The Know (37 page)

He left the flat fifteen minutes later and when he’d gone Joanie made a quick phone call. Then she ran around quickly sorting her stuff out. She had her coat on ready to go when the mini-cab bibbed her. She ran straight down the stairs and shoved her overnight bag into the car ahead of her. She told the driver to take her to the station as quickly as possible.

‘You’re in a rush, love.’

‘And you are a nosy bastard!’

The tone of her voice told the cab driver to keep schtumm and he did.

Joanie opened the holdall and checked she had everything she needed.

She was smiling.

Jon Jon would do his crust when he realised she had gone to Sheffield ahead of him. He was arranging to go up to Birmingham the next day but first he had to cover himself for work, and the new parlour was opening tonight so he had to be there.

She, though, had both addresses and if she didn’t find the fucker in Sheffield she would make her way down to Birmingham, pop in on her way home so to speak.

Joanie felt elated.

If she could she was going to find out where her daughter was, but whatever happened she was going to make Little Tommy pay for what he had done to her and her family. As she had waved her son off she’d wanted to laugh with joy and excitement. He wouldn’t be home until the morning and by then she would be long gone. This was something she wanted to sort out for herself.

 
Jeanette came home to a dark deserted flat. No sign of Joanie apart from a near-empty bottle of vodka and the overflowing ashtrays. She made herself something to eat and went back out again. She was miffed and it showed.

No one bothered with her these days. Her mother, she knew, still blamed her for her sister’s disappearance. More to the point, Jeanette blamed herself.

Disconsolately, she made her way round to Jasper’s. She didn’t know where else to go.

Chapter Nineteen

Jon Jon was enjoying the opening night of Angel Girls, something he hadn’t thought would be possible, considering all that had happened in the last few months.

Starting up this place had taken his mind off his sister when he had most needed it and for that he would be forever grateful.

Tonight it was buzzing, had a great atmosphere. The new parlour was going to be a real money-spinner, and it was all down to him. He was proud of what he had achieved in such a short time.

Unlike the other parlours this one was getting a proper opening night. Normally they opened quietly and discreetly to allay the usual protests from housewives and do-gooders who were actually more worried about their husbands using the place than they were about seeing the neighbourhood go downhill.

As long as they kept it low-key they were in with a chance. The licences were acquired by a reputable legal firm and they would do their best to keep a low profile. No fighting in the street, whether between the girls, or girls and punters, was permitted. No foul language, and definitely no drunkenness.

Tonight, though, they had champagne and wine. They also had music. Jon Jon was crossing his fingers that everything would go like clockwork because he had almost made Paulie sink his money into this place.

It had been like a passion with him for the last seven weeks and he had opened this place in record time. Which was something he knew would score him brownie points if nothing else did. Paulie always wanted everything yesterday, and Jon Jon was a bit like that himself.

Angel Girls had everything: state-of-the-art booths for the workers containing the best massage oils and perfumed candles. The towels and sheets were top quality; they had skimped on nothing. Every wall was mirrored so the clients could observe themselves performing from any angle, and the booths were soundproofed too so they could also make as much noise as they liked. Each had its own CD and DVD player for soft porn or music, whichever was preferred. The place rocked and Jon Jon was proud to have been the instigator of it.

He and Paulie had sent out personalised invitations to all the big businesses hereabouts and tonight they had seen a really wonderful turnout. Their prospective clientele had money to burn and the handpicked girls were all very good-looking. They’d been briefed to talk to the prospective punters in a sincere and intelligent fashion - or as intelligent as they could manage anyway. As long as the subject stayed on them they should be all right. This was far more upmarket than anything Paulie had attempted before.

Jon Jon studied his boss’s face as he smiled smugly around the crowded room, and felt himself relax. Paulie was weighing up exactly what this had cost him, doing his accounts as he assessed their client base. They’d decided they were charging four hundred quid for half an hour here. Serious money would soon be rolling in.

The place would pay for itself in just under three months, everything else was bunce.

This was going to work; the City gents already had lap-dancing clubs but this was to cater to the more
stressed
businessmen. The girls here actually had proper qualifications for aromatherapy, Reiki, even first aid. One was a qualified sports therapist, or at least Jon Jon had bought her the diploma. Her sports were more active movement than football, but she had the piece of paper nonetheless.

You name it, they had it, and this was to be the blind. To all intents and purposes this place was a legitimate spa which just happened to have extra good-looking therapists.

There was more than a smattering of women guests too. Jon Jon had allowed for this and had a couple of fit-looking boys milling around that he had pulled from a discreet escort agency. If things worked out they would go full-time here and make much more money than they were now. If any of the male customers preferred men then they were willing to cater for them as well.

As Paulie was convinced that all upper-class men were shirt lifters, as he so succinctly put it, no request would surprise him and Angel Girls could just as easily turn out to be Boys. All his workforce could take on punters of either sex, quickly and efficiently. In fact, Jon Jon’s research had shown that many women were willing to pay for sex these days and Paulie was willing to bankroll anything if he thought it would bring a hefty return.

As Jon Jon pushed his way through the throng of people he saw himself reflected in the glass wall opposite. He was wearing a black Versace suit, white ruffled shirt open at the neck, and hand-made shoes. He looked the business and he knew it.

Kira would have loved seeing him like this. She used to love seeing people ‘sparkle’. Unconsciously he straightened his dreads and as he did so caught Paulie’s eye. He made a foppish movement with his hand, making Jon Jon grin. Then his boss motioned him into the office with a movement of his head and Jon Jon followed him up the thickly carpeted stairs, the R&B music pumping out behind him.

The office was austere and functional; steel-fronted filing cabinets, a glass-topped desk and polished oak floorboards. It was as up-to-the-minute as it could be, air-conditioned, sound-proofed. A monastic retreat from the spurious ‘luxury’ of the working booths below.

Paulie grinned.

‘It’s a hit, son, you done me proud.’

Jon Jon was thrilled by the praise. It was sincere and it was heartfelt.

‘I’m glad to hear it, Paulie. I’ve been shitting bricks all week.’

Paulie laughed.

‘I know the feeling, mate! But I can tell you, this lot love it. Something a bit naughty for them to do and talk about after to their mates. Regale the whole pub with stories of the good-looking bird they humped. And all the time they’re actually paying for it! I could understand them bragging if it was free. Complete cunts, the lot of them.’

Thus Paulie contemptuously dismissed his clientele. He hated the men who frequented his parlours, saw them as inadequate, born losers. No matter how much money this lot might have they were still useless as far as he was concerned.

‘You know what the next step will be, don’t you?’

Jon Jon shook his head.

‘What?’

Paulie pursed his lips and answered tartly, ‘We’ll lose some of our girls to the punters.
That’s
the kind of dicks we’ll be dealing with here. They’ll fall in fucking love! Seen it time and time again though I’ve never understood a man who’ll marry a whore. She’ll give it to anyone, it’s the nature of them. Why they flog their arses in the first place.’

Jon Jon didn’t answer, just stared at Paulie until he realised exactly what he had said. He wasn’t about to apologise, especially not to someone he employed, but it took the shine off the night for both of them.

There was a heavy silence. Eventually Paulie put his hand out and said gently, ‘Congratulations anyway. You did good, kid.’

Jon Jon hesitated for a moment before he clasped the hand offered to him. He looked up to Paulie, even understood what he had meant, but Jon Jon’s main loyalty was to his mother and he knew that Paulie respected him for that.

It was a strange relationship, and in many ways a loving one. Jon Jon was like a son to Paulie, and they both accepted that too without labouring the point.

Linette came into the office then without knocking and looked askance at Jon Jon, fully expecting him to leave because she was there.

‘I want to talk to Paulie . . .’

She put on a baby voice, as irritating as it was false. She was also out of her box and still had white powder underneath her nose - not something that would endear her to Paulie Martin but Jon Jon decided to let her find that out for herself.

She paused before she said huskily: ‘Alone.’

Jon Jon smiled at Paulie and cocked an eyebrow, taking the piss as he said loudly, ‘Is she fucking sure about that?’

Paulie walked over to the scantily clad girl who smiled at him, her best professional smile, which was her second mistake of the night.

He said in a low, level voice that was far more terrifying than if he’d yelled at her: ‘If you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll make sure no man would fuck you for free, let alone pay good money for it! You fucking cheeky mare.’

Her whole demeanour changed. She looked shell-shocked as indeed she was. She’d believed she had Paulie Martin under her thumb, but now like many a woman before her she was finding out different.

Then he bellowed in her face, one finger pointing to the door as if she was an errant schoolgirl.

‘Out! Out now, and don’t come back without my express fucking say-so.’

She rushed from the room near to tears. Paulie looked at Jon Jon, holding up his hands as he said in jokey fashion, ‘You give them eight inches and they take the piss.’

Jon Jon started to laugh and then they were both at it, roaring with mirth. It put them back on the right footing somehow. They went down to the party together and watched the money rolling in.

 
Joanie was in a safe cab. She had got in touch with an old friend-cum-customer and he had sorted her out with a minicab from King’s Cross to Sheffield, no questions asked. The man driving was a Bosnian with little command of English and this suited her right down to the ground. He shouldn’t have been driving at all so there was no fear of him turning lippy after the event.

He had been refused asylum and was in effect on the run. Joanie liked him for that fact if nothing else.

She lay back in the seat as they drove up the M1 and tried to get a few hours’ sleep, but she already knew it would not be possible. She was far too excited about the coming event. She checked inside her holdall and smiled once more.

Joanie was equipped for any eventuality. She was actually looking forward to getting the dirty deed over with once and for all.

She had always protected her children as best she could. Now she must teach Little Tommy exactly what a good mother did if anyone dared harm her child. It had to come from
her
, Joanie Brewer, not from Jon Jon or the police. From her, Joanie Brewer, the mother of the child he had destroyed. She wanted retribution and she was going to get it.

If she left it to the police - that is, if they could even tie him to Kira’s disappearance, of course - Tommy would go to prison and be stuck on a VPU unit. And there he’d be laughing, his life hardly changed in fact; he would have access to computers, cups of tea as and when he wanted them. Such prisoners were classed as passive. Passive? After what he’d done?

She had asked around her friends and neighbours, talked to men who had been banged up and found out exactly what happened to the scumbags on Rule 43. It actually meant they could do what the fuck they liked all day because they were classed as passive! That word again.

Every other fucker was locked up for twenty-three hours a day, but not them. Oh, no, the nonces had the time of their fucking lives. The stories she had been told were unbelievable!

She was goading herself into feeling angry; she was going to need all that anger to help her do what she had to do. She was nurturing her anger now, making sure she didn’t bottle out of what she had planned.

She knew what the general prison population thought of nonces, and rightly so, which made it worse to hear that the Vulnerable Prisoners’ Units were veritable havens for like-minded individuals. By the very nature of their offences they were an abomination to everyone else so in the VPUs they flocked together for safety.