by Owen Mullen
‘I used the card.’
‘What card?’
‘The card I gave him.’ Nina was standing at the door. She said, ‘He’s a client. He bought this flat through Glass Houses.’
‘And you added a bit of value by tossing in membership to the club.’
This was good news for Charley, a twist she hadn’t seen coming. She seized on it and spat her judgement across the room. ‘You stupid bitch. Why? You’d got your commission.’
The question was irrelevant. Charley was off the hook and saw a chance to nail Nina to the cross. ‘You couldn’t get out of the club fast enough. Vetting who gets a card is a big part of protecting the girls. They have to believe there isn’t some nut job running around with access to them in his wallet.’
‘You weren’t here.’
It sounded pathetic because it was. Charley swept it away. ‘Nobody, repeat, nobody but me decides on that level of membership. Not even Luke. I’m responsible for the girls’ safety. They trust me and I’m not letting a bimbo destroy that trust. Being the boss’s sister doesn’t cut it. For obvious reasons.’ She sneered. ‘Maybe I should stick my nose in your gig? See how you like it.’
Nina was smart enough not to reply. This one had gone to Charley.
But she was wrong. I decided who’d be getting a card.
Over on the couch, Drake was holding his head in his hands, making a noise in his throat like he was going to be sick. I ignored it and rewound. ‘You said she gave you something. What? What did she give you?’
‘What?’
‘“She gave me something.” What did you mean?’
Drake said, ‘Can I have my clothes?’
‘No, you can’t. What did she give you? Answer me.’
‘How would I know?’
‘Did you ask her?’
‘No, no, she offered.’
Righteousness drained from Charley’s face. She saw where this was headed – she was back in the frame. Drake said, ‘I… I… couldn’t do it.’
‘And Zelda suggested she give you something to help. Is that right?’
‘Maybe. I think so. We were drunk. I can’t remember. Where are my clothes?’
‘A joint, or was it a pill?’
‘She lit a joint and told me to smoke it. She called it another name.’
Charley’s fingers gripped the back of the couch. ‘What other name?’
Drake rubbed his eyes like a tired child. Charley was wide awake. A psycho losing it and butchering one of the girls was bad enough, but this…
She shook Algernon Drake. ‘What did she call it? Remember! It’s important!’
I barked an order. ‘Get her bag. See what she was holding. Whatever she was into, I want it.’
Mark Douglas was already on his way. Nina hadn’t moved; she was still at the door. When she’d given Drake the platinum membership card she couldn’t have imagined he’d end up murdering somebody.
Douglas brought Zelda’s bag into the lounge, knelt on the floor, and tipped the contents onto the coffee table. ‘Christ, she’s got everything under the bloody sun in here: uppers, downers, Prozac, LSD.’ He read the label on a brown bottle. ‘Ketamine – that’s a horse tranquilliser. Who did she do business with?’
He sifted through the pharmacopoeia and picked up a plastic bag of shredded material and a small container of clear liquid, three-quarters full. ‘Fucking hell! Mamba! She gave him black mamba.’
I’d been in the skin trade a long time. It was a hard game, especially on the streets; the women were vulnerable, all too aware their next customer might be Peter Sutcliffe or somebody with the same hang-ups. Danger was a given. For many, it was the daily indignities they couldn’t stand. Staying clean was impossible; they needed to be able to take themselves out of the life they’d landed into. Soft drugs weren’t a problem. There was no great harm in a little sideline and I wasn’t against them selling to the marks. Except, none of that was true at this level. And some substances like synthetic cannabis – spice, fake weed, mojo or black mamba – were too risky and unpredictable to dabble with. Drake was lucky he hadn’t suffered a heart attack. Instead, he’d killed Zelda in a psychotic episode.
Charley wasn’t convinced; she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Something isn’t right here. Not this girl, no way.’
She could be shifting the spotlight off herself but I didn’t think so. I turned to Mark Douglas. ‘Call George Ritchie. He’ll handle the clean-up.’
‘Already on it. We’ll check the girl’s place. What’ll we do with Drake?’
‘He stays here until he straightens out. Keep somebody with him. When he sleeps it off, we’ll make a decision.’
Nina reacted like the spoiled brat she was. ‘Why am I involved? If he hadn’t called me, I wouldn’t even be here.’
She didn’t realise how often in her thirty-odd years being my sister had saved her. Nina’s ability to look at a problem and only register how it affected her was remarkable. This was one of those: I wanted to slap some sense into her.
‘How about because you gave him the card? If that doesn’t happen, none of this happens. But you did and that makes it your mess, so stop whinging.’
Charley smirked at the put-down and I bit back anger. Images of the mutilated female next door were fresh in my mind. She seemed to have forgotten them already. I didn’t expect her to be broken up about Zelda – prostitution at any level was hazardous – but nobody had covered themselves in glory. The murdered hooker was a complication we didn’t need, a fact that should’ve been self-evident.
I said, ‘And before you get too smart, maybe you’d like to explain why one of your girls was carrying her very own pharmacy in her bag.’
The reminder of her shortcomings wiped the smirk from her face. In the last couple of weeks cash had shipped from Jonas Small, the Bishops and Bridie O’Shea without incident. Glass Houses hadn’t lost any other clients and everything was cool on the housing development. All good.
Almost good enough to make it seem like the attacks had stopped. A dead hooker and one of London’s leading barristers out of his head on black mamba told a different tale.
‘If Charley’s right, we’re still under attack. I want everybody at the club in three hours and, Mark, we need to ID those drugs. Find out where they came from.’
‘That’s a long shot.’
‘Long or not, it’s the only shot we’ve got.’
For Charley, Zelda’s death was very bad news. Luke hadn’t singled her out, at least, not yet. She’d hired the young hooker – if it turned out the Irish prostitute was playing for another team… Charley left the thought unfinished. She hadn’t met Danny. By all accounts, he’d been a madman. Luke wasn’t like him. Then again, genetics didn’t lie: Danny, Luke, her and Nina were the spawn of Daniel and Frances Glass. Fucked-up people who’d produced fucked-up children. Under the skin, those kids were all the same and Charley had no doubt how she would deal with any fool who’d invited a cuckoo into the nest. Brother or sister. It wouldn’t save them.
The calls took less than twenty minutes. In every case the message was get dressed and get here. No excuses, no exceptions. The girls wouldn’t appreciate being woken up. Tough titty. They could catch up on their beauty sleep later. Right now, everything was on the line. Sooner rather than later, the inquest would begin in earnest; unless she brought Luke information he could use, the spotlight would be on her.
The females arrived in ones and twos and gathered in a corner of the bar, most still wearing the previous night’s make-up, talking quietly amongst themselves, wondering why they’d been ordered to the club. Charley let her eyes run slowly over them, nodding as if she was realising something.
‘Does anybody know where Zelda is? She isn’t answering her phone.’
She made a show of calling the number again, swearing when she got no response.
‘Fuck! The silly bitch has turned it off. How many times does it need to be said? Always keep your mobile on.’
Her eyes r
an over the tired faces. ‘Open your bags. Everybody.’
A girl from Sydney objected. ‘Why do you want us to open our bags? What’s going on?’
The Australian had long legs and even longer eyelashes; tanned and slim and popular with the punters. Charley made a mental note to fire her. As soon as this was over, she’d be on her way back to Tumbarumba or wherever hellhole she was from.
‘I’m curious to see what’s inside.’
‘If you’re looking for hard drugs, you won’t find any. I don’t use. Don’t take anything stronger than alcohol unless the client’s into it. Even then, I’m careful. Most of us are the same. This is a great gig. Nobody’s stupid enough to jeopardise it for a line or two of coke.’
Charley smiled a thin smile. ‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you? Fucking open it.’
She emptied the bags onto the carpet and sifted the contents – apart from a dark-brown lump of marijuana wrapped in silver paper and a couple of Es, the women were clean.
‘What’s all this about?’
Charley paused, pretending she was unwilling to comment. A blonde from Finland, sitting at the end, pressed her. ‘Surely, we’ve a right to be told?’
‘Okay. There’s a ten-month wait for membership to the club. LBC is the in-place in London. Everybody who’s anybody comes here. This morning we had a tip-off some of you are selling H to the punters.’ Charlie went down the line, studying the faces. ‘Do you have any idea the damage that would do? The press would lap it up. Overnight, our reputation would be in the gutter. My job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. You’re here because of me. That makes you my responsibility. If any of you overstep the mark, it’s my ass on the line.’
She tried Zelda’s number again. ‘This is fucking unbelievable. Do you understand how stupid it is to switch it off? Your lives might depend on it.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘All right. Enough stupidity for one day. What’s Zelda on? One of you knows – the sooner you tell me, the better.’
The girls stared blankly at her.
‘Is our anonymous caller right? Is she dealing? Did she know we were tipped off, that we were on to her? Is that why she’s broken contact? I’ll find out, I promise you, and anyone who kept silent will be out the door with her.’
The faces in front of her held none of the answers she was looking for. Charley pointed to the handbags. ‘Pick them up. You can go. And if Zelda contacts you, tell her she’s in big trouble.’
She spoke to the Australian. ‘Not you.’
When the rest had left, Charley softened. ‘Look, you seem like a nice kid. But you have to appreciate this is a big operation. Luke won’t let anybody compromise it. What you’ve got isn’t just the best deal in London, it’s the best on the planet. That brings responsibility.’ She put a hand on the Aussie’s arm. ‘If Luke can’t find who it is, he’ll let all of you go.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Twenty-four hours later, ten new girls will be strutting their stuff. And understand this: once you’re out, there’s no way back.’
‘What do you want me to say? I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I want to help, believe me.’
Charley looked away. ‘I do believe you. My problem is I believed Zelda, too. You girls have a lot in common. Sister-close in five minutes, I’ve seen it. Who was supplying her?’
‘If I knew—’
‘But she was dealing?’
‘I can’t be sure.’
‘Okay, let’s try an easy one. Was she seeing somebody away from here? A boyfriend?’
The girl laughed. ‘A guy? When would she have the time? I’m here five nights a week. The rest, all I do is sleep. Same story with most of us.’
‘And last night. Tell me about that.’
She shrugged. ‘Honestly, I was busy with my own thing. I hardly saw her except when she asked me for a cigarette.’
‘I didn’t realise she smoked.’
‘She didn’t. She just fancied one. I let her have a couple.’
‘What then?’
‘Nothing. She went outside to smoke it. When I left with my client, she was on the pavement talking to somebody.’
‘Somebody from the club?’
‘No idea.’
‘Had you seen him before?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What did he look like? Think.’
Her brow furrowed, instantly ageing her, and Charley caught a glimpse of the girl in ten years. By then, she’d be back in Australia, married and respectable – a doctor’s receptionist or some such – the perfect daughter-in-law, loved by her kids, adored by her husband. All blissfully unaware of who she’d been and what she’d done. After a while, spreading her legs for money would feel as if it had never happened. Now and then, on summer nights, with a warm wind blowing off the ocean, she’d have a few drinks too many and allow herself to be coaxed into talking about London and what a great city it was.
LBC, hooking, and this conversation wouldn’t be part of it.
She said, ‘What can I tell you? He was a guy. I mean, after a while they all look the same, don’t they?’
28
George Ritchie arrived first and took a seat across the desk from me. He’d had his hair cut; it made him look younger. He seemed well, bright-eyed and alert, and waited patiently to be told why he was here. George was a great man to have in the boat. But he’d disappointed me. Charley’s hits in Lewisham and Lambeth had shown he’d taken his eye off the ball. Everybody had a sell-by date. Maybe old George had gone past his. I hoped not because, right at this minute, I needed him as much as I’d ever needed him. I poured two whiskies from the bottle in the drawer and handed him one. He held it with both hands like a chalice, gazing into the glass, swirling the liquid in the bottom, and I was reminded of a prospector, sifting flecks of precious metal from sediment.
Ritchie said, ‘The body’s taken care of. We’ve no worries on that score. Setting the flat to rights will take longer. Felix says there’s blood everywhere.’
‘Thanks for that, George.’
He set the tumbler down, untouched. ‘Drinking during the day doesn’t agree with me. Learned that the hard way in Newcastle. Only ever do it when I’m with you!’
‘One won’t do any harm.’
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Sure about that, Luke?’
‘Right now, I’m not sure about anything, George. These women are on the best deal in London.’
I described the horror in the flat in Butler’s Wharf and watched his eyes narrow as he took it in. When I finished, he said, ‘And you’re struggling to get your head round what it would take to buy one of them.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Two things shouldn’t be overlooked: even if a High Court judge is drinking Moët out of her stiletto, a hooker’s still a hooker.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Mayfair or Margate, they can’t be trusted. Most of them are screwed up to begin with. They’ll find a way to fuck up. Trust me.’
‘You said two things.’
He lifted the whisky, changed his mind, and put it back on the desk. ‘You mentioned her handbag was full of junk.’
‘She’d every fucking thing in there. You name it, she had it.’
‘Yet, she chose to give the guy black mamba. Not to be messed with even on a good day. She had to know that.’
‘Then, somebody put her up to it. Used her to get to us.’
‘Or made her a better offer. In which case, it isn’t over, we’re still under attack.’
‘I don’t get it – what would they achieve? It’s not as if you can guarantee a result.’
Ritchie said, ‘I’m betting everything she was holding had been tampered with. Boosted in some way. Maybe had LSD added to it.’ He stared at me as the possibilities deepened. ‘They’re having you at it, Luke. Standing back and enjoying the show. At the very least, it’s a reminder they’re still out there and have their eye on you. The prossie dying – that’s a bonus, an unplanned extra.
But intended or not, it’s enough to put the club out of business.’
I still didn’t get it. ‘If they’re intent on coming after me, why not just come and get it over with?’
‘Like I said, they’re toying with you. And when your nerves start to fray, they’ll show themselves.’ Ritchie picked up the whisky, emptied the glass in one go and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Of course, I might be well wrong.’
‘Except, you don’t think so.’
He shrugged. ‘Who was the hooker and where did she come from?’
‘Zelda.’
‘Zelda? Jesus.’
‘Charley hired her.’
It was the moment he’d waited for since the hit on the taxi firm and the betting shop – the chance to kick the woman who’d shown him up, not once but twice, when she was down. I studied his face for a trace of satisfaction and found none. Like the whisky, he’d turned it away until he was ready to deal with it on his terms: it said something about the kind of man George Ritchie was, a reminder of how dangerous he could be and why I’d brought him on board in the first place.
He quietly considered the information, then asked the question he’d asked a hundred times before. ‘What do you want me to do, Luke?’
They were like mourners at the funeral of a friend who’d died unexpectedly, their faces blank. Solemn. Not quite believing any of it was real. But it was.
The chair next to Ritchie was free. Douglas could’ve taken it and didn’t, which summed up their relationship. Until recently, I’d been a fan of George Ritchie and in some ways I still was. Except, he wanted it both ways – take no part in anything to do with LBC and criticise from the sidelines. Not on, George. Expecting anything from the old king and the young pretender was asking too much. I’d settle for them doing what they were paid to do. Nina moved beside Douglas. When she thought no one was looking, her finger traced the back of his hand. Charley was standing in the corner, as far from her sister as space allowed, pulling on a strand of hair, twisting it into a curl. She saw Nina’s touch, displeasure darkening her eyes, and I realised Mark Douglas had unwittingly stumbled into a contest with him as the prize: his life was about to get complicated.
