Geezer Girls, page 20
‘These are diamonds.’
‘Get outta here,’ Misty said.
‘That’s why Frankie coming after us. He want diamonds back.’
Silence sizzled in the room. Finally Misty broke it. ‘How much are they worth?’
‘Commander in my army say . . .’ Opal stopped talking. Wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘One million pounds each.’
Everyone gasped.
‘You are joking?’ Misty said, dazed. Her eyes quickly swung across each diamond. Counted. Four. ‘That means four million nicker is sitting on my Auntie Glad’s second-hand table.’
Opal kept her eyes on Misty. ‘We sell, buy ourselves new life.’
No one said anything. They just kept looking at the diamonds. Looking at the temptation of a new life.
‘Can you help us sell, Misty?’
Misty started chewing her bottom lip. Her lipstick settled against her teeth. She moved. Began pacing, hand chopping through her hair. Suddenly she stopped. Turned back to them. ‘I ain’t been involved in that world for years, but yeah, I can get it sorted. Your Frankie will be expecting them to be fenced straight away, so we’re gonna have to sit on ’em for a while. At least a good six months. After that a bloke I know will be able to shift ’em for us.’ She looked at each one of the girls in turn and asked, ‘Does everyone want me to do this?’
The girls all gazed at each other, indecision stamped across their faces. Finally Jade spoke. ‘I know this is wrong, they don’t belong to us, but it’s gonna help us make a new start. I’m in if everyone else is.’
Again silence gripped the room.
‘I’m in.’ They all looked shocked that it was Ruby who’d made the next move. ‘I know it’s wrong as well and it’s bad, but the one thing I’ve learned is that no one is going to take care of us, we have to do it for ourselves.’
Sadness spread across Misty’s face. Sorrow that these girls had had to grow up well before their time.
‘What about you?’ Jade asked Amber.
‘Now my mum ain’t coming back,’ her voice was quiet, ‘I’ve got to look out for myself. Yeah.’ She nodded her head with the force of her decision. ‘I’m in.’
‘Alright, ladies,’ Misty said, moving towards them. ‘That means you all need to be fitted with new IDs. My big brother Charlie will be able to get all that organised.’ She studied them for a few seconds. ‘Your appearances will have to go through a mega-makeover. Stand up and shift yourselves into a line.’
Slowly they did what she asked. She stood in front of them, rubbing the knuckle of her forefinger under her chin.
‘You,’ she pointed at Amber, ‘we’re gonna get rid of the little-girl reggae look and go for uptown R ‘n’ B beauty. Nice long hair and even longer legs. Blue contacts to change the colour of your eyes.’
Misty took a sidestep. Gave Ruby the once-over. She twisted her mouth as her finger tapped her lip.
‘Got it.’ Her finger shot off her lip and pointed at Ruby. ‘We’re gonna get rid of the I-change-my-knickers-every-day-goody-two-shoes look.’ The girls giggled. ‘And make you go ever so slightly punk. Spiky short hair and rebel make-up. Fatten you up a bit as well.’
Ruby gazed back at her doubtfully.
‘And you.’ She swung her arm at Opal, taking a sliding step to stand in front of the girl. ‘We’ll keep the hair short, stick a pair of glasses on you and make you look like one of them young, gifted and black sisters.
‘And finally, my lady Jade.’ Misty waved her hand like it was a wand. ‘Diet, diet, diet. Suck that puppy fat outta you, give you a short pixie cut and dye that hair. Now what colour?’
‘Red.’
‘Carrot?’ Misty looked back at her like she was losing it big time. ‘I don’t think . . .’
‘I want the same colour as Nikki’s.’
A deathly silence filled the cabin. The fun flowed out of Misty. She folded her arms around her middle.
‘Sure. I understand. Hey, why not? I mean, you don’t much look like her, if you don’t mind me saying, so no one should recognise you. This Frankie gonna be on the warpath trying to track you down, so come morning light we’re outta here. But he’s gonna keep hunting you, so even when your IDs are sorted we’re gonna have to lay low.’
Opal’s gun dangled from Misty’s hand, over the side of the boat. Misty stared at the canal, two hours after she’d managed to get the girls asleep.
‘Nikki, Nikki, Nikki, why didn’t you listen to me, babe?’ She whispered into the cold wind.
But Nikki had been the kind of woman who’d listened to advice, but not always taken it. Misty knew why she’d got involved in the underworld – so her precious Jade could have a better life than the one she’d started out with
‘I’ll tell you this much, Nikki, darling, I’m gonna look after Jade and her friends.’
She dropped the gun into the freezing water below.
Jade got up two hours after everyone was asleep. She tugged her lunchbox off the shelf she’d placed it on. Knelt on the floor. Opened it. Pulled out the stub that was all that was left of her Holy Communion candle. She took out her lighter and lit it. The flame burned bright. She heard a noise behind her and swiftly turned. Opal was on her knees on the floor, her little body shaking, her hand gripping her mouth. Then Jade saw the tears running freely down her face. It was the first time she’d seen Opal show any type of emotion. Jade opened her arms. Opal moved into them. Jade squeezed tight.
‘What’s your real name?’ Jade whispered.
‘Grace.’
Jade rocked the other girl as she watched the flame. But she didn’t pray. She was never praying again. What was the point? God hadn’t been listening to her. Instead she reached across to her lunchbox on the floor next to her. With one hand she took out her Walkman. Found the earphones. Placed one in her ear. The other in Opal’s. Pressed ‘play’. She closed her eyes, rocking Opal to the sad refrain of ‘Tainted Love’. She slipped into sleep, still holding Opal, at the same time as the candle blew out.
twenty-three
The next day Jason got nicked. The news sent Frankie into overdrive. Not only had the girls done a runner with some of his diamonds, but a source at the nick Jason had been taken to told him a rucksack with a note had been left on the plane, putting Jason slam bang in the shit. Frankie wasn’t worried about Jason being held too long because he knew that Jason’s lawyer would tear the credibility of the note to shreds and have him back on the street in no time. But still, Frankie didn’t need that kind of heat. And if that wasn’t enough, to top it all, two vanloads of cops had turned up at St Nicholas. After they had searched the outbuilding in the garden the police had arrested Mr Miller and all the other adults who worked in the care home.
Frankie had put the word out, but no one could find those bitches. With Jason locked up he knew the law were going to be sniffing around, which meant the heat was too strong to keep hunting the girls. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his name got chucked into the frame. It was time for him to sort out this mess. Time for him to let the men and the rest of London know who the real face running this outfit was.
Five days later, while Miss Josephine was docked on the River Lea in Hoddersdon in Hertfordshire, Misty called the girls together to show them their new IDs.
‘These are your National Insurance cards with your new names on. I’ve tried to get you names that start with the same initial as your old names because with a brain like mine, I’ll only get all your names mixed up. Anyway, I thought you might like that.’ Misty passed the papers out. Each girl read her new name.
Jade Flynn became Jackie Jarvis.
Amber Craig became Anna Crane.
Ruby Munro became Roxy Malone.
Opal became Olivia Dean.
Jade stretched out both her arms. The others understood what she wanted them to do. They linked hands.
‘We’re gonna be alright,’ Jade said. ‘You know why? Because we’re a family now.’
ten years later
JacKiE
twenty-four
‘Straight up, the stupid cow starts doing herself with a leg of lamb, topped with mint sauce.’
Billy ‘Motor Mouth’ Baker laughed out loud after telling his joke in the Dirty Dick boozer that Saturday night. Billy loved to talk. Everyone said that his non-stop gob was going to get him into trouble one day. And they were right. He should’ve kept it well and truly zipped tonight, two weeks before his boss, Frankie Sullivan, was due to stand trial for tax evasion.
The Clash’s ‘London Calling’ rocked in the background as Billy sat with a group of seven people at two round tables. The tables shook on their legs as the laughter of the people around them erupted.
‘Is it true that Frankie Sullivan’s empire is gonna fall around his ears next Friday?’ someone asked.
An expectant silence fell across the table. Made Billy feel he was the main geezer. He picked up his pint glass. Raised it to his mouth. Swallowed.
‘We won’t tell if you don’t, Billy,’ a female voice softly coaxed.
Billy knew he should keep it shut. If there was one thing that Frankie Sullivan couldn’t stand it was a yakker. Business should always stay indoors. He looked around both tables. He’d had a jar with each one of them before. These were his mates. No one was going to grass him up.
He slipped on his most menacing gangster-number-one face and said, ‘Well, I say this, now the Bill have got their snout well and truly in Frankie’s business, they ain’t gonna leave him alone until all he’s left with is the shirt on his back.’
The circle seemed to grow tighter as more questions were fired his way. But Billy laughed and stood up at the same time as the woman who had egged him on to confide in the group went to the Ladies.
He nodded to the group. ‘If I don’t get home my old lady will be wondering where her shag’s gone.’
As soon as she reached the toilet the woman pulled out her mobile.
‘His mouth’s moving quicker than a virgin dick inside a tom. He’s on his way out.’
Billy staggered into the blustering night breeze. As he walked he began to whistle the current number-one tune. He turned into the narrow, dark street where he’d parked his motor. A swift kick hit him between his legs from behind. He toppled backwards, groaning. He looked up at the same time as a baseball bat whacked him across the mouth. Two of his front teeth loosened, filling his mouth with blood, as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Billy knew he was fucked as soon as his eyes opened and he saw Frankie Sullivan standing over him. Billy was naked and trussed up like a Christmas turkey, lying on a large piece of plastic in a tiny cabin on a boat moving along the River Thames. His mouth was held wide open by some kind of contraption so he couldn’t speak. His eyes looked wild with fear as he gazed terrified at his boss.
‘This is what happens to people who can’t keep their gobs shut,’ Frankie said softly. He held his arm out to the side. Another man stepped out of the shadows. Jason Nelson. He placed a metal object into Frankie’s hand. Billy’s eyes ran manically over the object, not able to process what was going on. Frankie crouched down beside him. His hand pressed a button on the object he held. A blue and orange flame ignited. Billy nearly pissed himself when he realised what it was. A blowtorch. Jason suddenly knelt down behind Billy. Grabbed his head. Shoved it upward. Frankie leaned towards Billy, the flame getting closer to Billy’s mouth. He shoved the flame inside. Billy screamed as the fire lit up his tongue and the inside of his mouth. His tongue exploded in a fountain of blood. Blood spurted onto his face, onto the floor. Then his mouth erupted into flame. His screams and the smell of burnt flesh filled the cabin. Frankie stood up and watched Billy’s head burn. Ten minutes later Billy was dead, his face completely unrecognisable.
‘Get rid of his teeth and hands and then cut him up and feed him to the fish,’ Frankie instructed the two men standing in the shadows near the door.
Jason and Frankie stepped back, beginning to peel off their bloody clothing.
‘From now on make sure that the men know to keep it buttoned. If this happens again, it’s gonna be your tongue that hits the dirt,’ Frankie spat out.
As Jason nodded, Frankie’s mobile went off. He answered it. It was Finlay.
‘I’ve got the info you need on the judge . . .’
Frankie smiled as the boat drifted past one of London’s hottest clubs – the Shim-Sham-Shimmy.
‘Right, get your gear and get out.’
Jackie Jarvis winced at the furious words coming from inside Misty’s office in the Shim-Sham-Shimmy club. She knew there was a real ole ding-dong going on inside. Physically she had changed completely from the plump Jade who’d landed on Misty’s boat ten years earlier. She was still small, but now slim, with a face still dominated by huge green eyes, but topped with coral-coloured, pixie-cut hair and a chin that thrust out, projecting to the world a feisty don’t-f-with-me English bulldog image.
She stood at the top of the glossy steel spiral staircase that led to Misty’s office. Below, the dance floor was packed with punters letting off steam to a new club remix of Grace Jones’s ‘Slave To The Rhythm’. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe that this club belonged to her and the others.
Her mind zoomed back ten years. The sale of the diamonds had raked in a cool four million. Misty had fenced the diamonds through some contacts in the underworld. The sale had been completed abroad so that Frankie would be less likely to trace the transaction. To keep those sniffing around off the scent, Misty had put it about town that she’d come up trumps on the lottery. They’d agreed that there was no way they could put the money in a bank because it would get people asking awkward questions; instead some of the money was invested in property and the rest in the one thing that Misty had always wanted – her own club on the banks of the River Thames. So they’d gone on the hunt, looking for the right place to become their club. Five months later they’d found it, a run-down building, full of dust, broken windows and with part of its roof missing, in Wapping. The building had been like that for years and the owners, London Transport, had been keen for someone to take it off their hands. It took them nearly a year to transform that tired-looking building into the Shim-Sham-Shimmy club, filled with people decked out in their party clobber, high on music, having a blast every night of the week. They were all equal partners in the club, but the girls were silent partners. Jackie and Anna were the only ones who took an active role, Anna helping Misty with the entertainment side of the biz and Jackie in charge of the bar staff and the cleaners. Roxy and Ollie had little to do with the club, Roxy content to devote herself to married life and her computer analyst job and Ollie living an unobtrusive existence working in a charity helping asylum seekers and refugees.
Remaining in London had always been a risk, but the girls had said that the only place they’d felt safe was with Misty, and Misty had said that the day she left London permanently would be the day she was put six feet under. So they’d lain low on Misty’s boat for a year, travelling along England’s waterways. At the same time Misty had spread rumours, through her brothers, that the girls had scarpered abroad with their ill-gotten gains. The girls had turned into successful women, living lives finally free of Frankie Sullivan and the St Nicholas care home.
The shouting inside Misty’s office got louder, dragging Jackie back to the present. With a sigh, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Misty’s office was rectangular, a good size, painted in eye-blinding white and yellow – floor, walls, door, phone, even the furniture. Misty said that when people came into her office she wanted them to imagine they were stepping onto the sunny side of the street. The only other colour was provided by a large, framed photograph of David Bowie with his arm casually around guitarist Mick Ronson’s shoulder as they sang ‘Starman’.
On one side of the office stood a tearful Stacey, the club’s young singer, and Misty McKenzie. Misty was decked out in a butt-hugging, long shimmering dress – the colour of which Jackie had never had the heart to tell Misty reminded her of a blue rinse – which stopped just before it hit the floor, allowing her metallic purple heels to peep through. Long, soft cotton gloves covered half her arms and she wore a black wig that was a throwback to Diana Ross in her Supreme days. Misty might be kicking forty plus – she’d always been a bit hazy with the girls about her age – but she hadn’t changed much since that night in King’s Cross ten years earlier. Maybe a few more creases around her eyes, but it was the same ol’ Misty.
A thunderous-faced Anna Crane, who had once been Amber Craig, faced Misty and the club’s singer. Ten years ago, as a teenager, Amber might’ve been a knockout, but now, in her new guise as Anna, she’d become a raving beauty. The bronze glow of her long face and the ready smile on her ripe lips, her finely arched eyebrows and blue eyes, which most people didn’t realise were thanks to contact lenses, drew people in. Her thick black hair swirled beneath her shoulder blades. She dressed like a celeb expecting the paparazzi to burst through the door and always wore four-inch heels to make sure she topped six foot.
Anna moved angrily towards Stacey, her chest heaving with the force of the words she’d just spoken.
‘I won’t do it again,’ Stacey pleaded, taking a step closer to Anna.
‘You’re damn right you won’t because you ain’t getting the chance, girl. I’ve warned you in the past about turning up sauced out of your skull,’ Anna countered.
Misty stepped between the two women. ‘Look, sweetheart.’ Misty directed his words at the young singer. ‘Anna’s already given you untold chances. I think if you’re gonna stay with us we need to have a bit of a chinwag with your manager. We took you on without meeting him, but I think it’s time we brought him into the picture.’
