Jessie Keane - Ruthless

‘He’s a fucking dinosaur.’

‘But sexy as hell, yes?’ Dolly smiled.

‘Jesus. OK. Yes.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’

After meeting with Dolly, Annie went on to the Hart household, where the late and unlamented Dickon had his lodgings. The minute she stepped into Moira Hart’s abode, a shabby little Victorian terrace in a long row of identical houses, Annie knew the score straight away.

Girls scuttled on the stairs, looking her over. There was a grim-faced bruiser in shirtsleeves and braces sitting down the hall. Moira herself, a tall, bulky middle-aged brunette in a big-shouldered white silk blouse and a tight red skirt, eyed her with suspicion.

‘You say you’re a friend of Dickon’s?’ she asked, leading the way into an untidy sitting-room. Tony followed behind Annie, and Moira kept shooting him worried glances. ‘Well where is the little git? He owes me rent money.’

‘Dickon’s left the area. He owe much?’ demanded Annie.

Annie could see Moira thinking of the true figure, then doubling it. ‘A ton,’ she said.

The doorbell rang. There was movement in the hall, footsteps on the stairs, activity above their heads.

Oh yes, Annie knew this place. She knew it of old.

‘Trade good?’ she asked.

‘Trade? What trade?’

‘The knocking trade.’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you? Only I reckon this is a whorehouse, am I right?’

Moira looked from Annie to Tony and back again.

‘I don’t want no trouble,’ she said.

‘And you won’t get it, not from me. You know Rufus – friend of Dickon’s? Does he come here? Seeing the girls? Visiting Dickon maybe?’

‘I think you ought to leave.’

‘I think you’d better answer the question,’ said Annie.

Moira glanced at Tony.

‘Tone, why don’t you give us a moment,’ said Annie. ‘Wait in the car, yeah?’

Tony gave Moira a look and went outside into the hall, shutting the door behind him. They heard the front door open, then close.

‘Now it’s just us girls, how about a straight answer?’ Annie suggested, pulling out her purse. ‘Can I square up Dickon’s rent for you?’

Moira’s eyes were on the purse. Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips. ‘Yeah, that’d be good.’

‘OK, I’ll do that. In fact, I’ll double it. Two hundred sovs. Just tell me if you’ve seen Rufus.’

‘What you think I am, some sort of grass?’ Moira sneered, coming in close to Annie. Moira was bigger than her, by six inches. And wider by a mile.

Annie stared at her steadily. ‘You want to answer the question?’

‘Tell you what – I don’t.’

Overhead, some ancient bedsprings were getting a workout.

Moira stepped in even closer; she snatched the purse from Annie’s hand, and started rifling through it.

‘Think I’ll just take the two hundred,’ she said, a twisted smile on her face.

‘I don’t think you should,’ said Annie.

‘Oh yeah? What you going to do about it?’

Annie brought her hand up out of her pocket, flicking the metal kiyoga open. She hit Moira’s nose with it, and Moira collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed out like a torrent. Moira started babbling. Annie knelt down and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her bloodied face back with a yank.

‘ Shut up, ’ she said sharply. ‘Keep yapping and you’ll get another one. Now, unless you fancy spending the next decade in a dentist’s chair – Rufus Malone. You seen him in here?’

Moira burbled something.

‘Speak up,’ said Annie, shaking the woman’s head around like a marionette’s.

‘I said he’s been in here,’ Moira sobbed. ‘My fucking nose.’

‘Describe him.’

‘Um… well he’s big, and he’s got this curly red hair. He visited a couple of the girls for a shag, got his old man polished up and then fed them stupid lines about weekends in Paris. Oh shit, that hurts. Silly cunts believed him, too, until they compared notes.’

Annie stood up.

‘Where’s Rufus now?’ she asked the woman at her feet.

‘I don’t know. God’s honest, I don’t,’ said Moira, blood all down her front and dripping on her hands as she pawed at her face.

‘You better not. I find you’ve been lying to me, I’m coming back.’

‘I don’t know. ’

Annie counted off two hundred, dropped the notes on the carpet. Then she put the kiyoga back in her pocket, went to the door, sent a sweet smile to the man sitting at the end of the hall, and left the building to report back to Max and Alberto.

‘Is that it, do you think?’ Precious wondered aloud, linking an arm through Layla’s.

They were standing outside Rigby & Peller, bristling with a ton of bags. They’d been in there over an hour, and Layla had been hoiked about, measured, assessed, and fitted out with more underwear than seemed strictly necessary. She’d been wearing the wrong bra size since puberty, she now realized. Her bras had flattened her breasts instead of accentuating them. Now Layla felt as if her chest entered a room about ten seconds before she did.

‘Jesus, there can’t be more, ’ said Layla.

She was worn out. Trailing sundry minders behind them – and that got on her nerves, having them following her around all the time, she hated it – they had been in and out of so many boutiques that she was dizzy. Taking Layla’s colour swatch with them, they’d bought daywear, casual weekend wear, and finally evening wear, and more shoes than anyone could ever possibly need.

‘Oh, you look fabulous in that,’ the sales assistant had said when Layla stumbled out of the umpteenth changing room that day.

It was unnerving, seeing her mother every time she checked herself in the mirror, instead of the usual plain don’t-look-at-me Layla.

God I really do, she thought.

‘She’ll take it,’ said Precious.

Rufus watched the two women from a little distance away. He would have moved in and snatched the Carter girl then and there, but the two minders who were sticking to her like glue didn’t strike him as amateurs. He ducked into a shop doorway as one of them glanced his way. No, these were definitely pros. They were watching the crowds, forming a barrier of muscle around the Carter girl and the other one. They’d spot him coming long before he had a chance to get in close enough to do anything. He watched covertly as the two women were escorted to their car, ushered inside.

Rufus smiled to himself as the car drove away.

It didn’t matter.

‘Of course, your big problem is deportment,’ said Precious, when they were back at the Shalimar.

Layla sprawled on the bed. ‘Huh?’

‘The way you carry yourself.’

‘What’s wrong with the way I carry myself?’

‘Everything. You look as though you want to disappear into the wallpaper.’

Maybe I do, thought Layla.

‘So here’s what you do. You don’t slouch. You don’t cross your arms over your body – that looks very defensive.’

‘Jesus.’

‘You don’t stare at the floor. I saw you in the hall with Alberto, having a conversation with the floorboards. That’s not on.’

‘Well what should I look at?’

‘Someone looks at you, you look back at them. Make proper eye contact. Look them in the eyes, and smile.’

‘Holy shit, how much more …?’

‘One final thing. Making an entrance. You know about making an entrance?’

‘Yeah. You come in the door.’

‘Don’t be flippant. It’s called the nailer, and it’s called that for a good reason. Watch, I’ll show you.’