Matilda Wren (7 page)

He smiled slightly. He needed to hear that. He needed to know she was still his, always his. But he was still preoccupied. He had to know. He had to ask.

“Then, why did you finish it?”

Rachel looked at him, she could barely speak. He was slowly bringing her to ecstasy and now he wanted to talk.

He needed answers though. She accepted that.

She clenched herself tightly around him and felt his reaction. He breathed in huskily.

“You feel that? Me and you together… that intense wanting… the hunger that’s there between us?”

Sean couldn’t answer. The euphoric provocation she was instrumentally creating was too much for him.

“That is why I left. We can’t handle it now, let alone when we were seventeen. I had to stop it Sean, before it got too much to control.”

“What do you mean, we can’t handle it now?” The obscurity in his voice was evident.

“You’re trembling like anything… so am I.”

He realised then, the effect they had on each other. He didn’t know what it was; scientists would explain it as a series of chemical reactions, caused by neurons firing in the synapse. All he knew was that she felt like electric. She made him buzz all over and he hadn’t snorted a line in hours.

This was a completely natural high and it was all reciprocated. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He was so used to taking women as and when he pleased, he forgot what it was like for one to actually want him back.

To be lying on her back for him because she enjoyed him touching her and kissing her; to have her body physically shake in pleasure. It all came back. Those feelings he felt when they were together.

He thought his heart would burst with the amount of love he had for her. It was almost suffocating. There was a pull around his lungs, which made it hard to breathe. He could feel himself thrusting into her more. It became harder and faster, he tried to slow it down but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to hurt her.

He was terrified of doing just that but she felt so unbelievably good. He never imagined in all his fantasies that it would feel like this. Just when he thought he really was going to lose control, she rolled him over, so she was on top of him. Grabbing his wrists above his head, she rode him with as much ferocity as he had her.

Sean was in complete awe. He had never had a women take charge when it came to sex. The faceless women would lay still waiting for it all to be over. Rachel was delightfully different in so many ways.

She arched backwards, so she could take more of him in. He felt mind-blowing. She had fantasised about this so many times and the reality definitely outweighed the fantasy. She had missed him so much. She now knew what it felt to be complete. He had filled the hole inside her heart, which had been gapping wide open.

She had never given herself to anyone fully before. Not with her mind and not with her body, but Sean got it all.

She felt so abundant with him, self assured and confident.

Nobody had ever made her feel like this. As they came together, she realised she was totally and entirely his.

There was never any going back.

Chapter 5

Kenny Maltrowitz was an incredibly charming Jewish man. He had arrived in England during World War II, when he was a small boy, with his family. He was as cockney as they came but every now and then, when it suited or benefi ted him, he would revert to his former ethnicity.

He owned a number of back street pawn shops all over Essex and played an active role in the running of each one.

He was an incredibly shrewd man, especially when it came to money. He knew where every penny he made was. His school teacher used to say, “Take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves.” It had stayed with him all his life. It was what had made him his fortune and given him the ability to take care of his family.

When they arrived in London in 1942, they had the clothes on their back and nothing else. Kenny’s father worked hard all his life, to provide for his family and made sure his children received an education.

He had worked in all kinds of jobs to ensure this. It had completely devastated Kenny when he died. He was only fourteen and it was suddenly his responsibility to take care of his mother and his two younger sisters.

Kenny would take on as many jobs as he could, before and after school. He would knock on doors and offer his services for all sorts of work. Shoe shinning and chopping firewood were normally the ones chosen, by many of his customers. It was during his time doing this that he came across a man named Vince Paddock, who seemed to take a shine to him and took him under his wing for a while.

Vince Paddock was an associate of the notorious criminal family, the O’Leary’s. Kenny was never fully informed of the relationship between Vince and the O’Leary Brothers and he never met them face to face, he just knew of the stories that Vince and his friends would tell. He paid Kenny to be his eyes and ears, out on the street.

Vince saw him as a bright kid, plus he was impressed with the business that Kenny had managed to conjure up for himself. If anybody in the east end of London wanted anything doing, Kenny would be the one they called on. He was quick and reliable.

He was especially good with fixing broken things; furniture, clocks, musical instruments. But above all, he was quiet. He didn’t ask questions and he did as he was told.

This attracted certain types of people, who trusted him to be around their home or workplace.

This was post war Britain and ordinary folk did not have the money to pay someone to fix their broken clock, or shine their shoes or chop their wood. Most of his customers were members of society that like to keep a private life; either people in authority such as Judges, M.P’s, Policemen or people that were more likely to follow the same path as Vince or the O’Leary Brothers.

To Vince, both were equally important. It was Kenny’s job to listen and report back. He very quickly learnt that by saying nothing, people would reveal a whole lot more than they intended to, especially if they thought you weren’t listening. Vince taught Kenny that information was the most valuable asset a man could own. If they had the right information, they could name their price.

He had taught him the benefits of working in a small team, keeping a low profile and only dealing with people that come recommended. But the most important lesson Kenny learnt, was always pay your suppliers promptly and in full. That way, they will use you again.

Unfortunately, what Vince had failed to realise was that, if you were going to sell information, you had to decide on which side of the fence you sat. You couldn’t sell to both sides.

If you were going to transact with the police, then you had to take the status of a paid informant; though that of course came with its own risks. Or you sold within the criminal infrastructure, between the different crime families that ran the width and breadth of the country.

Vince got greedy and made the mistake of trying to sell to both, which only ended in having a price on his own head from both. It was never really established which side got him, but it happened all the same. He washed up on the embankment, next to the building site of the Thameside Restaurant. It was in the process of being turned into, what is now, the National Film Theatre.

Kenny however wasn’t that bothered. Vince had taught him all he needed to know, directly and indirectly. He had also left him quite a large sum of money in his will, which had enabled Kenny to start his legal enterprises.

Kenny still traded and sold information. Sixty nine years old and he was still at the top of his game. He was admired and feared simultaneously, by most people he had met in his lifetime and was now able to live on his reputation alone.

His silver grey hair retained shards of ebony, revealing the blackness it once held. Beady, pallid irises, almost colourless, blended into the whites that lay underneath.

Old kind eyes that could be replaced with a fear-provoking stare, by the mere dilation of dark furtive pupils.

The lines around his jaw gave him more of a distinguished and illustrious style, rather than the old and ripened age it should show, assisted by the fine-cut tailored suits; his trademark attire. The opened top buttons of his crisp white shirt revealed skin that was not grey and saggy but toned and with an olive complexion. His total physical presence commanded utter attention.

Over the years, he had expanded his little profitable business of intelligence laundering and branched out into information gathering. This meant that if anybody wanted to find someone or dirt on someone, he was the person to go to.

He took full advantage of all technological advances that had occurred over his life time and there wasn’t any security he couldn’t work his way around. The boom of the internet in the 90’s helped his business no end. Nobody could really hide then.

He had the pawn shops for legitimate reasons. He had children and grandchildren and wanted to leave them something that was honest and clean. The money from his other business was dirty. Kenny was as bent as they came but his family was everything to him and he never involved them in his other dealings. Not even his wife knew about his other life and the incredibly dangerous and violent men he dealt with on a daily basis.

It’s funny but a lot of wives and girlfriends of the criminal fraternity do not know what their man is really involved with. They frolic in the fantasy of being married to a bad boy, a face, they enjoy the money and the big houses and flash cars and the expensive clothes but they generally have no idea of the extent of their partner’s ventures.

Kenny believed this was a good thing. He never let on to his old woman, when she was alive, although she was probably turning, make that spinning, in her grave; god rest her soul. Kenny had done some bad things in his life. Things he wasn’t particularly proud of. He justified those parts in his life that were deemed unholy, by telling himself that he did what had to be done.

He ran a risky business and dealt with some low lives of the world. Sometimes people would try to pay him retribution and he would manage that, as and when it happened. Kenny’s gift was always being one step ahead.

He knew to expect the unexpected. It had served him well and more importantly, kept him alive.

Even now, he could still handle himself, although his reputation alone these days provided him in good stead and he rarely had to exercise any physical assurances to protect himself. He hoped those days were over. He didn’t like violence, couldn’t condone it. Especially when it was directed at people who were weak and had no way of protecting themselves.

But mainly it was the blood. The sight of it made him feel ill. The colour, the thickness of it. It was glupey and warm. Sometimes it gushed, other times it trickled but it freaked him out every time. He learnt to control his physical reaction to it, to suppress the automatic gag reflexes.

The only time violence should ever be used is in self defence. That was how he defended his actions. He took them out, before they took him out. It was the way of life for people like him. That was why he was so intent on building up his legit businesses; so his family would not have to walk down the path that he did.

He made sure they had the opportunities that he never had. His children had attended the best private schools, as his grandchildren also did now. He made sure his sister’s families were provided for. Family was important to Kenny.

His parents instilled that into him at an early age and it was probably why he took the death of his father badly. He also thought it was why he had accepted Vince’s attentions so hurriedly but he had learnt a lot from the older man and realised what a commodity he was to Vinnie.

So he applied some of the techniques he had acquired to his own businesses, such as keeping a small crew of young wannabes around him. If you got them young enough, they remained loyal. He ensured they dressed well, as they were representing him. A uniform commands respect; it’s important to look good.

Kenny knew he was being watched all the time, by the authorities, new emerging crews and by normal folk, so his boys would be suited and booted at all times.

Imprisonment is an occupational hazard, although Kenny had never had a capture, he made sure that if it was ever going to happen, his businesses would be protected.

Having a steady turnover of young associates ensured his place at the top was secured.

The shop he owned in Romford stood in the middle of Victoria Road. The front had two huge glass windows with bars on them, exhibiting second hand televisions, stereos and other electrical equipment such as games consoles, irons and hair dryers. There was neon yellow cardboard stars with various promotions written in black marker pen, stuck down either side of the large glass area.

The signage above bore the signature ‘
Maltrowitz

Lendings
’ in white calligraphy on a black background and was painted by Kenny’s own hand, as were the signs on all of his shops. Between the tasteless florescent advertising, the windows bore a description of the place of business, declaring Kenny a jewellery specialist.