The Charmer

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Lance asked, passing the spliff to him. ‘You know we do protection – for a price.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Joel said, wondering if Lance would be so quick to offer his services if he heard Psycho’s version of events. No one wanted to be associated with a grass – true or not. ‘It was just some Scottish crew putting the heavies on.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Lance peered at him narrow-eyed.

  Sighing, as if he really didn’t want to have to involve anyone in his troubles, Joel said, ‘I suppose you heard about the three kids getting attacked back at my old place?’

  ‘Yeah, I heard some,’ Lance said, shrugging. ‘Raped and battered, or some shit like that.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was the Scottish crew who did it.’ Joel sucked deeply on the spliff and passed it back.

  ‘And what’s that got to do with you?’

  Joel exhaled loudly. ‘They were looking for me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they were trying to make me give up the name of my supplier.’

  ‘Meaning me?’ Lance said darkly.

  ‘Well, yeah.’ Joel shrugged apologetically. ‘That’s why I took off. ’Cos there was no way I was dropping you in it.’

  Frowning so hard that a deep line split his forehead smack down the middle, Lance said, ‘So, how did they get to you in the first place?’

  ‘I used to know them,’ Joel admitted. ‘Well, kind of. I grew up in Scotland, and they were the local hard men.’

  ‘Oh, so they fancy themselves a bit, do they?’

  ‘And then some,’ Joel muttered. ‘Anyhow, they heard I’d moved here and started dealing, and they thought they’d come and muscle in on it. They took me for a ride; tried to put the frighteners on to make me give them your name.’

  ‘You fucking what ?’ Keith cut in, making Joel jump because he’d forgotten the lump was in the room. ‘You’d best not have fuckin’ said owt, or you’re dead meat!’

  ‘Course I didn’t,’ Joel protested. ‘D’y’ think I’m stupid?’

  ‘Well, you fuckin’ look it with your hair like that. You look like a right soft wanker.’

  ‘Pull your friggin’ neck in, you,’ Lance snarled, flinging the TV remote at Keith.

  He ducked and it smashed into the wall behind him, spewing batteries onto the floor.

  ‘Aw, look what you done now,’ he complained. ‘I won’t be able to turn the telly over now.’

  ‘I’ll stick your bleedin’ head in it so you can watch every fuckin’ channel at once if you don’t fuck off and button it,’ Lance warned, his eyes flashing a clear warning. ‘We was talking, case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘All right, I’m fuckin’ going,’ Keith retorted sulkily, bending down with a loud grunt to scoop up the batteries.

  ‘Right, tell me the rest,’ Lance said, his attention back on Joel. ‘And don’t leave nothing out, ’cos I’ll mash you the fuck up if something goes down and I’m not prepared.’

  ‘They wanted your name and address,’ Joel told him quietly, ‘and info on how you operate – where you stash your gear, how much you keep around at any one time. And they wanted to know what kind of back-up you’ve got – weapons, how many men you’ve got behind you, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And you told them what?’

  ‘I gave them a false name and address,’ Joel said, ticking the lies off on his fingers. ‘Said I had no idea where you kept your gear, no idea the amounts you shift, and that as far as I know, you’re armed to the teeth, with an army of hundreds.’

  ‘Well, you got that right.’ Lance grinned evilly. ‘You ain’t got a clue who I’ve got behind me, Jay boy, you ain’t got a fuckin’ clue. See them Triads . . . ?’ Raising an eyebrow, he jutted his jaw forward and nodded slowly. ‘That goes out of this room, though, and Keith’s right – you’re dead meat.’

  ‘Christ, Lance, I’d never breathe a word of anything you told me – you know that. Why do you think I went on the run? There was no way I was hanging around when they found out I’d fed them a dummy. I knew they’d come after me – and they did. They just happened to get the poor bastards in the flat next door instead.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me right away?’ Lance asked, killing the spliff and immediately lighting a straight. ‘Didn’t you think I might want to know some fuckers were looking for me?’

  ‘I knew they wouldn’t find you,’ Joel said simply. ‘No one knows I get my gear off you. With me out of the way, they had nothing. So, they took it out on the kids and did one.’

  ‘How d’y’ know they’ve done one?’

  ‘I guarantee they wouldn’t have hung around to get nicked for rape,’ Joel said. ‘They’re all fresh off long stretches. There’s no way they’ll want to go back inside. They’ll definitely be after me next time they come back, though – to do me in for protecting you.’

  Mulling all this over, Lance sat in his smoke cloud, nodding slowly to himself. After a while he looked up and peered at Joel with a deadly serious light in his eye.

  ‘So, what’s their purpose? Just to rip me off?’

  ‘They want to take over the Manchester powder scene,’ Joel said, swallowing nervously as the lies and the atmosphere became heavier. ‘They reckon if they take you out they’ll be on top, and me and all the other dealers will have to score off them.’

  Nodding again, Lance said, ‘Right, here’s the deal . . . I’m not going looking for these pussy tartan twats, ’cos I can’t be arsed. They want me, they’ll have to find me. But I’m telling you now, they walk on my turf, they’ll be getting carried off it in body bags. As for you,’ he went on, ‘I ever find out you gave me up, it’ll be me doing you in, not them. But I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, for now. So, if I was you, I’d keep my head down and get on with life. If this crew turns up and I get wind of them, I’ll deal with it. But you’d best pray you ain’t involved, because I will take you out. You got me?’

  ‘Absolutely. But trust me, man, there’s no way I’d give you up – not for them, not for anyone.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Lance said. ‘And, just for the record, what the fuck have you done to your hair? You look like Colin fucking Farrell gone wrong.’

  Joel was shaking when he left the Gallaghers – as much from relief as fear. It was a huge risk involving them in this business with Psycho, but it looked like it had paid off. If the two crews clashed, Lance wouldn’t give Psycho’s lot a chance to tell them why they were really after Joel. He’d just go at them all guns blazing – literally.

  Joel felt as if a ten-year heavy weight had dropped off his back. But he still had to be careful. If Psycho caught up with him in the meantime, he was still deader than dead.

  Hailing another cab, he had it take him back to Maria’s. He had two and a half ounces tucked in his pocket – all fully paid for. All he had to do now was find a way to get Maria out of the house for an hour so he could cut it and bag it. He’d make an absolute bomb if he shifted it all at Jippi’s party tonight, and with Maria refusing to take her money back, he’d have enough to buy double this next time.

  17

  Jippi’s new place was incredible. It was right at the top of a revamped Victorian office block, directly overlooking the trendy wine bars lining Deansgate.

  It was the penthouse, so Jippi had his own elevator which took you right to his fortified front door. It had a foolproof security system, in that it could only be accessed once you’d got past the doorman, then it could only be activated by Jippi with his electronic pass-key, or by him keying the password into a pad inside the apartment to allow guests to travel up. It was a fortress, designed to keep unauthorised people and unwanted visitors out.

  Coming out at the penthouse floor, Joel looked around, one eyebrow raised. The space between the elevator and the apartment door was bigger and better than his old flat had been, with parquet flooring, subtle ceiling lights and, standing by the window, an amazing wrought-iron statue of a woman with a frail young boy t
ucked under her muscular arm, as if she were an Amazon who had captured him and was carrying him home for some rough sex.

  It had to be one of Jippi’s creations, Joel guessed, heading for the door. He’d probably modelled the woman on his perception of himself in drag. God only knew who the boy was supposed to be, though – he just hoped it wasn’t him.

  Oh, Christ . . . what if there was no party tonight? There was no noise coming through the door. What if the invitation had been a ploy of Jippi’s to get him alone?

  Hesitating before he knocked, Joel jumped when the lift doors swished shut behind him and he heard it whoosh quietly down. Shit! Now he really was trapped.

  The flat door opened and heavy dance music flooded the hallway. Jippi followed it out in a silver minidress, and the most natural-looking fake tits that Joel had ever seen. His long shapely legs were clad in sheer black silk hold-ups and impossibly high stilettos. He’d ditched the Afro and opted for a waist-length electric-blue wig, with matching contacts. And his make-up was professional-model quality.

  He looked incredible, and if Joel were a different kind of man he might actually have been tempted to overlook the fact that a dick lay between those exquisite legs.

  But he wasn’t, and that would never happen in a million years.

  ‘There you are!’ Jippi yelled delightedly, grabbing Joel and kissing him on both cheeks. ‘I thought you’d got lost. I sent the lift back down because I thought you’d missed it. You’d better hope no smelly hoboes jump in and come gatecrashing!’

  ‘Sorry, I thought I was too early when I didn’t hear anything,’ Joel said, glad when he saw people milling about inside.

  ‘Heavy soundproofing, isn’t it?’ Jippi grinned. Then, walking around Joel, he looked him over and clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, my God! I love this hair. And the beard is so fucking hot!’

  ‘Glad you approve,’ Joel said, smiling.

  ‘Don’t get me started,’ Jippi teased, linking his arm and pulling him inside. ‘Come and meet the peasants – they’re climbing the walls. Hope you’ve got lots of pop?’

  ‘Five O’s,’ Joel said, sure that Jippi would be shocked that he’d brought so much.

  Jippi sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Oooh . . . hope that’s enough. But you can go and get more if we need it, yeah?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Joel said, surprised but thrilled. Shit! If he got rid of everything and they still wanted more, he’d be loaded by the time he went home.

  ‘Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Joel,’ Jippi announced, dragging Joel into the party. ‘He’s mine, so no funny business, or I’ll be spanking lots of tush tonight!’

  Embarrassed, Joel nodded at the other guests and accepted a drink from a waiter who was circulating with a tray loaded with glasses of champagne. He did a double take when the waiter moved on. The boy was completely bare-arsed, the backside cut clean out of his skintight black leather pants. Looking around, Joel saw that all the waiters were dressed the same, and the waitresses were topless.

  ‘Let me show you around,’ Jippi said, still holding on to his arm. ‘Then you can set up shop in the kitchen. Do you need scales? There’s a flat-top set on the ledge – feel free to use them. Anyway, this is the living room . . .’

  It was a vast space, with a real wood floor and raw brick walls. Numerous canvases of Jippi’s weird, colourful artwork lined the longest wall, his latest theme being of naked half-humans in orgiastic poses. Striking images but a bit disturbing, too, Joel thought, wondering what kind of collector would buy this type of stuff. It wouldn’t sit too happily with more conventional collectables, but Jippi was up and coming, so he was obviously selling well.

  The windows went from one side to the other, a complete wall of glass through which Joel could see not just the bustling bars on Deansgate down below but the whole of the beautiful old cathedral and the rest of the surrounding city-centre buildings.

  There were several weirdly shaped chairs, and one ultra-long couch onto which numerous outrageously dressed friends of Jippi’s were crammed. More sprawled around on floor cushions, each trying to out-funk the others: bigger heels, higher hair, more piercings. Anything to make them stand out in the crowd. But they had taken it to such extremes that it had backfired, because it was Joel in his normal suit who stood out.

  ‘Come and look at my tart’s boudoir,’ Jippi said now, dragging him off through a set of double doors into the bedroom.

  This room had the same full wall of windows, but the rest of the walls were covered in satin drapes of deep purples and reds. The bed was on a raised platform in the centre, encircled by candles.

  ‘You want to lie down?’ Jippi asked, grinning.

  ‘Er, no, thanks,’ Joel said, backing out. ‘Show me the kitchen so I can get rid of this and enjoy myself.’

  The kitchen was at the rear of the living room, separated by a low glass partition wall that was actually an aquarium full of floaty exotic fish. The units and work surfaces were all made out of ultra-modern beaten steel.

  ‘COKE!’ Jippi yelled above the music.

  Rolling his eyes at the sheer indiscretion of the man, Joel nervously backed himself into the furthest corner and laid his coke out on the ledge. Suddenly everybody was around him, and he felt like he was backstage at a freaky fashion show. There were oddities of both sexes, some whose gender was indistinguishable, and several faces that Joel recognised from various TV offerings.

  ‘Just give them what they want,’ Jippi told him magnanimously. ‘I’ll settle up with you later.’

  Growing in confidence once he realised that there wasn’t a single straight among the guests who could blow him up to the drug squad, Joel started chopping and allotting.

  In just under two hours, he was clean out, and the party had stepped up several hundred notches – the clothes coming off as the volume of the music went up.

  High as kites, and free of inhibitions, the guests took inspiration from the paintings and an orgy started up in the bedroom, the double door thrown open for all to join in, or just watch.

  And Jippi was right in the centre of the action.

  He’d lost his dress now but had kept the wig and was striding around in a basque and suspenders, like a director on a film set, barking instructions and giving naked buttocks playful slaps with a thin leather whip.

  Keeping well clear, Joel did a couple of lines and went out onto the balcony to look down at the people drinking at the tables outside the wine bars. The music was pumping out behind him, and he tapped out the beat on the handrail and threw his head back, relishing the chill breeze on his face after the heat of the sexual inferno inside.

  ‘Cool gaff, isn’t it?’ A female voice sounded in his ear.

  Turning his head, Joel saw a girl whose face he vaguely recognised. It took him a moment to think where from, then it came to him: she was one of the stars of a soap that Maria watched.

  He didn’t generally watch TV, but being holed up in bed with Maria for so long he was quite the expert on her favourite soaps now – one of which was Picture Perfect, set in a rundown cinema in Salford. The girl played Pippa, a gobby usherette who was having a fling with the popcorn boy. She was always at odds with the manager, who also fancied her but was about a thousand years too old.

  ‘I wanted one of these flats,’ the girl was saying now, holding onto the rail and leaning her head right back – as if doing the end scene from Titanic, Joel thought. ‘But you should see how much they cost.’

  ‘Expensive, huh?’ Joel couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Try über expensive,’ the girl snorted. ‘I’d have to start selling my body to pay the rent.’ Turning to peer directly at him now, she bit her lip. ‘Reckon I’d make enough?’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ Joel said, flicking a glance at her body. She was very slim, with a tiny scarf of a dress that hung in folds, barely skimming her nipples which were pointing up at him stiffly in the cold air.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked, lea
ning her elbows on the rail, so that her tiny skirt rode even higher up her slim thighs. ‘Apart from selling coke, that is. Model?’

  Smiling, Joel shook his head. It was the first time he’d had his own line used on him, and he found it quite amusing.

  ‘Music,’ he told her evasively. ‘But never mind me. Tell me about you.’

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ she asked, her perfectly shaped eyebrows arching. Then, giggling, she said, ‘Shit! I never thought I’d hear myself coming out with that one! Don’t you know who I am!’ she repeated in a snobby voice. ‘What a wanker!’

  ‘I think I’ve seen you somewhere,’ Joel said, playing it cool. Now that he’d finally got his foot through the door of the world he’d been pretending to be in for so long, he had no intention of blowing it. ‘Do you go clubbing in town?’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s not where you’ve seen me,’ the girl said, too young to be modest about her success. ‘I’m a soap star.’

  ‘I see,’ Joel said, smiling, because he’d hardly describe her as a star. She was good, but not that good.

  ‘Yeah, I’m in Picture Perfect,’ she went on, trying to be cool about it, but not quite managing as the pride shone through in her voice. ‘You must have seen it? It’s like the biggest thing since EastEnders. Can’t really compare it to Corrie, ’cos that’s been going on so long and they’re all old now. But ours is great, ’cos we’re all young and gorgeous – bit like Hollyoaks with better scripts.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Joel murmured, sipping his drink.

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it?’ she said, squinting up at him as if she totally didn’t believe that was possible.

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ he told her casually. ‘Sorry. What’s it about?’

  ‘Oh, it’s like so funny,’ she gushed. ‘We’re all supposed to be working at this rundown cinema in Salford, and it goes into like everyone’s personal lives. So, I play this girl called Pippa, and I’m like the usherette, and like everyone really fancies me, but I’m having a fling with the popcorn boy. Which is so cool, ’cos he is lush!’ Pausing for breath, she sighed wistfully, then flapped her hand. ‘No point going there, though, ’cos he’s as bent as the guy whose party this is. But I always stick my tongue in his mouth when we’ve got to do kissing scenes, and he gets like so uptight.’