by Susan Lewis
‘I thought we were meeting in the morning.’
‘Oh sorry, I had to cancel. It’s the vicar’s turn to get stressed out by my mother, so I have to go and calm him down.’
‘OK, I’ll try to get there at six, which means I should go now or I won’t make it.’
After she rang off Sherry went online to retrieve her email, then called up an article she’d been working on for the past few days about celebrity obsession. It was hard to keep her mind focused though, and it wasn’t long before she found herself wandering back out to the balcony and staring downriver towards Canary Wharf. Was Nick still there somewhere, she wondered. She liked to think he was, though of course it made little difference, for however much she fantasized about a phone call, a blissful reunion, a magical disappearance of his family, it still wasn’t going to make it real. The only reality was her, standing here now, torn between a powerful longing to see him again, and an encroaching sense of dread of what could happen if she did.
Eddie Cribbs was sitting on a bar stool in the smoky lounge of one of his strip clubs, rolling a double shot of Wild Turkey around the ice in his glass, while watching Karima Ghosh’s colourful sari retreat into the darkness. He was a large man, just shy of six feet and sixty years. His thick, sandy hair waved like dunes over his scalp, thinning slightly at the crown and curling raffishly at the neck. His sharp brown eyes were set too far apart, his skin was pale, flecked with shapeless freckles, his mouth was large with a fleshy lower lip that drooped down over his chin like a hook. Though by no means handsome, he considered himself a man of style, with his hand-tailored suits, cashmere turtlenecks and dandyish silk scarves. His pinkie ring and crucifix were twenty-four carat gold, as were two of his teeth.
Right now he wasn’t too pleased with the way things were going in his life, in fact not pleased at all. First, he’d got a phone call at seven this morning telling him about the police bust in Bedford, which, though it had nothing to do with him directly, was definitely not good news for anyone in the same game. It was a small world, and none of those Albanian bimbos they now had in custody could be relied on not to blab what they knew about other networks. Then he’d received the glad tidings that one of his major substance-suppliers had had his boat impounded by the French coastguard so the next delivery was up the Suwannee, and now Karima comes to express her concern about some buyer who turned up at the New Road workshop yesterday. Not that this buyer had barged in without an appointment, or was missing any credentials, it was just that something about her had made Karima uneasy.
‘She wasn’t the normal type of customer,’ she’d told him. ‘She had more class, and an accent that sounded American. I’ve got no reason to link her to Barry Davidson, and she’s definitely not the reporter Daya spoke to, because we know that was Laurie Forbes. I just think we should check she really is who she says she is.’
‘Have you rung the shop she came from?’ he asked.
‘Yes. She wasn’t there, but they confirmed that she’s one of the owners.’
‘OK, give me the details, I’ll put someone on it.’
Still gazing absently at the staircase Karima had just ascended connecting the underground club to the sex shop above, he lifted an arm to summon Frank, his driver. Karima wasn’t prone to overreaction, she was a shrewd, efficient manager whose instincts he trusted like his own. So, if Karima had a bad feeling about this buyer who’d expressed an interest in meeting the big boss, he had a bad feeling too.
‘Go after Mrs Ghosh,’ he said to Frank. ‘Make sure she gets back to the workshop safe. Take the Nissan, then hang around for a while, see who’s coming and going.’
As Frank left Cribbs knocked back the rest of his Scotch, put his glass down for a refill and surveyed the room. Normally, at this time of day, the club was closed, but after this morning’s double fiasco he’d put the word out that he wanted a meet. Not at the offices because the auditors were in, but here at the club. Over the past hour the senior members of his board had been steadily arriving, turning up in anything from chauffeur-driven Rollers to beaten-up Fords. As a bunch of suited executives they could have belonged to any bank, or government office – and some did – except Happy, so named for the scar that had turned his mouth into a permanent grimace, and Gentle George who no-one could mistake for other than what he was, an ex-champion boxer.
Eddie glanced at his gold Rolex. It was just after three, but he wouldn’t get heavy with anyone for being late, traffic in London was a bastard these days, and they were all busy men. Besides, no-one was dumb enough to miss the hour out of disrespect.
He sipped his drink and idly watched one of the girls as she jotted down a fresh order for the group at Perry Boon’s table. He was a good bloke, Perry. The best right hand Eddie had ever had. Talked with a fucking ridiculous accent, like he had something stuck up his arse, and made them all cringe when he laughed, but no-one knew computers like Perry. And not many could be trusted like him either.
‘She’s new, isn’t she?’ he said as Gentle George came to join him at the bar.
George glanced over at the waitress serving Perry. She was petite, blonde, with big blue eyes, a pointy little chin, waif-like shoulders and the biggest pair of knockers he’d seen at the club in a long time. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen her before,’ he said. ‘Regular Shirley Temple.’
Eddie chuckled. ‘Good pair of threepennies.’
‘Ass ain’t bad either,’ George responded, looking at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind her.
‘She dance, or just a waitress?’
‘I’ll find out.’
Eddie put a hand on his arm. ‘No rush,’ he said. ‘She’s busy right now.’
At the sound of someone clattering down the stairs they both looked up. It was Danny Boy, the East End kid with movie-star looks and, so they said, a cock the size of a stallion’s. He was a kid to watch. Bright, ambitious, cunning like his old man, who had very sadly passed on after a run-in with the Turks when they tried to move in on his patch. That was the official version – only Eddie and Gentle George knew what had really happened, that Danny senior had done a deal with the Turks and was about to start selling out big time until George got wind and, under Eddie’s instructions, put a stop to it. Course, Danny Boy didn’t know that, he was only party to the official version, so he hated those Turks with a vengeance now. This was no bad thing, just as long as his hatred was better controlled than the rampant urges of his dick.
‘Mr Cribbs, Eddie,’ the boy said, attempting a nonchalant swagger as he approached. ‘How are you, sir?’
‘I’m all right, Danny,’ Eddie told him.
Danny’s anxious eyes scanned the room.
Eddie watched him, fondly remembering himself at twenty-five, twenty-six, when he’d first been inducted into the inner circle of his mentor. Those were the days. He could do no wrong then. He hadn’t done much wrong since, either, because his mentor was long gone, despatched direct from Her Majesty to his Maker, and there had never really been anyone to challenge Eddie for the turf he’d left behind – until the foreign bastards started moving in, but he’d found a way of dealing with them that seemed to work all round. At least for the time being.
‘Now there’s an impressive pair,’ Danny commented, noticing the waitress as she came towards them. ‘Wouldn’t mind getting stuck into them.’
Eddie didn’t respond.
The waitress set her tray on the end of the bar where she gave the barman her order. When she looked up she seemed surprised, and vaguely self-conscious, at finding herself the focus of Eddie Cribbs’s attention. Eddie felt a stirring in his loins. Shy tarts always did it for him, even if it was an act.
‘By the way,’ Danny said, ‘I saw your Penelope the other day, out shopping with your missus. Beautiful girl. A real sight for sore eyes. Must be right intelligent, with all that education you’re giving her. It’s a good thing, education. Got a lot of respect for intelligent women, me.’
George’s eyes closed.<
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Eddie’s smile was pleasant as he looked down at his drink. ‘Is that a fact?’ he said.
Danny nodded. ‘A lot of respect,’ he echoed.
George was bracing himself. Poor kid had no idea.
‘You like intelligent women?’ Eddie said.
‘Oh yeah.’ Danny’s laugh was starting to turn nervous as he glanced at George.
George said nothing.
Nor did Eddie.
Danny shrugged and attempted another laugh. ‘What?’ he said.
Eddie turned on his stool so that he was facing out into the club. Over the next few seconds, as though some kind of signal had gone out, silence began to spread.
Danny’s survivals were starting to kick in, but he didn’t know what to do, had no idea what he’d said wrong. ‘What?’ he said again.
When everyone was quiet and looking their way, Eddie said, ‘Danny boy, I want you to go and stand in front of that mirror over there.’
Confused, Danny only looked at him.
Using one large hand Eddie gestured in the direction he should go.
Danny looked at George, then at the others.
No-one spoke, or moved.
With an awkward sort of bob from one foot to the other, Danny stuck his hands in his pockets and did as he was told.
‘Face it,’ Eddie called out. ‘Turn round and face the mirror, there’s a good lad.’
Fear was starting to show in Danny’s eyes as he did as he was told.
‘OK. Now pull your trousers down,’ Eddie said.
Danny froze. ‘What?’
‘You heard.’
Danny’s eyes moved round all those in the reflection. Everyone was watching. They all knew what was about to happen, he could tell, and it wasn’t going to be good.
‘I’m waiting,’ Eddie told him.
Danny’s fingers were shaking as he unbuttoned his jeans and began sliding them down over his legs.
‘Your pants too,’ Eddie said.
Danny’s face was turning white, but there was no way he could refuse, when the whole board was there to make sure he didn’t. ‘This is embarrassing, Eddie,’ he said, trying to keep it light.
Eddie waited.
Danny pushed his pants down.
‘Now, son, I want you to take a good look at your dick,’ Eddie told him. ‘A real good look, because it’s the last time you’re going to see it.’
Danny’s face went slack with horror as a titter of amusement threaded round the room. ‘No, Eddie,’ he cried. ‘You don’t mean that. I didn’t do nothing. I …’
‘Are you looking?’ Eddie cut in. ‘I hear it’s been good to you, so tell the poor little bloke a fond goodbye.’
More laughter.
Danny turned round, his eyes stricken with terror. ‘Eddie, just tell me what I did and I’ll make good.’
‘I don’t hear you saying goodbye,’ Eddie responded.
‘Please,’ Danny begged. ‘You can’t chop me cock off. I need it. I’m still young …’
‘Come over here,’ Eddie said.
Danny shrank back.
‘Help him, someone.’
Danny tried to run as Happy and Gentle George began closing in.
‘Eddie. I’m begging you,’ he sobbed. ‘Don’t do this. A bloke ain’t a bloke without his cock.’
Harry and George had him under the arms.
‘Eddie, please,’ he implored as they half-walked, half-carried him to the bar.
Eddie waited for him to get there, then waved George and Happy out of the way.
Immediately Danny dropped to his knees. ‘I’m begging you, Eddie,’ he gasped, clasping his hands together. ‘I’ll do anything, just let me keep me cock.’
Ignoring the sniggers, Eddie leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Danny’s. ‘Don’t you ever mention my girl again, do you hear me?’ he snarled. ‘Am I making myself clear? The likes of you aren’t fit to lick her shoes clean with your fucking ass-wipe tongue, never mind utter her precious name. So you see her again, you pluck out your eyeballs, do you understand? You pull out those minces, erase all your filthy thoughts, and just make sure you keep that randy fucking dick inside your strides, because I’m telling you now, if you don’t, you’ll be singing fucking soprano at next year’s Midnight Mass. Now get up.’
Shaking with as much relief as fear, Danny staggered back to his feet and yanked up his jeans. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m very sorry. It won’t never happen again. Never, I swear.’
‘Good boy.’ Eddie got up and walked over to one of the tables. ‘Right, I reckon we’re about ready to get this meeting under way,’ he declared, sitting down. ‘We’ll start with what happened in Bedford this morning. Perry, you manage to find out any names yet?’
‘Only three and none of them have ever done any work for us.’
‘Which don’t mean they know nothing about us. What about the other three?’
‘I’ve got everyone working on it. They’ll call on the mobile as soon as there’s any news.’
Eddie nodded. It didn’t pay to get angry or impatient in this game. Perry and his team knew the score. If there were any links to the people-movers working for him they’d have to shut everything down, PDQ, and that wouldn’t be good. ‘OK. Give us an update on where the latest shipment is at,’ he said.
As Perry began filling them in on the progress of a Latvian freighter carrying a thousand passengers, three hundred belonging to them, for sale in Hamburg and other German cities, Danny stood sweating against the bar, still too shaken up to take much of it in, or even to notice the great tits that had just bobbed their way over to him. The waitress was asking him if he was all right, but he didn’t answer. No way, José. Pussy was the last thing on his mind right now, he didn’t even want to look at it, never mind talk to it.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ she said.
He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Eddie.
‘My name’s Cheryl,’ she told him.
Why the fuck couldn’t she just go away?
‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘Oi! You!’ Eddie suddenly shouted.
Cheryl spun round.
‘Leave the boy alone. Can’t you see he’s trying to concentrate?’
Her eyes went down. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, and keeping her head bowed she walked back to her tray of drinks.
Eddie waved Danny over and told him to sit.
Perry carried on with his brief.
A couple of minutes later, after Cheryl had delivered drinks all round, Eddie leaned over to Danny and spoke quietly in his ear.
Danny got up, too fast, too eager to please.
Eddie winced as the chair crashed to the floor.
Anxiously, Danny picked it up, then crept quietly over to Cheryl. ‘Mr Cribbs wants to see you after the meeting,’ he told her.
She glanced back over her shoulder. With her peachy complexion and baby-blonde curls she barely looked sixteen, though Danny knew she had to be at least two years older, because Trevor, who ran the club, was a stickler for his girls being the right age.
‘Of course,’ she responded. Then, tossing her hair over one shoulder, she glanced down at his crotch. ‘I’m glad he let you keep it,’ she whispered mischievously.
Not wanting any reminders, or even to register her come-on, Danny quickly returned to Eddie’s table and sat down.
‘So apart from being quality, did Karima say why she had a problem with this buyer?’ one of the board was asking.
‘The problem comes as much in the timing as the type,’ Eddie replied. ‘It’s less than a month since Doctor Patel got in touch with Laurie Forbes from the press … Has that been taken care of, by the way?’ He was looking at George.
‘We’re keeping an eye on it,’ George assured him. ‘But we’re sticking to our policy not to mess with the press unless forced.’
Eddie nodded. ‘So we want this Tara Green checked out,’ he said. ‘Perry, get someone on it.’
Per
ry pushed horn-rimmed spectacles higher and made a note. ‘Are you going to meet her?’ he asked.
‘When I know more about her, and if I think it’s worthwhile,’ Eddie replied, waving Cheryl over to the table. ‘Meantime, I want to know about anything, or anyone, that turns up anywhere they shouldn’t. Get me a refill,’ he told her, passing her his glass with one hand while fondling her bottom with the other.
‘You know, it just occurred to me,’ George said, ‘that Stan Bright’s done some work for Laurie Forbes in the past. And her boyfriend, whatever his name is.’
‘Elliot Russell,’ Eddie informed him. ‘So what are you saying?’
George shrugged. ‘Just that I saw him upstairs, doing a bit of shopping, a couple of days ago. Could be nothing, but …’
‘Don’t treat anything as nothing,’ Eddie cut in. ‘Find out what Stan the man’s up to, and Perry, get someone on the Tara Green case now. She’s making me very nervous all of a sudden, and I don’t like people who make me nervous.’ His eyes moved to Danny and he grinned. ‘Do I, Danny?’ he said.
Chapter Eight
JUST NO WAY in the world was Sherry going to embarrass herself, in the middle of this celebrity-packed art show, by blurting out a confession that Andraya’s magnificent million-dollar paintings were reminding her of her own, but they were. Bold, brash, garish. Amorphous explosions of colour erupting from the heart of structured forms, such as animals, trees, birds, and humans. Vast shocking works that enlivened the white walls they hung from, and challenged the viewer’s senses like a fast-moving dream. At least that was how Sherry was seeing them, she hadn’t heard anyone else’s interpretation yet, but since the collection as a whole was entitled Mesmerics she assumed her reaction wasn’t entirely out of tune with her fellow guests’, or indeed with the artist’s intent.
Keeping a safe distance from those she knew, she skirted the edge of the crowd, sipped her champagne, and faded out the constant burble of sound. Though her expression was calmly reflective and curious, inside she was madly intrigued, for she knew only too well the inner demons that had driven her to tear apart established forms that way. So had it been the same for Andraya? Were these paintings a form of exorcism for her too? Was the size of them a measure of how great her suffering had been? If it were, then she’d certainly known a great deal worse than Sherry, for not even the largest of Sherry’s efforts could match up to the smallest of Andraya’s.
