Denise Mina - Resolution

The Attache pub would have been busy during the week, full of office workers delaying the return home. Dirt encrusted at the edge of the wooden floor and sticky beer-barrel tables testified to busy spells. It was deserted now because it was a sunny Friday evening and none of the regulars felt obliged to linger in the town.

Leslie's pal was already twenty-five minutes late and they had finished their lovely long, strong drinks. Maureen wanted to order another round but knew Kilty and Leslie would try to stop her.

"If," said Kilty, swirling the ice around the bottom of her glass with her straw, "she works with street prostitutes, would she know anything about a brothel?"

"Yeah," said Leslie. "She said that they often start off in those places or move up to them. They're the same women."

Kilty looked at her watch. "She's getting very late – are you sure she'll come?"

"I hope so," said Leslie, watching the door. "Thing is, she's the only one working there and she's on perpetual nights."

"She'll be asleep on a bus or something," said Kilty. "Why is she the only one there?"

"They're really underresourced," said Leslie. "No one wants to fund exit-from-prostitution schemes anymore. Everyone wants to facilitate, call them sex workers, give them health checks and licensed premises to work out of."

It didn't sound like a bad idea to Maureen but she guessed it would be undiplomatic to say so.

"That sounds like a good idea to me," said Kilty. "If you can't get everyone out isn't it better to look after them while they're there?"

Leslie looked at Kilty as if she'd shit in her pocket. "Most of these women are heroin addicts," she said. "Do you think they dreamed of becoming prostitutes when they were wee? It's a necessity because they're trapped. Half of them are paying for their boyfriend's habit as well."

"Yeah," said Kilty. "Well, what about the London Collective of Prostitutes? They're working women who have a union and everything. They want to carry on working and get it legalized. Do you think they're wrong?"

Leslie was getting annoyed but, feeling cocky because Kilty was there, Maureen decided to have her say. "There is an argument about autonomy," she said. "People do have the right to make choices."

"Really?" snapped Leslie. "Is that the right to be exploited by people far more powerful than they are?"

"Aw, come on," said Maureen. "Everyone's being exploited by people far more powerful than they are."

"I'm not," said Leslie.

Maureen leaned across the table. "Leslie," she said, "how do you think we get those fags? The tobacco companies have to double their exports to allow for smuggling. Three years ago they were exporting enough to Montenegro to keep every man, woman and child on sixty a day. That's how unexploited we are. We work for a massive international conspiracy that gets poor people to trade all their disposable income for tumors."

Leslie sat back and pursed her lips. "I don't think Joan's going to make it," she said. "Let's go home."

They gathered their things from the seats and followed her out into the bright evening.

"Shall we just go home, then?" said Maureen.

"Yeah," said Leslie. "There's not much point in going up to the office. She'll be busy now."

Kilty tutted and shook her head, then stepped away from the street to the wall, looking down the road to the junction. Three women were gathered around a street corner, smoking cigarettes, dressed in short skirts and dirty tops, ill-fitting bras visible under their clothes. "There's women all over the place at this time of night. All we need are some tenners to give them."

"I dunno," said Maureen reluctantly. "They don't look very friendly to me."

Kilty turned round and looked down the road. "Come on."

They stopped at a cashpoint and each took out some money before turning back to the women gathered on the corner. As they approached they could see them more clearly. The smallest was slim with her dark hair tied up in bunches. The woman of medium height was quite overweight but either didn't know or was making a feature of it: her skirt was very short and her top tight, displaying rolling thighs and an undulating stomach. She had a hard face, badly pockmarked skin and a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken. The tallest woman was skinny and swaying slightly, drooping forward from the shoulders, her hands hanging redundantly in front of her. They didn't look happy and they didn't look like sex workers. They looked like people so lowly and picked on that they had splintered off from the underclass and formed a social stratum all of their own.

The women eyed them suspiciously as they approached, keeping their faces to the road, watching them from the corners of their eyes.

"Hello," said Kilty, "we're not the police. I'm a social worker and these two sell fags in Paddy's. Can we ask you about something?"

None of the women spoke. They shuffled, the smallest sliding away to the far side of the tallest.

Kilty tried again. "Can we ask ye questions about something?" she said.

The smallest woman looked away. A car coming down the hill slowed as it approached them; the driver lowered the window on the passenger side electronically and looked out at them from the safe shadow. He saw how many of them there were and sped up, passing fast and turning the corner.

"We'll give ye a tenner every fifteen minutes ye talk to us," said Kilty, "in a public place, no touching."

The tall, swaying woman turned at the mention of money and the chubby, hard woman stepped towards them. "Pay up front?" she said, and folded her arms. "In a public place?"

"We can talk to ye here, if ye like."

"Naw," drawled the tall woman. "Get them away. Punters willnae stop."

Kilty nodded and they backed away.

"Can we speak to both of you as well when we get back?" asked Maureen.

"If we're here," said the tall woman, and stared up the street again.

Kilty led the way and Maureen, Leslie and their new companion followed her. They could tell the woman was wary of them, wondering if they were going to jump her, steal her money maybe. She tottered gracelessly in her high heels, walking with a pronounced limp as though her right hip hurt. Maureen moved round to Leslie's side so they weren't flanking her and saw the woman glance at her gratefully.

"My name's Maureen."

"Candy."

Maureen was about to comment that it was an unusual name but managed to stop before she made a complete arse of herself. "Nice and sunny, eh?" said Maureen, trying to keep the ball rolling. "Must be shit standing out here when it's cold."

"It's shit all the time," said Candy, with deep conviction.

They walked along in silence for a hundred yards until they came to the pub they had been drinking in earlier. Kilty dipped through the narrow door. Maureen and Leslie stepped back to let Candy through first. Candy stopped, crossed her arms and shook her head. "Won't serve us in here."

"But you're with us," said Leslie. "We're gonnae buy drink."

"They won't even let us buy fags or a half bottle in there. They won't even let us do a pee. I'm not going in."

"That's fucking outrageous," said Leslie.

But Candy wanted cash, not allies. "Are ye gonnae give me my tenner or what?" She pretended to look at a watch even though she didn't have one on. "That's five minutes already."

Maureen took a loose tenner out of her pocket and handed it over just as Kilty came back out of the pub looking bewildered.

"Candy says she can't go in there," said Maureen.

"Why?"

Leslie explained to her as Candy led them round a corner behind a glass and marble office building with a walled car park behind it. She sat down on the low wall, rubbing at a bulging vein on the back of her shin. " Ye've got eight minutes left."