Streetwise (4 page)

Noah Clark picked up the pitcher, poured out two Mojitos and added a wedge of lime and a mint leaf. He placed the glasses on a tray and passed it over to the cocktail waitress. Throughout the process, he’d had one eye on the drinks and the other on the end of the bar. It was there that Guy was standing with a group of customers. He was, as always, the focal point of the room. People were drawn like moths to a flame. They gathered round, their social wings fluttering, jostling for his undivided attention.

Noah understood Guy’s appeal. He’d known and adored him for over twenty years. They were friends, business partners and lovers. Tonight, however, he was worried. He knew who the tall, slender blonde was and he knew that Guy was going to sleep with her. His eyes raked over the woman. She was nothing special, he thought, just one of a breed – an Essex girl with peroxide hair, cosmetically enhanced breasts and very white teeth. She was wearing a short red dress and sporting enough bling to pay for a deposit on a house.

Noah felt a tightening in his chest, but it wasn’t jealousy at the root of his anxiety. He had long ago become resigned to the fact that Guy Wilder was incapable of monogamy. No, he could cope with that – he knew that Guy would always come back to him – but this was something else entirely. There was trouble brewing and the result could be explosive. The girl in question was called Jenna and she was Chris Street’s ex-wife.

Noah looked at Guy, caught his eye and beckoned him over.

Guy excused himself from the group and joined him at the other end of the bar. ‘Problem?’

Noah leaned forward, put his elbows on the counter and lowered his voice. ‘There will be when Chris Street finds out that you’re messing with her.’

‘And that should bother me because…?’

Noah gave a shake of his head. ‘Are you crazy, man? He’s going to go ballistic.’

‘Let him. It’s not my fault if he can’t hold on to his wife.’

‘You’re just trying to wind him up.’

The corners of Guy’s mouth twitched. ‘That isn’t difficult. Did I tell you I saw him today? He was in Beast
.
God knows what he was doing there. Maybe he was making arrangements to have the old man stuffed.’

Noah glanced at Jenna, pulled a face and looked back at Guy. ‘Just be careful, huh? I don’t want to be scraping you off the pavement.’

Guy laughed. ‘He wouldn’t dare. Anyway, we’re all set for next week.’

‘Next week?’

‘Morton Carlisle’s show. We’re doing the cocktails, remember? Thursday, three ’til five at the gallery.’

Noah gave a shudder. ‘That place is weird. And don’t change the subject. What’s the point in making Street mad? He’ll come after you. You know he will.’

‘It’s none of his business any more. She’s a free agent. She can do as she likes.’

Noah knew that there was no point in arguing. When it came to the Streets, Guy was never rational. He gazed over at Jenna and said, ‘She’s not worth it. She’s just using you to get back at him.’

Guy gave a light shrug. ‘Well, there you go. That’s something the two of us have in common.’

‘It’s not funny, man.’

‘Who’s laughing?’

The waitress came back with a new batch of orders and passed the slips of paper over to Noah. It brought the conversation between the two men to a halt.

‘Catch you later, then,’ Guy said. ‘And send over another bottle of champagne when you’ve got a minute, yeah?’

‘Just think on,’ Noah said, but he knew his warning would fall on deaf ears. He watched as Guy walked back to the group, observing the way the men and women responded, their body language changing as he joined them again: shoulders becoming straighter, faces lighting up, smiles instantly appearing. Noah understood the effect he had on people; for him a room was always empty if Guy wasn’t in it.

Noah got to work on the drinks: two Cosmopolitans, two Cuba Libres and a Bloody Mary. It was only early evening, but already it was getting busy. They had launched the business over seven years ago, starting off as a wine bar but gradually becoming more renowned for their cocktails. It was a calm, laid-back lounge where folk came to chill. There was flattering lighting, wide comfortable sofas, and black-and-white photographs of the old Hollywood stars on the walls – Gable, Monroe, Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. The music was soft jazz and blues.

Noah knew that without Guy the bar would never have become as popular as it had. He was its centre, its very heart. Wilder’s wasn’t in the most fashionable part of town, but the most fashionable people came to drink here. Despite its relaxed nature, there was still a buzz about the place, a unique atmosphere that existed nowhere else.

Glancing over again towards the small group at the end of the bar, Noah saw that Guy’s hand was now resting lightly on the base of Jenna’s spine. He felt a shiver run through him. This could only end badly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Guy’s obsession with the Streets was escalating, his need for retribution growing stronger by the day. Sending a dead rat through the mail was one thing, but screwing Chris Street’s ex was quite another. It was a declaration of war.

Faced with an unexpectedly empty afternoon, Ava had used the time to do her washing and clean up the flat. There was no sign of Tash other than the debris lying on the table in the living room, scraps of felt and cotton and ribbon that she used when she was making her hats. Tash wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but Ava didn’t mind. She liked sharing with her. It was easy, uncomplicated. She enjoyed the chat and the laughs and the companionship. It felt like an oasis after the gruelling battleground of her relationship with Alec.

In the bedroom, Ava changed into a clean pair of jeans and a white jumper. She ran a comb through her hair and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. There had been a time when she’d hated her dark hair and olive skin – an inheritance from her Italian grandmother – but now, finally, she was coming to terms with her appearance. She would never be a leggy blue-eyed blonde and that was just the way it was.

She tilted her chin, reviewing her current situation: twenty-seven, divorced, childless and working for a local gangster. Not exactly what she’d envisaged for her future, but despite past disappointments she still felt optimistic. Life was certainly better than it had been. She’d gone down as far as she could and now the only way was up.

Checking her watch, Ava saw that it was almost six-thirty. She grabbed her jacket and bag and headed for the door. She was due to meet her dad in the Fox and didn’t want to be late. Outside, it was dark and a sleety rain was falling. The temperature had dropped a few degrees and she could feel the cold biting at her fingers. She pulled up her hood, put up her umbrella, bent her head and set off for the pub.

Ava thought about the morning’s events as she tramped along the high street. Things had gone well enough on one front – at least nothing disastrous had happened to the Merc – but she wasn’t so sure about the rest. She had the feeling that Chris Street wasn’t entirely comfortable with a female driver. As there was nothing she could do about her sex, she would have to find another way of convincing him to keep her on.

Ava walked past Beast, closed now with a latticed iron grille pulled down over the shop front. From between the slats, she could see a light shining in the back. She had a sudden image of Morton Carlisle bent over a table, his fingers peeling back the fur on some poor dead creature. She hunched her shoulders, a shudder running through her.

Seeing the gallery reminded her of the antagonistic meeting between Chris and the fair-haired man called Wilder. Why did they hate each other so much? And what would she have done if it had all kicked off? She hoped that there wouldn’t be too many altercations like the one she had witnessed today.

A hundred yards on, she turned left into Station Road, continued until she was opposite the Fox and then waited for a gap in the traffic. She was standing on the edge of the pavement when a white van careered past, sending up a wave of water from the gutter. She jumped back, but it was already too late. The spray rolled over the bottom part of her legs, drenching her jeans and shoes.

‘Pig!’ she muttered, glaring after the van. But the driver was well gone, probably with a big fat smile on his face.

With her feet squelching, Ava jogged across the road, gave her umbrella a shake and opened the door to the pub. Inside, it was wonderfully warm with a real log fire burning in the grate. The place was busy, but not too crowded, and she immediately saw her father standing by the bar. He was holding a twenty in his hand and waiting to be served.

‘Hey, Dad,’ she said, going over to stand beside him.

He turned and put an arm around her. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, smiling as he gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m good.’ Ava noticed that his face was flushed, his eyes a little brighter than usual. She could smell the beer on his breath and knew that he was already tipsy. How long had he been here for? She nodded towards the score he was holding. Usually, he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. ‘You in the money, then?’

‘Oh, just a lucky flutter on the gee-gees.’

Ava narrowed her eyes. Her father was a lovely guy, even-tempered and kind, but he was a dreadful liar. He wasn’t even capable of fibbing to the law, which probably accounted for the number of times he’d been sent down. ‘The gee-gees, eh?’

‘So what do you want to drink, love?’ he said, making a feeble attempt to change the subject.

‘Dad?’

‘What?’

‘You know what.’ She glanced around, lowering her voice. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Nothing, I swear.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Just a bit of business, nothing to worry about.’

But Ava couldn’t help worrying. She still had a clear recollection of all that prison visiting she’d done as a kid – the chipped magnolia walls, the Formica-topped tables, the hard uncomfortable plastic chairs – but most of all the weary disappointment on her mother’s face. ‘It’s not worth it, Dad. You know it’s not. What if —’

But Jimmy Gold was saved from Ava’s remonstrations by the arrival of the barman.

‘Yes, guv’nor, what can I get you?’

Jimmy pushed his empty glass across the counter. ‘Ta, yeah. You can put another pint in there.’

‘And I’ll have a Coke, please,’ Ava said. ‘Ice and a slice.’

While they were waiting, she resisted the temptation to probe him further. It was a waste of time and it would only spoil the evening. She didn’t want to see him banged up again, but there was no point in nagging.

After they’d got their drinks, they took them over to an empty table near the fire. Ava put her dripping brolly on the floor. She shrugged off her jacket and placed it over the back of her chair.

‘God, you’re soaked,’ Jimmy said.

Ava glanced down at her wet jeans. ‘Some sod of a van driver deciding to have a laugh at my expense. I’ll soon dry out. Anyway, I haven’t told you my news. I started a new job today.’

‘Oh, well done, sweetheart. Good on you. You back on the cabs?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m working for Chris Street, driving him around. But it’s only a trial. I think he wanted a bloke really, but I persuaded him to take me on.’

‘Chris Street, huh?’ he said. ‘You’re not his getaway driver, are you?’

‘Ha ha. Very funny.’

‘And there you were having a go at me for —’

‘Yeah, well,’ she interrupted, ‘I’m not planning on doing anything illegal.’ She took a sip of her Coke and grinned. ‘But he seems okay. I remembered him from when he used to come to Uncle Ted’s car lot.’

Jimmy gave a nod. ‘Yeah, he’s sound enough. Chris won’t give you any bother. What does your mum think about it?’

Ava glanced away before looking back at him. ‘Well, I haven’t exactly told her yet. You know what she’s like. She’ll only start fretting.’

‘Ava Gold,’ he said with mock sternness, ‘I hope you’ve not been lying to your mother.’

‘Not
lying
,’ she insisted, ‘just not sharing all the details. She won’t approve. You know she won’t. She’ll think I’m on the first step to a life of crime. And I might not get to keep the job so what’s the point of worrying her?’

He played with his glass for a moment, swirling the beer around. ‘Well, I suppose what she doesn’t know won’t cause her any sleepless nights.’

‘Exactly!’ Ava said. She smiled and he smiled back. She had the feeling that he was inwardly pleased that the two of them shared a secret. He’d missed out on so much when she was growing up that now even the smallest of confidences meant a lot to him.

‘So how is your mum? She doing all right?’

They’d been divorced for fifteen years, but Ava suspected that he still held a torch for her. ‘She’s good. She’s fine.’ Before he could start to dwell on what had been lost and could never be recovered – something he tended to do after a few bevvies – she leaned forward, lowered her voice and said, ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about Chris Street. We came face to face with a bloke called Wilder today – a blond guy, good-looking – and the two of them weren’t exactly friendly. I just wondered if you knew anything about him.’

Jimmy Gold laughed. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Face to face? Which one of them is dead?’

‘Neither as it happens. Although it was a near thing. So what’s the deal between those two? It was like some kind of hatefest.’

‘Yeah, they’re not what you’d call close.’

‘But why?’ If Ava was going to go on working for Chris, she reckoned it would help to find out as much about him as she could. ‘What’s the history?’

‘They’re family, sweetheart – that’s the history.’

‘You’re kidding me? Those two are related?’

‘Brothers,’ Jimmy said. ‘Well, stepbrothers. Do you remember Lizzie Street, Terry’s wife?’

Ava nodded. Lizzie was entirely memorable, a ballsy blonde who’d clawed her way out of poverty to become one of the most powerful women in the East End. She was the one who’d run Terry’s businesses while he was banged up – and made a damn good job of it too. ‘He’s her son?’

‘Got it in one. Guy Wilder. He owns the cocktail joint on the high street, just round the corner.’

‘Ah,’ Ava said. ‘Wilder’s.’ She must have driven past it a hundred times but hadn’t made the connection with the man she’d seen today. ‘So what’s with the aggravation?’

Jimmy took a pull on his pint and licked his lips. He always enjoyed telling a good story. ‘It’s a can of worms, this one. It all goes back to when Guy Wilder was a kid. Six or seven he must have been. Lizzie hooked up with Terry – he was a widower then, bringing up the boys on his own – and Guy was sent to live with his grandmother.’

‘Why’s that? Why didn’t he live with the rest of them?’

‘Depends whose story you believe. From what I’ve heard, and it’s all gossip, mind, Terry and the kid didn’t get on. Wilder claims that Terry knocked him about, that he didn’t want to bring up another man’s child and that he made his mother choose between the two of them.’

‘Ouch,’ Ava said, frowning. ‘That must have hurt. Nothing like being rejected by your own mum.’

‘But Lizzie’s take on it was always different.
She
reckoned that she’d only been protecting Guy, that she didn’t want him growing up in that world. She had big ambitions for the lad, a fancy school and all that, and didn’t want him turning into a villain. Marrying Terry gave her the money she needed to give him a better start in life.’

Ava stretched her legs out towards the fire, feeling the warmth spread up her shins. ‘And who do you think is telling the truth?’

‘God knows. Lizzie Street could twist anything to suit her own purpose, and her son’s got a massive chip on his shoulder. All I do know is that you don’t want to get involved. Keep out of it, love. That kind of family stuff, it’s always messy.’

‘I intend to. But I still don’t understand the deal between Chris and Guy Wilder. I mean, I can see why there’s bad blood, but the two of them looked like they wanted to kill each other.’

Jimmy took another drink and put the glass down on the table. ‘Ah, that’s because you haven’t heard the end of the story yet.’

Ava waited while her father paused for effect. ‘Go on, then,’ she urged.

‘You know about Lizzie being murdered a few years back?’

‘Yeah, I heard about it.’

Jimmy glanced to either side to make sure no one was listening. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. ‘Well, rumour has it that Terry was the one who had her bumped off. He was just coming to the end of a ten-stretch and wanted her out of the way before he got out. The marriage wasn’t exactly a happy one – neither of them were the faithful sort – and she’d grown pretty powerful while he’d been inside. They say that Terry wanted his empire back and didn’t want a row about it.’

‘Jesus,’ Ava murmured.

‘And Guy Wilder has always believed that Chris and Danny were involved, that Terry wouldn’t have trusted anyone else. And Wilder might have hated his mother’s guts – he didn’t ever forgive her for abandoning him – but he didn’t want to see her dead.’ He scratched his chin where a day’s growth of beard gave the skin a bluish hue. ‘But like I said, it’s only a rumour. The cops never found any evidence and no one was ever charged. Could just be a pile of bollocks.’

Ava tried to imagine Chris Street lifting a gun and shooting his stepmother through the heart. Was he capable of such a thing? She didn’t really want to think about it. There were enough horrors in the world without creating imaginary ones too.

Jimmy finished his beer and raised his empty glass. ‘You got time for another?’

‘Of course. Let me get these.’ She reached for her bag, but her father was already on his feet.

‘Keep your cash,’ he said, flapping a hand. ‘These are on me.’

As Ava watched him standing at the bar, she wished that he could find someone to settle down with. The girlfriends came and went – usually arriving when her dad was in the money and leaving as soon as it ran out. And okay, maybe he wasn’t the greatest catch in the world, but he still had his own hair and teeth, was kind and loyal and never bore grudges. There were far worse guys out there.

She saw him pay for the drinks and that nagging worry came back to haunt her again. Where had he got the dosh from – and how long before the law came knocking on his door? Her father never could say no to a ‘sure thing’. Hope always triumphed over experience. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she silently prayed to the heavens above:
Please God, just for once, let him get away with it.