Streetwise (2 page)

Chris Street drummed his fingers against the top of the desk, wondering how the hell he’d just managed to employ a woman driver. Ava wouldn’t exactly be handy in a scrap. Still, she was easy on the eye and she smelled a damn sight better than her predecessors. Plus, she’d had the guts to come here and plead with him for the job. It wasn’t as if decent drivers were queuing round the block. Out of the last three, two had spent more time in the pub than the motor and the third had managed to reverse the Mercedes into the gates of the house. Perhaps, all things considered, he’d made the right decision. Yeah, the girl wasn’t ideal but she’d do until he found someone better.

He frowned as he thought about the morons he’d had to fire. What the hell was the matter with people these days? Lazy fuckers, that’s what most of them were. Once upon a time he’d have no bother at all in finding someone suitable: anyone who wanted to be someone would have beaten a path to the door of the Street family. Now, however, there was little interest and sod all respect. It came to something when —

Chris pulled himself up, realising that he was sounding – even if it was only in his own head – exactly like his old man. Jesus, if he wasn’t careful he’d turn into Terry Street, forever complaining, forever harking back to the good old days. And although there was no doubting that his father had been a major player in his time, the empire that he’d built up had been in steady decline for the past ten years. The Streets no longer ruled the East End and had little influence in the West End either. Other more powerful firms had moved in, gradually squeezing them out. The glory days were over and there wasn’t much chance of them returning. Kellston was the only place where Terry had any influence and he was clinging on to that by the skin of his teeth.

Chris knew that once his dad was gone – and with the amount he drank that could be sooner rather than later – what power they retained would quickly crumble. That was why he was trying hard to ring-fence the more legitimate sides of the business, the clubs and the pubs, so that when that day came there would be something to fall back on.

The mail was piled up in front of him and he flicked through the envelopes, putting the bills and a small parcel to one side. He opened the letter from the agents that contained the details on the Fox. The best pub in Kellston had recently come on the market and he was lobbying hard for the family to buy it. His pleas, however, were falling on deaf ears. The investment was sound, the profits excellent, but still his father refused to listen.

‘Forget it. I’ve already owned that place once. It’s more bloody trouble than it’s worth.’

Quite what the ‘trouble’ was, Chris hadn’t been able to discover. Terry had bought the pub about forty years ago after its then owner, Joe Quinn, had been murdered. Why he’d sold it again was a mystery. With its real ale and excellent food, the Fox was the focal point of Kellston: the rich, the poor, the criminal and the strictly legit all mingled together there. Along with the Blind Beggar – where Ron Kray had shot dead George Cornell – it was one of the most famous pubs in the East End.

Chris heaved a sigh, frustrated by his father’s refusal to even discuss the matter further. And Danny, his younger brother, wasn’t much help either. Danny’s interest in the business extended only to what gave him pleasure – the girls, the cash, the drugs, the violence. His viciousness and unpredictability were useful when it came to dealing with the scumbags who stepped out of line, but he contributed little to the day-to-day running of the firm. There was only one person who put any effort into keeping the business afloat and that was the mug who was sitting in the office all alone at half eleven on a Tuesday morning.

Chris knew that if he dwelled on it too much his mood would only worsen. He reached out for the parcel, saw that it was addressed to his father but ripped off the brown paper anyway. If it was anything personal it would have gone to the house. Inside was a rectangular cardboard box and he flipped this open in an absent-minded fashion, his thoughts still preoccupied by other things.

As his gaze focused, it took a second for the contents to register with his brain – and then, startled, he rocked back in his chair. ‘What the fuck…’

It was the shock of it more than anything else. He jumped up, feeling the acceleration of his heartbeat, the sudden dryness of his mouth. The dead brown rat was lying on its side, its glazed eyes still open, its sharp yellowy teeth bared in the final torment of death. He stared at it, disgust sweeping through his body. Shit, he hated rats, even those that weren’t breathing any more.

As if it might suddenly spring back to life, Chris kept his distance. The stench of death drifted into his nostrils and made him grimace. A dead rat in a box. A message from someone his father had pissed off. But who? Well, that could be a long list. And there was no knowing whether it was a historical grudge or the result of something more recent.

Eventually, cautiously, he leaned forward and took hold of the brown paper, studying the writing on the front and the postage label. He learned little from either of them. The address had been printed in block capitals, and the label had been stamped
London
along with yesterday’s date. He folded it up and slipped it into the top drawer of his desk.

Then, steeling himself, he peered down into the box again. There was no note so far as he could see, but then one wasn’t really needed. The message came with the corpse. Just some nutter, he told himself but as he gazed at the rat he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. A cold sensation swept over him like an icy premonition. Quickly, he shook the feeling off. That damn rodent was just playing with his head!

Before his revulsion could get the better of him, Chris sat down, shut the lid and dropped the box into the waste-paper basket. But still the smell lingered. Shit, he’d have to take it outside and dump it in the garbage. Anyway, he shouldn’t leave it lying around in the office. It would be just his luck if Health & Safety turned up, decided that the club was a hazard and closed them down.

Just as he was tentatively reaching back down, the door to the office opened and Danny walked in. Chris sat up straight again, glancing at his watch.

‘Nice of you to put in an appearance.’

Danny gave a shrug. ‘What’s the problem? I’m here, ain’t I?’

Danny, however, hadn’t come alone. His latest squeeze, Silver Delaney, came waltzing in behind him wearing a tiny pink dress and bringing with her the heavy musky smell of perfume. She was the nineteen-year-old daughter of retired London gangster, Vic Delaney, and was trouble with a capital T. With her long fair hair and wide blue eyes, she looked like an angel but nothing could be further from the truth.

‘Hey, babe,’ she said, coming to perch on the edge of his desk and crossing her long legs provocatively. ‘How are you today?’

‘Busy,’ Chris said, making a determined effort not to stare at her pale thighs or the ample display of cleavage that was on view.

‘Ah, sorry, darlin’,’ she said without appearing at all sorry. ‘Are we bothering you?’

Everything about Silver Delaney bothered Chris, not least her father. There were rumours that one of Silver’s previous boyfriends had ended up with a bullet through his head.

Danny was playing with fire, but then he already knew that. Danny didn’t do safe and he didn’t do smart. Silver was one of those girls who oozed sexuality, but there was something sly and cruel about her too. ‘Just trying to keep the business ticking over.’

‘Oh, hun,’ she said, leaning forward to squeeze his shoulder, ‘you’re all tense. Would you like me to give you a neck massage?’

‘No, ta,’ Chris said, shifting away from her.

‘He’s all tense, Dan.’ She glanced over at him. ‘Why’s your brother all tense?’

Danny grinned back at her. ‘Because he hasn’t had a decent shag since Jenna dumped him.’

‘Do you mind?’ Chris said sharply. He was annoyed, partly because it was true but mainly because he didn’t like being mocked. He preferred to keep his private life private. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the opportunity – he was surrounded by fit birds every day – but somehow, other than a few unsatisfactory one-night stands, he hadn’t seen much action in the last couple of years.

‘What you need is a girlfriend, hun,’ Silver said. ‘We can fix you up with someone.’ She glanced over at Danny again. ‘We can fix him up, can’t we, Dan? We can find him a nice girl to share his lonely evenings with.’ She leaned down towards Chris again, her breasts almost touching his face. ‘What do you prefer, babe – blondes or brunettes?’

‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Chris said. ‘I don’t need fixing up.’

‘Come on, bro,’ Danny chipped in. ‘Admit it. You need help. Even the old man gets more than you do and that’s saying something.’

Chris shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for this. ‘Drop it, huh?’

But Danny, once he’d touched a nerve, always liked to press home the advantage. ‘Hey, it’s not my fault if you can’t find a bird. Everything okay downstairs, is it?’ He grinned at Silver, enjoying himself. ‘There’s stuff you can get, you know. You should check out the internet.’

‘As it happens,’ Chris said sharply, ‘I’m already seeing someone, so just get off my back, right?’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So how come we’ve never met this mystery bird of yours. Something wrong with her, is there?’ Danny folded his arms across his chest and smirked. ‘What’s her name then?’

‘None of your damn business.’

‘You’re making it up. What d’ya reckon, Silver?’

Silver put her thumb in her mouth and giggled.

Chris glanced from one to the other before plucking the first name he could think of out of the air. ‘Ava, okay? She’s called Ava.’ As soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t but there was no going back now. ‘Matter of fact, she’ll be driving me around for a while ’til I get a proper driver.’

‘You gonna let a tart drive the Merc?’

‘She can handle it.’

Danny gave a snort. ‘Shit, it must be love.’

It was at that very moment that Chris felt a movement by his feet. At first he thought it was Silver, but then he heard a snuffling noise and looked down to see Danny’s bull terrier, Trojan, poking his nose into the waste paper bin.

Chris tried to pull the bin away, but the dog snarled and snapped at his fingers. ‘For God’s sake, Danny, I’ve told you about bringing that
thing
into work.’ He couldn’t stand the dog. It had the same nasty character traits as its owner and its cold cruel eyes gave him the creeps. ‘If he pisses all over the carpet again, you can clear it up.’

But lifting his leg was the last thing on the dog’s mind. He’d smelled something good in the bin and wasn’t going to stop until he’d got it. Seconds later, Trojan had forced his way into the cardboard box and grabbed hold of the rat in his teeth. He shook it violently back and forth, growling softly.

Chris wasn’t stupid enough to try and take it off him. He only had two hands and didn’t fancy losing one of them.

‘What’s he got?’ Danny asked, leaning over the desk.

‘A rat, a dead rat.’

‘What?’

‘It came in the post this morning, a gift for the old man.’

‘And you put it in the bin?’

‘What did you expect me to do with it?’

Trojan took his prey and dashed to the far corner of the office. He stopped, dropped it, picked it up again and proceeded to rip its belly open. Rat guts spilled out over the carpet. And then, as if this wasn’t enough, he began to gnaw at the head, grinding the skull until the bone splintered between his teeth.

‘Jesus,’ Chris said, grimacing. ‘Do something, can’t you?’

Danny grinned like an over-indulgent parent watching his child behaving badly. ‘Like what? He’s only doing what comes natural.’

Chris looked at Silver. She was staring at Trojan with a small, strange smile on her face. She seemed unperturbed, even pleased, by the savagery she was witnessing. He felt that odd, cold feeling roll over his body again. Quickly, he got to his feet and made for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Danny asked.

‘You sort it out. I’ve had enough.’

Out in the corridor, Chris strode towards the bar. He needed a drink and he needed a strong one. He felt tired and angry and frustrated. When he’d got up that morning, everything had seemed normal – well, at least as normal as it ever was. But in the space of a few hours he had somehow acquired a female driver, an imaginary girlfriend and a carpet that would stink for weeks. What the hell was going on?

On Wednesday morning, Ava was up early, showered, dressed and in the kitchen by seven-thirty. Whatever happened during the day, she was determined to make a good first impression and arrive exactly on time at the Street residence. She couldn’t afford to blow this opportunity. With her dwindling bank balance, she needed to make some cash and fast. There were times – usually when she opened her bank statements – that she regretted letting Alec off the hook. He was the one who’d been unfaithful and she could have made him pay for it, but she had wanted the divorce over and done with as quickly as possible. A nice clean split with no haggling over money.

Her flatmate Tash was already seated at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of coffee.

‘Oh, very smart,’ she said, looking up and flicking back her long brown hair.

‘You don’t think it’s too much?’ Ava glanced down at her clothes. Indecisive about what to wear, she had started with a black suit and white shirt but then decided that she looked like a waitress. She had changed from the white shirt into a pink one, decided that was too girly and finally settled on a pale blue one.

‘No, you look great. Anyway, I’m sure he doesn’t care what you’re wearing so long as you don’t smash his beloved Merc into the nearest lamppost.’

Ava grinned. ‘No pressure then.’ She made herself a coffee and sat down on the other side of the table. ‘And thanks again for the tip-off. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t even have known about it.’

‘That’s okay. You get to hear about everything working at the Fox.’

Ava gave a nod. ‘The rumour capital of Kellston. Any news on a buyer yet?’

‘No, but I wish Maggie wasn’t selling. It won’t be the same without her – that’s if I even get to keep the job.’ She lowered her chin on to her hands and sighed. ‘Whoever buys it may want to bring in their own staff and then what will I do?’

‘You’ll be okay,’ Ava said. ‘Who wouldn’t want to keep you on? Anyway, you won’t even need the job when the business takes off.’ Tash was actually trained as a milliner. She made beautiful hats and although she sold some of them to the fancy West End designer outlets, she was still waiting for her big break. In the meantime she supplemented her income by renting out the spare room to Ava and working shifts at the pub. ‘It’s only a matter of time. Your hats are amazing. Everyone who’s anyone is going to want one.’

‘Ah, thanks, hun,’ Tash said, leaning across to squeeze her hand. ‘You always make me feel better.’

It was at that very moment, naturally, that Tash’s girlfriend, Hannah, chose to walk into the kitchen. She frowned as she saw her partner’s hand lying on top of Ava’s. ‘Sorry,’ she said icily, ‘am I disturbing something?’

Ava mentally raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘No, you’re not disturbing anything.’ Hannah was a smart attractive woman in her early thirties, but despite all her accomplishments – she worked as an accountant for a firm of top City lawyers, earned a six-figure sum and owned a fancy apartment in Hampstead – she still viewed any other female of a certain age as a possible threat to her relationship. Even the fact that Ava was straight didn’t deter her. ‘I was just saying that Tash is going to be a big success one day.’

‘Well, of course she will.’ Hannah bent to give Tash a proprietary kiss on the lips, her eyes darting sideways towards Ava. ‘She’s not going to work in a pub for the rest of her life.’

Ava was tempted to ask what was wrong with working in a pub, but knew she would only be adding fuel to the fire. It was best to keep her mouth shut. Whatever she said would be taken the wrong way and so she simply smiled instead. How Tash coped with Hannah’s insecurity, with her intense jealousy, was beyond her – she wouldn’t have been able to bear it herself. Still, it took all sorts and when it came to relationships she was hardly an expert. One six-month marriage to the world’s greatest philanderer hardly qualified her to pass judgement on others.

‘Ava starts her new job today,’ Tash said.

‘For the Streets, right?’ Hannah said, somehow managing to imbue the short question with a distinct undertone of disapproval.

‘For Chris Street,’ Ava said.

Hannah gave a light shrug as if a Street was a Street and it didn’t matter what their Christian name was. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Wise?’ Ava echoed, feeling her hackles rise and trying hard to keep them in place. The job might not be the greatest in the world but she didn’t need career advice from the likes of Hannah Canning.

‘Aren’t they… you know… a bit on the iffy side?’

‘Chris is okay,’ Tash said, joining in the exchange. ‘It’s that Danny you have to watch. He’s the weird one. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard about him. He’s a real crackhead and loony tunes with it. God, that guy could start a fight with his own shadow. And don’t get me started on how he treats women…’

‘Oh, thanks for that,’ Ava said.

Tash sat back and laughed. ‘Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to put you off on your first day.’

Hannah visibly winced at the
babe
, her brows jumping together in a scowl. She threw Ava a dirty look as she placed her hands on Tash’s shoulders. ‘You coming over to my place tonight, love?’

‘I’m not sure what I’m doing yet,’ Tash said. ‘I’ll give you a bell, yeah?’

‘Why? What are you doing?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘What do you mean, you’re not sure?’

‘Just what I said, hun. I’m not sure.’

Hannah’s eyes instantly darkened with suspicion. She lifted her hands from Tash’s shoulders, flounced over to the kettle, flicked on the switch and slammed a mug down on the counter. ‘Well, you’ve either got plans or you haven’t.’

Sensing the onset of a row, or at the very least a cross-interrogation, Ava decided to leave them to it. She’d barely started her coffee, but it was worth the sacrifice. It was too early yet to arrive at the Street house, but she thought she’d take a drive down there and suss out exactly where it was. Although she’d grown up in Kellston, the south side had changed a lot since she’d been a kid. ‘Okay, folks,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Bye,’ Tash said. ‘And good luck. Hope it all goes well.’

‘Thanks.’

Hannah didn’t say a word. She had her back turned and was angrily shovelling coffee into the mug.

Outside, the November air was sharp and cold. An icy wind was sweeping along the street, making the striped awnings of the stalls flap and snap. Living in Market Square had its disadvantages – the early, noisy start of the stallholders being one of them – but Ava was still happier here than she’d ever been in Alec’s luxury Barbican apartment. She liked the hustle and bustle, the colour, the smells and scents, the sheer life of it all.

For her, Kellston would always be home despite her mum’s decision to move away from London all those years ago. Ava had been ten then and less than overjoyed at having to leave her mates behind. But it was her mates that her mum had been worried about. Ava had started hanging around with a gang of girls from the Mansfield Estate, girls who smoked and swore, drank and thieved. With trouble never far away, and with Dad doing yet another stretch in the Scrubs, Sharon Gold had decided to up sticks and join her sister in Norwich.

Ava walked to the high street, crossed the road to Connolly’s and ordered a round of toast and a coffee to take away. While she waited she looked around at the people in the café, working men mostly who were drinking their strong morning brews while they flicked through the paper. Although she’d been born in Kellston and had spent her childhood here, now that she was back she wasn’t sure if she completely fitted in. Her time away had altered her, made her different, so that she wasn’t quite a local, but not quite a stranger either.

Ava paid the guy behind the counter, thanked him, picked up the brown carrier bag and left the café. She strolled along to Violet Road where she always left the car. It was hard to find a space around Market Square even when the market wasn’t in full swing. The small, pale yellow Kia Picanto was where she’d left it, parked alongside a row of neat two-up, two-down terraced houses. The secondhand car was scratched and dented but the engine still ran smoothly. She climbed inside, placed the bag on the passenger seat and set off for the Streets’.

On her way, Ava passed the car lot that her uncle had once owned. She frowned as she thought about him. It still made her sad that her parents had split and she held Ted partly responsible. She knew that her dad had free will and that he’d never
had
to do anything that his brother requested, but Ted was older and extremely persuasive. Although not an out-and-out villain, Ted Gold had always been involved in one dodgy deal or another, but somehow, when things had gone wrong, it was always her dad who’d been nabbed and ended up doing time. He should have learned his lesson but he never had and in the end her mum, sick of being a prison widow, had lost patience and decided to call it a day.

Despite the heavy commuter traffic, it didn’t take long to get to the south side of Kellston. Gradually the long rows of terraces gave way to larger, detached and more expensive houses. This was where the moneyed residents of the East End gathered, their homes vigorously protected by high walls and banks of security cameras. It was ironic, she thought, that this exclusive enclave, designed specifically to keep out the local lowlifes, was home to one of the most powerful criminal families of the district.

Ava cruised along the pleasant tree-lined streets until she came to Walpole Close. Slowing as she arrived at number eight, she peered through the tall wrought-iron gates at the house beyond. She gave a low whistle as she took in its splendour. Whoever said crime didn’t pay hadn’t seen this place. It was a grand white Colonial-style building, three storeys high with pretty shuttered windows. The central front door was sheltered by a portico and there was a long drive with a front garden laid to lawn. She passed on by and then drove to the corner where she pulled up and parked.

As she ate her toast and drank her coffee, Ava wondered if her mother might have been more forgiving of her father had he been less of a failure in his criminal exploits. While Uncle Ted’s business had grown and prospered, her dad’s prospects had steadily declined. He’d drifted into petty crime and more often than not ended up in the slammer.

Ava had decided long ago that she would never be beholden to any man. She had watched her mum struggle to feed and clothe her, to pay the rent and the bills while her father had been banged up. She knew it was important to be self-sufficient, to be able to make your own money and not rely on anyone else. Which brought her smartly back to what she was doing here today.

Ava glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten to ten. She wiped the crumbs from her lap, finished her coffee and put the debris on the back seat. She checked her face in the rear-view mirror, tidied her hair and reapplied her lipstick. Then, when she was as prepared as she’d ever be, she took a deep breath, started the engine and headed back to the Street residence.

She wasn’t nervous about working for Chris Street – she’d grown up surrounded by villains of one sort or another – but she was anxious to make a good impression. Any mistakes today and she would end up back on the minicabs. She knew she only had one chance and she had to make the most of it.