The Know (3 page)

‘All right, Fatty?’

The good-natured call made him smile. He waved back happily, glad to be noticed. He was practically beaming as he shouted down, ‘Hot enough for you?’

The man carried on walking without answering and Tommy felt a moment’s embarrassment. He settled himself once more and observed the girls below as they chatted and laughed. He could hear Beenie Man blaring out from Kira’s flat so knew her brother Jon Jon was still around and that her mother had gone to work. They watched her like a hawk - and so they should after all.

The thought made him smile, but this was quickly wiped from his face as he heard the front door slam.

His father was home. Tommy waited patiently for the baiting to begin.

 
‘Why do we come in so early?’

Monika’s voice was slurred as she drank copiously from a bottle of cheap Bacardi.

‘That’ll get you in the end, girl. Quicker than anything, Bacardi is.’

‘Oh, fuck off, Lena, and give me a break!’

Lena, a young Scottish girl, sighed and raised her eyebrows as she looked at Joanie who shook her head, telling her to mind her own business.

‘I like that necklace, Lena. New, is it?’ Monika commented.

The girl preened herself. She had just acquired a new pimp and so presents were still on the agenda; it was always the way with the younger ones.

‘It was made for a much slimmer neck, of course.’

Monika was spoiling for a row and it showed. Lena was a chunky girl and in truth the necklace was far too delicate for her. But it wasn’t the necklace that rankled with Monika, it was what it stood for. They were all aware of that. No one was going to bother cajoling Monika into switching pimps.

Lena was a laugh though, and said good-naturedly, ‘Well, I’m sorry about that but I don’t know Frank Bruno well enough to borrow his jewellery.’

Even Monika laughed, then said nastily, ‘Here it comes, Miss fucking World!’

Lena shook her head.

‘She’s too young. I’m sorry, but he should draw the line.’

The young girl was more than aware of the stir she was causing. It was just getting dark so business would pick up soon and she knew the chances were she would get the next strike. She also knew it would cause aggravation. But she wasn’t too bothered; she had good back up. At fourteen she thought she knew it all, and unfortunately already knew far too much about some things, only she was too stupid to see that for herself. She was a runaway so that made it easy for the men who preyed on women to get her working the street.

Monika’s tutting was so loud it made Joanie laugh.

‘Leave her alone. She has to put up with Todd McArthur - she’ll soon learn.’

Todd was a young pimp who concentrated on the new girls. He was good-looking, quietly spoken and vicious. All his girls were in love with him, even after he gave them the bad news. Unlike the older women who had no illusions about the men who lived off them, the younger girls had to experience the downside before they actually realised they were stuck there for the best part of their lives. A good pimp could track a girl who absconded within twenty-four hours, and frequently did that. The beating they then received and the fear of a repetition kept them on their toes or on their backs, whichever way you wanted to look at it.

A week in hospital was something to learn from and anyone too thick to toe the line afterwards was asking for all they got. Or that, at least, was the general consensus among the women.

A blue Escort pulled up by the side of the road and a small white man with a bad combover smiled at Monika. He was a regular and as she walked to the car she gave the younger girl a smirk that told her all she needed to know. Regulars were what they all wanted; they made life so much easier, gave you a chance to relax - something you could never do with a stranger, especially with the mad bastards they dealt with on a daily basis.

‘Thank fuck she’s gone, Joanie. Her drinking is getting worse!’ Lena moaned.

Joanie sighed but didn’t comment.

‘That little girl’s on crack. Look, she’s fucking rocking.’

They watched her for a few moments before moving away.

‘McArthur’s a shitbag, ain’t he?’

Joanie nodded before answering, ‘Talking of shitbags . . .’

They laughed as their own pimp, Paulie Martin, chased the girl off, physically as well as verbally. He walked towards them then, his handsome face openly shocked.

‘That McArthur will be opening a fucking crèche soon, eh?’

‘That child was cracked out of her box.’

‘She’ll get a crack across the fucking head if she talks to me like that again!’ He was smoothing down his designer suit. ‘I want you in a parlour, Joanie.’

She smiled. It was better in the massage parlours though she was only asked if he was desperate and she knew that.

‘Okey-doke, how long for?’

‘Just get in the motor, will ya? It’s like pimping for William G. Stewart. No questions, just move.’

One thing in Paulie’s favour, he was funny and the girls appreciated his humour. It had lightened more than a few crap evenings.

He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Lena, you tell that little cunt McArthur if I see any of his girls within pissing distance of mine again, I’ll break his fucking neck.’

‘All right, Mr Martin.’

As Joanie was driven to East Ham she relaxed. This was a bit of luck and she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

‘You look happy, Joanie.’

Paulie smiled at her and she melted. He was devastatingly handsome and knew it, from his thick black curly hair to his deep blue eyes. He was heavy-set and not as tall as he would have liked but he had something about him and whatever it was, it made women want him. In his game that was definitely a bonus. He had learned early in life that a smile and a well-timed compliment could get you anything you wanted from certain women.

Paulie rubbed her leg above the knee as he drove and Joanie smiled once more. He was a bastard but he was her bastard, so she forgave him anything. She knew he was giving her the scrapings but she was also wise enough to appreciate that that was about all she was going to get these days so she enjoyed it while she could.

She could still hack it with a certain type of punter, though. She had the cheap and cheerful look that appealed to the older men. Joanie was the pensioner’s friend, and she was glad of it. You rarely got a tip but it was over in no time so that was a bonus. In fact, she was perfect for a massage parlour in many respects. The men who used them were lazy and frightened of being seen kerb crawling: locals who tended to use the one nearest the pub, or out-of-towners who worked nearby and came in flashing their money and their false smiles. It was cheap as well; none of the girls was ever going to be in the hundred-quid-a-fuck market anyway so all in all it worked out fine.

Paulie was clever enough to know the kind of girls who would make him money: not too good-looking but not complete dogs either - that was all right on the kerb, but not in the comfortable surroundings of a parlour. Equally if the girls were too good-looking they frightened the men off; he had noticed that over the years. As Paulie told anyone who’d listen, most men rented a bit of strange so they could feel in control. Men without money and prestige were easily intimidated by women who were too good-looking, they felt that they had to be nicer to them. His girls, and he used the term loosely, were just the right side of trollop to suit his clients’ needs.

As they pulled up outside the parlour he yawned.

‘Ask Jon Jon if he wants a job with me. I’ve heard he’s making a bit of a name for himself around and about.’

Joanie nodded.

‘OK. How long am I working tonight?’

‘One of the girls has gone on the missing list. Probably a few days.’ Paulie yawned once again then said, ‘Fucking real, ain’t it? All I done for her and she goes on the trot.’

Joanie kept her own counsel. She was more than aware of what he had done for the girl; he had done the same for her and look where it had got her.

‘Don’t hurt her when you find her . . .’

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead he leaned across her and opened the car door.

‘Be good, Joanie.’

She nodded.

‘Oh, and do me a favour, will you? Keep your fucking opinions on my working practices to yourself in future. I own you, Joanie, like I own all my girls, and if I ever found I wanted you lot to have opinions, I’d book myself into the nearest mental institution sharpish just to teach meself a lesson, OK?’

She nodded once more. The anger in his voice was evident and she knew he could turn on a coin.

‘Well?’

She nodded harder this time.

He rolled his eyes.

‘I mean, fuck off, Joanie! Now!’

He was bellowing and his voice was loud enough to be heard above the traffic. Joanie jumped from the car as fast as she could and scurried into the massage parlour. She was humiliated and hurt, and the worst thing was, it showed.

Gaynor Coleman shook her head sadly and said, ‘That man is a ponce.’

Joanie, as usual the joker, said, ‘That man is everyone’s ponce, ain’t he? He
is
a pimp after all!’

All the older women laughed with her and she felt better. But it had hurt, the way he had spoken to her, had hurt her deeply considering all the years she had given him.

She sat down with the girls. The smell of baby oil and cigarette smoke was overpowering, but at least it was better than exhaust fumes and the drunken ranting of Monika.

She had her first punter ten minutes later.

Joanie’s working night had begun.

 
Kira, Bethany and a little girl called Catriona who was only seven were playing as the sun went down. They were having a great time. Various mums were already outside, sitting on kitchen chairs and nattering about each other’s lives. The atmosphere was good. The kids had been fed chips and Coke, and a few bottles of wine had been opened.

Jon Jon watched his little sister from the balcony as he rolled himself another joint. His mobile was ringing and he knew who was on the phone but didn’t answer it. Instead he called over the balcony to his sister.

‘Come on, Kira, time to come in.’

She heard her brother’s voice and looked crushed.

‘Oh, Jon Jon, five minutes, please.’

Her voice was a studied whine.

Her big eyes were open to their widest and Catriona’s mother, a twenty-five-year-old brunette, laughed as she shouted: ‘I’ll watch her, Jon Jon, she can sleep at mine tonight.’

Catriona was having the time of her life and once Kira went inside would be moaning because none of the other kids gave her the time of day. She was too small for the majority of the girls but Kira loved the smaller kids.

‘That’s all right, thanks anyway. Get your arse up here, Kira.’

‘Please, just five minutes, Jon Jon!’

His mobile was ringing once more and he called out, ‘Five minutes and that is it!’

One of the neighbours whispered, ‘Say what you like about him, he is good to those girls.’

The other women nodded their approval and Kira basked in the pleasure of someone being nice for once about her brother. Usually it was a case of raised eyebrows and knowing smirks, whispered conversations or outright abuse - though her brother’s growing reputation had put paid to the latter these last few months. He was getting a reputation as a hard nut, a face, and was determined to cultivate that to the best of his ability.

Five minutes later she reluctantly said goodnight to her friends and thanked Catriona’s mother for offering her a bed for the night. Kira ran up the four flights of stairs to the flat and let herself inside. After making herself a Marmite sandwich she sat with her brother on the balcony, waiting patiently until he had finished shouting down the phone.

‘All right, Kira, get ready for bed now.’

‘Can I eat me sandwich?’

He laughed.

‘’Course you can, but don’t fuck me about tonight and I’ll let you watch telly, OK?’

‘Thanks, Jon Jon. You are the best brother in the world.’

‘I must be to put up with you, eh?’

She was happy, she loved it when he was like this and chatted to her. He
was
nice, her brother, whatever anyone else said. He was nice to her.

‘Can I have a story as well?’

‘Don’t push it, Kira!’

But his voice was warm as he spoke and she knew she was in with a chance. Jon Jon told great stories. Then his mobile rang again and she sighed. He was shouting and swearing once more and she knew her story was out of the window. She went inside and put on her pyjamas.

Settling herself in bed, she watched
Queer As Folk USA
on Sky until she fell asleep.

Chapter Two

Joanie had just got in from work and was making herself a cup of coffee when Jon Jon came into the kitchen.

‘All right, Mum? Good night?’

She nodded. She was dog-tired and it showed. Her eyes had dark circles under them and her skin was grey. She looked like a woman who had spent the night with too many men, all strangers and all using her body. She had also had a screamer, a punter who had done the business and then tried to get out of paying. This was the last thing she’d needed as she wanted a regular place in the parlour. It was good money and much safer than the kerb.