Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘Want me to get rid of her?’ Billy punched in, pushing himself towards the two women.

  ‘Oh dear, Mum, I see that plan to improve the quality of your staff didn’t work out,’ Jo-Jo sneered as she twisted to face Billy. ‘Go for a walk, Lurch, this is a family thing.’

  The tension between Jo-Jo and Billy sizzled.

  ‘Go and wait upstairs,’ Stella ordered.

  Jo-Jo ignored the command as she finally noticed Daisy. She gave Daisy the quick once-over, as a strand of the purple streak in her hair flopped on to her forehead. ‘Who’s she? One of your new girls?’

  ‘No she’s . . .’ Tommy answered. His mum shouted ‘No!’ at him, but his mouth continued to run on. ‘ . . . Mum’s other little girl.’

  ‘Mum’s what?’

  ‘Your sister. Half sister. She’s Mum’s kid . . .’

  There was a pregnant pause as Jo-Jo stared at Daisy in shock. She twisted around to her mum and broke the silence with words filled with accusation and betrayal. ‘You never told me you had another kid. Another daughter?’

  ‘Like I said, do one upstairs.’

  Tommy stepped forward and addressed Daisy. ‘Give mum what she wants and then turn your back for ever. See, our mother has a way of fucking up the lives of her kids.’

  Billy rushed forward and grabbed Jo-Jo’s arm. As he dragged her towards the door she began cursing and screaming abuse. Her voice faded up the staircase as Stella switched her gaze back to Daisy. Folded her arms.

  ‘You’ve got less than two hours to be back here with Charlie’s stuff.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Here’s a grand. Now piss off.’

  Jo-Jo looked at the loose notes her mum slung on the desk. They were in Stella’s private room on the top floor, Her mum stood with her hands on her hips in front of the Calamity Jane poster.

  Jo-Jo stared back defiantly with her arms crossed tight over her clenching stomach. ‘Don’t want to know me now you’ve got another daughter.’

  Stella’s lips curled as she watched her youngest child with disgust. ‘How could you have done what you did?’

  The trouble from two years ago sprang dead centre between them. ‘It was the gear, Mum,’ Jo-Jo pleaded. ‘You know what it’s like, it sent me crazy. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

  ‘What?’ Stella exploded back. ‘Nicking from me so you could shoot up was alright, was it? Plus you didn’t know you were copping a feel with my fella? Do you have any idea how I felt coming into this room and finding you with your legs wrapped around him in my chair?’

  Sometimes Jo-Jo thought that was the problem, not that her mum had caught her going at it with her latest bit of arm candy but that they’d been doing it in her chair. A chair that had once belonged to her dad, the late, infamous Stevie King. The chair had been her dad’s throne and catching Jo-Jo humping someone on it had sent her mum ballistic. Stella had beaten and kicked her black and blue and would have continued if Billy hadn’t pulled a screaming Stella off.

  ‘I’m a changed person, Mum,’ Jo-Jo continued quietly. ‘I know it was wrong to sleep with Mitch and take your cash . . .’

  ‘You’re trouble, Josephine-Joanne. You have been since the day you refused to take milk from my breast. And all that trouble at school when you were young . . .’

  Jo-Jo’s face crumpled. ‘I missed you, Mum.’

  Stella almost softened. She so wished Jo-Jo would be the type of daughter she wanted – trustworthy, keen to learn the family business, thinking about bringing a couple of grandkids into the fold. But Stella wouldn’t allow herself to be soft. She twisted her mouth. ‘Yeah?’ Stella sneered back because she knew all her wishful thinking was a fool’s dream. ‘Well, I miss the sunshine in the winter, but you know what? I’ve got used to it not coming out for most of the year. So take the money and get that skinny, sorry arse of yours out of here. Go and blow it on blow like you did with the rest of the cash you’ve had – and nicked – out of me over the years.’

  Jo-Jo took a half step forward. ‘I don’t want your money—’

  Stella screamed, ‘I haven’t got anything else, I only do money, I haven’t got anything else to give.’

  ‘Yes you have,’ Jo-Jo yelled back. ‘I just want—’

  ‘What?’ Stella flung her arms out.

  Your love.

  But the words never passed Jo-Jo’s lips. Instead she straightened up. Turned and left.

  The youth of today, Stella thought, as she headed for the door leading to a smaller room. Stella closed the door and leant heavily against it. This was her private sanctuary. Her hand found the light switch and flicked it on. The light shone against the photos stuck on the wall. Photos of her and Frankie. Her gaze did a grand sweep of the pictures as she tried to capture the life they had once lived together. Frankie and her celebrating her twenty-first; at Walthamstow Dogs hugging and kissing after a huge win; on the night before he went down for a four-year stretch; Frankie on his own in his coffin the night before he was laid to rest. She sniffed back the tears as her gaze remained on that photo. And she remembered another night: 20 July 1990. The night their lives had changed for ever. The night she’d lost both his love and Daisy for good. The night that had now come back to haunt her. She looked at her hands remembering the blood that had stained them.

  As soon as she got back to her car, Jo-Jo made a deep cut in her right thigh with the razor blade she kept in her purse for exactly that purpose. The release of blood made her breathing much easier. She slashed another cut. And another, until she was back in complete control. Why hadn’t she just told her mum about what happened when she’d left her and Tommy with the babysitter all those years ago? You know why, Jo-Jo told herself, because you’re afraid she won’t believe you. Her face twisted as the tears began to fall. Tommy had found peace playing that bloody piano, whereas she’d hunted peace in drugs, sex, booze, eventually doing anything that would hurt her mum. And now her mum had another girl she could give all her love to. Well that just wasn’t gonna happen, Jo-Jo vowed.

  ‘So, who are you exactly?’ Daisy asked Ricky.

  They had been on the road for a good thirty minutes before she popped the question. The dimming lights of the city whizzed past her as she shivered in her damp clothes.

  Ricky gave her a quick sideways look, then plastered his gaze back on the road ahead. ‘I could ask you the same question.’ He paused dramatically. ‘Jennifer.’

  She blushed as she remembered the lie she’d told him when they had first met. ‘I’m whoever you want me to be,’ she answered. His comeback froze her in her seat.

  ‘Frankie Sullivan, one of London’s more memorable and intelligent naughty boys. Had an empire that stretched from east to west, north to south, and some say abroad as well. Died at the age of forty-three, inside a church of all places. And he wasn’t there lighting a candle, you can be sure of that. Not many people know this, but he had a daughter. Fifteen years old when they boxed Frank up. Her name’s Daisy and it sounds like she didn’t know much about her mum until today.’

  Flustered, she said, ‘You sound like a detective inspector: Nosey Parker of the Yard.’

  He laughed at that, but said nothing else. The car left the Limehouse Link Tunnel and was soon sweeping into Wapping. As the car took Wapping High Street Daisy shoved her hand into her pocket. Pulled out her bottle of pills. She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t care, she was as stressed as hell. Needed to calm her nerves down. She popped a pill, leant back against the headrest and swallowed.

  ‘This it?’

  She nodded, slightly dazed as she gazed up at the building in front of her. Ricky started to cut the engine, but she stopped him. ‘We can’t park here.’ At his questioning look she dug into her bag with shaking fingers and pulled out her keys.

  ‘Back up to the gate.’

  Once in front of the large twin iron gates she wound her window down and leant outside. Pressed the fob key against the security pad and the gates started to open. He dr
ove the car down the ramp into the brightly lit underground car park and swung the car into the first empty space he came across.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They got out of the car. She walked towards a lift with steel doors and he followed beside her. She pressed the button to call the lift and waited in the cool air.

  As they waited she looked up at him and asked, ‘You never did tell me who you are.’

  He kept his face towards the lift. ‘A bloke who’s just finished eighteen months admiring the walls of a cell and has just found employment without the assistance of the job centre.’

  ‘Since you gave me chapter and verse on my dad tell me about the Kings.’

  Now he did look at her and a shadow shrouded his face. ‘They’re lower than a dachshund’s privates, even the underworld think they’re over the top.’ Suddenly he turned the conversation. ‘Why did you get attacked this morning?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Must be my turn to be awarded the punch bag of the day prize.’

  He persisted, voice ever so light. ‘Did it have anything to do with this stuff from the bank that Stella King’s after?’

  The lift arrived. Opened. She played dumb and didn’t answer him.

  He got in after her and they rode up in silence. The lift opened into a brightly lit, spacious reception hall. Nothing fancy, just clean and the only smell was of people who had a lot of poke in their pocket. Behind the desk sat the suited concierge, a man in his mid-fifties, with a face that said retirement couldn’t come a day too soon.

  ‘Miss Sullivan,’ the man said with a smile, getting to his feet. He threw the newspaper down on the horseracing page. His smile died as he caught sight of Ricky.

  ‘Everything alright, Miss Sullivan?’ He gave Ricky a stiff once-over. His expression read, ‘We don’t usually see your kind in here.’

  Silence passed between the three of them. This is your chance, Daisy, she thought. Just tell him and you’ll be safe. She opened her mouth the same time Ricky thrust his arm into the crook of her arm. He pulled her tightly against his side. Smiled at the man.

  ‘You won’t believe this, but I’m Daisy’s long-lost brother. We ain’t seen each other for yonks. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?’ He increased the pressure of his arm.

  ‘Yes,’ she ground out, knowing he had her fixed into place with nowhere to run. ‘Thanks for the concern, James, but we’ve got lots of catching up to do.’

  The man still didn’t move. Just swept his eyes from her to Ricky. ‘But you’re white and he’s . . .’

  ‘Black?’ Ricky supplied. ‘Same dad, different mums.’ He gave Daisy an affectionate look. ‘I used to fence the sweets she stole from Woolworth’s.’

  Blushing furiously at his last comment Daisy nodded her head slightly at the shocked concierge and pulled Rick towards the lift.

  Ricky whispered, ‘Don’t think I didn’t see that little brain of yours ticking away. Don’t get any ideas. Me and you are locked together like a pair of star-crossed lovers. So don’t spoil things . . .’

  Once away from the view of the concierge she wrenched free of his arm and pressed the button. The lift was a much more upmarket model than the one they had recently left, larger with its mock-gold sheen gleaming from a recent polish. It opened immediately. They stepped inside. Once again she pressed a button. Ricky whistled when he saw which floor.

  ‘You must be on some killer wages to be slumming it in the penthouse.’

  Daisy didn’t answer him. Instead she kept her eyes on the closing doors as the hallucinations created by the drugs started to dig deeper in her mind.

  ‘Come on, Daisy.’

  She heard his voice before she saw him. Frankie stood on the other side of the closing lift door. He looked fresh, alive in his summer three-quarter shorts, pale blue and white polo shirt and hair so vibrant it looked like the sun was setting in it. But she noticed none of that. She only saw the hand that he held out to her.

  ‘You can do it. It’s all about timing . . .’

  The doors kept closing.

  She kept looking at his hand.

  The gap between the doors was getting smaller.

  ‘Come on, baby.’

  Her heart galloped inside her chest.

  ‘Come to Daddy.’

  She leapt forward through the small gap between the closing doors. She landed outside as the doors banged shut.

  She heard her late father snigger,

  ‘Easy.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘Fuck,’ Ricky cursed.

  Now he knew she didn’t live in the penthouse suit. She’d pressed the top floor to make sure he was stuck inside the lift giving her as much time as possible to make her escape. He frantically pressed the ground floor button. But the lift kept moving up. He kicked the door in frustration.

  Her dad was gone, back to wherever it was he came from. Now she was on her own. Daisy knew she couldn’t run. Well, not yet anyway. If she did James the concierge would get suspicious. Instead she swiftly walked, heels clicking madly against the floor, across the main reception area. She saw James lift his head. Quick as a flash he stood up.

  ‘Miss Sullivan?’ he questioned in alarm.

  She gave him a blinding smile, but kept moving. ‘I forgot something in the car.’

  She didn’t wait to hear his response. Soon she stood outside the lift, heart beating like crazy. She turned her head to look over her shoulder as if she expected to see Ricky standing there. But there was no one. She twisted back to face the lift.

  Come on, come on. Come on.

  Rocking on his heels, anger blowing out of his nostrils, Ricky watched as the lift opened at the penthouse suite.

  Lights on, definitely no one at home. He punched the button for the ground floor. Nothing happened. He punched it again. No movement. He punched it three times on the trot. The doors started to close.

  Daisy’s breathing rattled in her chest as she waited. But the lift still didn’t come. She heard footsteps. Held her breath as she twisted around. She let it out when she saw a man in a business suit, who she recognised as one of the building’s other residents. But what if it had been Ricky? What if . . . ?

  She ran towards the emergency exit doors.

  4

  3

  Ricky watched the red light of the lift indicating the floors. When he got hold of her he was going to . . .

  2

  1

  And he would get her. And when he did he was going to make Daisy Sullivan realise that he wasn’t a man to fuck around with.

  G

  The doors eased open. Ricky flew out. He marched across the reception ignoring the man at the desk who called out, ‘Young man . . .’

  He knew where to find her. He bypassed the lift and punched open the emergency exit doors.

  Daisy ran through the brilliantly lit underworld of the car park. Rummaged in her bag as she finally spotted her red sports car. She pulled her keys out as she increased her speed from easy run to sprint. Her thumb pressed against the fob for the automatic lock. The car responded with its familiar high-pitched noise. She breathed in as much air as she could as she reached the car. Pulled the driver’s door open. Instead of jumping into the seat she wriggled herself, on her knees, to the floor. She leant towards the passenger side of the car. Flicked back the carpet. She let out a huge sigh when she saw that they were still there – the safe deposit documents. She propelled her body backwards onto the driver’s seat. Stared at the papers in her hand. She needed to destroy them before Stella managed to get her hands on them, but she also needed to keep a copy. How the heck was she going to do that? She thought and thought and thought, but nothing came to her.

  Shit.

  ‘You’re thinking too much like a good girl and not a criminal.’

  The sound of the voice made her jump. She swung her head around to face the back of the car and there in the back seat, reclining as if he had all the time in the world, was her dad.

  He shuffled fo
rward, his blue eyes blazing. ‘What would the daughter of a gangster do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she yelled back.

  ‘Think about it. You can’t keep all that information in your head, but have you got anything on you that can?’

  She didn’t have time for riddles. ‘What do you mean what have I got on me? I’ve only got my clothes.’ She patted her hand down the side of her clothes to illustrate her words. That’s when she felt it, in her pocket. Her phone. Of course. She whipped it out. Twisted back around. Lay the papers on the passenger seat. Fiddled with the touch screen of her phone until she found the camera icon. She held the phone high over the papers, in the portrait position, and pressed down. Snap: she had a copy of the first page. Snap. Snap. She took copies of the remaining pages. She scrolled back through the photos. Smiled roughly when she saw the perfect images.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said, quickly turning back around. But the back seat was empty. He was gone; he was as come-and-go in death as he had been in life.

  She shoved the phone back into her pocket. Picked up the papers. She engaged the car’s cigarette lighter and set fire to them. Got you, Stella, she thought triumphantly. Her heart lurched when she saw a swift shadow from the corner of her eye. She swung her head towards the passenger’s side. She screamed when she saw something black moving towards the passenger window. The bottom of a large shoe and accompanying leg. The shoe crashed into the window, shattering glass. She ducked as glass splintered into the air and on to her. She let out another scream when a hand grabbed her hair. She was yanked across broken glass towards the passenger side of the car. She raised her head when she felt something wet and sticky fall onto the side of her head. The first thing she saw was the arm that belonged to the hand that was tangled in her hair was dripping with blood. She shifted her gaze higher to find a face imprinted with a furious expression tearing into her.