Jail Bird (13 page)

Tiger Wu was hanging upside down in a garage under the railway arches, on one of the meaner streets of Peckham. There was a winch in here for lifting car engines out; they were heavy as a bastard, so it had been no problem at all hoisting Tiger up with the chains–he was a feather by comparison. His ponytail was brushing the floor. His face was suffused with angry colour. His hands were tied behind his back. He was in serious trouble.

He knew he was in serious trouble because Nick O’Rourke was standing there with a few of his boys. It was like a solid wall of muscle in here.

‘You were following Lily King,’ said Nick.

‘No I wasn’t,’ gasped out Tiger.

One of the meat-headed seventeen-stoners standing around passed Nick a claw hammer.

‘Yes you were,’ said Nick, and his eyes were like cold black pebbles in his stony face.

‘All right!’ Tiger’s eyes were fixed in panic on the claw hammer. ‘All right, I was.’

‘Better,’ said Nick. ‘Now, Tiger. Perhaps you don’t know it, but Lily King’s my friend’s wife, and long ago–when we were just boys still wet behind the ears–you know what I promised him?’

Tiger shook his head hard.

‘I promised him I’d look after Lily.’ Nick went over to the workbench and laid the hammer on it. Tiger visibly relaxed. ‘And now, what do I hear? That a removal man’s on her trail. That’s you, Tiger. Following Lily King. And now I’ve got a really important question to ask you, and you’d better answer it straight.’

‘Ask me,’ panted Tiger, straining against the rope binding his wrist, twitching about there on the end of the winch chain like a fish on a hook. ‘Anything, just ask me.’

‘Okay. Here we go.’ Nick leaned in close to where Tiger was suspended. ‘Here’s your starter for ten, Tiger. How much?’

‘Mm?’ Tiger was sweating, droplets plopping onto the concrete beneath him.

‘How much, Tiger? How much to off Lily King. Don’t make me ask again.’

‘Thirteen thou,’ said Tiger quickly. ‘Six and a half when I took the job, six and a half when it’s done.’

Nick nodded thoughtfully.

‘I wasn’t going to go through with it, though. I was just making it look good. I was gonna take off Saturday with the cash, leave it.’

‘But you were following her,’ said Nick.

‘To make it look good, I told you. Just for show, then I was gonna do a bunk.’

Nick was shaking his head now. ‘You’re a removals man, Tiger. That’s what you
do.
You got a reputation as a good solid worker. You ain’t–to my certain knowledge–ever
shafted anyone on a deal. So do yourself a favour and don’t give me any bullshit.’

‘But it’s true!’

‘It ain’t true, Tiger. Don’t try my patience, for the love of God. What you think I am, some kind of tosser? Now, who paid you?’ Nick thought he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear it from Tiger’s own lips. Tiger was a vicious and unscrupulous little tick: he’d off a baby and cheerfully do his own grandma for the price of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. No way would he pull back from completing a contract.

‘Come
on,
Tiger, I’m getting pissed off with this now,’ said Nick as Tiger seemed to hesitate. ‘Give me the name.’

Tiger let go then. ‘That
bastard
Freddy King. He’s a nutter. I only took the fucking job because I was afraid if I said no he’d do me because I was in the know. I don’t go in for offing women, Nick.’

Liar,
thought Nick. Tiger had only confirmed what he had suspected. Si was too shrewd to get anyone else involved at this early stage, but Freddy was a loose cannon. Freddy wanted Lily dead, and he was getting itchy to see it done. While Lily, of course, was swanning about the town like Paris Hilton, spending like a man with no arms—or rather sponging off Oli’s allowance, no way could an ex-con lay hands on enough money for the posh shops she was doing—and making a good clear target of herself.

The silly cow.

He didn’t know who was winding him up more—Freddy King, Tiger Wu or Lily herself. All three were treading pretty close to the edge with him right now.

‘Tiger,’ he said at last, ‘I appreciate your honesty. I really do. But I hope you understand the reasons why my boys here are going to give you a smacking.’

Tiger Wu thrashed on the end of the chain like a fresh-caught salmon. ‘Jesus—wait! Listen…’ he cried out.

‘I’m done listening,’ said Nick, and turned away and left.

The boys closed in and soon Tiger Wu’s shrieks echoed around the building, scattering the pigeons out in the wet, windblown street.

‘Good Christ,’ said Jack Rackland when they stepped inside Reba Stuart’s place that evening. ‘Talk about shagarama.’

Reba Stuart had a place in Soho, not just
a
place but apparently
the
place. The best not-so-little massage parlour in the whole town. There were eight or ten girls in the front room when Lily and Jack were shown in there, and they all looked like film stars.

‘One hundred and fifty an hour,’ said Reba proudly to Jack. ‘And by God they’re worth it.’

A gorgeous green-eyed brunette sauntered past Jack, giving him an enticing smile.

‘Yeah, but sadly I’m not a punter,’ said Jack, his eyes out on stalks. To Lily he added: ‘Monica would have my balls for breakfast if I hooked up with any of
this.’

‘I thought you and Monica were history.’

‘Hey, tell
her
that. She rants down the phone at me morning and night, like it’s
my
fault she went and did the dirty on me.’

‘Maybe it was. A bit.’

‘Oh don’t start. Jesus, the mouth on that woman, and she’s barely five feet high.’

To Lily it sounded as if Jack still loved Monica, but she had her own worries right now—like Reba Stuart.

Reba looked like everyone’s idea of a brassy barmaid. Big hourglass figure with cleavage prominently on display above a red glittery top, which was pulled in tight at the waist above a plain black pencil skirt. Too much make-up, fag-smoker’s lines around the overpainted mouth. Shrewd blue eyes, and white-blonde hair, dyed to a crisp and swept up on top of her head, instant facelift. Despite that, Reba looked a decade older than her forty years. Her face was hard and businesslike; all fake smiles and cold calculation.

Leo liked blondes,
thought Lily, feeling faintly sick.

‘You said you wanted to talk about Leo King?’ said Reba, leading the way through the totty-packed room and out into another, smaller, less lushly furnished. There was a table and chairs. She sat down, gestured for Jack and Lily to do the same. The harsh overhead light showed her lines up. She stared across at Lily. ‘And who’s this? Your assistant?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jack.

Lily glanced at him. He was good. Start calling it like it was too early and Reba might just clam shut on them.

‘I knew Leo years ago,’ said Reba, fishing out a packet of Dunhill’s and a gold lighter. ‘You don’t mind if I…?’

They both shook their heads.

Reba lit up and inhaled deeply, exhaling plumes of smoke through her nose. She coughed once, sharply. The wrinkles in her face deepened. Lily felt glad she had never cultivated the nicotine habit, not even to while away the hours in prison. But by God she could have used a drink right now. To think
of Leo in bed with this…and then coming home to her. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Maybe Becks was right. Maybe fidelity really
was
too much to expect from the type of man she’d married. She should have learned the rules and played the game. She’d taken it all too seriously, felt he was holding her up to ridicule among their circle of friends. But after all, he’d only hurt her pride—he hadn’t broken her heart.

Thoughts of Becks reminded Lily that she hadn’t heard from her in a little while. Maybe Becks still felt bad about having to turn Lily out in the cold. She decided she’d find the time to call her, patch things up. Maybe arrange to meet up with all the girls for lunch, just like they used to back in the good old days. She
missed
those times so much. But then…
what
girls? What friends did she really have left?

There was Becks. There would
always
be Becks. And Hairy Mary; yes, she could still be called a friend, Lily was sure of that. But Maeve was her enemy now—and, as for Adrienne, who she had once believed to be a pal, well, why on earth would she want to sit at a table with that back-stabbing cow grinning across at her?

‘First time I saw Leo King was…let me think…’ Another thoughtful puff of the ciggy. ‘Nineteen eighty-six. Late July. We were all sitting around watching Fergie get hitched to Prince Andrew at Westminster. Leo called right in the middle of it all, and some of the girls moaned on a bit. Like watching a fairy tale, that was. Then he calls and in they come, all the boys, and the romance of the day was sort of ruined, know what I mean?’ Reba winked. ‘They’d just come back straight from Amsterdam and they were loaded.’ Reba was staring at Lily, hard enough to make her feel uncomfortable. ‘I think
we all know what Amsterdam and large amounts of money adds up to, don’t we?’

Drug money,
thought Lily. Yeah, she knew. Turned a blind eye to all that, but she knew. She even thought she remembered him making the trip. And instead of coming straight home to her—yeah, and she’d been watching the wedding too, who hadn’t?—he’d concluded his business with the Dutch and come here instead to treat the boys, and, of course, himself.

Just boys letting off steam.

High-octane danger could do that with men. Do a moody deal, you half expect to get shipped back in a body bag. And if you
didn’t,
if some bastard didn’t off you or rob you or double-cross you before you made it home, there was a sense of release, a sense of needing to celebrate your success, to celebrate
life.
Because you still—against all expectations—had it.

So Leo had come to a knocking-shop instead of to her. They’d been engaged then, her and Leo—not even married. The first flush of lust should have been on them, but she had still been pining over Nick, still trying to come to terms with losing him, and Leo had preferred to bed a tart. That just about said it all.

‘’Course, they got it easy out there in clog land,’ said Reba. ‘Legalized prostitution. Must be heaven on earth. Not like here, with the Bill always sniffing around. Oh yeah, I remember Leo King. He was great in bed.’

Lily was glad she wasn’t smoking—she’d have choked at that point. Jack sent her a quick look, but twelve years inside had taught her to keep her face straight and her head down.

‘I didn’t run the gaff then, I was one of the workers,’ Reba elaborated. ‘We had a big selection of girls then, just like
now. Asians, Swedes, blacks, all beautiful. The men could pick and choose, double up, whatever. Leo picked me, he liked blondes.’

Lily felt bile rise into her throat. She swallowed it.
Willed
her face to stay blank.

‘And Jesus could that man perform. He kept on coming back for more…’ Reba blew out smoke, her eyes suddenly dreamy…‘I remember the last time he came here. Another Amsterdam trip. Our last night.
His
last night. I saw it in the papers later that week. He was dead. The most alive man I ever met, and he was stone-dead. Only it wasn’t another
gang
killed him, as you might expect. It was his ever-loving wife.’

Reba was staring at Lily again. Now she started nodding. ‘I know who you are. You’re not his assistant. You’re Lily King,’ she said. ‘You’re the bitch who did poor Leo.’

Lily felt her blood run cold.

‘What?’ Lily sat there, open-mouthed, startled.

Reba was still nodding her bleached-blonde head. ‘Yeah. You’re Lily King. Saw you in the papers and on the telly when the trial started.’ She took a contemplative drag on her ciggie then said: ‘Girl, you ain’t aged a
bit.
’

Well, you’ve aged about a hundred years,
thought Lily.

‘Was it just business then?’ Lily asked slowly. ‘You and Leo?’

‘What, you gonna blow
my
brains to fuck too?’ Reba gave a snort and angrily stubbed out her cigarette in a glass ashtray. ‘I can’t believe they let you out already. You should have
died
inside.’

Part of me did,
thought Lily.
Maybe the best part.

‘Well I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I’m alive, Leo’s dead and here’s the latest bulletin—I didn’t kill him.’

‘The fuck you didn’t.’

‘Ladies,’ said Jack, holding up his hands.

‘Did
you?
’ asked Lily.

‘You
what?
’

‘You heard the question. Did you kill Leo? Was it a bit more than business for you? Did he take you home, to
my
home, and did he give you a line or two of something, a nice little bonus from clog land. Did you have a downer and turn nasty?’

‘This ain’t getting us anywhere,’ said Jack.

‘Yeah, he took me back there, gave me the guided tour. That was some place you had, you and him. You were a lucky cow and I doubt you appreciated it one little bit. He had a good deal going on, a big carousel scam, he told me about it. Pillow talk.’ She gave Lily a sour smile. ‘Look at your fucking face. You don’t even know what a carousel scam
is,
do you?’

Lily didn’t. She’d never known a thing about Leo’s business: that was the way he wanted to play it and that was just fine with her. But this news burned her like a hot branding iron pressed against her flesh. He’d kept her in the dark and fed her bullshit, okay, she’d accepted that. But meanwhile, he’d been telling all his whores the juicy details? That hurt.

‘Why don’t you enlighten us?’ asked Jack, shooting looks between the two. He didn’t want a ruck; he knew that once the fur started flying there’d be nothing achieved here. But Lily and Reba were eyeing each other like gladiators in a Roman arena.

‘Look, it’s simple,’ said Reba. ‘It’s the sweetest swindle you can imagine. You bring your goods into Britain and you’re supposed to pay VAT to the taxman and then charge it to whoever bought the goods. If they were re-exported, the exporter claimed a rebate. With me so far?’

Jack and Lily nodded. Lily’s teeth were gritted; this smug cow.

‘The thing is, Leo never paid VAT in the first place, but he still claimed the rebate. He had a thing going where he imported and exported the same stuff—phones and computer stuff mostly—over and over again. Top dollar. I mean, really. We’re talking millions here. Course you can’t do it now, the taxman’s got clever. Brought in a new system, plugged the loophole. But while it was good, it was
really
good. Leo made a
packet.’
Reba looked at Lily with contempt. ‘And you spent it I suppose. And then you went and topped the poor bastard. Talk about killing the golden fucking goose.’

‘Hey—
smartarse,
’ Lily leaned forward across the table, her lips pulled back in an expression that was more snarl than smile, her eyes fierce. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I didn’t do Leo. But by fuck I’m going to find out who did. And my best guess so far? One of you
slags
he knocked about with.’

‘Oh yeah, sure. You getting yourself banged up for it was all a big mistake, that right?’ Reba affected a bored yawn but Jack could see that Lily’s last comment had hit home.

‘Listen, you cheap cow—’ said Lily.

‘No!
You
listen: what did you think, you were marrying a saint in Leo King? Fuck’s sake, get real. Image is what matters to men like that. A mistress is a status symbol, show off to your mates, prove how much money you’re pulling in.’

‘Mistress?’ Lily scoffed. ‘Hardly that, luv. Just a
tart.
’

‘Yeah? Why’d he keep coming back then?
You
couldn’t have been keeping him fully occupied in the bedroom department, that’s for sure. Look, a man like that needs a woman on his arm when he’s out on the town. It’s a nice bonus, on
top of the four-wheel drive and the luxury home in Chigwell in a couple of acres, the lovely kids and the
wife
who’s not too bright and don’t suspect a thing—a wife who’s happy to take the cash and not question where it comes from too closely. Am I right or am I right?’

Not too bright.

The words clanged around Lily’s head like a struck gong. Yeah, that was how everyone must have seen her. The little woman indoors. Meek and dim, happy to get down the shops and splurge while Leo was having a
splurge
all of his own with tarts like Reba, sad clingers-on like Adrienne and head-cases like Alice Blunt.

She’d only suspected Adrienne. Hadn’t had a clue about the rest of them. And there were more. More she hadn’t met yet. She felt sick now, really sick.

‘You smug bitch,’ she said, low-voiced, furious.

Reba’s eyes flashed. ‘Listen, I never hurt anyone in my life, but let me tell you, lady, Leo King was a diamond, so I’m willing to start with you.’

Reba jumped to her feet and was half across the table when Jack caught her around the waist and pulled her back, away from Lily.

‘Now take it
easy,
’ said Jack, grappling with Reba like an all-in wrestler.

Lily stepped around the table. ‘No, come on, let her go,’ she said. She’d dealt with some lairy old lags inside, she wasn’t afraid of Reba Stuart.

‘No, I
ain’t
letting her go,’ said Jack, and he looked angry now. ‘Go and wait outside, Lily, for fuck’s sake.’

Lily took a deep, shuddering breath. Then she turned on her heels and walked back through the lounge, still packed with the bevy of bored-looking beautiful girls. They watched
curiously as she went out of the front door and slammed it hard behind her.

She waited, breathing hard with suppressed fury. That lowlife
bitch.
Suddenly she felt weighed down, weary to her bones. She could search and search forever, but was she ever going to find any answers? Suddenly it all seemed hopeless, impossible. She couldn’t win, and she ought to just admit that, give it up.

Jack came out within five minutes.

He stood there, looking at her with concern.

‘You okay?’

‘I’m
fine.
’ Lily’s teeth were gritted with the effort of keeping control of her emotions. Her whole life had been such a mess. Losing Nick. Losing Leo. Years in stir. And now, nothing but fighting and struggling, and she was tired, just sick and tired and worn out and sad.

‘Don’t act like such a hard-arse. You’re not fine at all, you’re in bits.’

Lily started to walk away, back to the car. Jack followed, caught her arm; turned her back to face him.

‘Listen, Lily,’ he said gently. ‘It’ll all work out. We’ll make it, okay? I’ll help you. Be a friend to you. But don’t keep pushing me away. You’ve got to trust me.’