The girl just stared at him.
“I don’t mean her any harm, I’m not the law, I’m not a social worker and she’s not in trouble. I’m a journalist. But I don’t want to do a story about her. I’ve been sent by her dad to see that she’s all right.”
The girl looked straight at him. She’s so young, he thought with a twist of anger. Too young to be coping with situations like these.
“I think you’d better leave,” she said, walking purposefully towards the door. “I’m waitin’ for a client an’ ’e’ll be ’ere any minute.”
Larkin followed her. “Please. I just need to talk to you.” She kept walking. “I know you’re busy, I’ll pay for your time.”
She stopped and turned. At the mention of money she had suddenly, instantaneously mutated from girl to hardened tart, eyes lit by a feral glow.
“How much?”
“Whatever you were charging your client.”
“Seventy quid?” she said, looking like she’d just hiked the price by at least twenty.
“Done.”
“And you just want to talk?”
“Yeah, I just want to talk. But it might be a bit inconvenient here, if your next client turns up, so shall I take you to lunch?”
The girl’s eyes brightened. “Where?”
“Wherever you like.”
“Can we go to McDonald’s?”
“Certainly can.”
She smiled, looking, for the first time, like a teenage girl.
Andy’s face, pressed up against the pub glass as Larkin sped past in the Saab with the girl in the front seat, had been a picture. Larkin didn’t want him along, as he thought he’d have a better chance of getting the girl to open up on her own.
As they sat at the moulded plastic table, the girl, who had given her name as Tara, was enthusiastically dipping lumps of processed battered chicken into a tub of red gloop that had never seen a tomato in its life. Larkin had before him a cup of coffee, quarterpounder and fries. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he reckoned if he joined her in eating she might relax more. He was going to have to tread carefully as it was.
Tara had thrown a bright yellow puffa jacket over the top of her working gear, and it went some way to making her look like a generic teenager, admittedly one who was inexpertly vamping around in her big sister’s clothes. Her eyes, though, they gave her away. They spoke of a world-weariness that she shouldn’t have had at thirty-five, never mind fourteen.
“So where you from?” Larkin asked.
“Huddersfield.” The last of the chicken disappeared into her mouth.
“Do your folks know you’re down here?”
She sucked the sauce from her fingers, munching all the time. “Ha’n’t got no folks. None to speak of.”
“So how did you end up here, then?”
“You brought me for me dinner.” She laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d heard in ages. Perhaps it was. “D’you want them chips?” she said.
Larkin slid the cardboard container across the table and she started to dunk them where the chicken had left off.
“So how did you get here?” Larkin asked again.
Tara answered, addressing the cardboard. “Ran away from the children’s home. Had to. Care worker kept shaggin’ me. I were just a kid then.” Her words, depressingly predictable, were delivered in a detached monotone, as if she was talking about a distant relative, one she’d lost contact with years ago, one she’d never really got to know. “Anyway,” she said, looking up, “I thought you wanted to know about that other lass, not me.”
“OK, then,” said Larkin. “Karen. Did you know her?”
“Might’ve. Dunno. What’s she like, again?”
“Scottish. Dark-haired. Thin. About nineteen.”
“Were she ’angin’ around wi’ that other lass? That Hayley?”
Larkin thought. Rayman had mentioned another girl being with Karen. “Could be.”
Tara screwed her face up, deep in thought. “Yeah, that were her. Bit miserable, stroppy, like.”
Takes after her father, thought Larkin.
“So where did she go?” he asked.
Tara shrugged. “She left. Girls come and go there. Les is always bringin’ new ones in. Some don’t last that long.”
“Who’s Les?”
Tara gave him a look as if he’d failed to pick Boyzone out of a lineup. “Les? Les looks after us. Les is great. None of the girls would have a roof over their ’eads or money to spend if it weren’t for Les.”
A genuine philanthropic soul, thought Larkin. He’d come across Les before, or one of his clones. All the kids who’ve had cruel childhoods, either in care, foster or biological homes, want to escape to somewhere else. Most of them pick London. As soon as the bus pulls in, there’s Les, or someone like Les, waiting with a smooth tongue and a comfortable car, telling them no one understands them or feels their pain except him. He’s sorry for them so he’ll take them under his wing, sort them out, give them a chance. He’ll take them home, or to one of his rented properties, install them there, soften them up at first, give them the easy life. Make them feel safe. Then comes the bottom line. It costs to stay here, and they have to start paying their way. He’ll claim they owe him for drugs, alcohol or just living expenses. Next thing they know, they’re turning tricks, and the proceeds are being handed over to him, kept in line by a few well-placed blows; ones that hurt but don’t show, don’t stop the girl from working. Trapped, with no escape. The only way out is to escape if they can, or wait until he’s finished with them, by which time they may be no use to anyone, least of all themselves.
He looked at Tara, sitting there happily working her way through his fries. She’s just at the first stage, he thought. She’s coping, but the poor kid’s about to discover the price of things.
“So how many girls are at the house now?” asked Larkin, keeping his face as neutral as possible.
“Three,” Tara answered through a mouthful of fries and ketchup. “But the other two aren’t there at the moment. They’re out with Les somewhere.”
“Are you happy there? Doing what you’re doing?”
Tara stopped chewing, fixed him with a suspicious look. “What d’you mean? Are you sure you’re not one of them fuckin’ social workers? Or one o’ them religious nutters, tryin’ to get me to pray for me sins?”
“No, I’m just asking.”
“Yeah,” she said defiantly. But she spoke with a kind of hardened detachment, almost in the third person again. “Yeah I am. Anyway, I thought you wanted to talk about Karen?”
“OK, tell me about Karen.”
She shrugged again. “Not much to tell. When I moved in, she was already there. Stropped around for a bit, did a few punters, that was it. Didn’t mix much, didn’t talk to anyone apart from Hayley. They were always together. Only time Karen ever smiled. Whisperin’, like they were plannin’ somethin’.”
“What was this Hayley like?”
“She were alright. Nice girl. Blonde hair. She were from Wales, I think.”
“And when did they leave?”
“Just after I moved in. So I didn’t know them much.” She looked around suddenly, as if the other diners were listening. “But I don’t think her an’ Les got on. I think she ran away when Les’s back were turned. Les were fuckin’ furious.”
“Any idea where she went?”
Tara thought for a moment. “No … I mean, Les tried to find her an’ all. Said her an’ Hayley’d done a runner wi’ some money owed to Les.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Les were really out o’ sorts that night.”
I can imagine, thought Larkin. I can also imagine who he took it out on.
“So you’ve no idea where I could find her? Anything at all?” He was coming to the conclusion this was yet another dead end, and steeling himself for that fact.
Tara was frowning again. Face contorted, brow furrowed. She could frown for England, thought Larkin. “No.”
He sighed. That wa
s that.
“D’you want that burger?” Tara pointed to Larkin’s untouched quarter-pounder.
He didn’t.
“What d’you order it for, then? You’re mad, you are.”
“I think I must be.”
Tara munched, Larkin watched her. He was assessing his short-term future when Tara said, “Mind you, I don’t know if this is any help at all, like, but Hayley used to have this mate.”
Larkin’s heart skipped a beat. “What? Where?”
Tara looked up as if the thought had just occurred to her. “D’you know, I never thought of it until now.”
“Where?” Larkin tried to hide his impatience.
“Well, she were a Paki, like, but all right, you know? An’ she used to come an’ visit ’er. Les didn’t like that, so there were a stop put to it. Wouldn’t let her come round.”
“Why didn’t Les like this girl?”
“She were always tryin’ to get Hayley to live with ’er. I think she were on the game an’ all. For ’erself, like. No pimp.”
“And where did she live?”
Tara beamed. “I know that one. She said. She were always bangin’ on about what a beautiful flat she ’ad. Fuckin’ borin’ if you ask me. Flats an’ that. As long as I’ve got enough money to enjoy meself, I’m ’appy.”
“Where?” Larkin restrained himself from reaching across the table and throttling her.
Tara smiled. “You’re impatient you, aren’t you? Waltham-stow. Cleveland Avenue. I should know, she said it enough times. Dunno what number, though.”
Larkin was almost beside himself. “Thank you Tara, you’ve been a great help.”
“Don’t get too excited. I think Les’s already checked it out. Couldn’t find either of them.”
“Nevertheless, thank you.”
Tara looked at her watch. “Fuckin’ ’ell, I’d better get back. I’ve got another punter comin’ soon.” Her features suddenly darkened. Fear crept into her eyes. “An’ Les’ll be in, wantin’ to know where I’ve been.”
“Don’t worry about Les,” said Larkin. “I’ll square things with Les.”
Tara looked at him, dread and apprehension bubbling under the surface.
“How d’you mean?”
“I’ll tell Les I’ve just been having a chat with you and that I paid for your time.”
Larkin smiled, but Tara continued to look at him, her expression saying she was far from convinced that Les would be happy.
In the car on the way back to the house, the mobile rang. It was Andy, informing Larkin that there was company waiting back at Tara’s house. “Big number, leather jacket,” was as much of a description as Andy, from his vantage point, had been able to see. It was enough, though. It was the kind of reception Larkin had anticipated.
He parked the car and walked to the front gate with the girl, expecting trouble. He knew a pimp like Les wouldn’t keep one of his girls unattended for long. He was mentally prepared and even looking forward to this; a couple of self-righteous punches into a sleazebag pimp would do him the world of good. Unleash a bit of pent-up frustration and strike a blow for the good guys. He had it all planned; walk in, wait for Les to start, then strike so quickly Les wouldn’t know what had hit him. It was perfect except for one thing, something he hadn’t anticipated. And the unanticipated was exactly what happened.
Behind Closed Doors
“Where the fuckin’ ’ell ave you been?” squawked an unpleasant, guttural voice as soon as Tara had opened the door.
Larkin and Tara moved down the hall towards the back room and the source of the voice. Larkin’s fists were clenched, his senses heightened. His body had slipped into fight or flight, geared up. He looked at Tara. Fear seemed to have gripped her whole body. She moved reluctantly, awkwardly, as if the lino had turned into treacle and she was sinking.
Big man Les, thought Larkin. Getting off on terrorising teenage girls. It pushed his anger a notch or two higher.
“I … I’ve been busy, Les …” Tara spoke hesitantly.
“You ’ad a fuckin’ punter! What d’you expect me to do? Service the cunt myself?”
Tara began to tremble even more. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound would emerge.
They rounded the hall and entered the back room. Larkin stopped in his tracks. Stunned. This wasn’t what he had been expecting.
Sitting in the disembowelled armchair was a woman. Big, wearing jeans, leather bike jacket, DM boots and a white T-shirt, but still a woman. Hair cropped skinhead close, and from the way she held herself Larkin doubted there was much fat beneath her clothes. Her expression described mean, hard stone, fringed by psychotic anger. She looked as threatening and potentially dangerous as a Sumo wrestler.
Les pointed to Larkin. “Who the fuck’s this?” she asked in her guttural, forty-Players-a-day rumble.
Tara, shaking, sounding in fear of her life, found her voice. “He’s called Stephen Larkin. He’s …” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m looking for Karen Shapp,” Larkin said. He’d recovered from the initial shock of Les being a woman.
“What d’you want ’er for?”
Woman or no woman, she was a pimp. “None of your fucking business.”
Les stood up, with surprising speed for her size. “You stand here on my property, with ’er, also my property, and you tell me it’s none of my business? You’re a cheeky cunt an’ I’ll fuckin’ ’ave you for that.”
His anger was up. “Give it your best shot.”
Les moved across the floor to where Larkin stood. He braced himself, squared off and ready to fight, but the shot came so quickly he didn’t see it. Les had swung her right arm as she was walking, making it one fluid motion, the momentum carrying her fist to connect with Larkin’s left cheek. Taken by surprise, his head snapped backwards and his body followed, hitting the floor with a thud.
“Whassammatter?” Les said, standing over him, leering. “You never fought a woman before? Well let me tell you, cunt, we’re more fierce than men, cos we get straight down to it. None of that macho posturin’ bullshit your sort feel they ’ave to go through. So you gonna get out now? Or d’you want some more?”
The inside of Larkin’s head was like a cosmic meteor shower and Guy Fawkes night all rolled into one. It was some punch. Luckily it had landed just above his jaw, so that wouldn’t be broken. It might have rattled a few teeth loose though. His lungs were starting to reinflate, the fall having knocked all the air out of them. Slowly, he struggled to a sitting position. Les was still in front of him, waiting for him to stand so she could knock him down again. Tara had retreated to behind the bed.
“Look,” he gasped, playing for time as he climbed laboriously to his feet, “I just wanted to talk.” He stood now, grasping the bedside table for support. He needed a weapon, anything to fight back with. “I’m no threat to you, I’m just looking for her. I understand she’s not here any more.”
“That’s right,” said Les, tension easing out of her body as she sensed she had the upper hand and that Larkin would be no more trouble. “Little tart tried to fuck me over. I showed ’er, right enough. I –”
The description of what she had done was abruptly cut off, because Larkin had regained enough composure to launch a-counter attack. He grabbed the vibrator off the bedside table, trying to ignore the way his fingers and palm stuck to it, and swung it with as much force as he could muster. It landed with a twanging noise on the bridge of Les’s nose, hitting so hard the batteries dislodged themselves and went flying across the room. Les cried out in pain and rage, her hands flying to her injured face, but she still stood. Larkin pressed home his advantage, flinging the vibrator on the floor and jabbing a straight left to her already injured nose, putting all his strength behind it. He felt knuckle connect with cartilage and bone; something cracked but he couldn’t tell who or what. Following up before she could respond, he shoved both fists into her chest, catching her square in the centre of her ribcage. Her centre of gravity unbal
anced, she went down with an even bigger thud than he had.
“I’ve never hit a woman before,” said Larkin, standing over her, flexing his damaged knuckles. He gave her a swift kick in the ribs. From the noise that escaped her lips, it sounded like it hurt. “But I’ll make an exception in your case. You’re a piece of shit, picking up young girls, terrorising them, forcing them to work for you, you –”
Les swung her leg up sharply, DMs connecting with Larkin’s balls. He doubled over, the pain almost inducing nausea. She shambled up, blood from her split nose turning her skin and teeth into a malevolent red mask.
“Found your weak spot, didn’t I?” She was breathing heavily. “What you do your thinkin’ with.”
Larkin made a fumbled grab for her, pain clouding his vision, but she was too quick for him. She headbutted him, sending him sprawling once more.
Les moved in to finish him off. She raised her fist above his head, preparing to bring it down with as much force as she could summon. Larkin couldn’t move. He was too dazed to pull himself out of the way. All he could do was groan and wait for lights out.
“No, Les, don’t!”
Les turned to see where the sound had come from. Tara, all but forgotten in the fight, had moved to the side of the bed. Her eyes were streaked with tears and she was terrified, shivering so much she looked in danger of shaking herself apart.
“Don’t hurt him, Les, please. Just let him go.”
“Stay out of this, tart!” Les shouted.
“Please, Les. ’E just wanted to know where Karen was. ’Er dad sent ’im. I told ’im I didn’t know, I couldn’t ’elp ’im. ’E’s goin’ away. Honest.”
Les dropped her fist and stared at Tara, her face impassive.
“Look,” Tara said, dipping into her jacket pocket, “’E paid me. I made ’im. Look.” She fanned out the bills that Larkin had given her, waved them in Les’s face.
The sight of money seemed to placate her. Tension seeped from Les. She wiped some of the blood off her face, leaving a glistening red streak up the arm of her jacket, and pocketed the notes. She turned and looked at Larkin.
Candleland Page 10
