Jamsie was nervous about her being involved in it, but he was like a fucking old woman. She had made him employ her, and made him keep her on. Her daughter would not be impressed if she knew the score about her old man. But the earn was what really interested Jamsie, he would sell his own fucking cock if the price was right. He was a pimp by nature, and a ponce by trade.
Young Dexter was about as much use as Karl Marx on
Family Fortunes
. He had no idea at all, he was a fucking idiot. He looked good and he dressed well, better than Jamsie, but then so did most of the male population. But Dexter had no interest in what he was doing. To run a business with any degree of success, you needed to be
interested
in what you were doing. It was a given, if you knew the game you automatically knew the pitfalls. You were tuned in to the people you were dealing with and you could see trouble before it arrived. Dexter was a fucking earhole. A complete twonk; he didn’t care what was going on, the girls could be dressed in gorilla suits and he wouldn’t notice, he just turned up to collect the poke. Other than that, he didn’t give a toss. Well, she knew, after all her years in the business, that if your protector didn’t give a monkey’s, then no one else would. It was bad for morale, and the girls on the bash were not big on self-worth anyway. If they were, they would not be doing the job in the first place.
She was the only person who bothered to keep the girls in check. She was enjoying her status; after all, no one knew the business like she did. She was now running it single-handedly, and it felt good, like the old days when she had run a much bigger outfit than this one, and she had done it without even thinking about it too much. Which had also been her downfall, she had not thought anything through in those days. She had believed she was beyond anyone’s reach, whether it was the Old Bill, or the enemies she had made through her own arrogance. Imelda Dooley had finally learnt her lesson, and she had learnt it the hard way.
The game could be a real earner; it was also a business that you either understood from the first day, or you ran from as fast as you could because, after all, it was also a fucking dangerous occupation. Every punter was a prospective nut-bag, and there were plenty of those about. You had to have a built-in shit detector, and that was not something you could acquire overnight. You either had it from the off, and used it to your own benefit, or you sank without trace. Imelda had seen real lookers fuck up because they couldn’t work out the real Looney Tunes from the general riff-raff. Imelda helped her girls to understand the business and taught them to look after themselves. Dexter was very appreciative of her help and her acumen, he was quite happy to let her do it, and she was skimming the take like nobody’s business. She was back on the earn and loving it. She was back where she liked to be: in charge, on the take, and without anyone to oversee what she was doing. The girls were a little young, but they were game, and although they were not what she would describe as the cream of the crop, they were grafters, and they were quick learners. She had helped them get into the needle, it enabled them to settle into the life. They were at the lower end of the food chain so the needle was a fucking big bonus when you had to walk the pavement night after night. They had been given a set amount to bring to the table and they stayed there, on the street, until they had that money for her. She knew how to encourage them when the need arose, and how to frighten the crap out of them so they did as they were requested.
It was late summer and the nights were just starting to draw in; it was the best time of year for the girls. Men who had to pay did not like broad daylight, darkness was their forte. In fairness, the majority of the girls looked better in the twilight anyway. They were young, but not exactly raving beauties. She had drummed into their heads the importance of not fighting amongst themselves. It was most brasses’ biggest failing, after a while they became very aggressive and started to see another girl’s earner as theirs by right. They would convince themselves that they had a priority of sorts, that they were more entitled to the punters available than the other girls. That was not just a working girl’s natural instinct, it was exacerbated by the needle. The girls embraced the needle to get a false courage to go on the pavement in the first place. Eventually they would pound the kerb to pay for the drugs. It was a win-win situation for someone like Imelda. And the younger you got them, the easier it was. There was a new batch of girls arriving in the Smoke every day, and that made them all the more indispensable.
She had always turned up for work on time, she knew her son had an obsession with timekeeping. He was a bastard for punctuality, bless him. She loved that about him. He was a right little Face and she was proud of him for that. His burgeoning reputation also helped her get a swerve when she wanted it. He treated her like family and that meant everyone else had to as well.
The knock at her door was a welcome sound, it was the start of her working day. She opened the door happily to three of her newest girls. All three of them were on the wrong side of legality, and between them they had more blackheads than a school disco. But they were very new to the business, and she was still pretending she had their best interests at heart. She welcomed them inside with her usual fake smile, and the promise of a spectacular high. She always had her kit on show, after all, she lived alone, and actual
bona fide
visitors were few and far between.
The girls clattered inside, their overly made-up faces and eager expressions were something she had come to expect. They were all the same, and she knew that if she played it just right, she could have them for life.
Kenny Boy was a bit drunk, he had allowed himself a few brandies to celebrate his latest deal. He had just negotiated a good take from a fleet of hire car companies. They gave him a drink, and he made sure that any aggro concerning their drivers disappeared; whether it was being drunk while in control of a motor vehicle, to dangerous or careless driving resulting in an accident of some sort, he had the market sewn up. He also had an endless fleet of motors to drop his packages around town. As he lay in the bed, he could feel the fluttering of the girl’s heart as she lay against him. She was warm and friendly, and he knew she was with him because of his name. He had met her and bedded her within hours. But she had been a game little bird, not averse to a few of the more exotic moves he required. She had a very pretty face and good legs. He had a thing about legs. They were the first thing he noticed on a bird; he clocked the legs first, then the boat race. If the legs were spectacular enough, the bird could be pug-ugly. He only wanted to fuck them, not marry them. If they were a bit fucking rancid he did not entertain them to a few drinks beforehand in a public place; he would do them in the back of a motor and drop them off with a wave and a smile. But the legs were the thing for him, and this girl had killer legs. They were long and slim, and she wore clothes that showed them off to their full advantage.
Lisa Marks was in her element; she had fancied Kenny Boy Dooley since she was thirteen and had seen him out and about in the local pubs. He had the dangerousness that she required to warrant her interest.
She liked a good bounce round the mattress, and he had given her a decent seeing-to. As she lay there beside him, she was happy; she had achieved her objective and, if she played her cards right, he would maybe see her again and she could have her name linked with his. It would afford her a bit of kudos and the guarantee of five minutes of fame. She understood the way her world worked, and she was quite happy to use whatever she had in order to get what she wanted from life. She also had a great sense of humour, and she was already known for her ability to tell a joke and tell it well.
‘Can I get you a drink or anything, Kenny?’
She had a nice little flat, clean and well furnished and he knew he would become the next man to provide a piece of furniture or pay a few bills. He was happy to do that, it was part of the game.
He hugged her close. ‘I’m all right, mate. Relax for five minutes.’
He was ready to go to sleep, a few hours’ kip was just what he could do with now; she was a real nice little thing and he could think of worse things than waking up beside her and getting a repeat performance a few hours down the line. She snuggled into him, her long legs entangled with his, the softness of her skin felt good against his and he squeezed her tightly once more.
Lisa loved this bit, the knowledge that for these few hours she was the only thing on the man in question’s mind. Kenny Boy was a real feather in her cap as far as she was concerned; she would be bragging about this for weeks. She would exaggerate it with a few well-chosen phrases, and her ebullient praise for his sexual prowess would make it sound like a real relationship.
As she was basking in the afterglow of their encounter her phone rang, its shrillness breaking the cosiness of their embrace. Lisa answered it quickly, she was half angry at the intrusion, and half pleased at the opportunity to name-drop Kenny Boy and prove he was there with her. It was a double-edged sword, though, he was quite capable of getting up and leaving while she was on the blower. It had happened to her before.
‘Hello?’ She was sitting up in the bed, her nakedness fully exposed; she had a good body and she was not shy about letting it be seen. She was also hoping her provocative stance would keep Kenny Boy there for another bout.
Kenny yawned and lay back on the pillows. The mood was broken now, real life had just forced its way in. He was about to pull the sheets back and go for a well-deserved piss when he caught the tailend of her conversation.
Lisa was now overjoyed at the call, she felt it was like destiny or something. This call could actually make Kenny see that they had a lot more in common than he realised. She turned around and lay on her back, her heavy breasts and tight belly were evident as she feigned a stretch to keep his attention. She winked at him saucily as she said with as much guile as she could muster, ‘Tell Jamsie I can’t, I’m busy. I know Dexter has the numbers, he got them from Imelda. She deals with that anyway. I only know Cassie’s number because she sometimes works the bar in Soho.’
She put the phone down a few seconds later and, grinning at Kenny Boy, she said huskily, ‘We have more in common than you think.’
Kenny Boy was still digesting her words, and he was not impressed with any of them. ‘Who’s Cassie?’
He was calm, he sounded just interested enough to not make her suspicious. Lisa shrugged, as if bored by his question, thinking it would make her look sophisticated. ‘She’s one of your mum’s girls. I used to work for Jamsie in his bar, not as a brass obviously, but actually
behind
the bar. I would often have to help him keep a tab on the girls he was running. Cassie was a nice little thing, and she would often be there; let’s just say her and Jamsie were close.’
Lisa was smiling still, talking to what she assumed was a man of the world, unaware that his sister was actually Jamsie’s other half, and had been for a long time.
He laughed then. ‘Jamsie is a bit of a lad, I understand. I often wonder if he is all talk, to be honest.’
Lisa flicked her long black hair over her slim shoulders and, lighting a Benson & Hedges cigarette, she took a deep draw on it before saying, ‘He is a fucking nightmare, if it has a pulse he will poke it. I’ve had to fight him off enough times meself.’
Kenny knew that meant she had slept with Jamsie at some point herself; she would sleep with any man who had the name or the money to boost her ego. It wasn’t something he would hold against her, it was the only reason he was with her now.
‘Cassie was a real little schoolie though, but you know Jamsie, he likes the babies, don’t he? He’s only a half-inch from a nonce, as your mum says.’
‘She still looks out for his girls, does she?’
Kenny Boy was finding it very hard to contain the anger that was building up inside him. He knew he had been taken for a right fucking dimlo, and that was not something he was prepared to overlook.
‘From what I saw, she just gets them acquainted with the life. She gives them the rules and regulations needed to make sure they don’t fuck up. Jamsie knows that Dexter is useless, and Dexter hates the job anyway, so your mum basically does all the graft for him.’
Kenny was afraid to speak for a few moments, the girl really thought she was a fucking player by telling him this in such a light-hearted tone. He wanted to smash her face in now, wanted to make her understand that she was not endearing herself to him with her fucking banter. She only made him want to hurt her, want to see her pay for her treachery. Like Jamsie and that whore of a mother would when he got his hands on them.
‘How old is this Cassie then?’
Lisa shrugged once more, her lightly tanned skin was almost translucent in the lamplight. She knew she looked good.
‘About fifteen or sixteen now, she’s been on the scene for about a year or so. Your mum picked her up at the Cross, like most of her girls. She would bring them to the bar sometimes and we used to chat a bit, you know. Jamsie thinks the world of your mum, Kenny Boy. She even puts the new girls up for a while when they first get involved, they need a stabilising influence at first, I suppose.’
Kenny was nodding once more, unsure if he was capable of coherent conversation. He also knew that Lisa was willing to keep talking if he kept quiet. She was trying to establish a common bond between them, and he let her think she was succeeding. He knew the girl was a dangerous fuck because this was knowledge she should have had the sense to keep to herself. As if she was determined to prove this point she asked him archly and with maximum emphasis, ‘Is everything all right with him and old Basil now? I heard they had a bit of a tear-up.’
Kenny snapped his head around to look at her and Lisa felt the first shivers of apprehension. Kenny was breathing in short, sharp pants. He could feel his heart as it raced inside his chest, knew that he was beyond any kind of pretence now.