by Martina Cole
She knew one thing. She had to get away now, and she had to keep away.
She had enough problems as it was.
Donna and Dolly sat together drinking hot chocolate and eating toast and Marmite.
‘We haven’t done this for ages, Donna, have we?’
She shook her head and munched on her toast.
‘Why have you taken the house off the market, love? I phoned the estate agent because that other couple was supposed to be here today and they told me about it.’
Donna wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, ‘I’ve decided not to sell, that’s all. Georgio’s not too happy about it, he wanted it all sold, the lot.’ She looked around her at the furniture, carefully picked over the years, and tended with love and care.
‘You’re doing the right thing, love,’ Dolly told her sincerely. ‘Donna I need to ask you something and I want a truthful answer.’
Donna looked at her quizzically.
‘What, Dolly?’
‘I know that Georgio is getting out.’ She held up her hand to stop Donna either denying or confirming what she said. ‘What I want to know is, do you stand by everything he’s done?’
Donna took a deep breath. ‘It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?’
Dolly looked into the face she loved so much it distressed her at times because the owner of that face was a grown woman with a streak of naivety it pained her to see.
Donna put down her piece of toast and looked back at Dolly properly. The two women stared into each other’s eyes for long moments before Donna answered.
‘Let’s just say I accept what he’s done, Dolly. I can’t say I agree with any of it. Why are you asking me all this?’
Dolly looked away, concentrating on the table as if it held the answer to the world’s problems, then she began to speak.
‘A while ago I found some things that I guessed could have caused serious trouble, Donna. It was just after Georgio was arrested. I put them away, I don’t know why. I just knew they could cause bother and I didn’t want that. Not for me, you, or Georgio. Especially not for Georgio. You know how I’ve always loved him like my own son? I love the both of you.
‘But something has been puzzling me, and I think I had better tell you everything now. I know how much we have grown apart and I take the blame for it. You see, Donna, I trusted Paddy with all this. He was working for Georgio, you see? Can you understand! I thought it was all for the best . . .’
Donna looked at the woman’s bent grey head.
‘Dolly,’ she said gently, but perplexed and anxious now, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about love. Tell me what this is all about.’
Dolly stood up and went to her large leather-look handbag that had caused many jocular comments from Georgio over the years. It was a shabby affair with worn plastic handles and Dolly took it everywhere with her. She often joked that her whole life was in that bag, from her birth certificate to her Post Office savings books. Opening it, she took out two magazines. Walking back to Donna, she placed them on the table before her.
One cover showed a girl of about twelve. Her face had the bland complacency that is the mistaken stereotype of Oriental womanhood. A man stood behind her, his hand clasping a barely formed breast. The girl’s face was covered in thick make-up, making her look like a parody of a woman; her vagina, in perfect pink and olive colours, was devoid of pubic hair.
Donna looked down at the picture and felt the revulsion inside herself. Dolly placed the other magazine on top of it and Donna shook her head in bewilderment.
This one showed a small boy, Asian-looking, with large liquid black eyes staring into the camera. His fear was evident, as was his thin naked body. Two men were beside him, two large-bellied men whose faces were obscured by the camera. From the angle of the photograph it was quite clear what they intended to do to him.
‘Where the hell did these come from?’ Donna’s voice was a whisper, because without being told she knew the answer.
‘Both these mags were in the garage. There were stacks of them in boxes, along with two boxes of computer discs. Paddy picked the boxes up but not before I had slipped out one of each magazine. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. Oh, let me explain. Paddy rang me and told me to go into the garage and place the boxes outside for him. He told me I wasn’t to let on to you - well, we all knew that. Georgio always kept everything from you so that wasn’t unusual. It was only that the boxes weren’t sealed, you see. That’s what made me look inside. I wish to hell I’d never been near or by them.
‘Anyway,’ Dolly went on, ‘I put them out of my mind, convinced myself that it was something to do with Paddy and nothing to do with Georgio. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that he could be a party to this . . .’ she waved her hands at the magazines . . . ‘this filth. If you look inside those magazines it would turn your stomach. Little children, Donna, they’re all little children . . .’ Her voice cracked and Donna grabbed at her arm.
‘But what has this to do with Georgio?’ she asked frantically. ‘Why are you showing them to me now?’
‘Because, Donna, the boxes I moved outside for Paddy to pick up were addressed to Georgio Brunos. They had a Liverpool postmark.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything . . .’
‘If they were addressed to him, then he must have known about them. He had visited Sri Lanka just before, Donna. If you look through these books, all the children are foreign - either Indian-looking or Thai. Now Stephen’s going out there, isn’t he, after you get a fax saying they’re stopping the shipping?’
Donna stared at Dolly, trying to take in what the older woman was saying. As the meaning hit her she began to shake her head.
‘Never, not in a million years, no way. Not my Georgio. It’s that piece of slime, Stephen. Stephen the woman-seller, the pimp, that’s who’s behind this little lot, Dolly. My Georgio hates anything to do with sex-offenders. Remember how he used to carry on about them, and rapists as well? He wouldn’t be caught up in all this, I know he wouldn’t. He never even so much as had a blue film in our home. I can’t, won’t believe he knew anything about this.’
Dolly sighed and lit herself another cigarette from the butt of her previous one.
‘Well, Donna, it came from somewhere. If the police had found these . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished.
Donna stood up and paced the kitchen floor.
‘That’s it! Maybe Georgio knew nothing. Perhaps Big Paddy was just using this place as a pick-up point. The dirty bastard! Bringing that filth into my home!’
Dolly watched Donna for a few moments before she said, ‘But Paddy has no interests in Sri Lanka or in Thailand, as far as we know anyway. Lewis and Georgio were in that partnership, and knowing Lewis like I do, this doesn’t surprise me about him at all. To be honest, I’m not so sure it surprises me about Georgio either. Not now.’
Donna turned on Dolly like a vixen.
‘Don’t you dare cast aspersions on my husband like that, Dolly. I will not have it, do you hear me? Georgio is a sod, God knows I’ve had to accept that myself over the last year, but this! Never. I’d stake the next ten years of my life on that.’
She stopped her pacing and lit a cigarette.
‘Did you say computer discs earlier? There were boxes of discs?’
Dolly nodded.
Donna closed her eyes.
‘They’re still at it, Dolly,’ she said in a voice that shook. ‘It is Stephen.’
She ran from the room to Georgio’s office and grabbed the floppy disc she had slipped out of the box in the car lot.
‘They’re still at it, even now, and Davey Jackson is involved as well.’
She laughed with relief.
‘It’s not my Georgio. I knew it couldn’t be. I knew even he would never stoop that low.’
Then she cried.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Donna sat in front of Georgio’s computer. It was a large Gateway 2000, and over the past few months she had begu
n to use it occasionally for letters and invoices to do with the businesses. Now, it had taken on a sinister feel. The office too had a dark quality she had never noticed before. She turned the computer on and put in the start-up disc, listening to the familiar whirrs and scrapes with heightened awareness as the computer read the disc’s information.
Dolly stood behind her, her breathing loud in the room. Once the index was displayed, Donna took the disc from her and loaded it.
‘Get us a large scotch, Dolly, I think we might both need one.’
Dolly slipped from the room and Donna stared at the computer screen, flickering eerily in the dim office.
The disc menu was on display and Donna studied it intently.
MESSAGES
GIRLS AND BOYS COME OUT TO PLAY
BABIES IN THE WOODS
BOYS ONLY
GIRLS ONLY
Donna felt a sick sensation in her stomach. Directing the mouse to MESSAGES she pressed Enter. The screen cleared and a letter appeared before her, just as Dolly trotted back into the room.
‘Here’s your drink, love.’
Donna stared at the screen as Dolly placed the whisky beside her on the desk.
‘What’s that all about?’ She read the letter out loud.
Greetings,
All work’s on time and ahead of schedule. Germany is ready, Maldives have received modem line. Can soon distribute to Liverpool, and bypass London altogether.
This new batch is probably best ever.
Getting hang of it all now. New bloke working out fine.
Give my regards to everyone at The Black Dog and tell them I’ll be over soon.
Candy.
Dolly and Donna stared at the screen intently, as if it was going to talk and answer their unasked questions. Donna exited from the letter and the index returned to the screen.
Dolly’s voice was high as she said, ‘BOYS AND GIRLS COME OUT TO PLAY? What the fuck kind of message is that?’
Donna placed the mouse beside the message and pressed Enter. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we?’
The screen cleared. The few seconds of whirring as the machine read its memory were agonising and then a large message appeared on screen:
BOYS AND GIRLS COME OUT TO PLAY!
Donna pressed the page-turner and immediately a picture appeared before them. It was in full colour and was also strikingly clear.
It showed a girl of around ten years old in a school uniform, a tight, short-skirted school uniform. The girl was Asian, with thick dark hair in pigtails and grotesque make-up: red lips and heavy blue eye-shadow. She held up the hem of the skirt to display her vagina and belly button. She was smiling out at them and Dolly took a step backwards in shock.
‘Holy Mary, Mother of Christ. I didn’t know you could put pictures on these things!’
Donna turned the pages. Little boys were displayed, then girls and boys together, in disgusting poses with one another. Girls with girls and boys with boys. It wasn’t until the twentieth page that men appeared on the screen, and always their faces were not visible. It was either the back of their head, or else their face was obscured by a child’s leg or arm.
Dolly picked up Donna’s drink and placed it in her hands. ‘How do they do this, Donna? I never knew they could do this.’
Donna took a large gulp of her scotch and sighed. ‘The technology now is amazing, Dolly. If my guess is right, they’re sending this down a phone line. It’s just the next step from a phone call, really. The keyboard is the dial and the telephone receiver is the screen. It’s like making a visual phonecall. The graphics are brilliant nowadays, as you can see.’
‘So Georgio was using this computer to bring the stuff into the country?’
Donna shook her head. ‘You can do this anywhere, Dolly, on any compatible PC.’
‘Well, I think there’s something fishy going on here with all of them,’ Dolly said fiercely. ‘Davey Jackson, Georgio, the lot of ’em.’
Donna gulped at her scotch. ‘That’s what I have to find out, isn’t it?’ she said bitterly.
Dolly sighed. ‘How are you going to do that, girl? Ask your man himself?’
Donna pushed her hair back off her face and said seriously, ‘No, Dolly, I wouldn’t accuse Georgio of this unless I had the proof and I haven’t any proof at all he was involved in any of it.’
Dolly snorted through pursed lips. ‘What the hell more do you want, my girl? You’re blinkered where he’s concerned, do you know that?’
‘The Message file on here said “Give my regards to everyone at The Black Dog”. Well, The Black Dog is one of the holdings I own with Stephen through Talkto. I will pull the address from the files and go and find out what I can from there.’
Dolly was annoyed. ‘You won’t have anything said against him, will you, Donna? Can’t you see that he has to be in on all this, eh? Are you telling me it was going on behind his back then?’
‘I don’t know, Dolly, but I can find out,’ Donna said desperately. ‘And until I know for certain then I’ll take it my husband, the man you supposedly love like a son, is innocent. I can’t accept that Georgio would have anything to do with this lot. I know him better than anybody, Dolly. Better than you or Stephen or anyone.’
‘Yeah, you knew him so well he was masterminding bank robberies behind your back—’
Donna interrupted. ‘No, Dolly, you don’t understand. I know his heart better than anyone, and he would no more have anything to do with all this than you or I would. It’s Stephen and Davey Jackson who are the culprits here.’
Dolly’s belly laugh surprised her. Turning the chair away from the screen Donna said vehemently, ‘My God, Dolly, you’ve changed your tune.’
Dolly’s face was grey in the muted light of the computer screen, and suddenly Donna saw how old she really was, the deep lines around her eyes and mouth emphasised by the pale light.
‘Maybe I have, Donna, but I’ve a terrible presentiment in me bones that you’re going to find out things you never dreamt of before, couldn’t have imagined in your wildest dreams in fact, and they’ll all boil down to one person - Georgio.’
Donna turned the computer off and the room was dark. Opening the curtains, she turned on Dolly and said, clearly and heavily, ‘You watch your mouth, lady, before your find yourself out of a home and a job.’
Then she walked from the room, leaving Dolly staring behind her.
Edna McVee was a big girl, a very big buxom girl, and she knew her worth. She made that quite apparent as she took a toke on her joint and said loudly, ‘Bollocks, Henry. I get a tenner a time or I go somewhere else.’
Henry, a small-boned Maltese man with a pencil-thin moustache and handmade shoes, weighed up in his mind his chances against Edna without a blade. He sighed deeply as he realised she would probably kill him.
‘Fair enough, you fat slag,’ he said nastily. ‘But I want a good show, right, and the touchers pay me first. Deal?’
Edna smiled and it transformed her face magically. Under the thick make-up and backcombed blonde hair you could see her youth and prettiness shine through for a few short seconds.
‘The touchers pay me, Henry, remember?’ she sneered.
‘I ain’t being funny, mate, but you’re getting greedy, and if you get too greedy we’ll all leave eventually. This ain’t the only shithole in London, you know.’
Henry bowed in the face of adversity and sixteen stone of young womanhood before him and smiled craftily.
‘Get your fat arse in the booth then, we’ve got customers waiting.’
Edna stood up in all her heavy glory, the silk basque she was wearing straining to keep her size forty-six double D breasts in place, and waltzed from the small office and out to her booth. Edna knew she was popular. The men liked the big girls, with big breasts and thighs and rounded white arses. She knew her worth and she made sure she got it. It was as if the bigger she was, the more they felt they were getting for their money.
Henry watched her
swagger out and grinned to himself. He had to hand it to Edna. She was one of the few toms he knew who could actually look after herself. She never touched hard drugs, just a bit of puff, and never drank alcohol while performing. In reality, he wished he had a few more like her, but Edna McVees were rare in the peeping game. Most were smacked out of their heads, otherwise they couldn’t do the job, and he admitted to himself that he would have to be in a fucking coma himself before he could do anything even remotely like it.
Whistling now, he left the office and went downstairs to the small bar area. The bar was illegal really, they had no licence, but as it was only for members he didn’t worry too much about it. The men and the occasional woman who used The Black Dog were after that little bit extra and he supplied it. Or tried to anyway.
The smoke hit him as he walked into the bar and he coughed slightly.
‘Put the fan on, Carrie, for fuck’s sake. What you trying to do, choke the fucking punters!’
Carrie laughed as she flicked the ancient switch to the ceiling fan and said loudly, ‘No, Henry, they pay to choke me normally!’
He laughed good-humouredly at the joke and his astute eyes roamed around the small cellar room. As usual it was filled with City gents, with the odd working man here and there. Early evening, which in Soho was until eleven o’clock, always saw the same clientèle. Men who had homes to go to, and wives and kids to see.
He walked through the bar and into another cellar room. Here were the brocade curtains that separated the small pallets that passed for beds. During the evening the beds, twenty-six in all, would be in full use over and over again. He smiled as he thought of the money and rubbed his hands together unconsciously. He wrinkled his nose at the sour smell and went back into the bar area, leaving the door open as a signal to the people working there that the night was beginning.
