Gun Street Girl

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Did your mother know?’

  ‘Of course. I think she actively encouraged him. I told you she hated my father. And we were always broke, even with the money my father sent to us. A little extra didn’t hurt.’

  ‘Naughty old mum.’

  ‘But when Elizabeth’s mother died, it all stopped,’ she went on.

  ‘Not quite. Lorimar said something about a deal last night. A deal with you. What kind of deal was that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was it something to do with why you disappeared after your mother died?’

  She wouldn’t look at me.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ I pressed.

  ‘It was something that happened after I took off,’ she said and tears filled her eyes.

  I was getting bored with tears. ‘Tell me, Catherine,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  There was a long silence in the room. I watched a fly banging its head against the window. I sympathised. I knew how it felt.

  ‘All right,’ said Catherine at last. ‘My mother was a drunk and an easy lay. She was running with all sorts of bad company before she died, Lorimar included. He was the last and the worst. I was just a kid and didn’t understand, or maybe I did. I told you I had to grow up fast. In some things I was very mature, in others not at all. All I knew was that I hated the people, the men who hung around my mother. They were always trying to get her to go out or pass out from the booze and try it on with me. I told you I was twelve when I lost my virginity. I was raped. Mother wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t hear a word against her friends. She didn’t believe me, or chose not to. It was horrible.

  ‘The day after she was buried I packed a single bag with clothes and put all the personal papers I could find into another bag and split. I was sixteen years old and didn’t have a friend in the world who wasn’t a hotel doorman or barman or chambermaid. Can you believe that? That’s why I took the papers and the scrapbook, without them I would literally not have existed. I walked out of a hotel in Melbourne and took a bus to Sydney. I had a little money. I was so scared of Lorimar catching up with me, I never even tried to touch the money in my mother’s bank. I even paid for the funeral out of my savings.

  ‘I got to Sydney one Saturday morning and hung around the city centre all weekend. Eventually I met some people who were squatting a house and moved in. There were hippies and punks and all sorts there, and there were always drugs around. I got involved. Eventually I got hooked and I started turning tricks for cash. The funny thing is that Lorimar wasn’t even looking for me, not then. Then Elizabeth’s mother died and the money from my father dried up. Lorimar was furious. He thought he’d got a pension for life. That was when Lorimar started looking. It didn’t take him long to find me. I was a permanent fixture at King’s Cross by then. He told me that unless I went to England and got in touch with my father and screwed money out of him, he, Lorimar that is, would hurt me, hurt me bad. He would have, too, he’s a terrible man. He got me off the game and dried out, and you know the rest.’

  ‘What about drama school?’ I asked.

  ‘I went for two terms, then dropped out.’

  ‘And your mother’s money.’

  ‘What do you think? Lorimar found out that I could get to it and made me pay every penny over to him.’

  ‘Jesus, Catherine,’ I said. ‘You mean you came over here just to con your old man?’

  ‘I had no choice. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want anything to do with him, and I hated doing it, believe me. At first I just felt tacky taking the money. And then I got fond of Sir Robert. In the end I loved him. And the more I loved him, the more I hated myself.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Sir Robert about it if you hated doing it so much? He would have taken care of it.’

  ‘I couldn’t, don’t you see? My father had already had Lorimar on his back for fifteen years. Do you think I wanted him to know that I’d brought him back to his door again. Anyway, Lorimar would only have twisted it so that it looked like it was my idea. Like mother, like daughter.’

  ‘Did you know about any of this, Elizabeth?’ I asked.

  ‘Not until today. I’d never even heard of Lorimar until my father died.’

  I believed her. ‘And when your father died?’ I said to Catherine.

  ‘Lorimar told me he wanted one last payment, then he’d leave me alone. Or else.’

  ‘Or else what?’

  ‘You saw what happened to Leee.’

  ‘Did you know about the will?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Have you got any money of your own?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about your allowance?’

  ‘Lorimar took it. He left me some and took the rest.’

  ‘And the house your father bought for you?’

  ‘Mortgaged.’

  ‘How much does Lorimar want?’

  ‘One million pounds sterling.’

  ‘Nice round figure,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before, instead of going through that ridiculous charade that probably got Leee killed?’

  ‘I don’t know, I was frightened.’

  ‘Not too frightened to go to parties and shopping.’

  The tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes again. I was beginning to think she could turn them on and off at will.

  ‘Well, I’ve passed on the message,’ I said. ‘It’s time for me to make my excuses and leave, or else I’m brown bread, that’s what I was told.’

  ‘Scared?’ sneered Catherine.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I saw what they did to Leee too. And did Elizabeth tell you about the little present they left for you?’

  ‘Melodramatic crap.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘And are you going to leave?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘You tell me.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Christ I need a cigarette! Elizabeth,’ Catherine smiled sweetly, ‘there’s a fresh packet in my room, would you mind?’

  ‘I’ve got some here,’ I said.

  ‘I want my own,’ said Catherine sharply. Elizabeth looked bemused but got up and left the room anyway.

  ‘Can’t we come to some arrangement?’ asked Catherine when the door had clicked shut.

  ‘What kind of arrangement?’

  ‘Get real, Sharman,’ said Catherine. ‘Why do you think we hired you? You kill cunts, don’t you? Kill this little lot and you’ll get rich in a serious way.’

  West End girls; my old mum was right.

  ‘I don’t need money that bad,’ I said. Oh boy, was my nose going to grow.

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Catherine. ‘You’re broke, Elizabeth checked you out. Do this little job for us and we’ll pay you well.’

  ‘If you think I’m a bumpman, sweetheart, you’re knocking on the door of the wrong hacienda,’ I said. ‘Tell the police, they’re all over the shop. It’s their job to take care of people like them.’

  ‘We don’t want to involve the police any more than they already are,’ said Catherine.

  ‘That would be difficult I agree,’ I said drily.

  ‘Look, Sharman, just name your price.’

  ‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? You rich fuckers are all the same. I’ve met your sort before. You think that money takes care of everything.’

  ‘It helps.’

  ‘So they tell me. But too much takes some of the fun out of life, doesn’t it? That’s why Elizabeth was doing a little hoisting, isn’t it? Just for kicks. Hanging out with brass can lead to bad habits.’

  ‘Don’t call me brass,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Why not, sweet? Does it offend you?’ I asked. ‘So what should I call you? You tell me, I’ll go along.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  ‘You want me to call you that? In public?’

  That about did it. Sh
e came off the sofa like she had springs in her tail and in her right hand was a nasty-looking blade. She came right at me. The knife tore my shirt and I felt the point skid off my ribs and cut through skin and muscle. There was no pain, just a shock that ran down my side. I caught her arm and twisted it hard. She screamed and the knife hit the carpet. I spun her round and punched her hard on the side of the jaw, hard enough so that her teeth clicked together so loudly that the sound echoed in the room. She hit the carpet with a thud.

  16

  Just as Catherine hit the carpet the door flew open and Elizabeth appeared, her hand to her mouth stifling a scream.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t just stand there,’ I said. ‘I’m bleeding to death here.’ And I was. Well, not exactly, but my shirt was soaked with blood and the wound was beginning to hurt, severely. ‘Does she always carry a blade?’ I asked, and didn’t wait for an answer. ‘She’s fucking lethal, you know that?’ I looked at Catherine lying unconscious on the floor. Then I pulled my shirt out of my pants, undid the buttons and looked at my ribs. There was a skinny wound, maybe eight inches long, oozing blood. My side was wet with blood and the waistband of my blue jeans was stained black with it.

  Elizabeth was now standing, white-faced, in the middle of the room, shaking.

  ‘Pull yourself together, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘Have you got anything to bandage this?’

  ‘I’ll ring downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Do you want everyone to know about it? Haven’t you got anything up here?’

  ‘I’ll find something,’ she said, and went towards the bedroom door.

  ‘Something absorbent,’ I said. ‘And some Band Aid and disinfectant and something to clean it with.’

  She left the room. I picked up the knife and winced at the movement. It was a switchblade with a bone handle and a six- or seven-inch blade that was as sharp as a razor. I unlocked the blade, closed the knife and slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans.

  Catherine was breathing heavily. There was a big blue bruise coming up on her chin and the side of her face was swollen. I bent down and checked that her tongue wasn’t blocking her windpipe. Her pulse was a little slow but she’d survive.

  Elizabeth came back into the room carrying a bowl and a bunch of stuff and a small bottle. I told her to put it down and help me get Catherine onto the sofa. ‘Get her feet,’ I said. Elizabeth did as she was told and we lifted Catherine onto the cushions. The exertion made me wince and the cut in my side started to bleed worse. ‘Now sort this out for me,’ I said, looking down at the fresh blood oozing from my wound.

  ‘Is it very deep?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. What’ve you got?’

  ‘TCP, warm water, lint and tape.’

  ‘You’re well prepared. Mind you, you need to be with her about. Is she always armed?’ I asked again.

  ‘I’ve never seen the knife before.’

  ‘It must be a legacy from when she was a working girl,’ I said. ‘And beware any John who tried to slip away without paying.’

  Elizabeth didn’t answer. ‘Come and sit by the window, in the light,’ she said.

  It was my turn to do as I was told and she cleaned the wound with the water. ‘It’s not too bad,’ she said. ‘But this might hurt a bit.’ She splashed disinfectant into the cut and I thought I was going to pass out.

  ‘Christ,’ I said. ‘It’s deeper than I thought.’ I wiped tears from my eyes and she covered the wound with clean lint and bound it tightly with tape.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘You should go to hospital. That needs stitches.’

  ‘No thanks. I’m allergic.’

  ‘Please yourself. Will Catherine be all right? She’s been out for a long time.’

  ‘She’ll be fine. She’s just asleep.’

  ‘This is awful,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I didn’t realise what was going on.’

  ‘She did.’ I looked over at Catherine’s still form. ‘She’s been winding us both up since this started.’

  ‘She’s scared and all alone.’

  ‘Why don’t you just pay then?’

  ‘She hasn’t got that much cash, and nor have I. Even if Daddy’s will wasn’t being contested, all the assets are tied up in trust and property and machinery. We couldn’t liquidate without a lot of questions being asked, you know.’

  I didn’t, but what the hell.

  ‘And as things are, it’s just impossible,’ she went on.

  ‘Even if they got it, I guess they’d be back for more,’ I said.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Count on it – and I think they’ve got someone in the house.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t, but they knew that the party was on, and about Leee dressing up as Catherine and the roof garden and me. Work it out for yourself.’

  ‘Who?’

  I shrugged and winced again. ‘Who knows?’

  The side of my body was starting to throb like the motor in an old fridge on full frost and was sending stabs of pain right up behind my eyes. ‘Got any pain killers?’ I asked. ‘Something strong.’

  ‘I’ve got some prescription stuff.’

  ‘Let’s have them, and some booze.’

  ‘There are drinks in the cabinet.’

  I went over to the fancy-fronted chiffonnier by the window and opened one of the doors. I found a new bottle of Jack Daniel’s, broke the seal and took a hit. The liquor burnt a hole right down to my belt buckle and I took another. Meanwhile Elizabeth went back to her bedroom and reappeared carrying a pill bottle. I flicked off the lid and emptied a pile of DF 118s onto the top of the cabinet. I took two and washed them down with another mouthful of bourbon.

  ‘Be careful, they’re strong.’

  ‘I need something strong,’ I said. ‘It’s not every day I get stuck like a pig. If it makes you feel any better, I promise not to operate any heavy machinery this afternoon.’

  She gave me a disgusted look and I put the remaining pills back into the bottle and the bottle into my pocket.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘While she’s still out of it, let’s talk seriously.’

  ‘You’ve made it perfectly clear you’re not interested in helping us.’

  ‘I’m not interested in helping you kill anyone, that’s for sure. Do you blame me? But I did take on the job of protecting the pair of you and I do hate being told what to do by anyone.’

  ‘What do you intend doing then?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Kill the lot of them,’ said Catherine from the sofa.

  I looked over to where she was lying. ‘Back in the land of the living?’

  ‘Just about. You pack a mean right.’

  ‘You pack a mean flickknife,’ I said. ‘How long have you been listening?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  Elizabeth went over and sat next to her. ‘Are you all right, Catherine?’

  ‘I’ll survive. What’s our hero going to do? That’s more important.’

  I looked at the pair of them and made a decision. ‘I was given until tonight to split,’ I said. ‘And they’ll be watching. If I stay and anything goes wrong, you know that you could both end up in Holloway? And me down the road in Brixton on remand.’

  ‘You’d have the best lawyers that money can buy,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ I said. ‘I should just go right now. I’ve passed on the message, now I should split, go to the law and drop the whole bloody mess into their collective laps and earn some Brownie points for a change. I’m already looking at a twoer for illegal possession of an unlicensed firearm.’

  ‘What?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘You heard. The Bill spun my little garret last night and pulled out a plum.’

  ‘More fool you for not hiding it better,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Your concern is touching.’

  ‘Be quiet, Catherin
e,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You’re not helping.’ Then to me, ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I think I’ll stick around.’

  17

  I went back to my room to change my clothes. Someone had made the bed and the blood-spattered DJ was gone. I took off my messed-up shirt and jeans, emptied the pockets and looked around for somewhere to stash them. It was pretty comfortable having servants but I wondered how the boss classes managed to keep anything secret. Perhaps they just didn’t care. I ended up rolling the lot into a ball and shoving the bundle into the bottom of my suitcase to rot. I put the knife and the pills in my bureau drawer and checked the bandage. There was a little seepage of blood and the wound was hurting like hell. It pissed me off to think that the silly bitch could have topped me. In fact I was beginning to think that the pair of them were half crazy and it occurred to me that they wouldn’t worry too much if I was stretched out on a cold slab somewhere.

  I gingerly flannelled the sweat and blood off my body, wrapped a towel around my hips and sat on the bed. I found Endesleigh’s card and gave him a bell. I tried his office number and got straight through to his desk. ‘Endesleigh,’ he said.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Endesleigh,’ I said. ‘Nick Sharman.’

  ‘Sharman, I was looking for you this morning.’

  ‘I needed some time to think.’

  ‘How about a night in the cells? Would that do?’

  ‘Not that much time and I don’t think I’d find the surroundings conducive. I need to see you.’

  ‘Got something for me?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘I’ll come round later.’

  ‘No, not here. There’s a boozer in the market, The Shepherd’s, know it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Seven?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I said, and hung up.

  The pills and the booze were starting to work. My side felt numb and so did the area between my ears. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

  I woke after six. My head was banging like a cheap in-car stereo and my side felt as if it had been bound with a red-hot electric cable. I looked at the bandage and it was stained an attractive mixture of rust red and puss yellow.