As tough as he was it had never really been in his nature to enjoy hurting people for the sake of it and he’d become tired of looking over his shoulder.
He’d spent over a hundred grand on the hothouse and like his cellmate, found it therapeutic growing flowers. So now he found himself tending to his roses, knowing that he had to be calm when he went up West later.
Vaughn had two good reasons for going to the club later. The first was to meet Casey; he’d been looking forward to seeing her for the past couple of days, which was unusual for him; women usually came and went without him giving them a second thought.
He’d never bothered to even think about having a relationship before; it’d suited him and his lifestyle to be on his own. He liked his freedom and he usually got bored of a woman after a couple of days, which was why hookers were perfect for him. Apart from liking the company of hookers, life was simple with them; fuck them and then fuck off; they weren’t offended and they didn’t nag. Life without relationships was uncomplicated, which was why he felt so pissed off about Casey; she’d got under his skin.
The one thing that did bother him about her was her secrecy; when he’d tried to talk to her about herself he could almost see her clam up in front of his eyes. Vaughn hoped she’d open up: he wanted to get to know her in the good old-fashioned way; but if that didn’t work, he could always get some of his old connections to dig about to see what they could find out. He hoped there would be no surprises; one thing he’d always hated was surprises.
The second reason he was going to the club was to speak to Alfie. He’d heard some rumours about a new business venture he and Oscar where setting up and if what he heard was true, he was going to have to slap some sense into his friend; some things you didn’t deal in – especially with the likes of Oscar Harding. The man was a nut job and he wouldn’t trust him with his late mother’s ashes – or with his prize roses for that matter. Oscar Harding spelt nothing but trouble.
Lola stretched out and farted; a loud smelly stench of a fart.
‘Jesus woman, haven’t you any manners?’
‘No, I lost them when I lost me virginity.’
Oscar pushed his ex-wife away and was thankful he was at her flat and not his, or he would’ve needed to call on the services of Billy again to clean the place up.
He’d gone round to Lola’s the previous evening to drop some smack off, which he was going to make her feed to the girls whether she wanted to or not. His head had been hurting him so badly he’d insisted Lola give him a massage to see if the headache would ease off; he could tell she hadn’t wanted to by the face she’d pulled but he’d been too weak to give her a clip. The massage hadn’t done any good and he was unable to drive back home because of the intense pain.
He suspected he’d blacked out, because the last thing he remembered was lying down on his ex-wife’s uncomfortable bed.
His headache was completely gone and he was eager to get out of the flat; he’d some business in Kennington he wanted to finish before going to the club later.
‘Come here and give me a kiss, Oscar.’
Lola’s breath was sickly sweet and her mouth was caked with dried white spit at the corners. She was high, having just finished chasing the dragon. Oscar brushed her off angrily.
‘What’s the matter O? Still can’t get a hard-on?’
The moment Lola said this, she knew she’d said the wrong thing. A flash came into Oscar’s eyes followed by a dark hatred she’d seen on his face many times before.
Oscar lifted Lola up by her hair. She screamed, trying to fight off the frenzied attack, and kicked, her legs knocking over the tea-set which she only used on high days and holidays. Oscar pulled her through to the tiny kitchen and with one hand lit the gas hob. He yelled at the top of his voice, salivating as he shouted.
‘Are you still laughing now, Lola? Do you still think it’s funny now?’
Lola tried to shake her head but Oscar had her hair in a tight grip, making it impossible for her to do so. With a yank of his arm, he lifted her up and pressed his other hand on the back of her head, pushing her down towards the flame. Lola managed to turn her head to the side, pleading.
‘Please Oscar, I’m sorry, please don’t!’
‘I can’t hear you!’
He pushed her head the small distance to the flame and held it there as the fire seared into her cheek, melting away her skin. Lola fought hard, trying to push away and making desperate pleas the whole time.
After a few seconds, Oscar released her as the strong smell of torched flesh hit his nose. Lola dropped to the floor writhing in agony, with Oscar crouching down to poke her head.
‘I’ll be here tomorrow at five as arranged. Make sure you get that seen to, Lola, it looks nasty.’
He stood up, smoothing down his hair and wiping away the blood from his lips. ‘Oh and Lola? I think you’ve wet yourself.’
Going to the sobriety meeting in Great Titchfield Street had made Casey feel better; able to put things into perspective. She had renewed energy as she walked through the West End and a feeling of hope which was all too rare in her life.
She thought of Josh again and how they’d stumbled through their few short years of married life. He’d been the ideal husband in every way – it’d been her who hadn’t been able to commit. She’d tried, but there was something inside her which wouldn’t let her. The only person she’d ever wanted to commit to had been taken away.
Josh had constantly been there to pick up the pieces. He’d been there waiting for her at home, worried out of his mind on the occasions when she hadn’t bothered to come back after a night out. There’d never been any recriminations; only tears and pain with Josh begging for assurances that it wouldn’t happen again, but it always had. The more it did, the worse she’d felt about what she was doing to him, and the worse she felt, the less she wanted to come home. After they’d come home from Sardinia, Josh hadn’t mentioned having another baby until the day she’d found him sitting out in the garden on his own. When she’d walked up next to him, he’d taken her hand and asked her again.
‘Casey, won’t you even contemplate it? Wouldn’t you like to have another child of your own?’
She’d wanted to scream; she didn’t understand how he couldn’t see having another child to her would be like replacing her baby; it’d be like she was trying to forget – and she could never forget. Equally, she didn’t want to hurt Josh, because she could see his pain written on his face, so she’d agreed, but stayed on the pill thinking it’d all be fine; and it had, until their six-week road trip to the States for Josh’s birthday when it had all gone wrong. It became the beginning of the end for their marriage.
Soho captivated anybody who walked through it and Casey decided to take a long detour, enjoying blending into the vibrant streets. She walked through Dean Street and into Soho Square, trying to spot the media types and the ones who thought they were. She walked through the green and into Frith Street, marvelling at the social fusion of people; hookers, tourists, restaurant goers, tramps and of course the sex shop connoisseurs; they were all out in force on Saturday night.
After the brawl in the club and after what she’d seen, Casey had been wary about going back there. She hadn’t said anything to Lola about the girls but when she’d mentioned the fight Lola had picked up on her apprehension.
‘Christ girl, if it’s not in Whispers it’ll be somewhere else. Wherever there’s men, lovie, there’s trouble; thought you would’ve learnt that by now. Just get yourself down there, have some fun; don’t let your head get carried away with you. What you going to do if you don’t go? Spend the rest of your days alone in your flat playing that bleeding sudoku? Fuck me; I’ll have to finish you off meself if that happens. Look, you’ll be fine, and besides, Vaughnie wouldn’t let anything happen to you. He’s one of the good ’uns.’
Lola had winked at her and she’d felt herself blush at the mention of his name.
Perhaps Lola was right and it was all in her head. Taking a deep breath and wondering if she’d been right to let Lola persuade her to come to Whispers, Casey smiled at the formidable looking bouncer and left her jacket with the female cloakroom assistant before heading to the bar.
‘Iced water please.’
‘I’ll get that.’
Casey turned and saw Vaughn behind her. Although the smell of alcohol was heavy in the air, she could still smell the strong, crisp aftershave Vaughn was wearing.
She’d forgotten how handsome and tall he was. Usually, she would’ve scoffed at the sight of a man in a silk shirt, but the charcoal grey one he was wearing was expensive and well cut; it clung to his body enough to show off his muscular build without looking ridiculous and any doubts she had about him started to slip away.
‘It’s getting to be a habit, you sneaking up on me and offering to buy me a drink. How about I buy you one?’
‘I can’t have a woman buying me a drink, goes against my moral code; and especially when she’s such a beautiful one. You look exquisite, Casey.’
The lights were too dim for Vaughn to see Casey blush but the way she put her head down, he guessed she was uncomfortable with compliments. He’d known she was stunning but now her hair was freshly washed and her clothes were clean, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Smiling, he touched her back and nodded to the barman for service.
Alfie peeked out from behind the curtain; it was filling up quickly. On most occasions he would’ve been pleased to see so many punters come into the club but he was set to go on stage in the next half an hour and he was feeling rather ill at the thought of it.
His tendency to suffer from stage nerves was always bad, but tonight it’d been made worse by the fact he hadn’t rehearsed his set. The crazy week had made it impossible to do so, and the two whores he’d picked up had stayed longer than he’d anticipated.
He saw Vaughn sitting down with Casey near the front and the hunched-up figure of Oscar Harding sitting right at the back. Other business associates were dotted round the venue and he could see his henchmen taking their seats at the side walls, making sure that they could keep an eye on any cunt who thought they’d put him off his stride by heckling.
The first open mike act of the night went on and Alfie could hear the laughter, which only added to his stomach flips. He contemplated having a double vodka to steady his nerves but it was a double-edged sword; his nerves would be calmed but he would forget his routine completely.
Each time he stood in the side wings before going on stage he swore he’d never put himself through the trauma again, but then he’d start missing the rush of it; it was like a drug but a whole lot better. He’d dabbled in his fair share of illegal substances and still had a nose for cocaine, but nothing beat the buzz of stand-up, though he was thankful that no one was allowed backstage to see how frightened the mighty Alfie Jennings really was.
Oscar saw Vaughn sitting at one of the front tables with an attractive woman. He recognised her face from somewhere but couldn’t think where, but then he wasn’t surprised; he saw so many whores every day he never really took much notice of any of them.
He didn’t really want to go across but etiquette required it, and as always, Oscar Harding wanted to be on Vaughn’s good side. Oscar walked across to the table, ignoring the inexperienced but cocky comedian who was on stage. As he stood in front of Vaughn’s table Oscar spoke loudly.
‘Good to see you V, how are your roses?’
As Oscar carried on talking, the comedian, cheesed off with the loud interruption and the poor response from the audience, decided to make his feelings known and try to get a laugh.
‘Oi, excuse me mate, I was wondering if that was a line in the middle of your forehead, or just the scar where they removed the dick? Do me a favour and shut the fuck up.’
Vaughn looked at Oscar and then at the comedian before sitting back and putting his arm round Casey, ready to watch the drama unfold.
Oscar wasn’t sure at first if he’d heard correctly but when it sank in that the guy on stage was trying to make him a laughing stock, he decided to teach the cocky prick a lesson.
Grinning menacingly and winking at Vaughn, Oscar jumped on stage and quietly started to do his best Robert De Niro impression to the guy, with the audience unaware what was going on.
‘You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? Cos I’m the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to punk?’
Vaughn watched in fascination as the comedian stopped smiling and suddenly looked very scared as Oscar went to grab the comedian by his jacket, narrowly missing. Within a moment Alfie ran on stage, not wanting unnecessary trouble in the club after the other night.
‘I’m afraid, ladies and gentlemen, it’s the end of the show, but we’ve DJ Spooz on in half an hour, playing classic eighties soul taking you into the night. Thank you and goodnight!’
Alfie threw down the microphone and left the stage; he saw the comic surrounded by the other performers.
‘Call the police; I want you to call the police; that man tried to attack me!’
Alfie ignored him and flashed a glance at Oscar, feigning anger but in truth very much relieved he’d got away with not performing his set. For once, Alfie Jennings was thankful for Oscar Harding’s erratic behaviour.
‘You know I’m working in the cafe with his ex-wife?’
‘With Lola? God, that place is a hygiene hazard. Last time I was in there, I heard one of the cockroaches phoning health and safety.’
Casey smiled. ‘She showed me a scar on her body, told me Oscar had cut her up.’
‘Her and hundreds of others.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you best stay away from him.’
‘You’re the second person who’s warned me off.’
‘Well then, both of us can’t be telling a lie. Come on, I’m starving.’
As Vaughn strode on ahead Casey watched him and wondered, not for the first time, what she was doing agreeing to go out with him. It was obvious there was more to Vaughn than he was letting on, but in a strange way he made her feel things would be alright. She wanted them to be alright, and more to the point, she wanted
him
to be alright. Anyway, what harm could a meal do?