘You were very rude to me last night – you know that, don’t you?’
He sighed. ‘Yeah, but I’m not sorry, and don’t sit on the desk, it’s got a wonky leg. What do you want?’
‘Well, you’re supposed to be fixing our roof and, like, nobody is there so Mrs Rawlins sent me to ask when you’re going to do it.’
He scratched his head. ‘Tomorrow. I got a few things lined up for today and the men are all out.’
Connie slipped on to his knee. ‘Well, that’s convenient, then, isn’t it?’
He wouldn’t put his arm around her but leaned back in the old swivel chair. ‘What do you want?’
‘What you didn’t give me the other afternoon.’
She circled his face with her hands and kissed him, prising open his mouth with her tongue. He didn’t resist for long and his arms were soon wrapped around her. She could feel his erection
and wriggled on his knee. ‘Oh, you’re very easy to please, aren’t you?’ she whispered, licking his ear. He started to unbutton her shirt and she kept on licking and kissing,
hoping someone would come in and he’d have to leave. When they remained uninterrupted she knew he would screw her. Well, she’d been screwed in some worse places – but never for a
machine that sucked up bloody leaves.
Ester leaned forward to the taxi driver. ‘Okay, love, I’m going in this house here. I want you to wait. If I’m not out within five minutes, will you ring on
the doorbell? And keep this for me.’ She passed over the envelope with the tape. He looked at it, then at Ester. ‘Five minutes.’
‘Yep, that’s all, no more.’
They were parked outside a big elegant house in the Boltons. She stepped out, adjusted her dark glasses and walked slowly up the covered canopied entrance. She stood for a moment on the steps,
noticed the two security cameras before ringing the bell. Part of her was saying what a stupid bitch she was to come here and do what Dolly had told her, but if it kept the old bitch quiet, why
not?
Hector opened the door and looked at her. ‘Surprise, surprise! Ester Freeman herself!’
She stepped in and he shut the door behind her. She raised her arms as he frisked her for a weapon, spending more time than necessary patting her entire body. ‘Poor way to get your rocks
off, isn’t it, Hector? Here, look in my handbag. I’ve not got the cash for a gun, darlin’.’
Hector searched it. ‘What do you want?’
‘To get off the hook.’
He smirked at her. ‘You got a lot of bottle, Ester. Either that or you’re fucking stupid.’
‘Look, prick, right now I’d go down on you for fifty quid, I’m that broke, so let’s stop the crap and talk.’
Hector ushered her along the thick-piled cream carpet into a double-doored drawing room filled with china cabinets and more Capodimonte than they have at Asprey’s. ‘Sit
down.’
‘Look, I got five minutes. If I don’t walk out that cab driver out there will come in.’
‘That really scares me. Sit down.’
She sat on a peach-silk-covered chair and crossed her legs. ‘I’ve got the video, the only copy. You can have it but I just want to know that you’ll stop pestering
me.’
Hector perched on an identical chair, swinging a set of gold worry beads round his finger. ‘What you done with the Saab? You nicked it, didn’t you? Rooney was screaming about
it.’
‘You must be joking. I wouldn’t touch any motor of his, more than likely hot as shit. He’s just a liar and he got his heavies to give me a real going-over. You get your bloody
Range Rover back, did you? He gave me the money for a taxi. That was the last I saw of Rooney.’
‘So what you after? If it’s money, you’re even more stupid than I give you credit for.’
‘To give you the video of your boss’s kids screwing two of my girls. You can have it back and for nothing. I just want to know that it’s over.’
Hector chortled. ‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. You’ve been a naughty girl, and you know he won’t let you off the hook. You shouldn’t have been so greedy – you
got paid a lot of dough.’
‘I also did three years and I’m telling you, you beat me up, knock me around, and I’ll go straight to the cops. This time I’ll give them names, all right, and he
won’t get off with his diplomatic immunity this time.’
Hector was about to hit her when the door opened. Even though Ester couldn’t see who was behind it, she knew, from Hector’s face, it was the boss.
She saw the cameras at the corners of the embossed ceiling – the whole place was monitored so every word they said must have been overheard. She waited as the two men whispered outside the
half-closed door, and began to get a little uneasy, afraid Hector might turn back and beat the hell out of her. She was putting a lot of trust in the cab driver.
Hector gestured for her to join him. ‘Your lucky day. The tape.’
‘I’ll go and get it but it’s over, Hector.’
‘Yeah. Like I said, it’s your lucky day. Come on.’
They went out just as the driver was getting out of the taxi. Ester got into the back. ‘Give him that envelope, love.’ The cabbie looked at Ester, then at Hector, and reached in for
the envelope.
Hector snatched it out of his hand and pulled down the passenger window. ‘Ester, this had better be the only copy. If it isn’t, you won’t just get a rap round the head,
you’ll get taken out, understand?’
Ester rapped on the glass between her and the driver. ‘Marylebone station.’ They drove off, Hector watching from the pavement, as the cabbie eased back the partition.
‘I won’t ask what that was about, darlin’.’
‘Good,’ she said, slamming it shut. She sat back in the seat. Maybe it was for the best. It just pissed her off that if she’d had the right back-up, been able to afford a few
heavies, she’d have made a lot of dough on that video. As it was, she didn’t have more than a few quid to her name. She hated being broke. She hadn’t been dependent on anyone
since she first went to prison aged seventeen. She’d learned then not to trust anyone, especially a man, had spent the majority of her life sussing men out, what they wanted, and she’d
given it, until she’d made enough money and got girls to do it for her.
She was still in debt up to her eyeballs with the bank but that didn’t concern her – that kind of debt never did. She’d just move on. What did concern her was where she would
move to. She gazed unseeingly from the cab window. If Dolly really was serious about the robbery, she would live abroad, maybe Miami. All she needed was a break and a lot of cash –
she’d always needed both. When she’d had the cash she never got a break because she’d been busted so many times. Ester had spent much of her life in prison, all over the country,
busted if not for prostitution, for kiting and dealing in stolen goods. At one time her only ambition was to be top dog in prison and she had become it, taking more punishment or solitary than any
other con. She climbed up walls with hysteria, kicked and bit prison officers with a blind fury that used to overtake her. Sitting in the cab, remembering, she reckoned that Dolly Rawlins would be
at the end of one of her furies very soon. She’d taken enough of her orders, enough of her bullshit. There had better be a talk when she got home, and if there wasn’t she’d let
Dolly have it. It was about time one of the women did. They were being taken for suckers.