by AJ Adams
The watch was interesting. It was an antique, a Dunhill, very worn, with an inscription, “Lado a lado” and a name, “Enrique y Maria”. I Googled it. “Side by side” it said in Spanish, “Henry and Maria”. That was interesting. The dark-eyed basher was Spanish and the watch a keepsake.
With Stinky dead and me on the scene, I’d be pulled in to make a statement. I could land the basher in the shit or not. I put the watch in my pocket. I’d find out more before making my decision. Anyone who takes out a paedophile is a winner in my book, but there’s always the possibility that the Spanish bloke was simply eliminating a competitor. If he was, I’d shop him and have him removed, too. I hate paedophiles. So much so that I’d even help Smith collar one.
My jaw was swelling up, and my face hurt, but luckily I had no broken bones or teeth. I’d look a fright for a few days, but that wasn’t a complete disaster, because if I let it be known I was there when Stinky got his, the pub would be flooded with punters wanting to take a gander at me.
It sounds terrible, capitalising on a killing, but with having to pay Sooty, plus the lawyer to set it up and a backhander to a local councillor to seal the deal, profits were going down the drain. I’d taken a quiet pay cut so that Millie and Delicia didn’t suffer, but if I could bring in more custom, it would do us all good.
Sitting there, I decided it was time I made some plans for myself. Bobby would be released in a few months, unless he did something daft like punch a screw. As soon as he was out, I’d be out of the pub business. That would be wonderful, but getting into my own work was tricky, because I was in two minds what I really wanted.
I’d always yearned for my own restaurant, but seeing I had form, I’d never get a premises licence. No wine means no restaurant. Frank had fucked that up for me forever, the bum.
Catering was out, too, because there's too much competition in London. However, if I started a takeaway near a bottle shop, I wouldn’t need a licence, and I could cook to my heart's content. Also, my time in the pub had shown me that customer service is not my thing. I can do the polite bit, but hobnobbing bores the fuck out of me. With a shop, I could hire a salesgirl.
I’d been scouting for suitable places for a year, and I knew where I wanted to be. There was a kebab shop just down the road from the pub that was ideal. I could walk to work, and all my regulars would come.
The asking price was a bit steep, but as it was ideal, I’d commissioned a survey a few months ago. It had come back last week. The property needed remodelling, the wiring and water needed replacing, but it was doable. Loans were lousy, so I’d have to mortgage my flat.
That had been my sticking point. My home used to be a council flat. Mum and Dad had bought it in the ’80s when Mrs Thatcher, the Prime Minister at the time, had sold off a ton of property. They’d bought it for thirty thousand quid, and with prices skyrocketing, it was now worth ten times that. It was my only asset, my safety net, and it gave me the heebie-jeebies to risk it.
Actually, the flat had been a major source of strife in my marriage. Dad put it in my name when I was eighteen.
“Now it’s yours, the government can’t steal it from you when we die.” He didn’t trust authorities much, you see. “And when you marry, you make the man sign papers saying it’s always yours.” He didn’t trust men much, either. “Promise, Natalia. This is our gift to you: security.”
God, I miss him! Dad was always there for us. He was a rock, and he loved us. Mum was just like him, always there and always loving. I couldn’t have had better parents. They were the best.
Anyway, like Dad had said, Frank had signed a pre-nup (very sulkily!) but he’d been at me right after we got married to mortgage the flat.
“We’ll turn Dad’s pub into a club,” he’d said, all excited. “We’ll have raves.”
As Bobby is worse with people than me, and all Frank knew about raves was how to get thrown out of one for being drunk and disorderly, I said no.
Frank came right back with a new plan. “Okay, let’s run a bookie’s!”
“No thanks. You can’t count, and I hate sports.”
“What about a mechanics?”
“Frank, neither of us even knows how to drive!”
“You don’t trust me!”
“I do trust you, but I don’t see the point of losing our home because you don’t want to get a regular job.”
That was the issue, see? Frank had worked in a bar, been a bouncer at a club, sold tickets at the cinema, stacked shelves in the supermarket and a dozen other jobs. He’d been kicked out of all of them.
“Only mugs work for other people!”
Right, except it was this mug working at La Maison that kept us in food, drink and clothes. I didn’t say so because I loved him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to throw away my only asset so Frank could piss it down the drain.
I offered an idea of my own. “How about going to college and learning a trade? Plumbers make a bomb. So do sparkies.”
“You know I hate school.”
Frank sulked, and when that didn’t affect me, he got Bobby to pressure me. The cousins got into it, too, but I held out. The family never forgave me for it, and even now there were some who said that if only I’d cashed in on the flat, Frank and I would’ve been living in perfect marital bliss.
When I had first looked at the surveyors’ report for the kebab shop, we’d been divorced for ages, but even then I’d been leery about mortgaging the flat. It was illogical, but I felt as though I was somehow betraying him. I knew that when he heard, Frank would say I was selfish, that I’d denied him his chance but was gambling on my own dreams.
Now, with Sal’s lifeless eyes still imprinted on my mind and a sore face, I realised that life’s too short to bugger about with silly scruples.
I paid for the coffee and went to the bank. I keep a safety deposit box for important papers—my passport and a bit of cash, an emergency stash, really—so I popped the watch in with it. I was able to avoid Scott, too. My first lucky break in ages.
Then I went to see Ahmed, the kebab shop owner.
“I’d like to put in an offer,” I told him.
Ahmed took me straight into the back where his wife Siti and his daughter Suri were preparing vegetables.
“I had another offer,” Ahmed informed me. “They said they’d meet my asking price, same as you.”
“I’ll pay you an extra five grand, on condition you sign now.”
“Let me consult with the boss.” Ahmed and Siti had a quiet chat, and then Ahmed turned to me. “Ten and it’s a deal.”
“Split the difference: seven and a half.” When Ahmed hesitated, I added. “The extra comes in cash. No point in letting the taxman get over-involved.”
Ahmed grinned and put out his hand. “It’s a deal!”
We called our solicitors, had a cup of tea, and then it was time to go to work. The pub was bouncing, and as I’d expected, everyone in the neighbourhood had come round for a good gawk. Mike and Dave were up front and centre with Angus waving a happy tail, and the Davidsons were sitting at a table, but there were two dozen unfamiliar faces.
“If you’re feeling under the weather, I can work a double shift,” Dwayne offered.
“If it’s still packed in an hour, then yes, please, love.”
“Several people have called to ask for you,” Dwayne said. “The local plods want you to come and make a statement, the Daily Mail wants an interview, and there were lots of calls from the family.”
I thought about the watch. There were no dark-eyed strangers in the pub. No doubt he’d come for it at closing time. Or maybe he was waiting at the flat.
A hard shove, me smashing to the floor, his breath in my face.
“Nats, love!” It was Millie. “Are you okay?”
I felt a complete twit, but my stomach was still lurching with terror. “Sure, but a bit shaky. Can I stay with you tonight?”
She looked taken aback. I guess I’m not usually weak, but she said readily enough, “Of cou
rse! Delicia’s having a sleepover at a friend’s tonight. You can have her room.”
“Hey, Frosty! Did you see Stinky get his then?” One of the punters, slightly the worse for wear, was dying to get it straight from the horse’s mouth. “I hear they chopped him to pieces!”
“Seriously? Oh my God!” Millie shrieked. “Was it the Peckham Knaves?”
“Got to be,” Mike said.
“Were you sick?” Dave asked.
I gave the official line. “I had a fiver on Blue Ruin in the five o’clock on Monday. A phone bet. I lost, so I went to pay Stinky. I walked in and saw him tied to a chair. There was the massive axe, like they’d almost got him right in the family jewels. There were pictures all over the floor, all of kids being raped.”
The pub was silent, with everyone listening with baited breath.
“There’s two blokes there, dark-haired, dark-eyed. The next thing I know, I’m on the floor feeling like my head’s about to come off.”
“Blimey,” Dwayne breathed, “they could’ve killed you!”
“Who were they?” Scott asked. “Could you identify them?”
Luckily I didn’t have to answer because a crowd of punters came in. I took the opportunity to avoid Scott. “Listen, have another drink. I have to work.”
But Scott was in full fuss mode. “Natalia, you need some rest. Dwayne can cover for you. Let me buy you a quiet dinner.”
I hate it when men try and run my life for me. “No, I have to work.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“Scott, it’s nice of you, but no.”
I was firm and I smiled, but even so, Scott was upset. “Are you avoiding me?”
It had been a mistake, going for a date with him. Thank heaven it had gone no further than a single trip to the cinema. Still, best be upfront—in a nice way. After all, the man had done nothing wrong.
Spelling it out for him so there’d be no misunderstandings, I said, “I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”
“Is there someone else?”
I swallowed the automatic “None of your damn business” and substituted, “Scott, drop it, okay? Now I have to work.”
Scott looked sulky, but he quit hassling me. I worked my arse off, made a fortune, and it was past two when I finally went home with Millie. I never made it to Delicia’s room. I fell straight onto her sofa and passed out. When I woke up, it was almost ten o’clock, and Ahmad was on the phone.
“Shall we meet at the bank? The solicitor has the papers ready.”
Then Millie fussed, “Oh love, you look terrible!” which was sweet of her.
“Millie, thanks for everything, but I’ve a bit of business.” Before she could ask any questions, I rushed off. “I’ll call you later.”
It took half an hour to sign all the papers and ten minutes to raid my deposit box. Ahmad, with a pocket full of cash, gave me a hug and waltzed off. I was the owner of my own place. It was a thought that made me breathless.
“Natalia, are you here to see me?”
It was Scott. Of course, the entire bank was staring.
“Hi, Scott. I was just doing some business.”
“Ms Truelove is buying her own restaurant.” The manager was mouthing off. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“And also private!” I snapped.
“I won’t tell a soul!” Scott thrilled. “Congratulations! What will it be? A bakery? A little cafe?”
The manager could see I was fuming and rushed to change the conversation. “There are a few properties moving this month. It looks like there may be some development ideas for the area. Values might double in five years.”
“And a business would make a fortune!”
Scott was determined to chat, but I’d had enough. I needed a shower and a change of clothes. Walking home, I reflected that life was looking up. I had finally taken the first step to owning my own business, and if the bank manager was right, I’d have lots of customers and a flat that was gaining in value. It was going to be a good day.
Stupid, right? By counting chickens, I was just daring bad luck to come get me.
It came in the form of Johnathan, waiting at my door. “Nats, are you okay?” The boy looked terrified, poor thing. “I’d no idea you’d get hurt!”
“It’s nothing, don’t worry.”
“But your face!”
“Really, it’s okay.”
I opened up the door and motioned him to come inside. He was shaking like a leaf, which made no sense given all the drama was over. I suddenly had the awful feeling that something else was wrong. “Johnathan, what is it?”
“It’s Delicia.”
She was Johnathan’s favourite cousin. My heart sank, but I acted calm, reassuring. “What about her?”
“She’s supposed to be staying with Thalia, right? Her mate from school?”
I had a vague memory of a girl with pink hair and panda makeup. “Right. The Goth girl.”
“Yeah, well, Aunt Millie likes Thalia because she gets straight As, right? So when Delicia says she’s off to Thalia’s—”
I remembered Millie, blithely telling me about Delicia’s sleepover. “She doesn’t ask questions?”
“Yeah.” Johnathan wasn't a snitch but something was pushing him into talking. “Nats, I think Delicia went off with Sooty.”
“What!” As Johnathan jumped a mile and went white, I felt dreadfully guilty. It wasn’t his fault, poor boy. “Sorry. Look, you were right to tell me.”
“I saw them in the chip shop and didn’t think anything of it. I mean, it never occurred to me that they were there together. But then Gary, he’s in my English class, well, he just told me he saw them go into an off-licence last night. Together. Then they got in a car and drove off.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Little Delicia with Sooty, a known sleazeball and crook.
“I got scared, Nats, so I thought I should tell someone.”
“You did right.” I gave him a brief hug, trying not to let him see I was worried. My mind was going a mile a minute, wondering what on earth was going on.
“I didn’t even know they knew each other,” Johnathan said. “I mean, he’s like thirty years old!”
What the hell was Sooty thinking?
“Nats,” Johnathan was gulping. “Gary said he thought Sooty had a thing for Delicia. That can’t be, right? I mean, she only thirteen. She doesn’t even snog with boys yet. She’s too young for sex, right?”
She was, and Sooty was the perverted kind of fuck who’d think raping a child would teach me a lesson. Now I knew with awful clarity what was happening. This was because I’d not let him screw me out of a month’s free food and booze.
Flashes of the night three years ago that I’d tried to forget drove through my mind. The ripping of my insides, the smell of his breath in my face.
“Nats, are you okay?” Johnathan looked terrified.
“Sure.” I shook my head. “Did you see Delicia at school today?”
“No. And I can’t get her on her cell. That’s why I came to see you.”
I reassured him again and sent him back to school. “You did right. Go back to class and if she turns up, call me or Millie.”
Then I had to call Millie. Of course, she had hysterics.
It took a while to get her to calm down. “Millie, it may be nothing, but call all her friends, okay? Everyone you can think of. I’ll try and track Sooty.”
There was loud knocking on the door, followed by, “Ms Trueheart? Police!”
I looked through the spy hole. It was Bacon-breath and Razor-cut. I’d never been so glad to see uniforms.
“Come in!” I invited them inside pronto, unlocking the five locks and both bolts in seconds. “Millie, the police are here. I’m going to ask their help.”
“Thanks, love. Oh my God! Poor Delicia!”
“I’ll be on my cell, Millie. Call me with any news.”
I turned to the plods. “I need help. Delicia is thirteen years old. She didn’t come home last nigh
t.”
“Probably with a boyfriend,” Bacon-breath shrugged.
“She was spotted getting in a car with Sooty, Larry Whedon. I think she’s still with him.”
“Oh yeah? Guess she likes older men.” Bacon-breath shrugged again. “Now come to the station.”
“The statement can wait! Please, we need to find Delicia first!” I was so scared, I didn’t care if they arrested me for being clever with the liquor licence. “I’m worried he may rape Delicia. She’s just a child!”
“Station first. We want you to identify someone.”
The fuckers didn’t care.
“She’s in trouble!”
“Trueloves are always in some kind of trouble. We can arrest you for obstruction if you don’t come now.”
The fuckers! I wanted to yell, but it would do me no good. Being arrested would prevent me from helping find Delicia. My mind was blank with terror. I needed time to think.
“I need to wash and change.” I unlocked the door and motioned them out. “Seeing you’re not helping, you can wait outside.”
They didn’t like it, but they went. Ten minutes later I was showered and clean. I also had a plan. I needed to find and fix Sooty. I could do the first but not the second. Frank and the others were no good, either. If they went after Sooty, the Peckham Knaves would come out in force and kill them.
This was a wild situation and it needed an axe-wielding nutter to fix it. If Dark-eyes turned up at the station, I’d make him help me rescue Delicia.
When we walked into the place, they asked me to wait at a desk. My heart beat a fast tattoo. I was in with a chance, because he and his pal were there, chatting to Detective Inspector Smith.
“Sure we were there,” Dark-eyes was saying. He spoke gunfire Spanish and ended with, “We walked everywhere. Es una buena inversion!”
“When exactly did you arrive?” Smith was determined not to let it go.
“Not sure,” Dark-eyes said. “I’m jet-lagged. Before la comida. No, wait. It was later.”
They went on and on, and Smith was getting more and more frustrated. After five minutes, Smith needed another notebook, and he still didn’t have a clue. Dark-eyes was being so helpful that his statement was totally useless.
