‘You mean to tell me you’ve got no ideas?’ laughed Cass.
‘You’re the one with the brains girl,’ said Marcella. ‘So don’t look at me.’
‘You’ve got no plans at all?’
‘People like us don’t make plans Cass. We just happen and keep on happening, but I have had one thought babe.’
‘I’m all ears honey…’
The cops had taken a statement from Marcella in her hospital bed, but not about the St Anne’s Court murders. They knew she’d met Jack Thorne. They heard that much from his colleagues, but that was as far as it would ever go. As far as everyone was concerned, she was in the club all night, dancing and fighting for her life against a bunch of scum racists. Eric the bouncer wound up taking the rap for Jack Thorne’s murder. He was found with the body, covered in blood and holding the murder weapon. He was also in no position to argue with the charge, given that he was cold meat on a police morgue slab. Barry Leonard was discovered by the police search team the day after his killing, but not before a bin full of rats had made a merry feast of his fresh corpse. His death remained a mystery, but was marked on file as a possible drugs related gangland execution.
‘Cage-fighting.’
‘What?’ replied Cass, almost choking on her champagne.
‘We could take up cage-fighting as a tag team,’ said Marcella in all earnestness.
‘Honey, we’ve spent most of our lives in a goddamned cage.’
‘Sure, but there’s good money to be made these days in that racket.’
‘I’ve got another idea,’ said Cass, after a few second’s respectful consideration. ‘This may also sound a little crazy at first.’
‘Well crazy doesn’t sound like us at all.’
‘Why don’t we perform together?’
Marcella paused a moment, looking a little confused.
‘What, you mean like, porn?’
‘No,’ replied Cass, nearly choking on her bubbles a second time. ‘I mean like music, dancing, that kind of thing. We were pretty good in prison honey. We could make a real go of it out here. We’ll get an agent, work the clubs. We could be stars.’
Marcella nodded, slowly at first then more enthusiastically.
‘I think you might have something there babe,’ she said. ‘And if that doesn’t work out, there’s always crime.’
‘Exactly.’
They clinked glasses and enjoyed another mouthful of Dom Perrignon.
‘You know, even old Rosie from the prison said we should get an act together,’ said Marcella.
‘I guess she must have had some sense in her screw-brain after all,’ laughed Cass.
‘She said something else too, something about me “riding tigers” and never being able to stop. Do you think that’s right?’
Marcella’s question was almost serious. That didn’t happen often. Cass thought about it properly for a moment.
‘Maybe so,’ she answered. ‘People like me and you, we ride a tiger all our lives. We’re practically born on the damn things and there’s sure as hell no getting off. We might as well just enjoy the view while we’re up here and let the devil take us. Mind you honey, the only thing I’m interested in riding right now is a particular Irish thoroughbred.’
Liam Kenny was mysteriously appointed with one of London’s best criminal defence briefs, Alex Fleetwood. The cops did their best to find something to pin on him, but they had no prints or evidence, the only possible charge being one of trespass. The little videotape that was salvaged from the wreck of the Alley Cat CCTV also clearly showed him at the club throughout the evening. After a month on remand, the cops gave in to Fleetwood’s legal team and Liam was released. As he stepped out into the early morning, a black cab pulled up outside Wormwood Scrubs prison; the door opened and a hand beckoned him inside.
THE END
My Bloody Alibi Page 9
