‘No, don’t worry it ain’t. Not in the way you’re thinking anyway.’
Yvonne’s face brightened. ‘Nice one. Cheers Johno. What time will you pick me up then?’
‘Eleven – and make sure you’re ready, Yvonne. I don’t want any fuck ups.’
‘And you can do one too.’ Yvonne screamed as loud as she could as she stumbled backwards out of the Archer Street bar in Soho. Her feet were hurting her and her head was spinning. She bent down and took off her shoes, walking along the filthy pavements in her bare feet. She was tired, and she was supposed to be doing this special job for Johno. She hadn’t meant to drink so much, but then she
never
meant to drink so much. She really needed to go home and make sure Laila was all right. She also needed to get ready, but all she really wanted to do was to go to bed. Perhaps if she had another pick-me-up drink then she’d feel more up to it. Deciding it was a good idea, Yvonne stumbled along Shaftesbury Avenue.
Walking into Layman’s Pub on Brewer Street, Yvonne headed straight to the bar. There were two men in the far corner. They looked like they had a bit of money. Well, enough money to buy her a drink. She moved towards them. The taller one spoke to her immediately.
‘All right beautiful?’ He spoke with an accent she couldn’t place.
Yvonne’s face crinkled up and she didn’t bother trying to disguise it. ‘I know you’re not talking to me.’
‘There’s no one else here who’s making my heart skip a beat.’
Yvonne snorted with laughter at the tall sinewy stranger who’d stood up from the bar stool to stand beside her.
‘You seriously use that line? Take it from me chuck, it won’t get the girls running to share the sheets with you.’
‘What will?’
Yvonne licked her lips. Perhaps she could get this one in the bag. ‘Money.’
‘How about I get you a drink and we can discuss it further? What’s your poison?’
‘Double brandy please.’
Taking the drink off the man, Yvonne knocked it back in one. The man laughed. ‘Looks like you’re thirsty. Another?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
The man grinned, waving the barman to pour another, and turned to Yvonne who was rocking gently back and forth, a glazed expression on her face.
‘So why don’t we talk about what we were saying earlier?’
‘You’ll have to remind me, that brandy’s gone straight to me head.’
‘I was asking how much?’
‘For what?’
‘How much do you charge?’
Yvonne smirked, remembering the conversation again. He wasn’t bad looking and it’d mean money towards the rent. ‘A ton for full sex. Twenty-five for a hand job. Oh and I don’t do bareback.’
‘Sounds wonderful babe. Or it would do if you weren’t nicked. I’m arresting you on suspicion of soliciting. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not …’
Yvonne rolled her eyes. ‘Just do me a favour pal and put the handcuffs on.’
‘Where the fuck is she?’ Johno stared at Laila, his eyes dark and full of hostility. He looked round the bedroom, pulling sheets off the bed, as if she’d magically appear from beneath them.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I don’t. She said she was popping out to do something.’
‘Do what?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Fuck me, why do I bother with whores? You lot are more trouble than they’re worth. Try calling her.’
‘I did. Her phone’s off.’
‘Well try again then. Fuck me, don’t bother. Don’t bother. Give it me here.’
Johno snatched the mobile and pressed last number redial. It went straight to voicemail but it didn’t deter Johno from leaving a message.
‘I hope you get this fucking message because it’s the last fucking message you’ll ever hear if you don’t get your arse back here, now.’
Johno threw the phone down. As he did he got a glimpse of the Stella McCartney dress he’d given Yvonne earlier. ‘She’s not even pissing changed. You’ll just have to do it.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said you’ll have to do it.’
Fear ran up and down Laila’s body. ‘What … what do you want me to do?’
‘Stop flipping asking me questions for a start.’
‘But …’
‘Oh listen, don’t think I’m happy about this either. Just put the dress on and I’ll tell you the rest in the car.’
‘So you understand what you have to do? There’ll be other girls there as well. And when you go in I want you to go and look like you’re having fun.’ Johno sat in his Mercedes, rubbing his head. This girl seemed to be as much use as a nun on a stag night.
Freddie had asked for the party to be full of girls, which had been easy to arrange – they had enough working for them – but he’d also asked for a fresh, drug-free girl which was harder said than done. Most of the girls who worked for them were up to their eyeballs, so Yvonne had been perfect; but thanks to her disappearing act he had no other choice but to take this girl.
‘I’ll go across and talk to him first, then afterwards I want you to go and talk to him like we discussed. Make it as natural as you can Janie. Make out you like him.’
‘What if I don’t like him?’ Laila’s eyes were wide with terror.
‘Give me bleeding strength. The magic word is
pretend
. Janie, just
pretend
. And it don’t matter if you do or not.
You understand me?
’ Johno’s words sounded menacing at the end.
‘Yes, but …’
Johno put his fingers on her mouth. ‘Janie, will you do me a favour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
Johno locked the car and started to walk across the car park with Laila, noticing how beautiful she looked. Only on occasion did he ever sample the goods. It wasn’t his style to mix business with pleasure. But looking at her in the cream dress, the way it fitted over her curves, tonight might well be the occasion he did a bit of sampling.
Once at the back door of The Tash club in Hanover Square – the club owned by Freddie and named after his wife – Johno looked at his phone to see if Yvonne had called. She hadn’t. He pursed his lips. When he saw her, he was going to show her what happened when she let him down.
‘You ready?’
Laila could feel herself shaking, though she wasn’t sure if it was the late September night or the fear of what she was about to face which was making her do so. She was petrified. Without Yvonne she felt lost. She was also worried about her.
When Yvonne hadn’t answered the phone, the thought had passed through Laila’s mind that Yvonne had left her, and it’d taken every ounce of strength not to fall apart and run. But once the initial panic had gone, Laila remembered her friend’s words.
‘I need you to help me too, Laila. I need you to try. Just try.’
And that’s what she was doing, but it didn’t stop her being terrified.
‘Johno, I won’t have to sleep with him, will I?’
‘You’ll do whatever it takes and whatever he wants.’
‘I can’t.’
Johno held her shoulders, not too tightly, but tight enough to let her know he wasn’t messing about.
‘That shit don’t work with me sweetheart. Whether you want to fuck someone or not, it’s irrelevant now. Thanks to Yvonne, you’re going to be thrown in at the deep end babes. She well and truly stitched me up and I don’t take kindly to anyone doing that to me; especially not a bleeding tom. If you want to make sure your friend stays alive to see the light of day, you’ll do whatever it takes.’
Montague’s private club was full to capacity. The music was pumping and the deep bass vibrated through the guests. Multi-coloured lights flashed and the atmosphere was filled with people having a good time. The four red velvet decorated rooms held London’s top faces, pimps, hookers and the Thompsons’ close and trusted friends. When there wasn’t a private party it was a popular hangout for the rich who didn’t want to mix with the famous; a discreet, members only club charging a one-off fee of twenty thousand pounds a year.
Champagne only came by the Cristal bottle and whiskey only came by the single malt. All in all it was more than a nice little earner for Freddie. There was never any trouble, they all seemed too busy losing thousands at the casino table or paying the toms to share their Bolivian cocaine to care.
It was midnight and Ray-Ray sat reluctantly at the party his father was throwing for him. He hadn’t wanted the party at all but his father had insisted, and Ray-Ray had seen how important it was to Freddie. So he’d eventually agreed, not wanting to disappoint his dad by refusing to come.
Freddie had decided not to make an appearance himself, thinking it safer, not wanting the whole of Soho to know he was back in the UK, after all he was still a wanted man.
As he sat in the corner, Ray-Ray thought about the conversation he’d had the day before with Freddie. It’d been a bit of a shock to the system seeing his father so upset. His mum, yes, he was used to that, but his father, never. He hadn’t realised he blamed himself for the attack on Ray’s face. He’d always assumed it was the Freddie Thompson ego going into overdrive that made him seek revenge for his wronged son. But what he’d seen yesterday hadn’t been ego; it was just a father loving a son.
‘Alright Ray-Ray. How’s things?’ Ray-Ray looked up to see Johno standing by the side of him.
‘Good, thanks.’
‘Enjoying yourself? Your Dad wanted you to have a good time.’
Ray-Ray nodded, not wanting to tell Johno he’d rather be anywhere but here.
‘That’s my boy; I’ll get a drink sent over.’ He tapped him on his shoulder as he walked off across to the bar, giving a wink as a signal.
‘Hi, do you mind if I sit here?’ Ray-Ray didn’t turn his head to the question. He wasn’t taking much notice. He was too busy watching Alfie Jennings, one of the biggest Soho gangsters, trying it on with a woman half his age. ‘Yeah, sure.’
‘My name’s Janie.’
Ray-Ray looked at the woman. In the strobe lighting, he saw the recoil of horror in her eyes as he turned and she saw his scarred face. He froze for a split second as he stared into her face, then sprang back from his chair, instinctively covering his face with one hand.
He pushed back into the wall, knocking the small table over as he tried to disappear into the darkness of the club. The glasses smashed to the floor. The people in the room turned to stare at him as he ran, making his way through the small crowd, knocking blindly into the customers as he sought sanctuary in the toilets.
‘No! No! No!’ Ray-Ray’s voice shouted out in distress in the quiet of the bathroom as he leant against the sink. He looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. With a swing of his hand he smashed his fist into the glass, hitting it so hard shards of glass stuck in his fingers. He turned to the second mirror, smashing it with the same vigour, leaving smears of blood on the cracked glass. He turned to the last mirror, a tall mirror hanging on the end wall and ran into it, smashing into pieces what he saw staring back. Exhausted, he slid down the wall and let out a deep low painful cry.
‘You all right Ray-Ray?’ Johno’s voice was filled with shock as he was greeted by the scene in the gents. Ray-Ray was crouched on the floor, blood oozing from his head and hand, glass spread all around the tiled room. Johno walked over to him, hearing the crunching glass under his feet.
‘You need to get that seen to; it looks like you’ll need stitches.’
‘Get out! Get out!’
‘Ray-Ray, mate, listen.’
‘I said get out! Now!’ Ray-Ray shrieked at him.
‘Okay, okay. I’m going.’
Ray-Ray didn’t move as Johno walked out. He stared at the ceiling, remembering the way she’d looked at him. Remembering the way Laila Khan had just stared at him, the disgust and terror on her face clear to see.
‘What did you say? What did you fucking say to him?’ Johno shook Laila in the now-emptied club. Her fear was apparent. ‘I … I didn’t.’
‘You must have said something.’
‘I didn’t, I swear, I just told him my name. That’s all I said.’
Johno raised his voice up a notch. ‘I don’t fucking believe you.’
‘Please Johno, you’re hurting me.’
‘This is nothing compared to what will happen when I find out what you said. Now get in the fucking car.’
Johno stomped off, leaving Laila standing in the middle of the room, unaware she was being watched by Ray-Ray.
Yvonne sat in the tiny police cell, drinking a tepid cup of coffee. Her head was clearing, leaving her with a nasty headache, though she knew it was the least of her worries after letting Johno down. She’d been a stupid cow and gone against all the basic rules. Written and unwritten. It was the first lesson of anyone who worked the street. Don’t talk specifics. Don’t talk about money. Yvonne took another gulp of the coffee and knew she’d made a huge mistake.
The door opened and the man who’d arrested her, along with the other man she’d seen in the pub, walked in. The arresting officer sat down, pulling up his chair and throwing a brown file on the table, along with an envelope of money. Yvonne’s eyes widened. She’d forgotten she’d had that in her bag. Shit.
The officer leaned over to put his gum in the bin.
‘Feeling better?’
‘Piss off.’
‘Now you tell me how being rude is going to help anyone.’
Yvonne closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t believe what an absolute idiot she’d been. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’
‘You need one?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s a shame, because the answer’s no.’
Yvonne curled her lip. ‘You’re one flipping muppet.’
‘Let’s talk about this.’ The officer pushed the clear bag forward containing the white envelope. ‘There’s a lot of money there. Nearly two thousand pounds. Where did you get it from?’
‘I saved it. It’s mine.’
‘And perhaps you’d like to tell us where exactly you saved it
from
?’
Yvonne said nothing, chewing the inside of her mouth.
‘You know what I think? I think you stole it.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘So it’s money you’ve earned soliciting? Money for your pimp?’
‘No.’
‘We’re not getting very far are we? I tell you what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to let you off with a caution, but until you can come up with a proper reason and proof this money’s yours, I’m afraid we’re going to confiscate it.’