Jail Bird

‘I don’t want you coming back here,’ he hissed in her ear as she opened the door.

Lily opened the door and paused there, looking out at the rain.

‘Yeah, but you know what? We don’t always get what we want,’ she said, and walked off down the path to the waiting taxi.

32

That evening Freddy King was sitting at the bar in Kings, the family club. He was seriously pissed off at what Jase was telling him.

‘No one’s seen the little fucker for a while. We put the word out like you said, but no one knows a damned thing,’ said Jase, eyeing Freddy warily.

Freddy the Freak, he was called among some of the boys. Jase wasn’t one of those. Careless Talk Costs Lives was his motto. He knew Freddy could blow at a moment’s notice and take your fucking head off, and he wouldn’t want that, not when things had been starting to look so rosy.

Also, there was Si. Treated with even more deference by Jase. For obvious reasons. But now there was this thing with the door. Si was talking about a new system, a little experiment where one person ran the door for a fortnight, then another person took over. Jase on first shift, and then–and then–Brendan Gibbs.

That was the worst blow of all. Jase knew of Brendan Gibbs. All the boys did. Brendan Gibbs had a reputation around town as the hardest of hard nuts. Brendan was a thinker, like Jase. He was no brain-dead mound of muscle like some of the guys were. And now Jase was wondering, was this a quiet way of edging him out, off the scene? Was this what they called the thin end of the cunting wedge?

If it was, where the fuck did that leave him? He felt affronted. He had always done a good job on the door, tossed out the unlicensed dealers, protected the ones who were in the club on Si’s say-so. He’d restricted the numbers of partying masses coming in to a couple of hundred max, and he’d turned down a fortune in bribes from punters wanting to jump the mile-long queues outside or be sneaked round the back.

Jase was starting to get an uneasy feeling. He felt he was being disciplined. But for what? For getting in good with Oli? Jesus, was Si saying that he, Jase, wasn’t good enough to mix with his niece? Because if so, Jase was going to have to do a major rethink. He’d thought he was a contender for the future throne, had felt that Si liked him and was grooming him for success. But maybe he’d misread the signals.

Of course he had contingency plans. He’d been at Oli night and day, shagging her brains out, and he knew she wasn’t on the Pill. Oli was sweet, eager to please; he’d had her doing things that her dear old uncle Si would have been shocked at. Early on, he would have worn a condom if she’d insisted (although he’d have cooked up some excuse to phase it out), but she was so fucking grateful for his attention, she’d been making cow-eyes at him for months before he made his move, so he knew he had the upper hand there and he had formulated a brilliant plan, and so he’d said right from the start, no condoms, he hated the damned things.

So he was having himself a real shag-fest with Oli–and a few others, of course, that went without saying–and wearing nothing but a smile. Oli was so obliging. Sucked him off, tried anal, anything, but she liked missionary the best and that was good, because that was when a woman really took it on board, wasn’t that right? On her back was best, and anyway he liked doing her that way, splayed her legs wide open, tucked a little pillow under her hips, kept her there, pumping away at her while she moaned with pleasure, then bang and off the little swimmers went to do their good work. He always tried to give her an orgasm just as he came himself; that helped get them up there, apparently. He’d read up on it. Wanted to get it right.

One of these days he was going to score a direct hit–if he hadn’t already. She was going to be up the duff with his kid soon, she had to be. And Uncle Si might rant and rave for a bit, but then Jase would tell him how much in love they were, him and Oli, and he’d have Oli talk to her Aunt Maeve, crying buckets all over the ugly old mare, and then it would be wedding bells and he would be inside the inner sanctum, really on the firm. He’d been working towards that ever since he came out of school and started kicking off, wearing the old claret and blue scarf on the terraces at Upton Park when West Ham were playing. That was how he’d come to the attention of Si’s boys, that and a little National Front demo work. It was time he moved forward and up. He was ready. But now, this. This little thing that didn’t quite fit right with him. This feeling that he was being slapped down.

‘There’s been a bit of trouble on the door,’ said Jase now as Freddy threw back a stiffener.

‘So? It’s your door. Sort it. Ain’t that what we pay you for?’

Freddy was on a downer. All his boys were telling him that Tiger Wu had vanished into the ether. They didn’t know where or how or any damned thing, they knew fuck-all–and all Freddy knew was that the little cunt had six and a half grand of his money in his pocket for a job that would never be done, and that made him seriously annoyed. If he got hold of Tiger any time soon, that greasy bastard was going to be eating through a straw for a month.

Meanwhile, there was Lily King. Who’d been out of stir no time at all and had already moved back into the house, into his dead brother’s house, after doing a measly twelve years for offing him. It just wasn’t good enough. All very well for Si to say, wait, give it time, but Freddy didn’t want to and by Christ he wasn’t going to either.

The club was filling up–their club, his and Si’s. It was a fantastic club and it easily rivalled the Ministry of Sound over in Gaunt Street. Poor fucking Leo had never seen it really take off, but they had, him and Si: it was a great place. Strobes whirling and lots of raving punters jigging along to the DJ’s mixes, dropping a little E to get them in the mood, buying high-priced drinks, the place had a real good vibe. And now, what was Jase saying, that he was having trouble on the door?

‘Fuck’s sake, Jase,’ snarled Freddy when Jase hovered there, seeming not to want to drop it. ‘Get the sodding hell on with it. That’s your job.’

Jase had thought he was on top of it. As Head of Security in the club, he was in a position of trust, but could he trust Si in return?

He’d dealt with Si honestly. Well, honestly in business. Granted, he was shagging himself senseless with Oli, but who wouldn’t, given the opportunity? But in business, he had played it straight down the line. Now Si was playing silly buggers.

It wasn’t on.

Jase was fuming. He thought maybe Freddy might drop a word in Si’s ear, if he spoke to him in the right way. He decided to try it.

‘It’s just that I don’t like this rotation plan, Mr King,’ he said. ‘Not at all. I built up this team of boys: they’re the business. And that’s my door.’

Freddy looked at Jase in disgust. ‘Look, fuck your door, sonny,’ he snapped, coming up off the stool and glaring into Jase’s eyes.

Steady, thought Jase. Freddy was built like a tank; he didn’t want to start anything with him.

‘Why don’t you piss off and make yourself useful?’ said Freddy, pushing a meaty digit into Jase’s chest. ‘Go and see to your frigging door, boy. Or go and find me Tiger fucking Wu, that tosser. Or better still–go and do that bitch Lily for me, okay?’

Jase went up to the office after that. Better talk to the organ grinder, not the bloody monkey. Si was there behind the desk. Jase was a tough, fit young bastard, but seeing Si always gave him the squits. Si was sitting there like a brick outhouse, staring at him as he knocked and came in–staring at him with that cold, unblinking gaze he knew so well. There was something almost reptilian about Si. The stillness there was about him–but then when he moved, when he struck, he struck fast.

‘What’s up, Jase?’ he asked, not looking very interested.

‘Mr King,’ said Jase, his voice sounding high-pitched and breathless. ‘I wanted to say…well, you know me. I’m a good worker. That’s my door. I’ve done a good job on it, wouldn’t you say?’