The Business (59 page)

‘Over what? Why did they fall out?’

She knew then, without a doubt, that she was going to be the cause of something very big, and something very dangerous.

‘Well, answer me, you fucking scab.’ He was bellowing at her now and kneeling on the bed, he grabbed her by her throat and, holding her down so she couldn’t move, he said nastily, ‘Answer me or I will fucking take your face off! I will punch you until you look like a fucking piece of raw beef. I’ll break every bone in your fucking face, and I’ll rip your fucking lips off. When I am finished with you fucking Baby Jane Hudson will pull more blokes than you will.’

Lisa was choking, and he heard the sound of her absolute terror. It finally penetrated through his anger and his hate that she was near death. He loosened his grip on her throat and watched her as she coughed and spluttered, as she drew a long, deep breath into her lungs. He had nearly finished her off, and they both knew that.

Lisa was red eyed, and she was already crying. She was huddled against the bed now; bereft of her former confidence she looked what she was, a frightened young girl who had opened her mouth once too often. She knew that even if she walked away from this lot, she would still have to deal with Jamsie when he found out that she was the cause of his latest problem. And that was without this man’s mother; she was already well known as being five cards short of a full deck. How this had happened so quickly was the real frightener though, this man had gone from tender lover to a psychotic animal in minutes. The danger she had always been attracted to was now being shown to her in all its terrifying reality.

Lisa Marks had just learnt a very valuable lesson; in the world she was so determined to become a major part of, you keep your trap shut no matter who you might be talking to. If they knew what you knew, then why bother to enlighten them about it all over again? If they didn’t know what you knew, however, then there was probably a fucking good reason for that. Idle chatter could get innocent people banged up, beaten up or, in extreme cases, murdered. Talking for effect was a sin that was not to be tolerated by the likes of Kenny Boy or his peers.

They only survived because they kept a tightly closed mouth, and a healthy suspicion of everyone around them. That this little tart knew something he didn’t told Kenny Boy that his friendship with Jamsie had blocked people’s willingness to confide in him about anything that might pertain to his nearest and dearest.

That Jamsie was fucking around on his sister was bad enough, but he could swallow that. Men were men after all, but Jamsie’s collusion with their mother was another ball game entirely. That was something else again. And, as Lisa spewed out everything she knew, Kenny Boy listened with growing disgust. He had to sort this lot out, and sooner rather than later.

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘Look, Kenny. I
have
got the hump with Jamsie, but you can’t come here all fucking hellfire and threats; you should have fucking had your eye on the ball. He has been in cahoots with that skank of a mother of yours for a long time. They go back fucking years them two. He was trumping her at one time, I heard that one
yonks
ago. Dexter is his front; Jamsie just can’t resist the poke that can be earned off the young girls. He gets them on the pipe or the needle, depending on what the poor whores prefer, and then he outs them on the pavement. If they last five years they have had a result. I work in the flesh game, but I deal with fucking adults. I don’t want the skaggers, they fuck up, and when they finally fuck up big time, they tend to take you down with them.’

Basil poured himself a large brandy and, gulping it down quickly, he said sarcastically, ‘You made a rod for your own back there; you brought your mother back into fashion, and Jamsie was safe because of your sister’s association with him. Who the fuck was going to come and tell
you
that you were being fucking scammed by your own nearest and dearest?’

Kenny was still trying to control himself. He wanted to hurt Basil now, he knew that even though he was telling him the truth, his humiliation was such that he would happily knife him just to shut the fucker up. ‘Who else knew about it?’

Basil sighed. His heart went out to the boy, but this was a long time coming, and now it had finally happened, all they could do was get it sorted out and then put it behind them. ‘A lot of people I should imagine, Kenny, you made your mark, and you made it well. A bit too well, in many respects. No one wanted to be the one to bring you the bad news. You have a fucking habit of going Greek on people. You want to kill the bearer of the news, and in our world that is a fucking big no-no. Even I was wary of putting you wise; me and Jamsie have been at each other’s throats for a long time. I knew the score with him, but to everyone it looked like you were countenancing it all. No one likes the little girls being pumped out, and pimping isn’t the most respected of professions anyway. But if you keep to the rules you are all right. Once you step over the line you lose all your goodwill, your respect and your credibility. Jamsie has only been able to get away with it because of you. Because of Jordanna. He brought your mother in and she is the one who finds them, grooms them, and disables them. She ensures they are dependent on her and him, it ain’t like she would find something so despicable beyond her capabilities, is it? We all know she is fucking without anything even resembling morals or decency. She sees those girls without any compassion or guilt, they’re paper money to her, nothing more. I can’t believe she’s had the fucking front to do it all again. Not after last time. I thought I had taught her a fucking lesson. But she never changes. And what you need to do now is decide how you are going to sort this out. You have no need to feel any allegiance to your mother, she is a fucking hard old bird. But you know that Jamsie has Jordanna onside. And, whatever else I might think of him, he cares about her. He genuinely cares about that girl. Even he couldn’t fake that. I wonder if Jordanna will still swallow him, even if she finds out about this.’

Kenny had never felt like this before. He knew now what it was to be
too
revered, and he saw that his reputation for violent retaliation was such that even the powers-that-be were loath to bring such terrible skulduggery to his ears. They saw it as his problem, not theirs, so it was up to him to find out about it, and eventually do something about it. And he would, but he had to sort it out in such a way that he kept his self-respect along with his sister’s affection.

 

Mary Dooley was astounded at what she had heard. She knew there was something snidey going on with Imelda but she couldn’t prove it. But then there was always something snidey going on with her, it was what she was. Imelda was capable of literally anything, as she had proved over and over again.

Kenny was a broken man; he was still too young to have the experience that something of this enormity needed so that it could be dealt with properly.

‘She killed your father and she blamed poor Jordanna; she destroyed her own daughter without a thought. She’s caused more death and hate than anyone else since Hitler decided to grow a moustache and give himself a fucking comb-over. She has ruined my life, both of your lives. She is now ruining other lives. Jamsie and her in cahoots, well, you know what they say don’t you? Show me the company you keep and I’ll tell you what you are. My husband used to say that, and never a truer word was spoken. Jorge will have to be told and you’ll have to do it. She will believe it if it comes from you. But it will destroy her all over again.’

Kenny Boy was not saying anything, and that alone told Mary how serious this situation actually was. He was sitting there in her lovely comfortable armchair just staring into space. He looked strange, he looked as mad as people said he was once they were away from him, and behind closed doors. Kenny Boy was the product of his mother’s life, as was poor Jordanna.

Kenny Boy had that same coldness about him that Imelda possessed. But, unlike her, he was capable of deep feelings for the people he cherished whereas Imelda had been gone from them all the day she had been delivered of her first armful.

It was always about the drugs with her, and the people who gravitated to the addict’s lifestyle. She was drawn to the filth and the scum of society; people who were like her. Whose whole existence was about nothing more than getting enough money to bankroll their habit, to keep themselves on the right side of chemical numbness.

Mary felt old suddenly. Her sons had been in her mind a lot recently, she knew their renewed interest in her was because they wanted to cash in on Kenny Boy’s notoriety. She remembered the way she had been held over a barrel time and time again by her daughter, and how she had been forced to sit back and wait for her to get fed up with her kids before she would once more leave them with her. Then she would have the unenviable task of trying to undo all the damage their sojourn with their mother had caused them. Now, after all these years, Imelda had managed to do it again; she had destroyed her children’s lives without even trying.

Mary went out to the kitchen to get some more tea, it was all she could think of to do. The fear was already upon her, and she knew that, this time, there would be no going back for any of them.

 

Jordanna was watching Jamsie closely; he was like a nervous schoolgirl and she knew instinctively that whatever was wrong with him also affected her somehow. His skin was almost grey and he looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He was slumped over somehow, his shoulders drooped, and he looked beaten. She was frightened to question him about it, she knew that whatever he said would only break her heart. She was still recovering from the loss of the latest foetus. She always thought of them as a foetus, the term baby had far too much resonance for her. ‘Baby’ conjured up images of prams and cots, of crying and love. A baby had the capacity to become a person and engendered hope and dreams; it was far too emotive a word. So, foetus was the lesser of two evils where she was concerned. It was no more than a bunch of cells that
could
become a baby, but wasn’t one quite yet.

‘Are you all right, Jamsie?’ She was sorry for asking him, she didn’t want to hear what he answered her. But she knew he was waiting for her to open up the lines of communication, he was looking at her as if he had never met her before, as if she was a complete stranger to him.

‘Are you going to answer me, Jamsie?’

He nodded his head and she noticed that even his dreads, that normally looked so alive, so unruly, were suddenly looking very lank and sorry for themselves. ‘I’ve fucked up, Jorge. I’ve fucked up big time.’

Jamsie saw the beauty of her eyes, and knew just how much he really did care for her. He knew he should have guessed that his greed would be uncovered eventually. Imelda had always had the power of the gab, but he couldn’t blame her for his predicament. He had seen the arrangement as a subtle dig at Kenny Boy and everyone around him. He had ruined everything himself, and now he knew he had to pay the price. Kenny Boy had beaten little Lisa to a pulp, and her friend had been good enough to call him from the hospital and fill him in on the details.

Lisa would live, but she would not be out clubbing for a good while; he had arranged a few quid for her since she would be out of circulation for at least six months. He also knew that her friend was as loose-lipped as Lisa, so she would be telling all and sundry, in strictest confidence of course, exactly what had happened to her friend; who had done the dirty deed, and why it had been done to her in the first place. It was a complete abortion, and the worst thing of all was that it was an abortion of his own making.

‘What have you done, Jamsie?’

Jordanna had guessed he was not the faithful type and she had accepted that. She wondered briefly if Kenny had found out about one of his extra-curricular activities. Kenny Boy was capable of causing the Third World War if the fancy took him. But she knew that Kenny Boy would have spoken to Jamsie on the quiet, would not have brought that hurt to her front door. Then a fear gripped her heart as she asked him quietly, ‘Have you got someone else pregnant, Jamsie? Is that what this is all about?’

Jamsie went to her then, his heart sorry for what she had felt compelled to ask him. ‘No, never in a million years, Jorge.’

She believed him, convinced herself in those few minutes that nothing else could be that bad, could hurt her as much. She was to find out that she was wrong about that assumption, so very, very wrong.

 

Paula Derby was sixteen but she looked about twelve. It was the heavy make-up, it made her look even younger than she was. She was built like a boy, much to her own consternation, and she had been a runaway for just over two years. Until she had been introduced to Imelda she had lived on the streets and survived by begging.

Her babyish looks, and her pleasing smile, had made that quite a lucrative enterprise. But she had found the first winter on the pavement very hard. As a minor who
looked
like a minor, she had not been able to use a lot of the hostels or homeless shelters. She had found out just how dangerous the streets could be; she had been raped within the first three weeks by two city boys overloaded on drink and drugs. She had suffered two muggings by other homeless women, losing her boots the second time. She had developed a hacking cough, and a penchant for letting her body be used in return for food, drink or drugs. Imelda had been like a saviour when she had been brought to her house by another runaway she had met while begging in Covent Garden.

Imelda had put her up, fed her food and the brown. She had scrubbed her, supplied her with new clothes, and helped her get a regular stint on the pavements at Kings Cross.

Like many of the girls, she was now almost totally dependent on Imelda, and looked to her for her every move. That Imelda took a cut for her trouble was expected; in reality Paula had never had it so good.