Faceless (13 page)

As she went to the kitchen Jimmy grinned.

‘Like what you see, do you, Pat?’

He shrugged good-naturedly.

‘Give us a break, Jim. With them tits, who wouldn’t?’

Even Jimmy laughed at the answer.

‘Show me what stock you got, mate, I have another appointment,’ Patrick prompted him.

Louella came back with the beers and the men retired to the cellar of the house to do their business. As they walked down the steep staircase Jimmy kept up a running commentary.

‘Most of the guns are old, I keep them for the divs. But they’re a

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very lucrative earner. The main money, though, is in semiautomatics. I rent them out, see, but the penalty if they’re used for a murder is big. I mean, the gun’s a fuck then, ain’t it? Old Bill have it profiled and want the fucker. Stands to reason. I borrowed out to Jerry the Ponce; he shot his fucking brother and got caught. Never got me dough or me fucking gun. Ponce by name, eh?’

Both men laughed.

Patrick took in all the hardware at once, pricing it in his head. He could see the look of pride in his cache on Jimmy’s face and smiled at him.

Louella’s voice came down the stairs.

‘There’s some geezers here for you, Jim. Mickey Samms and Nobby Brewer.’

Pat saw a fleeting expression of fear cross Jimmy’s face.

‘This anything to do with you. Pat?’

Patrick grinned.

“Course it is. Jimmy. I want what you’ve got, my son.’

He called out loudly, ‘Down here, boys.’

Jimmy was gutted.

‘You black fucking cunt…’

Patrick laughed good-naturedly.

‘You always take everything so personally, Jimmy. This is just business, mate.’

Mickey and Nobby were smiling from the stairwell. Nobby opened his coat and from a long pocket inside took out a pump-action shot gun. He threw it to Patrick who cocked it and aimed it at Jimmy’s face without a second’s thought.

“Bye-bye, Jimmy.’

He pulled the trigger and took the boy’s head off. Louella came screaming down the stairs. He caught her just above her enormous breasts and the report threw her back into the hallway.

Nobby and Mickey had been forced to duck as he fired and were annoyed.

‘Fuck you, Pat, you mad bastard!’ Nobby yelled indignantly.

He laughed.

‘Clear this place while I look around. We’re OK for a while, Jimmy had it all soundproofed last year.’

He stepped over the boy’s body without glancing at it. At the top of the stairs Louella was still breathing loudly, a wet sound from the blood seeping into her lungs. He looked into her eyes as he passed her by and smiled.

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‘Not long now, Louella, and you’ll be reunited with your boyfriend.’

As he ran upstairs he wondered where Jimmy kept his jewellery. He had a few nice diamond rings that Pat had always admired, and a blinding necklace. He was whistling between his teeth as he opened drawers and cupboards.

He heard another shot and guessed that someone had put Louella out of her misery. He heard the others laughing as he began to tear the place apart.

On the dressing table stood a photo of Jimmy’s two young sons. He picked it up and dropped it into the bin. He was still smiling as he ransacked the house.

Tiffany was feeling better. She had given her baby breakfast and drawn on a little rock to get her head together. When she opened the front door to Carole Halter she was smiling.

‘Hello, mate.’

Carole followed her into the lounge.

‘That kid is so good-looking!’

She produced a tube of Smarties and Anastasia squealed with delight. In the kitchen Tiffany put the kettle on and looked out over the grey building opposite.

‘You ain’t heard then. Tiff?’

‘Heard what?’

‘About your mum?’

She rolled her eyes.

‘What’s she done now?’

Carole shook her head.

‘Karen Black and her sisters give her a kicking. She’s in hospital.’

Tiffany let the news sink in.

‘Is she bad then?’

Her voice sounded as if she didn’t care one iota.

‘Very bad by all accounts.’

Tiffany sighed.

‘It was on the cards, I suppose. Karen Black wasn’t going to let it go, was she? And who can blame her?’

‘I suppose you’re right but I wish I could go and see her.’

Tiffany didn’t answer.

‘She was a good mate to me, old Marie.’

The girl poured scalding water into the cups.

‘You’ve changed your fucking tune!’

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Carole was instantly on the defensive.

‘Marie was a rip, I don’t dispute that. But she could be a good mate when she wanted to.’

Tiffany shook her head at the hypocrisy of the woman before her. You never got the truth out of Carole Halter, she would lie about anything. If you asked her what she’d had for breakfast she would add a sausage.

‘Anyway, what are you telling me for? It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘She is your mother. I thought you had a right to know, that’s all.’

Tiffany sighed heavily, her baby face looking cross.

‘My mother? According to you and Patrick she didn’t give a fucking toss about me or me brother, so how come you want me to feel sorry for her now?’

Carole shook her head.

‘She’s still your mother, love.’

Then she eyed the crack pipe on the table.

‘Whose is tnat?’

Tiffany didn’t answer her but her face had paled.

‘You stupid little whore! That’s a mug’s game and you of all people should know. It’s more addictive than a twelve-inch cock!’

Tiffany threw the mug of scalding tea into the sink, anger making two bright red spots appear on her cheeks.

‘I am not addicted. It’s recreational, that’s all …’

Her voice trailed off as she saw the genuine concern on Carole’s face.

Tiffany lowered her voice.

‘I am not addicted, Cal, honestly.’

Carole stared at the girl in front of her for long seconds.

‘You are your mother’s daughter all right. That’s what she used to say and all.’

Tiffany’s face twisted with anger at her words.

‘Why don’t you fuck off, Cal, and leave me alone?’

The other woman’s natural aggression was to the fore now and she said nastily, ‘Who d’you think you’re talking to, eh? I ain’t a fucking ice cream you can cunt at will, girl. I’ll slap your face for you if you keep that attitude up, you lairy little bitch. All I’ve done for you over the years …’

She seemed genuinely aggrieved, but Tiffany was having none of it.

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‘What the fuck have you ever done for me, eh, except ponce me few quid and slag off me mother? The mother you now want me to go and visit because you are shit scared she’ll find out how you’ve slagged her off in the past. Now piss off home, Carole, before I really lose me rag.’

Carole’s arm shot out and she caught Tiffany a stinging blow to the face; her half-sovereign ring split the girl’s eyebrow in seconds. Shock brought tears to Tiffany’s eyes. She put her hand up to her face and saw the blood.

‘What you done to me? I have to work tonight!’

Carole’s face was a mask of shame.

‘I’m sorry. Tiff. Christ, I am so sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

As Tiffany pushed a wet dishcloth to her eyes the baby started crying. Carole rushed to her and picked her up. The little girl’s body was shaking.

They heard a key in the lock and Carole felt her heart sink down to her boots. Patrick took one look at the two women and his child then his fist shot out and caught Carole full in the face. Her nose crunched under the blow and Anastasia screamed in terror.

How Carole stayed on her feet was a miracle, but the feel of the child in her arms gave her added strength.

‘Stop it. Pat! It was my fault, I started it,’ Tiffany insisted.

She dragged the screaming child from Carole’s arms.

‘How you going to fucking work with an eye like that, eh? I had a private for you tonight and now it’s all fucked up, ain’t it?’

He was bellowing in anger and Anastasia was even more terrified.

‘Get out, you fat whore, and don’t you let me see you round here ever again.’

Pat’s eyes were manic with anger and drugs. Carole staggered from the room with blood pouring down her face.

Patrick took Anastasia from her mother none too gently and put her into her cot then he shut the door on the distressed child and walked back into the kitchen. He slapped Tiffany across the face hard and her crying stopped.

‘I don’t fucking believe this. I come home and what do I find, eh? You fighting, and not even fucking winning at that.’

He was dragging the ice tray from the fridge and making a compress with a tea towel.

‘You’d better look good tonight. I promised you to Leroy

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McBane and you’d better be good, girl, you had better be fucking good.’

Tiffany listened to the man she had loved like a father and a brother and a lover all rolled into one, and now the effect of the crack had worn off she was seeing her life and what it had become with stunning clarity.

Her eye was burning with pain and her daughter was still screaming in fright. But she didn’t go to the child. She knew better than to antagonise the man before her when he was like this.

The only consolation she had was that he had called her little flat home. Only now he had finally said the magic word she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

‘It’s broken. Miss Halter.’

‘I guessed that much meself

As the nurse set about patching her face up Carole relaxed against the pillow and tried to get comfortable.

Patrick Connor was not an enemy she wanted or needed, but she knew he wouldn’t forgive her for many a long day. She sighed and her whole body shuddered. If Tiffany told him why they had argued she would be in for another hiding, a real one this time.

She closed her eyes once more in distress.

When the nurse had finished Carole made her way to the canteen and ordered a cup of sweet tea. As she sat down to drink it she noticed Karen Black at another table. She watched Karen who was sitting with a large dark-haired woman, possibly her sister, and talking animatedly.

They were obviously up to something.

Another woman joined the table. She was dressed in the distinctive pink overalls of the hospital cleaning squad.

Marie was in this hospital and Carole knew she was witnessing the planning of another attack.

Leaving her tea, she made her way to reception and got Marie’s ward and room number. As she walked up the stairs she felt an overwhelming tiredness assail her but carried on to Marie’s room regardless. She saw the two plainclothes officers and slipped into the day room to keep an eye out for their departure. Whatever she had said about Marie in the past, she was out and she was hurt. Also, Carole might need her old friend’s help at some point now she was in the shit with Patrick and probably with Tiffany as well.

When the coast was clear she walked towards the side room. Her

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face was screaming and her eyes nearly shut. She should be at home in bed. But that could wait. She was a streetwalker. Pain was something she had learned to suppress many years before.

Trying to smile so as not to frighten the woman in the bed she walked sedately into Marie’s room.

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Chapter Seven

Louise tidied up the lounge and as usual cleaned the glass on all her son’s photographs with a soft cloth. Each one was duly polished and gazed at, tears never far from her eyes.

Kevin watched her silently as she performed the ritual. Years ago the sight of her as she was now, looking vulnerable and sad, had broken his heart. Nowadays, it irritated him. Marshall was dead, they had two daughters living. One she tolerated, and that was the only word he could use about her relationship with Lucy, and the other daughter might as well be dead as far as her mother was concerned. In fact sometimes he thought it would have been better for all concerned if Marie had died.

Turning reproachful eyes towards him his wife said sadly, ‘I miss him so much, Kev. I still expect to hear his cheery voice in the morning. See his little face smiling at me. Sometimes it all seems too much to bear.’

She didn’t expect an answer, she had said the same thing twice a day since the boy died.

‘You have a grandson, another boy. Maybe you should have taken him in.’

Kevin walked into the kitchen and his wife followed him angrily.

‘Who the fuck’s rattled your cage?’

She was upset and for a few seconds he was contrite. Then he took a deep breath.

‘No one has rattled my cage, Lou, you just aggravate me at times talking about Marshall. You make him out to be a saint and he wasn’t, love. He wasn’t.’

Louise looked at him as if he was a complete stranger she had encountered in her kitchen. Her eyes were screwed up with hurt.

‘He was the best of the bunch. He could have been anything he wanted. And he wanted the best, for me and for him.’

Her words were uttered with a vehemence that startled her

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husband. They also annoyed him.

‘He wanted the best for you? Like I didn’t, is that what you’re saying? He would have provided you with whatever you wanted, is that it? I AM JUST THE USELESS PONCE WHO PAYS THE BILLS AND PUTS THE FOOD ON THE TABLE! But Saint bloody Marshall would have given you greater riches and made you proud, is that what this is all about? Is that why you had no time for your two girls, eh? They weren’t going to give you any reflected glory, were they? You make me sick.’

Louise picked up the canister that held the tea bags, and as she lifted it high he cried, ‘Don’t even think about it, Lou. I will slap you till your ears ring if you throw that fucking thing and I take oath on that. I hate this bloody house. Sitting in the front room is like sitting in a mausoleum - that boy’s face everywhere you look. No photos of the girls, though, eh, or your grandchildren. Only him. Saint Marshall. Well, you’d better listen to me and listen good. I am sick of hearing about him.’