The Streets, page 12
He could smell her on him now. He’d made sure he’d punished her for the shit she’d pulled at Barney’s place last night, but for some reason she never seemed to learn her lesson. Everything about Cookie got under his skin. It was almost as if she wound him up on purpose. Wanting to be punished just so she could fuck him right off. And when he did punish her – like last night – she always had a look in her eye, taunting him . . . Seeing how far he would go. Sooner or later she was going to make a mistake and push him too far . . .
Fuck, she was the last person he wanted to think about, especially now he had to deal with Simon. What he really wanted to do was track down Craig, Matthew and Zee – those ungrateful fuckers owed him – but he didn’t have time to go scouting for them now, which meant they might be well away. Oh yeah, a bad fucking week, and getting worse by the minute.
With that in mind, Ned stalked across to where the concierge was waiting by the gold mirrored elevator, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Now he had to come up with an excuse for why he’d been ignoring Simon’s calls over the past few days. At first it was purely because he didn’t want to speak to him; the guy was an irritating cunt at the best of times, but now – now things had got very tricky. The only thing he could do was front it out.
‘Good morning, Mr Reid. Mr Draper’s waiting for you in the penthouse apartment, sir.’
‘Did I fucking ask you that?’ Irritated at having his train of thought derailed, Ned’s words slapped the concierge into an uneasy silence.
On arrival at the penthouse apartment moments later, the doors of the elevator glided smoothly open.
‘All right, Ned. How’s it going? Thanks for coming, mate.’
‘You hardly gave me a choice, did you?’ Stepping straight into the opulent drawing room, which was furnished floor to ceiling in Ralph Lauren, Ned glared at Simon. ‘So come on, tell me what the fuck you want that you couldn’t say on the phone.’
‘That’s what I love about you, Ned, always the gentleman, ain’t you? Anyway, where are my fucking manners?’ Simon sauntered across the room. Although he was older than Ned by at least fifteen years, he still looked good for his age. He took care of himself. A silver fox, dripping with money. But as Ned thought every time he saw him, it only made Simon a bigger cunt than when he’d been shit-arse broke.
With his eyes fixed on Ned, Simon took a seat by the tinted windows which looked out over London’s skyline. On the floor at his feet, two young women – who Ned thought looked Mediterranean – sat naked apart from the long black wigs they wore.
‘Before we get down to the important things, I thought we could relax a bit. Never do business on an empty stomach, that’s what I say.’ He reached across and took a glass plate off the coffee table. Chopped-up lines of cocaine sat neatly on it. Taking a silver monogrammed toot out of his pocket, Simon hungrily snorted up the fattest line. When he’d done, he pinched the end of his nose for a moment then sniffed loudly, his eyes glazing over. ‘That’s good shit. I tried it on my dick the other day; it left me with a hard-on for ages.’ He laughed loudly. ‘Here, have some.’ He offered the plate to Ned.
Ned had walked over to where Simon was sitting, but he remained standing. ‘No thanks, not really my poison, plus it’s a bit too early for me to start snorting up the old oats and barley. I prefer something with a bit more sustenance for me Sunday brunch.’
A sneer spread across Simon’s face. ‘I said, have some.’
Ned glared at Simon, who was holding the plate out shakily to him. Every part of Ned wanted to show the bastard what he did to people, no matter how rich and powerful they were, when they showed him a lack of respect. But he knew what would happen. He knew what he was like and, once he started – well, he just wouldn’t be able to stop. Then it would get too messy. Too many people would get involved. Nothing good would come out of killing Simon Draper . . . not yet anyway.
‘I ain’t your cunt, Simon, so don’t start fucking me off. I’m here cos you called me, nothing else.’
The plate was still held in the air. Simon’s face darkened. ‘You know, in Japan it’s considered bad manners to refuse a gift.’
‘Well then it’s a good fucking job I don’t like flying, ain’t it? Now what is it you want?’
Shrugging, Simon leaned over the cocaine again, taking another fat line and sounding to Ned like he was snorting it as far down the back of his throat as he possibly could. Finally he placed the plate on the side and nodded to one of the girls, who instantly knelt in front of him and proceeded to undo his button flies to give him a blow job. He winked at Ned, grinning inanely. ‘Then perhaps I can interest you in a hors d’oeuvre?’ He pointed to the other girl, who licked her lips seductively at Ned.
‘Let’s get on with business, shall we?’
‘All in good time, Ned, all in good time . . . Most importantly, how’s my nephew? How’s Pete? I ain’t seen or heard from him in a while, which I suppose ain’t a bad thing. Only time I do hear is when he’s after money.’ Simon laughed, but his eyes told a different story. ‘The thing is, me and Pete, we’d arranged to meet the other day, but he didn’t show. Now that’s odd, cos Pete knows not to be so fucking disrespectful to me – he knows I wouldn’t like that – so I was wondering if you could shed any light on it.’
Ned shrugged. ‘He could be anywhere. My bet is he’s on the pipe, lost in some fucking crack haze. So no, I ain’t seen him.’ He ended the sentence with another shrug.
‘You sure?’
‘Am I sure? Do I look like a cunt? Of course I’m fucking sure: I ain’t seen him,’ Ned snarled, his eyes fixed on the young woman working hard on Simon’s semi-erect penis. ‘He’ll come crawling out of whatever gutter he’s in.’
‘Well he better. He’s on your patch, Ned – which, may I remind you, is only your patch cos, out of the goodness of my heart, I let you have it. But it does mean you have to look out for people, even if the person in question is a muggy cunt like Pete. We look out for our own, don’t we? And it’ll be you who’ll have to answer for it if anything’s happened to him.’
‘Whatever. I ain’t here for small talk, Si, so if that’s all, I’ll be getting off,’ Ned grumbled impatiently.
Simon let out a small groan as the woman continued to pleasure him. He rested his head back on the couch, pushing the large cushions out of the way. ‘Has anyone ever told you, you’re shit company? Fuck me, I’d get more entertainment out of a fucking corpse . . . But no, it ain’t everything. Here’s the thing; as you know, I’ve got a lot of clients I need to keep sweet. I’ve got this big deal about to happen. It’s worth a ton of money to me, but this guy has certain tastes and I need you to help me out. I’m sure that won’t be a problem, will it, Ned.’
It sounded to Ned more like a threat than a request, but he continued to listen in silence.
‘So this client, although he’s married to the female of the species, like I say, he’s got certain tastes – which is where you come in. I need you to get someone to keep him company while he’s over here.’
Irritated, Ned rubbed his chin. He had no idea why Simon had to drag him over to his apartment to tell him this. Since he’d started his business, he’d been supplying Simon with the goods. Soho was a magnet for runaways and Ned’s business thrived on them. He gave them a fair deal and the rules were simple. He’d house them, keep them safe and clean, feed and clothe them. He even gave them 10 per cent of the money they earned for him, on the understanding they didn’t tell him anything about themselves. The less he knew the better. And if they were picked up by the Old Bill, they’d keep their mouth shut. Otherwise, when he caught up with them, he’d shut it for them, permanently if necessary. And then there was the final rule, the one Zee had broken: no one walked away from him until they were no longer needed or until they’d paid back every single penny he’d spent on them. If they tried to run, he wouldn’t rest until he’d found them, and there would be consequences. Always.
‘And that’s it? You pulled me over here to ask me that. Why the fuck couldn’t you say this on the phone, Si? You usually do, and right away I send someone over. That marching powder you’re taking is addling your fucking brain.’
‘I ain’t finished yet. The geezer, he likes his boys young.’
Ned shrugged. ‘So, I got loads of boys who work for me.’
‘No, you ain’t following me. I’m not talking about your sixteen-, seventeen-, eighteen-year-old kids. I’m talking younger.’
Ned bristled. ‘I ain’t a fucking nonce, Si. You know that. I don’t deal in that kind of shit. The answer’s no.’
Simon clicked his fingers and pushed the young woman off him, tucked his penis back into his trousers and leaned forward, pointing. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Ned, you don’t call the shots.’
‘I do with this.’ Ned’s voice rumbled dangerously. ‘The best I can do is send one of the boys who looks younger than he is. He can have one of them. Otherwise you sort this out yourself. I ain’t getting involved. I didn’t think even you would sink so low.’
‘I don’t appreciate your fucking tone, Ned. Remember who you’re talking to. First off, I ain’t a nonce either, and there are certain things I won’t get involved with, regardless of the money.’
Ned shook his head. He seriously doubted that, but he stayed silent nevertheless.
‘This geezer, well, it ain’t as bad as it sounds. All he wants to is to have some company. No touching and certainly no fucking. He just wants to look. You know, to admire the boy.’
‘And somehow that makes him less of a sick bastard, does it? I’ll say it again, the answer’s, no. You want it, you sort it out.’
‘I need to keep this client happy, and you need to keep me happy. And as for me shopping around for a kid, I don’t think that would do my reputation any good.’
‘Your reputation? Reputation for what, being a cunt?’
Incensed, Simon stood up. He walked across to Ned, who was by the elevator. ‘You might still be a street dog, but the people I mix with know me as a businessman, a gentleman – something you wouldn’t have a clue about, eh, Ned.’
‘Let me tell you something, Simon. You may have a closet full of handmade whistles and flutes and a roller parked outside on standby, and a gold seat for your khazi, but you ain’t any more of a fucking gentleman than my mother’s a lady. You came from the streets like we all did.’
Simon’s jaw tensed and he licked his lips slowly. A shadow passed across his hazel eyes. ‘How is Cookie? Fuckable as ever, is she?’
Ned closed his fists and stared down at his loafers, breathing deeply, then spoke slowly, his voice low and streaked with mean. ‘It ain’t going to work, Si. You ain’t going to get to me, no matter what you say.’
Laughing nastily, Simon tapped Ned on the back. ‘That’s not what I see. I see a geezer who’s barely keeping it together.’
Ned pressed the button for the lift. The wait seemed like an eternity. He swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching his fists.
‘I was just thinking about the last time I fucked her. How long ago was that, Ned? A few years ago, wasn’t it. But I can still remember that tight pussy of hers.’
Ned’s breathing got louder and deeper.
‘It’s a shame she ain’t for sale anymore, but that’s what happens when some jumped-up pimp like you falls in love with one of their whores. All that sharing goes out of the window. But if she goes back on the market again for some reason, send her my way, won’t you. It would be a shame not to have that pussy sitting on my face again.’
The lift doors opened and Ned, his fists still clenched and his stomach now in knots, stepped inside.
‘Goodbye, Ned. And think about what I’ve said. This deal’s worth a lot to me, which means it should matter a lot to you. You know I don’t like anyone saying no to me, don’t you?’ Everything about his words spelt a threat. ‘Oh, and get Pete to call me ASAP – I want a word.’ He winked. ‘And don’t forget to send Cookie my love.’
As the lift door closed, Ned Reid decided the sooner Simon Draper was a dead man the better for everyone. In the meantime he had two very big problems.
Pulling his mobile from his jacket, he stepped out of the lift and pressed call. ‘Mum, it’s me. Meet me this evening at the flat in Seaford Street. We’ve got trouble.’
21
In the breakfast room of the Reid house, Pearl frowned. She clicked off the phone and stared at Cookie. ‘That was your other half, in case you were wondering.’
‘I wasn’t.’
Scooping her boiled egg into her mouth, Pearl spoke, wagging her spoon at Cookie, as was her habit. ‘No, I didn’t think you would be. You’ve got your mind on other things, ain’t you?’
Cookie sat on the opposite side of the table. She’d been doing her best to ignore Pearl, who’d come downstairs for brunch looking even more self-satisfied than usual. No doubt she’d heard Ned dish out his punishment last night.
Usually when Ned did what he did to her she managed to keep it to herself, but last night he had clearly wanted to make her scream. And she had, despite all her best efforts not to. She suspected that hearing her make a noise when she usually didn’t, had thrilled, aroused and angered Ned all at the same time. And now she was sore and it felt almost too painful to sit down.
She was thankful that Finn had decided to go back to the house in Hanson Street. Aside from the fact that it was probably safer for him right now, Ned would view his show of defiance last night as unfinished business. There were always consequences, and somehow she had to try to defuse the situation as best as she could before things got out of control.
Mainly she’d been pleased Finn hadn’t been around to hear her screams. For some reason the thought of him listening to her being punished by Ned would’ve been humiliating, which was strange because why would she care what Finn did or didn’t think about her?
She glanced at Pearl and was grateful to see that she’d got her nose stuck back into the newspaper. Taking a final sip of her coffee, Cookie got up, sliding her chair back. Every part of her ached as she slowly walked across to the sink.
‘I knew her, you know.’
Hearing Pearl beginning to talk again, Cookie rolled her eyes and let out the tiniest of sighs. The last thing she needed this morning was the old bag chattering away and getting as many sly digs in as she could, but knowing it would make life easier if she appeared to be making an effort to join in, she asked, ‘Knew who, Pearl?’
Pearl tapped the article in the newspaper she was reading. ‘Jo Martin . . . I was in prison with her.’
Cookie froze, her body going rigid as fear gripped her, Pearl’s words feeling like they were chilling her to the very bone. She held onto the side of the sink. ‘You . . . you were in prison with her?’
Pearl let out a nasty chuckle. ‘I only saw her once though, so I wouldn’t recognize her if she shat on me.’ She shrugged. ‘But then again, maybe I would . . .’ She spun around in her chair to glare at Cookie, who immediately turned to head for the door.
‘I know,’ Pearl said loudly, causing Cookie to stop in her tracks as if she was playing musical statues. Then Pearl got up and shuffled across the room to her, putting her finger in her face. ‘I know.’
Fear crept into Cookie’s chest, but in that moment she was too afraid to ask what Pearl was talking about. ‘Don’t play the innocent and don’t look so shocked – you should know that secrets never stay hidden forever.’ And with those words, Pearl walked out.
‘You all right?’
Jumping at the sound of the voice behind her, Cookie turned to see Finn standing in the grand hallway of the house. Her mind was preoccupied with what Pearl had said, what game she was playing, if it was a game, but seeing Finn standing there caused her stomach to flip. She surprised herself at how pleased she was to see him. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said, her reply certainly not reflecting her thoughts.
He took a step towards her. ‘Why not? You heard what Ned said last night: apparently we can put this behind us, for now.’ His striking features lit up as he let out a chuckle.
‘It’s not funny, Finn. You know what Ned’s like. He ain’t going to let this go.’
He shrugged. ‘Ned doesn’t bother me. After all, he can only kill me once.’
In the quiet hallway, the only sounds the light hum of traffic outside and the mesmeric tick of the eighteenth-century grandfather clock Ned had paid a small fortune for, Cookie shook her head angrily. ‘How can you think any of this is a joke? You can’t come here and wind him up. He’ll see it as a liberty. Don’t play with fire, Finn – someone’s going to get hurt.’ She reached up and gently touched the split corner of his lip where Ned had punched him last night. ‘It looks sore.’
Staring at Cookie, Finn placed his hand on top of hers, locking his fingers between hers. Cookie held her breath and neither of them moved. In that instant it felt to her that no one else existed apart from Finn.
A loud car horn broke the spell and prompted Finn to speak. ‘I wanted to let you know that the kids are doing well. They were playing Xbox all last night and ordering pizza. I don’t think they’re missing Brian.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I needed to see you.’
His words broke the moment and served as a reality check to Cookie. She pulled her hand away from under his, wrapping her arms around herself as if in self-preservation. ‘Don’t, please.’ She couldn’t look at him; not that she didn’t want to, but she didn’t need things to be any more complicated than they already were.
‘What do you want me to do, Cooks, turn off my feelings?’ he whispered gruffly, no doubt aware Pearl was somewhere in the house.
‘Actually, yeah, cos nothing can come of it. I’ve got to think about Ned.’ It was almost like she could taste the bitterness of his name as she said it. She looked down and absent-mindedly followed the pattern on the carefully restored Georgian floor tiles with her gaze. ‘I’d like you to go.’
‘Then I’ll call you, OK?’
