East End Trouble (2 page)

M
artin Morton had
a flat over the bar that was decked out in the top of the range furnishings.

“It’s a lovely place,” Kathleen said, running a hand admiringly along the sofa cushions.

It put her mum’s tired old furniture to shame. Kathleen looked around the room happily. She could see herself living somewhere like this. Everything was sleek and modern and had no doubt set Martin back quite a bit.

Martin watched her with an amused grin on his face. He stood behind a small cocktail cabinet and held up a bottle of rum. “Another drink, Princess?”

Kathleen smiled back at him. “I’d love one.”

She swayed her hips as she walked towards him, trying her best to look seductive.

When the huge man standing in the doorway cleared his throat, Kathleen jumped. She’d forgotten he was there.

“I thought we were going to have some privacy, Martin,” Kathleen said, pouting.

Martin nodded at the big man. “That will be all for now, Tim. Go through to the back room.”

Tim nodded and leaned forward so far it almost looked as if he was bowing to Martin. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Kathleen took her drink from Martin and settled herself down on the plush cushions of the sofa. She considered taking her shoes off. The bloody things were killing her. But she didn’t want to seem forward.

She decided to keep the shoes on for now, and she crossed her legs, allowing her miniskirt to slide higher up her thighs.

Martin looked at her appreciatively. “You’ve got a lovely pair of legs, girl.”

Kathleen took a sip of her drink. She knew she had a good body, and she wasn’t afraid to use it to her advantage.

She patted the sofa. “Well, aren’t you going to come and sit beside me? I’m starting to feel lonely over here.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we, Princess?” Martin grinned as he took a seat beside her on the sofa and slid his arm around her shoulders.

He pulled her roughly towards him and crushed his lips down on hers. Kathleen was taken aback as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. It wasn’t quite the romantic evening she had planned. Martin Morton clearly didn’t believe in taking things slowly.

He clutched the nape of her neck, messing up her hair, and Kathleen briefly considered pushing him away. But she couldn’t do that. You didn’t push a man like Martin Morton away.

It wasn’t long before Martin had stripped off her blouse and was unhooking her plain white bra.

Kathleen winced and wished she had been wearing something a little sexier. The white bra had been washed so many times it was starting to look grey, but Martin was moving so fast, he didn’t seem to notice.

Martin pushed Kathleen back on the sofa, so she was wedged in the corner. He had just shifted his body over hers when there was a knock at the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for an answer. Kathleen felt a cold rush of air on her exposed body as the door opened.

She felt the weight of Martin’s body lift from hers as he looked up angrily at the person who had interrupted them. “What do you want?” He snarled the question.

Kathleen clasped her arms over her breasts and gasped in horror when she turned and saw the large man from earlier standing in the doorway looking in at them.

Bloody pervert!

Kathleen reached out quickly for her blouse and used it to cover herself.

Tim averted his eyes, and the red stain of embarrassment climbed his neck to his cheeks making them look blotchy. He looked down at the floor.

Martin’s bad mood seemed to dissipate as he laughed at Tim’s embarrassed reaction. “Anyone would think you had never seen a pair before, Tim.”

Martin stood up as Kathleen shoved her arms in her blouse and started to do up the buttons.

“Sorry for the interruption, boss, but we’ve got a problem,” Big Tim mumbled, still looking at the floor.

Martin followed him out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Kathleen sitting on the sofa.

What the hell was she supposed to do now? Things had been moving very fast. She could take the opportunity to rush off home now before things went even further. But as she looked around the modern furnishings in Martin’s flat and the fancy cocktail cabinet at the end of the room, she decided to stay put.

She reached into her handbag and pulled out her compact. She hardly recognised the flushed face that stared back at her. Carefully, she applied a fresh coat of pink lipstick and then grabbed her rum and Coke and gulped it down to steady her nerves.

Opportunities like this didn’t come along very often. This could be Kathleen’s only chance to hit it big, so she leaned back on the sofa and tried to relax.

It seemed like ages since Martin had disappeared with Big Tim, but it was really only five minutes before Martin stormed back into the room.

“You’d better go home, Princess. Something has come up. A bit of business.”

Kathleen tried to look relaxed. “I don’t mind. I can wait. I’m quite comfortable here.” She treated him to what she thought was a sexy smile. “What’s it about anyway? Anything I can help with?”

“Don’t talk daft, girl. And never ask questions about my business. Now get your arse home before I lose patience.”

Kathleen flushed red. She was glad nobody else was here to witness her humiliation.

She clenched her fists and got to her feet, then patted down her hair in an effort to look respectable. She reached down to get her handbag, and by the time she turned around, Martin had already gone.

She walked slowly down the stairs and back into the club, which was noisy and full of people having a good time. No one even glanced at her. She ducked through the crowds. Kathleen couldn’t wait to get away from this horrible place.

She’d been stupid. At least, she now knew one thing for certain: Martin Morton certainly wasn’t the man of her dreams.

M
artin Morton stepped
inside the back room. Cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air. Gathered around the dining table were his closest associates, his most trusted men.

As Big Tim sat down, the two other men in the room stopped talking and looked up at Martin, clearly eager to know what he wanted them to do about the situation.

Big Tim was also known as Tim the Tank for obvious reasons. Henry Patterson, known as Henry the Hand, had been working for Martin the longest. He had a fearsome reputation in the East End, and despite the fact the man was knocking fifty, he still commanded respect. Henry understood the importance of reputation. He knew how to use it to his advantage, and he loved his nickname. Henry the Hand had come about because he’d lost two fingers while working in a factory when he was fifteen years old. But most people didn’t know that version of the story.

Only a select few knew the truth, so how Henry had lost his fingers was a matter of speculation and gossip. The most popular theory among the East Enders was that he’d had them chopped off while being tortured by a rival gang, and he’d given up his fingers rather than sell out his men.

Red-haired Freddie sat next to Henry. In Martin’s opinion, Freddie was one of the ugliest bastards he’d ever seen. He had a sharp face like a weasel and pockmarked skin, but he was a clever bastard and loyal to a fault, and Martin valued that trait over everything else.

Martin grabbed the bottle of single malt from the sideboard and poured himself a hefty measure. He downed the glass in one go, and then looked at his three most trusted men.

“Right, who wants to tell me about it then?”

The three men exchanged anxious looks. They didn’t want to risk displeasing him by delivering bad news. Martin had been known to shoot the messenger in the past, literally.

In the end, it was Henry who spoke up. “I’m sorry to say we’ve got a traitor in our midst.”

Martin’s hand tightened around the glass, but other than that he didn’t betray his feelings. He moved back towards the sideboard and poured himself another drink.

“Who?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.

“It’s Keith Parker,” Henry said. “He’s been on the fiddle, messing with the books.”

“It’s worse than that, Martin,” Tim said. “We found out tonight he’s been working with the Carters.”

“What? The little shit has been working with Dave Carter behind my back?”

Tim nodded, the tension on his face obvious. “He’s been selling beer and fags for them. I don’t know how deep it goes, or how long it’s been going on, but he’s definitely working with Dave Carter.”

Martin felt all the muscles in his body tense, and he yearned to be able to smash his fist into something.

He forced himself to calm down. You never got anywhere in this world if you went off hot-headed. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

“Keith Parker is a traitor,” he said. “And we all know what happens to traitors.”

Before Martin could say anything else, the door to the dining room opened, and his brother, Tony Morton, stood there looking angrily at the three of them.

“What is all this then?” Tony said as he looked at Martin. “You never said we were having a meeting.”

Martin looked at his brother, not bothering to hide his dislike. Tony was younger than him by three years and a right pain in the arse. He never showed any respect and just expected to share in Martin’s little empire, even though he hardly ever did anything to help.

“It wasn’t planned,” Tim said, trying to pacify the situation. “Something came up.”

Tony’s eyes didn’t leave his older brother. “Is that true?”

“You would have known about it if you’d been here,” Martin said. “Where have you been? Didn’t you fancy working tonight?”

Tony looked smug. “I’ve been visiting our old mum. You should get around there yourself,” he said. “She told me you haven’t been around to see her since Easter.”

Martin ran a hand through his hair. The smug bastard. Tony knew he was his mother’s favourite, and that rankled Martin. It always had.

Tony had always been Mummy’s little boy. He could do no wrong in her eyes. Despite the fact, it was Martin who constantly had to bail Tony out of trouble. She never seemed to appreciate the fact it was Martin who paid her rent and made sure she had money for a few little luxuries every week. Every time he’d seen her recently she had just gone on and on about how he should be nicer to poor Tony.

Poor Tony? That was a bleeding joke. Tony had it easy, and he knew it.

In the end, Martin had stopped going around there just to save himself the earache.

“We’re here to talk about business, Tony. Not family,” Martin said, pouring a large whisky and handing it to his brother. “We’re talking about how to deal with Keith Parker. He’s been working with the Carters.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “You need to make an example of him, bruv,” he said. “You can’t let this go unpunished. It will make you look weak if you do.”

“When have you ever known me to look weak?” Martin said in a dangerously low voice. “Keith Parker will be dealt with appropriately. Mark my words, he won’t know what’s hit him.”

W
hen Kathleen got home
from the club, her mother appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a winceyette nightie, her hair in rollers and her skin greasy with Pond’s Vanishing Cream.

“Good grief,” Mary exclaimed in horror, looking at Kathleen’s clothes. “Please tell me you haven’t been out in public like that. You look like a tramp, young lady.”

“Oh, don’t start, Mum. I’ve had a horrible evening, and I’ve got to get up early for work.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before staying up all hours. And I know you weren’t at Linda’s. I went round and visited her mother. She said she hadn’t seen you since seven.”

Mary marched down the stairs and followed her daughter into the kitchen.

Kathleen sighed, poured herself a glass of water and then turned on her mother. “Oh, did I say Linda’s? I meant Tracy’s. I went to see Tracy, and we went for a drink, that’s all.”

Mary stared at her daughter with narrowed eyes. “And where did you go for this drink?”

“Oh, nowhere you would know,” Kathleen said irritably and took a large swallow of water. “It’s a modern place. You won’t have heard of it.”

“It wouldn’t be Morton’s by any chance, would it?”

Kathleen was so surprised that her mother knew where she’d been; she forgot to guard her expression and keep up the pretence. “How did you know that?”

“You can’t go there again, Kathleen. I absolutely forbid it.”

Mary put a hand on her daughter’s arm, but Kathleen wrenched it away. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child.”

As Kathleen stormed out of the kitchen, her mother quickly followed.

“Kathleen, wait. I need to talk to you. I had a visitor tonight.”

Kathleen turned back to face her mother. “A visitor? Who?”

“Babs Morton. She came round here to warn you to stay away from her husband, Martin. I told her it had to be a mistake. There is no way you would get involved with a married man, let alone a gangster like Martin Morton. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Kathleen flushed. “Babs Morton?” She felt sick. She hadn’t realised Martin’s wife had any idea about her and Martin.

“I don’t know where she got that idea from. It’s not true, Mum.”

Mary stared hard at her daughter’s face, trying to determine whether she was telling the truth. “I hope to God you’re not messed up with that family, my girl. Otherwise, our troubles have only just begun.”

T
he following morning
Kathleen felt absolutely terrible. Her mouth felt dry and furry, and her head was banging. She winced and clutched her head as she got out of bed. Her mother clattering things around in the kitchen didn’t help matters either. Kathleen was sure she was doing it on purpose. It took her longer than usual to have a quick wash and get ready for work.

Mary set a bowl of porridge in front of her daughter, but Kathleen barely touched it. She just moved the lumpy grey porridge around with her spoon. “Sorry, Mum. I’ve got no appetite this morning.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Mary said pointedly, removing the bowl and scraping the wasted breakfast into the bin.

“Just you remember what I said last night. You stay away from that family. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mum.” Kathleen said meekly and got to her feet. “I’d better go now otherwise I’ll be late for work.”

She met up with Linda at the front door to Bevels, which was the clothes factory where they both worked as machinists.

Linda looked at her hopefully and gave her a smile. Kathleen had been intending to give her friend the cold shoulder that morning and teach her a lesson, but she felt so terrible, she couldn’t be bothered. Linda was good at sympathy, and that was exactly what she needed right now.

“So, what happened last night?” Linda asked. “I hope you didn’t get into any trouble.”

Kathleen looked at her friend who was wearing a brown, shapeless cotton dress with a cream cardigan. Her thick brown hair was her only good feature, and even that was ruined because her mother made her tie it back for work.

Kathleen pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger. “I’ve got a terrible headache, but to answer your question, no, I didn’t get into any trouble, and I had a fantastic night. You should have come.”

Linda bit her lip. “I’m sorry for letting you down, Kath. But I was just worried. I’ve heard some really bad things about Martin Morton, and I didn’t want to go to his club.”

Kathleen gave her friend a disdainful look. “All that stuff doesn’t bother me,” Kathleen said. “I’m not a child anymore, Linda, and I can look after myself.”

Linda nodded. “I wish I was as confident as you. You’re so glamorous.”

Kathleen smiled, feeling a lot warmer towards Linda now. They headed towards their respective sewing machines. The bloody noise from the infernal things wasn’t going to help Kathleen’s headache at all, and she wouldn’t be able to talk to Linda until they’d had a break later.

Three mind-numbing hours later, Kathleen stood up from the sewing machine and stretched. She reached for her bag and rummaged inside for the sandwiches her mother had prepared that morning.

Linda leaned against her sewing bench. “Let’s take our sandwiches outside today,” she said. “It’s lovely and sunny.”

Kathleen nodded, thinking that the fresh air might do her headache some good.

As the girls left the factory floor, they passed through the reception area, and on the reception desk, there was a huge bouquet of red roses. The scent of them filled the air.

“Oh, look at those,” Linda said. “They are so beautiful. I wonder who they’re for.”

Mrs. McClair, the secretary who sat behind the desk, gave the girls a disapproving look.

“It’s terribly inappropriate,” she said in a nasal voice. The secretary thought she sounded posh, but Kathleen thought she sounded like she had a constant cold. “They are for you, Kathleen. They arrived this morning, but, of course, I couldn’t interrupt your working hours. I must say Mr. Bevel is very unhappy. He doesn’t believe young women should receive flowers at work.”

Kathleen ignored Mrs. McClair’s disapproval and gasped with pleasure, turning to smile at her friend.

“Oh, look, there’s a card.”

She plucked the card from between the rose stems and read it.

To Kathleen, sorry about last night, Martin.

Despite the fact that last night Kathleen had sworn she never wanted to see Martin Morton ever again, she found herself softening towards him. He must be very sorry. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have apologised with such beautiful flowers.

Linda’s eyes widened as she read the card over Kathleen’s shoulder. “Martin? They’re not from Martin Morton, are they?”

Kathleen gave her friend a sharp nudge in the ribs to shut her up. She didn’t want Mrs. McClair to overhear. On the other hand, if she thought Kathleen was stepping out with Martin Morton, it might make the snooty cow treat her with a little more respect.

“Ouch.” Linda rubbed her ribs “What was that for?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave them here until I go home,” Kathleen said to Mrs. McClair. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Mrs. McClair said.

Kathleen rolled her eyes and looped her arm around Linda’s, dragging her friend outside.

“Sour old cow,” Kathleen muttered under her breath. “She’s just jealous. I bet she’s never had anyone send her flowers.”

“You’re probably right,” Linda said agreeably. “Hang on a minute…” Linda stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, causing a woman carrying her shopping to almost bump into them.

“What is it?” Kathleen asked. She wanted to get to the park and eat her sandwiches. She was ravenous after missing breakfast.

“Isn’t that…?”

Kathleen looked in the direction Linda pointed. “Oh, my God,” Kathleen whispered. “Quick, let’s go before she sees us.”

But the girls were too late. Babs Morton was crossing the road heading directly for them.

“Kathleen Diamond, isn’t it?” Babs Morton asked.

Babs’ dark hair had been carefully curled around her face. She wore a deep shade of plum eyeshadow, and her lips were painted a dark pink, matching her nails. She wore a heavy gold chain around her neck and a bracelet that looked like it was dotted with sapphires and diamonds.

Kathleen was dazzled. “Yes, that’s me,” she said in a quiet voice.

“And I am Linda.”

Babs ignored Linda completely. “I’ve been hearing certain rumours, Kathleen. A girl like you ought to be careful. Once a reputation is ruined, it’s impossible to get it back.”

Kathleen didn’t know what to say. She just stood there gaping at Babs.

“Morton’s club isn’t any place for a lady. You would do well to remember that.”

Kathleen swallowed hard and then nodded as Babs Morton walked past them, leaving them in the trail of her violet-scented perfume.

“What was all that about?” Linda asked. “Those flowers were from Martin Morton, weren’t they? Oh, God, Kathleen. If you’re messing about with her husband, Babs Morton is going to kill you!”