by Martina Cole
‘Yes, Mr Lewis.’
Georgio walked through the door with an air of confidence he did not feel. ‘All right, Donald? Long time no see.’
Lewis wiped his tongue across his teeth and said, ‘Sit down, Georgio. Me and you need to have a few words.’
Georgio sat down and stared at the small man in front of him. The air of menace was practically tangible, it was so strong. It emanated from Lewis in invisible waves. The complete lack of expression in his voice was enough to make the hair on Georgio’s arms stand up and bristle.
‘Do you know Harry at all? He’s in here because he murdered a bloke he didn’t like much. In fact, Harry would murder someone who looked like the bloke he didn’t like much. He’s that type of bloke, see. Now me and Harry have a little arrangement. I tell him what to do and he does it. Do you get my drift, Brunos, or do you want me to give you an example of my power over him? He’ll crush your hands, break your jaw, or strangle you if I ask him nicely.’
Georgio swallowed down his fear and said lightly, ‘Me and you go back a long way, Donald. You had me striped up in the Scrubs, and we was always mates. Always. You don’t need to show me your performing gorilla.’
Lewis pushed his plate away and smiled again. ‘How is your harris, by the way? I told them not to cut too deep. Not yet anyway. And I got your message about cutting my throat. Gave me a good laugh, that did.’
Georgio closed his eyes. ‘I had to say that, Donald. I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if I’d have swallowed that striping without a word and you know it.’
Lewis picked up the knife from his plate and wiped it clean with a napkin. ‘I am going to push this into your eye-socket in about five minutes, Georgio, unless you tell me where my dough is.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Start talking now.’
Georgio swallowed again. This time it was more difficult. His mouth was as dry as the Gobi Desert.
‘Four minutes to go, Georgio. Your time’s running out, my son.’
‘I’ve got the money, don’t worry about that. It’s safe, and it will only stay safe while I’m alive and kicking. I had to have some insurance and hiding the money was it. I wouldn’t tuck you up, Donald, and I’m deeply offended that you think I would.’
Lewis grinned. ‘Deeply offended, are we? I’ll rip your fucking heart out, Brunos, if you don’t tell me where my dosh is stashed.’
Georgio smiled. ‘It’s in a place so safe, the Old Bill would need a message from St Bernadette before they’d believe it was even there.’
Lewis laughed then, excited. ‘Where is it, Georgio?’
He put out his hands in a gesture of supplication.
‘You know I can’t tell you that, Donald. The minute I open me mouth I’m as good as dead. Only one person knows where that money’s hidden, and that’s me. Until I get me appeal, and I’m outside, you will never know where it is. But I take an oath, I would not tuck you up. Not in a month of Sundays. Your half is safe, as safe as the proverbial houses. While I’m safe, the dough is safe.’
Lewis smashed his fist on the table, making the plate and cutlery clatter on the wooden surface.
‘Fucking safe? Safe? What do you think this is - kindergarten? Cross me heart and hope to die? You have access to my dough, and I fucking want it. I set that robbery up. I set it up, you hear me! All you had to do was provide the cars and the guns, nothing else, not a fucking brass razoo. Just the guns and the cars. But you took it on yourself to fucking stick your big Greek conk into things that don’t concern you. Now I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Wilson will be found hanging in his cell at Camp Hill this morning. In fact, they should have found him in the last hour or so. Unless you want the same fate, or worse, you had better start talking to me.’
Georgio didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He took out his cigarettes and lit one slowly, aware of the man in front of him breathing in quick, sharp bursts. Lewis’s temper was phenomenal.
‘I’m sorry, but I ain’t saying nothing. All I can guarantee you is that I have it all stashed away safe as houses. You listen to this. Wilson was going to take your cut, he was. It was only the Old Bill turning up like they did, and my quick thinking, that even saved the dough. I’d had it on me toes with it within minutes of the robbery. I had a feeling something was going down. Wilson was like a cat with a rat hanging on its arse, and the driver was practically a fucking geriatric. I oversaw that blag, and I oversaw it for you! Because you was me mate. And now I have to keep information from you in case you top me, so no one but me knows where the fuck the money is. I ain’t enjoying all this, you know,’ Georgio said hotly. ‘I got eighteen fucking years, remember - eighteen years on the say-so of fucking Wilson. The same Wilson who had help this morning to top himself. So knowing you like I do, I have to have a bit of insurance. If you torture me and I talk, you still won’t know if what I tell you is correct. And the way I feel, you could torture me till the cows come home and you’ll get nothing out of me. Even Big Harry outside don’t scare me. Eighteen years scares me, Lewis. I don’t want to do it and if I don’t get parole I might top meself anyway!’
Lewis sat back in his seat. He acknowledged that Georgio was trying to save himself; he accepted that. He also knew Georgio had had every intention of keeping a large portion of Lewis’s money himself. What riled him was that Georgio now had the whole pack of cards, even the jokers. Because Lewis knew, in his heart of hearts, that everything Georgio said was true. Only he knew where the money was, and that was his insurance.
Donald Lewis, his eyes alight with malice, smiled and said: ‘Georgio, we’re friends. Friends shouldn’t argue, especially not over money. I admit I’ve been a bit hard on you. I’m overwrought. But I’m sure that me and you can sort something out. You keep your peace, I accept your logic. But if, and I mean if, you get your parole and leave here, you’ll be accompanied by a friend of mine until what I own is in a safe place. If you lose your appeal,’ he laughed gently, ‘then I’m afraid we’ll have to reassess the situation.’
Georgio breathed a heavy sigh of relief. ‘That’s fair enough, Donald, but then you was always fair-minded. I accept what you say. I admire you, you know. You’re a big man, a man with a reputation, yet you’ve got scruples. I know from experience that I can trust you implicitly. I only wish you afforded me the same consideration.’
Lewis grinned again, less hostile this time. ‘Oh, but I do, Georgio, I do.’
He stood up and held out his hand. Georgio knew he was being dismissed.
Getting up, he shook the cold hand before him and left the cell.
As he reached the door Lewis said, ‘By the way, Georgio, how’s your wife? Lovely-looking girl that. I hear she’s been a good little lass while you’ve been banged up. Not a lot of women like that these days. Pretty girl, if I remember rightly. Nice legs.’
Georgio turned and looked into Donald Lewis’s laughing countenance.
‘Be a shame if anything was to happen to her, wouldn’t it?’
As Georgio marched back to his own cell his head was reeling. One thing was paramount: he had to get out of this place, and he had to get out of it as soon as possible.
His appeal could take up to three years. It was this thought that frightened him so much.
Three days with Lewis breathing down his neck was a nightmare. How would he cope as the days stretched into months then years? One thing was certain: he was not going to give Lewis one iota of the money from the robbery. It was his, he was entitled to it, and it came to nearly three-quarters of a million pounds. If his plan came off, he would be sitting pretty for the rest of his life. No more robbing Peter to pay Paul on the building sites, no more worrying. He was waiting to see how long it took Donna to realise that the only real money they had was invested in the house. He didn’t even own the cars; they were on lease-hire. His credit was nearly up with the building suppliers and the money from the car lot was like pocket money. He had been living beyond his means for years.
But then, didn’t everyone?
It was the dream of the young Tory government in the early eighties.
Borrow now, pay back later.
Well, the paying was always the hardest part, and all his life Georgio Brunos had avoided doing anything he didn’t like.
Donna sat in the restaurant in Canning Town, watching as Pa Brunos prepared Kleftiko, his large, chubby hands moving around the worktop deftly. He was singing softly to himself. Donna breathed in the smells of the kitchen, the oregano, basil and red wine which were always present.
She sipped at her own white wine and sighed gently. ‘Pa, can I ask you something?’
‘Of course you can, my little angel. Anything you like.’
Donna licked her lips. ‘Do you think Georgio will get his appeal? Only when I spoke to the barrister today, he sounded, well, a bit offish . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
Pa Brunos wiped his hands on his apron and hugged her to him hard, kissing the glossy brown hair with a smacking sound. ‘Don’t you be a-worrying. My Georgio is an innocent man. The laws of this country will make sure he is released. You probably caught the man when he was busy. We’re all short when we’re busy.’
Donna smiled gently. ‘You’re not.’
Pa laughed, a deep chuckle. ‘I’m not with you, but with Maeve I shout like a lion! I scream at her to leave me in peace.’
‘What does Maeve do?’ Donna responded to the twinkling eyes.
‘What does she do? She gets that Irish temper of hers out of her pocket and she screams into my lughole and I am sorry I ever said one word!’
Donna laughed.
Pa Brunos hugged her again. ‘Don’t you be a-worrying, you hear? Before you can say Jack Robinson my Georgio will be home and this restaurant will be having the biggest party in the world.’
‘Of course it will, Pa. I just wish it was soon.’
Pa Brunos went back to his work and shrugged. ‘I think sometimes that this will do Georgio a bit of good, eh? I think he is a bit too cocky as the Londoners say.’
Donna slipped off the stool and went to her father-in-law. ‘What makes you say that, Pa? What do you mean?’
Pa smiled at her, an ear-splitting smile, showing off his teeth. ‘Never mind, my little Donna. Forget I spoke. Sometimes I say things to the air that I should leave inside my head.’
Donna looked into the big, open, honest face and felt an urge to weep. Not because of what Pa had said, but because he had put into words what she had been thinking on and off since Georgio had been sentenced.
Only, until this moment, she had not admitted it to herself.
Chapter Five
Stephen Brunos was with his close friend Hattie Jacobs. She was fifty-five, big, voluptuous and jolly. When Stephen looked at her he felt happy. Hattie had a way of smiling all over; her eyes smiled even when her mouth was still. She exuded camaraderie, happiness and kindness. It was the last that attracted Stephen to her. Hattie never badmouthed anyone. He knew that his mother would class her as a big blowsy tart - most people would who didn’t know her - the main reason being that Hattie was a tart. Though she no longer walked the pavements of Shepherd’s Market, and only reminisced about the days she strolled along Park Lane; she worked now as a telephone tart.
All day long, she sat on her big double bed talking to strange men over the phone. The men were faceless, they paid by credit card and they explained exactly what kind of call they wanted. Hattie always obliged. She could be a nervous virgin, breathless and frightened, or she could be a mature woman who told her callers off, threatening them with corporal punishment and sighing happily when they promised to be good boys. Hattie was also adept at being a naughty housewife, a tantalising femme fatale, or in extreme cases a transvestite. The only thing Hattie would not be was a child. She drew the line at child sex even over a telephone line.
Stephen watched as Hattie ‘finished off’ the caller. Picking up a Mars bar, she pushed it into her mouth and sucked on it, making slapping, slurping noises, talking into the phone with her mouth full of chocolate about how big and hard it was. She saw Stephen watching her and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She held the phone away from her ear, disgusted with the noises emanating from the receiver.
When she put the phone back to her ear the line was dead.
‘I thought he was never going to come!’ she told Stephen. ‘I’ve been through about six Mars bars this morning! Put the kettle on and I’ll take me phone off the hook. I’ve more than had enough, I can tell you.’
Stephen plugged in the small white kettle and grinned. ‘That was excellent, Hattie. You nearly had me going then.’
She pushed her huge bulk from the bed and waddled over to him. ‘Listen, sunshine, twenty years ago I could have had you going all night and into the next afternoon.’
Stephen kissed the florid cheek and said gently, ‘I believe you, Hattie. You know I do. You’re still a good girl, my lovely.’
Hattie grinned with pleasure at the pretence. Stephen still treated her with respect; he kept up the fiction that she was someone worthwhile, even though she knew in her heart she was no one, a nobody. The only thing was, Stephen did believe everything he said. He loved Hattie Jacobs in a strange, unaccountable way. Since he had taken her on to the books, he had felt an affinity with her. He looked at her fat jowly face and saw radiant beauty. In her huge cumbersome body he saw warmth and comfort. Twice he had shared her bed; neither attempt had been satisfactory, but the feeling he had for her was still there.
‘What can I do for you, Stephen? Or is this a social visit?’
He laughed gently. ‘A bit of both actually, Hats. I want you to take on a couple of learners. One’s nineteen, got a little baby so she’ll bring it with her. The other’s in her forties, out to make a few bob while the old man’s out at work. She knits, I understand. So she’ll be knitting her head off while spouting filth over the trombone. It never ceased to amaze me what the girls get up to while they’re working. What I want is for you to learn them the “Starting ups” and “finishing offs”. Both girls have an aptitude for this kind of work. They just need to learn the tricks of the trade.’
Hattie made the tea and nodded. ‘Okey doke, Steve. I’ve got some oranges in, I’ll show them the lot. Oral sex, anal sex, whatever. I hope they’re not easily shocked though. They do realise this is one of the more exotic call lines, don’t they?’
He nodded. Taking out his wallet, he extracted three fifty-pound notes.
‘This is for your trouble, Hats.’
Hattie took the money and slid it into her slipper, a habit she had acquired on the streets. Even if a punter ripped off your gear, providing you kept your shoes on you didn’t lose your dosh along with everything else.
‘I ain’t teaching them the baby talk though, you can get someone else to do that. You know how I feel about that, don’t you?’ Her big moon face was troubled.
Stephen pulled her into his arms and cuddled her, breathing in the scent of 4711 and sweat. ‘Don’t worry, Hats, you know I’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want to.’
Hattie cuddled him back, her strong arms gripping his waist like a vice. ‘Fair enough, Steve. They’ll be experts in twenty-four hours.’
‘That, Hats, is what I’m counting on. Now then, let’s have our tea. How’s your boys?’
Hattie turned back to the little table and sugared the two mugs of tea. ‘My Brian’s on the Island. Says your brother’s there, Georgio. Someone striped his arse by all accounts - that slag Lewis. Never liked him, even when he was a boy. Weird, he was. I remember when we was all kids, about thirteen, he killed all his mum’s kittens, drowned them, he did, in a puddle of all things. His mother nearly murdered him. Pity she didn’t, she’d have saved herself a lot of grief.’
Stephen nodded absentmindedly. Georgio had mentioned nothing to him of a striping. He took the tea from Hattie and said, ‘You sure it was my brother?’
Hattie nodded vigorously. ‘Oh yeah, it was him all right. My Brian was shipped to the Island from the Scr
ubs with him. It might have happened in the Scrubs, now I come to think of it.’
‘Oh, well. It’ll all come out in the wash, Hats.’
‘How’s the phone business going then, Steve?’
Stephen grinned again. ‘Going like the clappers, Hats. Can’t get enough lines, in fact. The demand is phenomenal. ’
‘All this safe sex, I suppose. Better a wank over the trombone than a shag and a dose. That’s the logic behind it.’
Stephen laughed out loud at her resigned voice. ‘I expect you’re right, Hattie, old girl. I expect you’re dead right.’
Hattie punched him playfully on the arm. ‘Not so much of the bleedin’ old, if you don’t mind.’
Stephen was back in his office in Soho within the hour. He walked past his secretary and told her to hold any calls until he said otherwise. Then he locked his office door and picked up his private line. He dialled and lit himself a cigarette while he waited for the connection.
‘Hello, Hinckley? This is Stephen Brunos. I want a bit of information and I want it soon. It concerns my brother Georgio and Donald Lewis.’
He stubbed out the cigarette and listened carefully, his face growing redder by the second.
Nuala and Donna were going over the invoicing for the building sites. The two women worked in silence. Nuala glanced at the clock every few minutes.
‘He’ll ring, Nuala, don’t worry.’
Nuala smiled wryly. ‘He’d better.’
Donna picked up the folder she was working on and passed it over the table. ‘What do you make of this?’
Nuala opened the file and stared at the columns of figures, then she looked at the front of the file once more, scanning the writing as if it might tell her something.
‘I don’t know what this is about, to be honest. What site is the Armageddon site? Never heard of it.’
Donna frowned. ‘Neither have I. Look at the figures, Nuala - they’re running into millions.’
