Jail Bird

killing someone else’s husband too, and letting someone else get stitched up for it.

‘Mrs King? Lily? You still there?’ asked Jack.

‘Yeah, I’m here.’

‘You want to do that? Tonight?’

‘Yeah,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Let’s do it.’

She put the phone down and pressed ‘play’, and listened once again to her dead husband talking to her. It was oddly comforting.

28

Tiger Wu was hanging upside down in a garage under the railway arches, on one of the meaner streets of Peckham. There was a winch in here for lifting car engines out; they were heavy as a bastard, so it had been no problem at all hoisting Tiger up with the chains–he was a feather by comparison. His ponytail was brushing the floor. His face was suffused with angry colour. His hands were tied behind his back. He was in serious trouble.

He knew he was in serious trouble because Nick O’Rourke was standing there with a few of his boys. It was like a solid wall of muscle in here.

‘You were following Lily King,’ said Nick.

‘No I wasn’t,’ gasped out Tiger.

One of the meat-headed seventeen-stoners standing around passed Nick a claw hammer.

‘Yes you were,’ said Nick, and his eyes were like cold black pebbles in his stony face.

‘All right!’ Tiger’s eyes were fixed in panic on the claw hammer. ‘All right, I was.’

‘Better,’ said Nick. ‘Now, Tiger. Perhaps you don’t know it, but Lily King’s my friend’s wife, and long ago–when we were just boys still wet behind the ears–you know what I promised him?’

Tiger shook his head hard.

‘I promised him I’d look after Lily.’ Nick went over to the workbench and laid the hammer on it. Tiger visibly relaxed. ‘And now, what do I hear? That a removal man’s on her trail. That’s you, Tiger. Following Lily King. And now I’ve got a really important question to ask you, and you’d better answer it straight.’

‘Ask me,’ panted Tiger, straining against the rope binding his wrist, twitching about there on the end of the winch chain like a fish on a hook. ‘Anything, just ask me.’

‘Okay. Here we go.’ Nick leaned in close to where Tiger was suspended. ‘Here’s your starter for ten, Tiger. How much?’

‘Mm?’ Tiger was sweating, droplets plopping onto the concrete beneath him.

‘How much, Tiger? How much to off Lily King. Don’t make me ask again.’

‘Thirteen thou,’ said Tiger quickly. ‘Six and a half when I took the job, six and a half when it’s done.’

Nick nodded thoughtfully.

‘I wasn’t going to go through with it, though. I was just making it look good. I was gonna take off Saturday with the cash, leave it.’

‘But you were following her,’ said Nick.

‘To make it look good, I told you. Just for show, then I was gonna do a bunk.’

Nick was shaking his head now. ‘You’re a removals man, Tiger. That’s what you do. You got a reputation as a good solid worker. You ain’t–to my certain knowledge–ever shafted anyone on a deal. So do yourself a favour and don’t give me any bullshit.’

‘But it’s true!’

‘It ain’t true, Tiger. Don’t try my patience, for the love of God. What you think I am, some kind of tosser? Now, who paid you?’ Nick thought he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear it from Tiger’s own lips. Tiger was a vicious and unscrupulous little tick: he’d off a baby and cheerfully do his own grandma for the price of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. No way would he pull back from completing a contract.

‘Come on, Tiger, I’m getting pissed off with this now,’ said Nick as Tiger seemed to hesitate. ‘Give me the name.’

Tiger let go then. ‘That bastard Freddy King. He’s a nutter. I only took the fucking job because I was afraid if I said no he’d do me because I was in the know. I don’t go in for offing women, Nick.’

Liar, thought Nick. Tiger had only confirmed what he had suspected. Si was too shrewd to get anyone else involved at this early stage, but Freddy was a loose cannon. Freddy wanted Lily dead, and he was getting itchy to see it done. While Lily, of course, was swanning about the town like Paris Hilton, spending like a man with no arms—or rather sponging off Oli’s allowance, no way could an ex-con lay hands on enough money for the posh shops she was doing—and making a good clear target of herself.

The silly cow.

He didn’t know who was winding him up more—Freddy King, Tiger Wu or Lily herself. All three were treading pretty close to the edge with him right now.

‘Tiger,’ he said at last, ‘I appreciate your honesty. I really do. But I hope you understand the reasons why my boys here are going to give you a smacking.’

Tiger Wu thrashed on the end of the chain like a fresh-caught salmon. ‘Jesus—wait! Listen…’ he cried out.

‘I’m done listening,’ said Nick, and turned away and left.

The boys closed in and soon Tiger Wu’s shrieks echoed around the building, scattering the pigeons out in the wet, windblown street.

29

‘Good Christ,’ said Jack Rackland when they stepped inside Reba Stuart’s place that evening. ‘Talk about shagarama.’

Reba Stuart had a place in Soho, not just a place but apparently the place. The best not-so-little massage parlour in the whole town. There were eight or ten girls in the front room when Lily and Jack were shown in there, and they all looked like film stars.

‘One hundred and fifty an hour,’ said Reba proudly to Jack. ‘And by God they’re worth it.’

A gorgeous green-eyed brunette sauntered past Jack, giving him an enticing smile.

‘Yeah, but sadly I’m not a punter,’ said Jack, his eyes out on stalks. To Lily he added: ‘Monica would have my balls for breakfast if I hooked up with any of this.’

‘I thought you and Monica were history.’

‘Hey, tell her that. She rants down the phone at me morning and night, like it’s my fault she went and did the dirty on me.’

‘Maybe it was. A bit.’

‘Oh don’t start. Jesus, the mouth on that woman, and she’s barely five feet high.’

To Lily it sounded as if Jack still loved Monica, but she had her own worries right now—like Reba Stuart.

Reba looked like everyone’s idea of a brassy barmaid. Big hourglass figure with cleavage prominently on display above a red glittery top, which was pulled in tight at the waist above a plain black pencil skirt. Too much make-up, fag-smoker’s lines around the overpainted mouth. Shrewd blue eyes, and white-blonde hair, dyed to a crisp and swept up on top of her head, instant facelift. Despite that, Reba looked a decade older than her forty years. Her face was hard and businesslike; all fake smiles and cold calculation.

Leo liked blondes, thought Lily, feeling faintly sick.

‘You said you wanted to talk about Leo King?’ said Reba, leading the way through the totty-packed room and out into another, smaller, less lushly furnished. There was a table and chairs. She sat down, gestured for Jack and Lily to do the same. The harsh overhead light showed her lines up. She stared across at Lily. ‘And who’s this? Your assistant?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jack.

Lily glanced at him. He was good. Start calling it like it was too early and Reba might just clam shut on them.

‘I knew Leo years ago,’ said Reba, fishing out a packet of Dunhill’s and a gold lighter. ‘You don’t mind if