by Emmy Ellis
Iris, blonde hair still perfect—her customer liked to do the business up against the window while he stared at the graveyard beyond, only touching her with his hands on her waist—wandered out of her room with the bloke beside her. His grey suit, white shirt, and black tie all looked as pressed as they had when he’d arrived. Iris had said he didn’t even take his trousers off, just lowered the zip, and he always produced a piece of A4 from his briefcase with a hole cut out of the middle. He fed his dick through it so his trousers didn’t get dirty once he disposed of the condom.
Debbie held her hand up to let Iris know she needed to speak to her, then rounded the desk, all smiles, to escort the man out of the parlour. Once he’d left, she turned to Iris. “Shirley’s not in tonight, she isn’t well, so you need a quicker shower than usual because you have to take Tommy Toes.”
“Tommy Toes?” Iris frowned.
“Hmm. Shirley said he likes her playing This Little Piggy with his trotters. Bloody weirdo.”
“Fuck. Just what I need. What time’s he here?”
Debbie checked her watch. “Five minutes.”
Iris sighed and walked into her room, calling out, “No rest for the wicked.”
Debbie laughed and returned to her seat. She picked her phone up to reply to Shirley again but thought better of it. The poor cow might be in bed. Best not to disturb her.
Instead, she continued shifting clients around and would let Lavender and Lily know what was going on once they’d finished with their current men. It’d be a busy night for the girls, but the extra money wouldn’t be sniffed at.
The CCTV monitor caught her attention, and she shuddered at Tommy Toes strutting down the corridor. She stood and went to the door, pressing the buzzer that unlocked it. Door open, she smiled at him, although inside she cringed. Just imagining him asking her girls to pinch his toes and wiggle them…no, she wouldn’t think about it.
“Good evening,” she said in her Peony voice.
“Evening.”
She let him inside. “I’m afraid Shirley isn’t in tonight.”
“I saw that from the pub. What’s up with her?”
“She’s got a bug so stayed home. Iris has agreed to take you.”
“Right. I like her.”
“Have a seat. She’ll be with you in a moment.”
He sat on one of the sofas, and Iris came out, a waft of perfume tagging along behind her. She approached Tommy, took his hand, and led him into her room.
Debbie sighed with relief that the news had gone okay. She was about to have a sit down when the door buzzed. She frowned—no one else was due for half an hour, and she was gagging for a cuppa. She leant over the desk and looked at the monitor.
“Fucking hell,” she muttered.
Vinny was here, the last person she wanted to deal with. Hadn’t he taken her threat to tell Cardigan seriously?
Clearly not.
She opened the door and glared at him. “You’re barred.”
He held a hand up to placate her. “Give me a second, will you? I just want to see Shirley, that’s all. I miss her.”
“You watch her enough down that alley, so it’s not like you haven’t seen her, is it.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. She’s seen you and told me.”
“I don’t go anywhere near no alley.”
“What about bothering her at her front door then? Didn’t you do that either?”
“Yeah, but that was just to ask whether I could come back.”
“The answer’s still no. Now fuck off. I’m telling Cardigan about this. You’re taking the piss. How did you even get in? I told my staff you’re not welcome, even in the pub.”
He looked like he wanted to cry. “Please, just let me talk to her for a second. I need to say sorry again, make it all okay.”
She slammed the door on him. Where did he get off?
Shaking, despite making out she was hard as nails in front of him, she phoned Cardigan and told him everything.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll tell The Brothers.”
She knew he wouldn’t let her down. “Thanks. It’s just, he’s not taking no for an answer, and I’m worried about Shirley. She didn’t want me to tell you.”
“Like she didn’t with the cutter. Silly girl shouldn’t be keeping that sort of shit to herself. I don’t want nutters on my manor, so how am I meant to get rid of them if she won’t let me in on who they are? I’ve got a suspicion it wasn’t Mickey who sliced her, so there are feelers out. I won’t say more than that.”
“Okay. That makes me feel better.”
“What are you up to?” he asked.
She smiled. “The usual.”
“I’ll come down then, have a cuddle.”
Cuddle, my arse. “See you in a bit then.”
“You will indeed, Treacle.”
Chapter Forty
Another day had gone by without a sighting of Mickey.
“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, guv,” George said, dogged off it was time for a visit from Cardigan and Sam yet again.
Cardigan’s face took on a hardened appearance. “Well, you’re not looking in the right places then, are you?”
Greg glanced incredulously at Cardigan. “There’s only so many places we can check, and only so many people we can trust to ask, and with you wanting it kept quiet, what else are we supposed to do?”
Cardigan bristled at Greg’s tone. “I see your point, but he’s playing silly buggers. The word’s out that I’m on his tail, so they’ve put him into hiding.”
George reckoned it was time to let Cardigan know the latest bit of news. “Ron, I’ve heard Harry Findley’s out gunning for you. He’s annoyed about what you did to Rook. A rumour, but you just don’t know, do you.”
Cardigan cracked a creepy smile. “Findley’s after me? Don’t make me laugh. He’s like a bloody stick insect. I’d only have to breathe on him and he’d snap.”
“Well, at least you know,” George said, sombre. “Findley’s looks can be deceiving. He can take care of himself all right.”
Cardigan stood deep in thought. “If you hear any more about that side of things, let me know. And keep your ear to the ground regarding Rook. Have you ever thought that if you find Findley, you find Rook?”
George finally got proper annoyed. “Of course we have. What d’you take us for? We’re professionals, Ron. We can’t find Mickey either. But it won’t be long before we get those two worms out of the woodwork, and when we do, the job’ll be done, you mark my words.”
Cardigan nodded as if satisfied. “If you find any truth in this Findley bollocks, tell me, then I’ll get you to do him an’ all. I’m having none of it.”
“Whatever you say, guv,” George said, weary.
Cardigan left with Sam in tow.
George turned to Greg. “He’s getting right on my nerves now. Who does he think he is, shouting his mouth off? Stupid bastard.” He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, pacing their living room.
“You’ve finally seen the light then? D’you know what? I reckon even if we do find Findley or Rook, we should keep our mouths shut. Let them do the bugger over. He’s paid us well over the odds with his deposit already, more than he usually would for the whole job. We haven’t lost anything.”
George sucked on his smoke. “If he pisses me off once more, I might just do that.”
Chapter Forty-One
Cardigan left the house, irate. Sam remained quiet, and Cardigan climbed into the car. Pulling away from the kerb, Sam took it upon himself to drive towards the office, but Cardigan had other ideas.
“Take me to The Eagle, Sam. I feel like going back to my roots.”
“Right, guv.”
Sam swung the car in a U-turn and headed in the other direction.
Cardigan clenched his jaw. “Never, never have I had a job that’s taken so long. I’ll be a laughingstock if this lark carries on. Those twins had better get their arses in gear, or feather
s’ll be flying. I’ll go out and personally get Rook and Fartarse myself.”
Sam sighed. “If you don’t mind me saying, I think you’d better leave it to The Brothers. They’ve never let you down before. The job’ll get done, don’t you worry.”
Cardigan puffed out a breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Ah, The Eagle. It’s like coming home.”
Sam parked in front of the pub, and Cardigan got out. He waited for Sam to lock up, and they both entered the boozer.
“Ron, my old son,” Jack said. “How’ve you been?”
Cardigan felt at ease straight away, back in one of the best pubs he’d ever bought. It had taken all his wiles to get hold of it, but he’d been determined to have it. Him being brought up down this way, this had been one of his regular haunts in his heyday.
“I’m fine, Jack. How’re you? Business is good, I know, but how are you yourself?”
“I’m all right, Ron, thanks. Enjoying life. Old Jonathan comes in here every night. I reckon he takes after you, because this place is his favourite.”
“Well, if he’s in here, he’s keeping out of trouble. Who’s he with?”
“Sonny Bates, as usual. They sink a few pints together and then go home.”
“Good, good. Right, I want a whiskey chaser with lots of ice. I’ve had a bit of bother, so I need a stiff one.”
Jack leant forward and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to put a dampener on things, but I heard Findley’s on the lookout.”
Cardigan set his face in a hard grimace. The earlier report from George and Greg had now been confirmed. “I know, mate. You’ve just put the final nail in his coffin. The Brothers told me about it. I know what to do now, because before I came in here, I was in a bit of a muddle.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you be sorry, Jack. It’s Findley who’s going to be sorry.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Shirley hadn’t texted for two weeks with any updates, and Debbie was worried to death about her. The last time she’d got in contact, she’d said for Debbie not to come round to see her, that it was a nasty flu and she didn’t want to pass it on. Well, tough, she was going round there now since radio silence had gone on for too long. She had a key for emergencies and should have used it days ago, but there was always one thing or another for her to do, and Shirley had gone down in her list of priorities. She felt well guilty about it now. Shirley probably didn’t have any food in the house, so the least she could do was take her a few bits.
Cardigan had sorted Vinny, who was probably in the Thames somewhere, chopped into bits, food for the fishes. She hadn’t pushed for details. Just knowing Vinny was gone was all that mattered. The hunt for Mickey and Harry was still ongoing.
She picked up the Waitrose carrier back full of shopping, mainly the microwave meals Shirley loved best, and left her flat, her mind eased now she could walk down the road without Vinny popping out at her any second. She turned the corner and headed along Shirley’s street, shuddering halfway as she passed the cemetery. Who had Vinny thought he was, dragging her friend down there? She was glad he’d been dealt with. The man was a creep.
At Shirley’s block of flats, she inserted the key and opened the communal door. A waft of something disgusting hit her, a cross between a blocked drain and rotting beef, and she had to breathe through her mouth. Thinking she’d go and see Julie first and ask her if she’d seen Shirley, she knocked on her door. The woman herself appeared, dishevelled and in her pyjamas.
“Just got up,” Julie said.
“I can see that. What the fuck is that smell?”
“Dunno. The landlord’s taking his time in dealing with it. I reckon it’s coming from Shirley’s myself. Blocked drain or something. I’ve knocked, but she’s not answering.”
“Have you seen her at all in the last fortnight?” Had she been sick so much she’d fucked up the loo and drains? Was she that poorly she couldn’t even pick up a phone to ask for help?
“Nope. Not heard her either. Iris said she was ill.”
“Same as she said to me. I’m going up there now to check if she’s okay.”
“Ask her to sort that fucking drain. I can’t stand the stink any longer.”
Debbie couldn’t imagine living with that, and she walked up the stairs, the odour stronger the higher she climbed. It was revolting, cloying, and she swore she could taste it. Holding back a heave, she entered the flat and was almost knocked on her arse. The stench was so much worse now, hanging in the air, an invisible cloud.
“Shirley?” It came out wonky as she’d said it mid-gag. “Shirley?”
Debbie went straight to the bedroom and opened the door. If she thought the smell was bad in the hallway, it was overwhelming here. Her eyes watered, and she stared across at the bed.
Shirley knelt on it, her torso curved over, her face in the pillow. Her skin…it wasn’t how skin should be. A large slice down her back exposed her spinal cord, but there was no blood. Flies buzzed around her, loads of them, and maggots swarmed in the wound, some of them falling off onto the quilt.
“Oh God…” Debbie dropped the carrier bag and staggered backwards, hitting the hallway wall. She stumbled for her phone, the first thought to tell Cardigan. She jabbed his name, unable to take her attention away from the mess on the bed while the rings trilled in her ear.
“All right, Treacle?”
“No…” She gasped, a sob taking over her, and ran to the front door. “I’m at Shirley’s. She’s…she’s dead. Fucking dead. Someone cut her back open. There’s maggots and flies. She’s…it stinks and—”
“I swear to fucking God, that Mickey Rook is getting right on my wick. Phone the police. Let me know when you’re back at The Angel, and I’ll come and see you. Don’t mention Vinny bothering her to the coppers. Last thing I need is them poking about looking for him. Tell them everything bar that. Let them deal with it.”
“Okay,” she whispered, moving out onto the landing and closing the front door so the smell was contained. “Okay.”
“I’d say take a deep breath, but I know what that particular stench is like. Get outside into the fresh air and wait.”
“I’m going now.”
He cut the call, and she rushed downstairs, calling the police. She’d left the bloody shopping in the hallway. Would that matter?
As the woman on the end of the line asked her questions, Debbie’s mind wouldn’t focus on anything but three facts: Shirley wouldn’t get to build herself up by eating the meals Debbie had bought; Debbie was a shit friend for not coming round here sooner; and Shirley probably hadn’t had the flu at all.
Someone else must have been using her phone.
Chapter Forty-Three
It was September now. Jonathan and Gracie had been seeing one another every night. To put their relationship on a more permanent level, he wanted to buy her a piece of jewellery. Problem was, most of the jewellers in these parts knew Cardigan. The big man was a fan of heavy gold bracelets and chains. If Jonathan were to go to one of them, he might get found out. The last thing he needed was Cardigan on his back, letting Leona know he’d bought something and her asking him where it was. No, he’d have to find another way.
He met up with Sonny and asked, “Know anyone selling jewellery?”
“Nah.” Sonny shook his head. “No one’s got any nicked gear at the moment. I tell you what, why don’t we try the market?”
They took a walk there and had a look around. There weren’t any stalls whatsoever with trinkets on of any kind worth having, just cheap knickknacks or shite dress jewellery. Jonathan wanted something a bit more special than that. Gracie came from money, and she’d spot a fake watch or necklace.
Stopping in the middle of an aisle, where on one side was a secondhand clothes stall and on the other a fruit and veg, Jonathan said, “There’s not a ruddy stall on this market that sells what I’m after. I can’t get a piece from the shop, else the wife gets to know about it. Now the market, no bugger sees
you and nobody remembers you. If I had the time and could find someone to run it, I’d start a stall myself.”
Sonny nodded. “Banging idea.”
They went to walk on, only to be called over by the fruit and veg bloke.
“Couldn’t help overhearing. I’ve got a class piece of jewellery at home. It’s worth quite a few bob—nine hundred—so if you want to come back the same time tomorrow, you can have a butcher’s.”
Jonathan smiled. “I’ll do that, mate.”
Walking away from the stall, Sonny turned to Jonathan. “That was a bit of luck, wasn’t it.”
“Yep. Now, I need to go to the bank and get some cash out.”
Chapter Forty-Four
The next day, Jonathan made his way with Sonny to the veg stall. True to his word, Ted waited with the ring. He took a folded piece of cloth out of his pocket and opened it up.
“I went and had it valued, got the certificate here. You can tell it’s a good piece. Have a look and see what you think.”
Jonathan took the ring. Small and dainty, a ruby stone. It looked old, though it had been cared for.
“Right then,” Jonathan said. “I’ll give you the money now.”
Ted received the money with a shaking hand.
Jonathan and Sonny left the market.
Sonny cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you ought to get a receipt for that ring? What if it gets lost and you need to prove it’s yours for the insurance?”
“Good job you’re with me. We’ll go back and get one now.”
Receipt given, the three men parted company. Jonathan and Sonny walked to the nearest jewellers to buy the ring a box. It’d look better given to Gracie all packaged up instead of wrapped in its sorry-looking piece of cloth.
* * * *
Later, arriving at his house, Jonathan let Gracie in and followed her down the short passage. The stairs stood to the right, the lounge on the left, and the little kitchen was at the end.
