Chapter 4

 

 Sid locked the door behind her as Gloria left The Ship about half an hour after closing.  The key turned and the bolts top and bottom rammed home leaving her kind of feeling a bit stranded on the street. There was a chorus of singing with an unusual melody. That sort of beer singing sounding like a very badly tuned Dean Martin with a kind of slurring crescendo. A song about money and wanting it, hanging out the word money in an extended …eee. And then I Love you yeah, yeah, yeah but still singing about money, cash money. Six builders sitting on the kerb waiting for their minibus that was parked on the building site across the road where they were paid in cash for weekend work. One of them tapping out the beat on the side of the waste bin with dry mortar split fingers. Headlights came on lighting up the timber gateway and the minibus crept through the gates of one of those fenced in sites with tall wooden panels and no flyers stencilled in big and bold red capitals on each panel, the words partially obscured by posters. The circus and funfair were coming. The minibus stopped and the gates were locked and the singing became muffled as the doors slammed shut.

The walk home was not far but far enough to take time to dawdle and wind down after a tough session. Those builders were something else especially on a Friday when it was girl’s night out so their places were cold if they got in early.

Her place a really small cottage with rent up in the stratosphere. Black painted window frames against white washed walls looking tidy at night but tatty by morning. The rent so high it sucked more than its share from what she made at work. Inside had a kind of worn out look, that sort of look that was tired and disguised with a coat of cheap white paint. Just casually slapped on and covering everything. Flaking plaster and brown stains where the small damp patches were that dried out then reappeared with that hard rain of Autumn. Gloria’s nice touches broke up the drabness, almost cheering it up. Bright curtains and coloured throws and cushions. But it was half-hearted with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. A lack of photos confirmed a sad loneliness.

She flicked on the light that annoyingly flickered and turned on the shower in the bathroom at the end of the miniature kitchen and watched the trickle of lukewarm water and knew she would struggle with the shampoo. The place was a dump and it depressed her. As soon as she walked through the door she was ready to shoot herself and that bastard of a landlord. She was stuck in a rut and nowhere to go and she hated it. Life at the moment was so crap but who would know that? All everyone saw and heard was a smile and a laugh.

 

She sat with her head in her hands and smouldered, thinking back to life before she came south. The whack across her face had puffed up her eye and split her lip. Gloria had yelled, “he did this that stinking drunk of yours. When I came in he was there drunk and tried it on so I slapped him and he did this. Look at me. You happy with this?”

“He said you provoked him, taunted him,” is all her mother had said.

“He’s using you, can’t you see that. He sits all day drinking your money and he’s disgusting. Doesn’t he know how to work?”

“If you don’t like it, leave,” was all her mother had shouted, “it’s my life and I'll do what I want with who I want. Just get out if you don’t like it.”

It has been two years since she moved from north of London. Two years in this rat trap with that stuck up landlord and she’d had a gut full of the smell of sour beer.

 

It was late and she dreaded the climb to the one room upstairs. Her computer fired up quickly. It was the only thing she had that was any good and tapping the keyboard Gloria Swanson popped up with lists of films and biographical nonsense. She clicked on Sunset Boulevard and immediately thought of Bobby, that strange talking guy and read the plot synopsis and remembered Bobby’s words and smiled. He was all right was Robert Lucas. He made her laugh and cheered her up, gave her some small hope. He was sure going to get a call in the morning. Sid had said to take Monday night off.

 

 

“You like Chinese then?” Bobby was saying, poking a fork around the orange stuff in a foil container. They were slouched on the wide soft cushioned sofa Bobby with his legs out straight with the worn out coffee table covered in silver cartons and brown bags and slop stains, prawn crackers and dips. A stark room with a kind of just passing through look. Bare walls and no curtains and no TV.

“Not really.” said Donny with a screwed up face like he was trying to digest a goat.

“Neither do I. I’m chucking mine, it's gone all cold and slimy. Got any bread?”

“Sure and the toaster’s all ready to go. Stick a couple extra in for me and there’s beans if you want.”

Bobby said, “I don’t know what it is but a good few pints don’t fit well with Chinese. Beer goes with burgers and chips and fried chicken. Oh, and any pie. But not fish pie though. Beer doesn't go with any fish, does it? That’s white wine or a chilled light red. It doesn’t go with Chinese or fish and chips.”

“Or pasta.”

“Definitely not pasta, that’s a red wine number. Chilli, Parmesan and a heavy Italian red, a great combination”

“But it does go with Indian. Maybe it’s the curry and the heat. Needs a lot of liquid all that heat does.” Donny said.

“And don’t forget Thai. It goes with Thai ok and that’s got curry as well. So beer goes with curry, not sweet and sour.”

“Why’d we get Chinese then?”

“Dunno. We were walking past I guess and that was that.”

“You know taxi drivers don’t like Indian food in their cabs. That great smell lingers.”

Bobby said, “They don’t mind Chinese though or tonight's would have chucked us out.”

“You know my last flat had this real nice Indian couple next door and the hallway always smelled like an Indian takeaway.”

“Great smell, I love that smell. I could sit in an Indian all night just sniffing the air. And I’d give them a tip for the privilege.”

Donny said, “Then they moved and I moved just after to here.”

“How long you been here now then?”

“I suppose about six months, perhaps a touch longer. Yeah that would be right, it was after Christmas and before it got warm.”

“You move about a bit?”

“No more than I have to.”

“Where were you before here then?”

“London. Out east and a bit south. What’s this then, quiz Donny hour? Before you ask, I moved here for work.”

“All rented places?”

“Sure, I like to be flexible.”

“You never thought of buying? It’s a good investment.” Bobby said.

“I will one day. At the moment though I like to be free to get about and not stuck in one place.”

“My place will be gone in a couple of weeks I expect. As soon as the legals get done. Then I’ll be free and easy. Not sure that’s my thing though. I like it simple and cosy.”

“Want a nightcap? Bourbon or spiced rum?” wanting to break up the run of questions before they got too personal and prying.

“Bourbon would be nice. That goes with beans on toast.”

“Bourbon goes with anything, at any time, day or night.”

“Maybe we should have had Bourbon with the Chinese then?”

Donny said, “Maybe Bourbon goes with anything but Chinese. That just doesn't sound right, does it? Bourbon and Chinese.”

“Saturday tomorrow. What you got fixed up? Anything interesting?” Bobby asked.

“Working till about four. First appointment at ten though so no rush to get out. What about you?”

“Thought I’d go to the library and get a book on how to be a robber. Then go home and make a list of places to rob. Then get out the movie collection and get set for a film show with Gloria. She said she’d phone. And I’ll buy corn to pop, of course. I like to make popcorn. No bought stuff in a bag for me. No sir, no way.”

“She’ll phone, she likes you, you know. She told me so.”

“Of course she does. Why shouldn’t she? I’m the catch of the year with my super rich gangster prospects. Does she look like the Moll type to you? I’m a bit on the dubious side.”

“Not really Molls have that pink china doll look with those wide doleful eyes and long flashing eyelashes with rouged up cheeks and dark hair cut in a bob. They say things like, ‘oh gee honey,’ and, ‘anything you say honey.’ And that’s not at all your Gloria, is it? You should know that though, you’ve seen all those gangster movies.”

“That’s in the States though in those prohibition films, all that gooey honey stuff is. Here Karen, the Moll fiancee says, ‘what the fuck Freddie,’ just before Freddie May gets shot and stabbed and she’s killed and Ganster 55 takes over when May, who survives, gets stuck inside for a thirty stretch for killing Lennie Taylor who was the one who had shot and stabbed him and killed Karen but the thing is Freddie didn’t kill Lennie. The Gangster did that to pin it on Freddie to get him out of the way. The point is, here the Molls say things as they are and without all that gooey stuff and are always stroppy and have long fluffy hair.”

“What film’s that then?”

“Gangster number 1.”

“Did she really say that? The what the fuck thing.”

“Can’t remember but if she didn’t she must’ve thought it. Wouldn’t you if you were just about to get your throat cut because your fella was a mobster with jealous rivals.”

“Why Gangster number 55 though when the film’s called Gangster number 1.”

“Because at the end he, that’s the gangster who’s played by Malcolm McDowell, well he just steps off a building because he's gone bonkers yelling, ‘I’m number 1.’

“But why 55, what’s that referring to?”

“That’s where he starts out when he’s a young gangster and that’s Paul Bettany, he plays the young gangster.. It’s about his rise to the top. Till he becomes number 1.”

“Well anyway I can’t see Gloria as a Moll if she’s to get killed. If you take the villain, gangster, robber route you might want to consider a more dispensable one. A moll that is.”

 

Killing the bottle of Bourbon took until one when they crashed and Donny sat on his bed and picked up his phone and scrolled to the page and pressed speed dial and waited a good few rings.

“You said call anytime Guv’nor,” he said when the sleepy voice said yes with a cough.

“But come on Donny what the hell time is this? I hope it's worth it. I’m getting those looks and they’re not pleasant. The sort that are way beyond flowers.”

“It’s back on track Guv. There’s a ledger with the proof we need. Aubrey made it before he was killed and I’ve a way in.”

“What about the lady?”

“The son knows so she could be in danger.”

“She’ll have to be moved. Will she be willing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. According to that butler Max she’s a determined lady and will want to stay. I’ve a plan though that will work. I’ve spoken to Max again, you know her butler man and he’s gone away for a few days. The rest should fall into place. Then we wait.”

“This Max Ok? Can he be trusted?”

“No problem there, he'll do anything for her. He’s that faithful.

“Ok then let it run. By the way this might cost you, she's muttering something about champagne dinner now.”

 

Tomorrow, he thought, before he went out he would chat with Bobby. What Bobby needed was a good old fashioned kidnap. A nice, kind and gentle old lady with loads of money who would hand over the cash so she could get home to feed the cat. He didn’t know if she had a cat and certainly didn’t know her cat had gone missing but that didn’t matter. She’d be easy for the two of them to snatch.