Two Women (17 page)

She didn’t know what she was going to do.

‘Leave her be, Joey. Leave her be, for fuck’s sake. You’ll kill her.’

As Joey let go of his daughter she fell back against her mother and they both collapsed on to the settee, Debbie gasping for air.

Joey, who’d had enough problems for one night, was literally terrified now. Barry Dalston knew his business, knew what he was. Exposure was the one thing he dreaded above all and he wanted to kill the boy stone dead.

‘I’ll fucking kill him! I will, I’ll kill the ponce.’

Debbie was crying with shock and fear. She knew that she had opened up a can of worms that could never, ever be closed again. They would wriggle into everything from this moment on, defiling everything they touched.

‘The ponce! The bastard! I will fucking take his head off his shoulders and bury it in shit.’

June stood up. Taking Joey’s hands in hers, she walked him to a chair.

‘Sit down, Joey, sit down. Think about it. Who’ll listen to him anyway?’

Debbie listened to her mother calming her father down and resisted the urge to vomit. June was sorting everything out once more, but what she was doing was wrong and even Debbie knew that.

‘Who is he anyway? A kid - a silly kid with a crush on our Susan. Though what he ever saw in that bitch I do not know. Let it go, Joey. After all, what did you do, eh? You did what any other father would have done. You sorted her out after she had beaten up her own mother, the woman who gave birth to her. That’s all. What else can it be, eh?’

The voice of reason was penetrating the drink and Joey started to calm down. No one would accuse him of anything. He just had to make sure the boy kept his trap shut, that was all. And he had not actually
seen
anything, thank Christ.

‘As for the money, I have it. I have enough to give to Davey so stop worrying.’

Joey looked into her face.

‘No, you don’t, June. You don’t have any money at all.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘What do you mean?’

He wiped a hand across his sweating face. The gesture was like admitting defeat to June. ‘I had that away. I knew what you had done with it and did the bet today to try and recoup me losses. Believe me, June, this fucking horse was a dead cert . . .’

She was stunned.

‘You’re having me on, Joey? Tell me you’re joking, please?’

She knew as she spoke that the money was gone. Gone for good.

‘You stupid, stupid man! You took our stake, you took our little bit of security and fucking blew it on a bastard horse? Now you’ll have Davey Davidson knocking for a debt you ain’t got. He’ll go fucking ballistic. Three grand is three grand, Joey. What the fuck was you thinking of?’

But she knew he would not answer, there was nothing he could say.

‘Me tom will have to go to pawn, I’ll go round uncle’s now and see what I can salvage. He might loan us the rest anyway - our credit’s good enough these days with you working regular. Whatever, Davey must have his poke. If he thinks you’re unreliable then we are up shit creek without a paddle. Without his good will you’re nothing, Joey, and the sooner you realise that the better off we’ll all be.’

She pointed at Debbie.

‘You, get that fucking coat on and come with me, right? I need a hand with this, I ain’t walking the streets on me own with three grand in me bag.’

Then she pointed at Joey.

‘You, get yourself in a cold bath and fucking sober up before Davey comes for his dosh. Tell him anything but keep him here until we get back with the money, okay? Are you listening to me?’

Joey nodded.

Storming from the room, June went in to Susan.

‘Get up, get dressed and sober your father up. Make him coffee and something to eat, whatever he says. Force him to eat something even if it’s only toast, right? You’ve heard enough to know we’re all in the shit so my advice is, get yourself in there and maybe, just maybe, you might be out of the place in a day or two because of your help.’

Susan nodded. She had heard every word and would do anything at this moment to forget what had taken place tonight. She needed to get out now more than ever. Barry would have to be warned, and warned well. Her father was capable of murder rather than being found out and Barry needed that point impressed on him as soon as possible.

Susan started to dress.

 

Marcus Stein was a nice man. He was short but stocky with a kind smile and the sad brown eyes of his ancestors.

On Tuesday nights he liked to visit his little girl, as he thought of Babs, and then to have a drink in the pub with his cronies before giving his takings to his nephew Jacob. Jacob was the son he had never had, his sister’s son, everything a boy should be. Strong, handsome, industrious. Marcus would leave him his business one day happy in the knowledge that he was leaving it in good hands. His wife Rita was bedridden and had been for most of their married life.

The market was a good screw but the real earner was acting as an unlicensed uncle to the Jewish community. He loaned money - small amounts at first. Now he pulled in between three and five grand a week. All in all his life was good.

As he approached Babs’s house Marcus straightened his tie and slicked down his wispy grey hair. It was important to him to look presentable even for a girl he was paying.

As the iron cosh came down on the back of his head he felt only the first sting of pain. Barry kicked him five times in the head; he wanted to make sure the old man was not getting up and calling for help until he was well away. It was so easy he was amazed.

Marcus Stein was not about to call for anyone. His heart had given out in an instant; he was dead before he hit the ground.

Barry did not even bother to see how he was. Instead he riffled the man’s pockets, took everything he had including his watch and diamond ring, then pushed him into a pile of rubbish waiting to be collected on the pavement, covering the old man with empty boxes and old food. Then, whistling, Barry tripped down the road towards his home.

Marcus was as far from his mind as an elephant’s trunk as he planned what to do with his ill-gotten loot. He decided to go home and think about the next step in his life. The one that would take him into the world of the Davidsons and then hopefully the Bannermans.

Life was indeed good if you constantly pushed to better yourself. He was up for whatever was going, and he was going to get whatever he wanted.

As he walked he passed June and Debbie. Crossing the street, he studiously ignored them. Time enough to upset that little lot later, and time was something he had a lot of. He smiled at the thought and kept on walking home.

Marcus Stein was dead and gone but Barry Dalston was still alive and kicking. Kicking being the operative word in Barry’s case.

Chapter Nine

June realised that her husband was very worried and that annoyed her. Joey always got himself into trouble then expected it to sort itself out without actually doing anything himself.

Like the money. He had taken
her
money and used it, the money she did not even realise he knew about. Now she had had to pawn her gold jewellery to try and salvage her husband’s so-called career.

Davey, as luck would have it, did not arrive at the flat until after her return with the money, and the trouble she had had getting it was unbelievable. Uncle had insisted on her signing a loan form that guaranteed repayment in twenty-one days or he would ask Davey Davidson to have the money collected. It was laughable really because Davey would normally get Joey to pull it in and that would be the height of embarrassment. Not that he would be embarrassed, he would find it hilarious after a couple of drinks - and then decide to kill whoever dared to try and pull in his debt.

It would not occur to him that someone like Davey might not find it as funny as he did. That Davey might see it as a right piss take and therefore decide that his Number One had to be taught a lesson, one that would need to be very violent as befitting someone with Joey’s rep.

Plus, unlike everyone else, Davey Davidson knew that Joey had
not
murdered Jimmy. Joey himself now believed that he had killed him, such was his mentality. He really believed he had shot and killed Jimmy and consequently told everyone in a roundabout way how he’d planned and executed it without actually saying outright he’d done it.

Yet he knew people believed it was him, knew what he was doing in that respect.

Now it was down to June as usual to sort everything out, keep everything going. What on earth had possessed her to come back to him?

But in her heart of hearts she knew the answer to that. It was easy and it was what she knew.

June knew she thrived on aggravation, on constant trouble and excitement. It had been engrained in her as a child and now she had got the habit. Unless she was in pieces inside, June did not feel really alive. Did not feel real. The worse her life was, the more vindicated she felt, as if she deserved all the trouble she accumulated through the course of an average day. There were times when she actively sought trouble from Joey, upset him to cause the explosion of violence she needed to keep her adrenaline levels up.

In reality, Joey was all she wanted. He was such a scummy, devious, violent criminal that whatever she did he would swallow because he wasn’t sure anyone else would have him. They wore people out. They wore each other out. That was the secret they shared, and what kept them together.

If June thought about it too much it frightened her.

 

Barry looked at Babs and smiled. She smiled back, happy with the two thousand pounds he had given her and pleased that there were no comebacks from anyone. She did not know as yet that Marcus was dead, knew only that Barry Dalston had given her the money to pay off her fines and some over for enjoyment and some bits and pieces for her daughter.

As she counted the notes again Barry marvelled at the toms’ disregard for the money they earned. It was easy money to them, a bottomless pit of men paying for the use of their bodies.

He would never understand it in a million years.

‘Listen, Babs, I could get us a good little earner if you wanted me to.’

She frowned.

‘Doing what exactly?’

Barry smiled and winked.

‘Doing fuck all, Babs. That’s the beauty of it really. I wait while you bring the punters, then I roll them.’

Babs started to shake her head before he had even finished talking.

‘Sorry, Barry, but no way. I ain’t getting involved with all that. Anyway Jonah would skin me alive if he knew about last night. Thanks, mate, but no thanks.’

There was a finality in her voice that annoyed him.

‘What do you mean, no? You could pull in a fortune . . .’

She interrupted him.

‘Last night was a one off. I would have asked Jonah to do it but I knew he would keep the money for himself or lie and say there wasn’t as much as usual.’

That barb hit home and Barry nearly blushed.

‘At least with you I got a percentage, Bal. Other than that I’m not up for any more scams. I do me job, I get me poke and that’s it really. I ain’t ambitious otherwise I wouldn’t be a tom. I don’t even want to work in the clubs like most girls, couldn’t be bothered with all the dressing up and the competition. But I do appreciate the offer, thanks.’

She smiled to take the sting out of her refusal and Barry knew he had to swallow it.

‘Not only that, Jonah would skin us both alive - and I mean both of us. Don’t be misled by his friendly manner and the act he puts on. He’s a vicious bastard, all pimps are. They have to be.’

Barry shrugged.

‘It’s your loss, Babs. There’s plenty would snap me arm off for a chance like this.’

‘I’m sure there are, Barry, and I wish you well. But one last thing. How much did you collar in the end?’

He grinned. ‘Never you mind. Enough for what I wanted.’

When he left ten minutes later he felt strangely depressed. Not just because he knew Babs had sussed him out and had known he was having her over, but because she’d expected him to do it.

All in all he had four grand, four thousand lovely sobs to spend. He had already given his mother a ton, and a hundred quid had cheered her up no end. She had not asked where he had got it, and she wouldn’t.

Now it was time to put his plan into action and he was nervous about it. The night before he had not been able to sleep. Not because he had mugged an old man - that was nothing, just work - but because his actions today would either bring about the dream he cherished or would once and for all slam the door in his face and make him an enemy for life.

But, he reasoned, he would have an enemy either way. It was just he could keep his eye on the enemy if everything worked out the way he wanted it to.

He made his way to the Victory, a small drinking club in Bethnal Green where he knew Joey McNamara would be until lunchtime. As he tapped on the heavy wooden door Barry was sweating. He could feel the sweat trickling down his armpits and made a conscious effort to compose himself. A small grid was exposed as the top of the door was opened.

‘What you want?’

The voice was abrupt.

Barry took a deep breath before answering. He was pleased that his voice was not quavering in the least.

‘I need to see Joey McNamara. Tell him it’s important.’

‘Who wants him?’

Barry sighed.

‘Never you mind, it’s private. Just tell him he’s needed out here, all right?’

The grid disappeared as the shutter was forced back into place, and now that he had started Barry felt a surge of uncertainty again. Joey might decide to kill him stone dead. After all, he was hardly Joey’s favourite person. He might even roll Barry, perish the thought. Suddenly he was glad he didn’t have the dosh on him.