Gangsters Wives Page 3

  ‘Better make up your mind, or I’m off out of here.’

  ‘I could cuff you and read you your rights. I bet Robbo wouldn’t be pleased if he heard about that.’

  ‘I doubt that he would. But then I doubt that he’s going to.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that instead of being banged up in a cell round the corner, I’m sitting here in this charming, if rather retro establishment having a delicious beverage with a strange foreign man.’

  ‘I’m not foreign,’ he interrupted. ‘I was born in Croydon.’

  ‘That’s foreign to me,’ she went on. ‘And believe me if he saw us now he’d have something to say about it. He doesn’t like me talking to strange men.’

  ‘Is that why he hits you?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He plucked off the glasses she was still wearing. ‘If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am,’ he said. ‘You recently had a black eye. I can see you’ve loaded on the slap, but it’s still a bit yellow.’

  ‘Clever aren’t you?’

  ‘Top of my class in the sergeant’s exam.’

  ‘So why haven’t you nicked me?’

  ‘Paperwork. I’m down here looking for a present for my sister’s birthday. It’s my day off, and I don’t want to spend it in a strange nick processing you.’

  ‘So can I go?’

  ‘You haven’t finished your coffee, and it’s almost lunchtime, and we’re both alone. Fancy a bite?’

  She looked at him closely again. Handsome. A bit flash. Well built. And she’d never been with a coloured bloke. And she was lonely and sad and fucked up and fucked off with her life. ‘Curry?’ she said, and for a moment his face went hard until he realised she was pulling his leg.

  ‘There’s a hotel across the road,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard the dining-room is one of the best in London. Care to give it a try?’

  ‘Expensive?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re paying?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s one way of getting the taxes we pay back.’

  ‘You and Robbo pay tax?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Remember Al Capone?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Got away with murder for years, then went inside for tax evasion. Stupid, yeah?’

  Beautiful, and quick too, thought Ali. ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘Want to go?’

  She nodded.

  So they did.

  7

  They finished their drinks, left the cafe and crossed the road to where the hotel stood behind a curved driveway. The doorman touched the brim of his top hat and wished them a good afternoon, and Ali responded with the same. The automatic doors swished open and he allowed Kate to enter first. Once inside in the ornately decorated lobby, he went to reception to enquire about a table for lunch whilst Kate looked around nervously, praying she wouldn’t see anyone she knew. She was tempted to turn on her heel and run, but she felt strangely attracted to the Asian man. She didn’t play away as a rule, like Sadie did. She was too afraid of Robbo’s temper for one thing, and apart from that it wasn’t in her nature. But the thought of the young copper touching her had, as she’d previously said about shop lifting, got her juices running.

  He turned from the desk with a smile. ‘Table for two, at one,’ he said. ‘Fancy a drink first?’

  ‘I thought you people didn’t drink.’

  ‘Us people, as you so kindly call us, are a mixed and interesting race. I’m not a Muslim. I’m a copper, and I drink.’

  ‘Good. A drink it is then.’

  They followed the signs to the cocktail bar, which was dimly lit and almost empty. Kate sat at a table and Ali said, ‘What do you fancy?’

  You, thought Kate, but said, ‘gin and tonic, large one. Ice and a slice.’

  He went to the bar and ordered the drinks, and Kate watched his firm, muscular arse. Better and better, she thought.

  When he returned with two glasses beaded with moisture, Kate took out her cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked.

  ‘Not only don’t I mind, I’ll ponce one of yours,’ he replied.

  ‘All the vices, I see,’ she said.

  He smiled, a dangerous, reckless, smile. ‘You’d better believe it.’

  ‘This is dangerous,’ said Kate when they were both smoking. ‘If Robbo knew…’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  ‘Christ no.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘What, and miss lunch?’

  ‘Even that.’

  ‘I believe it’s shepherd’s pie and cabbage at the station Thursdays.’ Ali said, arching an eyebrow.

  ‘Is that a threat?’ she asked.

  ‘As if I would.’

  ‘I believe you might.’

  ‘Come on Kate, enjoy your drink. They’ll bring us a menu in a minute. No shepherds pie and cabbage here.’

  Indeed there wasn’t. The restaurant was as good as Ali had promised. Recently taken over by a famous TV chef, the menu was something called modern British, which seemed to mean old-fashioned food at inflated prices. They chose a mixed array of dishes from the huge menu brought by a young woman in a white blouse and black skirt, and at one precisely were led to a table in a secluded corner.

  An hour and a half passed quickly. Kate found Ali easy to talk to in a way that Robbo had never been, and the more she drank, the more she found herself wondering what he would look like naked. As they were served coffee and liqueurs, Ali asked, ‘Having a good time?’

  Kate smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, you could go home, forget all about me, and breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t up for a criminal record. How have you managed to avoid that by the way?’

  ‘Blind luck?’

  ‘I don’t believe it. You’re too smart.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Or?’ she asked.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘What if I don’t want to go home?’

  ‘Well. I enquired about rooms. There’s a nice double up for grabs.’

  ‘Confident, aren’t you?’ she said, mock-glaring at him, but smiling.

  ‘It’s in my nature.’

  ‘And in the room?’

  ‘Well I imagine there’s a bed, and a minibar, and…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we could get to know each other better,’ he said.

  ‘You’re propositioning me.’

  ‘I thought that was obvious.’

  ‘Do I look that easy?’

  ‘Not at all. If you did I wouldn’t bother.’

  ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I like. Book the room.’

  So he did.

  8

  The room was on the fourth floor overlooking the street. Ali drew the curtains back and looked down at the traffic, running silent because of the triple glazing. Kate stood at the door, suddenly shy and unsure why she was there. Too much booze with lunch, she thought, and almost ran out again.

  ‘Nervous?’ asked Ali as he turned to face her across the huge bed that dominated the room.

  She nodded.

  ‘Don’t be. No pressure. You can go if you want.’

  ‘And stiff you for the room?’

  ‘I can afford it.’

  ‘Take backhanders do you?’

  ‘None of your business. But I mean it Kate. If you want to go you can.’

  ‘I don’t want to go, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘If Robbo even guessed,’ she said, looking nervously at the door.

  ‘This is not you then?’

  ‘No. Far from it. I’m a good girl.’

  ‘Except for the blouse.’

  ‘Do we have to tal
k about that?’

  ‘No. All forgotten. Well?’

  ‘Did you say something about a minibar?’

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘Not yet, but maybe…’

  She moved into the room, dropped her bag on the floor, pulled off her hat and let her long, red hair cascade down around her shoulders.

  Ali was mesmerised. ‘God,’ he said. ‘You’re even more beautiful than I thought.’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ said Ali. ‘Am I dreaming?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t believe it either.’

  ‘But here we are.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So do something about it.’

  Suddenly they were in each other’s arms kissing madly, and they rolled onto the bed tearing at each other’s clothes. Kate was amazed at the ferocity of her passion, and she felt that she might faint with lust as Ali ripped off her underwear, then his own, to reveal his long, hard penis. ‘You’re beautiful too. Such a fucking gorgeous man,’ said Kate as she reached for him, then put his cock into her mouth.

  Ali lay back as she sucked on him. ‘Stop,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to come.’

  Kate’s response was to suck harder, as Ali tried breathlessly protesting again.

  She let him go for a moment. ‘Shut up Ali,’ she said. ‘You’re mine now.’

  Ali knew when he was beaten, and helplessly lay back on the bedcover looking at the ceiling as she brought him to a climax. ‘You bitch,’ he said, smiling at her, his face sexily flushed. ‘That was too quick.’

  ‘Plenty of time sexy boy, I want some fun too.’

  They lay together in each other’s arms, until Ali roused himself and found a bottle of champagne in the fridge. ‘I don’t make a habit of spending my afternoons in bed with strange men.’ said Kate. ‘I don’t suppose you came prepared?’

  ‘I told you, I was looking for a present for my sister,’ said Ali. ‘I really didn’t think anything like this was going to happen.’

  ‘Then be careful,’ said Kate as he popped the cork and filled two glasses. ‘We don’t want any little accidents.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Ali.

  ‘Make sure you do.’

  They spent the rest of the afternoon making love. Kate was in a dream as she came time and time again, something that had never happened with Robbo. She was overwhelmed by the strength of her desire for Ali and felt like she imagined men did during sex, fucking Ali harder until they were both panting with exhaustion. Robbo had been the only man she had known sexually before that strange afternoon of passion. Passion that she’d never felt for her husband. She’d discussed sex with her friends, and read dozens if not hundreds of articles about it in Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire, but had half believed that what she’d heard and read was sheer fantasy. Pipe dreams invented out of frustration. But suddenly under Ali’s practised fingers and lips the fantasy came to life, and she knew that life with Robbo would never be the same again.

  At last she looked at her watch and saw it was almost five. ‘Christ, I’ve got to get back,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Ali.

  ‘I have to, sweetheart.’

  ‘Are you driving?’

  ‘Yes. My car’s in a garage in Berkeley Square. Thank Christ, it is, otherwise it would’ve been towed away by now. What about you?’

  ‘Tube. I’m just a poor copper remember.’

  ‘Not so poor in bed. By the way what does the “S” stand for?’

  ‘Sex god,’ he replied with a laugh.

  ‘You can say that again babe.’

  ‘Will I see you again?’ he asked, suddenly serious.

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘What do you think? Do you?’

  ‘Absolutely. But we’ll have to be careful.’

  ‘We will, I promise.’

  ‘If this ever gets out, we’re dead, you know that.’

  ‘Not necessarily. I’m a copper.’

  ‘So? Do you think Robbo gives a fuck about that?’

  ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘You’d be amazed what he’d do.’

  ‘I’m willing to risk it.’

  ‘Me too.’ She got up from the wrecked bed and began to get dressed. Ali watched in admiration, his cock growing hard again.

  ‘Down boy,’ she said. ‘Save it for another time. Or your girlfriend.’

  ‘Not guilty,’ he said.

  ‘Good-looking bloke like you? Bet your mum’s got you married off to some nice, sweet girl already.’

  ‘Not guilty again.’

  ‘I bet that’s what you tell all your conquests.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’ And strangely enough, it was.

  ‘I’m going to shoot off,’ she said. ‘Home in time for dinner.’

  ‘I’m jealous.’

  ‘Good. But you shouldn’t be.’

  ‘How do we keep in touch?’

  ‘Give me your mobile number. I’ll call you. Don’t ever call me. I know you can get numbers, but don’t. I mean it. If you do, it’s over.’

  ‘OK.’ He pulled his notebook from his pocket and scratched down his number with the pen from the bedside table.

  She pulled on her hat, mac and glasses, retrieved her bag, pushed the piece of paper into one of the inside pockets, and leant down and kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘Thanks for a great time. I can hardly walk.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Please do.’

  And with one more kiss she was gone. Back to her car, and her husband in Essex, feeling better than she’d felt for years.

  9

  So the seeds of deceit were being sown. Poppy had to work hard at keeping her feelings for Joseph hidden, Sadie kept working her way through the young men she needed more and more whilst Kate, usually so poised and assured, was in the first flush of a tumultuous affair that made her feel like an oversexed teenager.

  Niki concentrated on keeping fit and brushing up on her martial arts skills. As a child her father had introduced her to Judo, Karate, and even more exotic forms of hand to hand combat. Niki had taken to it like a duck to water, and after her father died, her grandfather had continued her education. Back in Russia she’d watched Bruce Lee films until the tape on the video wore thin, but Connie had no idea of her expertise. In the mornings, when he either lay in bed, or was off on some nefarious task, Niki would pull on a shapeless track suit, pull her hair back into a band and go for a run round the Isle of Dogs ending up at Millwall Park, where she would practise her katas for hours until her body was totally limber, and the perspiration poured down her back. She was tough. Tough enough that, when the crunch with Connie came, as she knew one day it would, she could take care of herself—under any circumstances.

  One morning in spring as she was practising her moves, three men left Island Gardens DLR station and made their way to the park. Each of them carried a striped off-licence bag full of cans of lager and it was obvious they’d already drained several.

  They spotted Niki straight away, standing stock still amongst the dog walkers and commuters hurrying to work, and decided she was just the thing for a bit of entertainment, before getting down to the serious business of getting thoroughly rat-arsed.

  ‘Oi love,’ said the biggest of the trio, an obese barrel of a man in a West Ham shirt and dirty jeans. ‘What you doing then?’

  Niki, engrossed in practising her deadly karate moves, didn’t even hear his question.

  ‘He’s talking to you,’ said the second man, a weaselly little runt with a pockmarked face, wearing a fake leather jacket and combat pants.

  Once again Niki didn’t hear.

  ‘You cunt,’ spat the third. Well built, but rapidly turning to fat, he nonetheless thought himself a wow with the ladies, despite his repellent body odour.

  His words got through to Niki’s brain, and she turned towards them. ‘What did you say?�
� she asked, her accent hard in the morning air.

  ‘Fuck me,’ said the first one. ‘A bleedin’ foreigner. What are you then? A fuckin’ asylum seeker on the scrounge?’

  Considering none of the trio had done a day’s work in decades seemed to make no difference to his righteous indignation. Years of reading reactionary tabloids had convinced him that anyone with a foreign accent was only in the country to steal the benefits he received from the state, and that were his natural right.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Niki. She was confused about why the men were picking on her.

  ‘He wants to know what you’re up to, you dumb fucking bitch,’ snarled Weasel.

  A native east-ender might have come up with some quick remark, or possibly told them to piss off and mind their own business. Even if they were mob-handed, and well on the way to being drunk and disorderly.

  ‘I’m practising,’ said Niki. She wasn’t afraid, just a bit perplexed by their attention.

  ‘Practising what?’ asked Pock-marks. He was beginning to enjoy the sport. Nothing like three men against a lone woman to add a little spice to the day. His little firm were feared in many a boozer from Hackney to Limehouse, and barred from most for bad behaviour. But one on one was not their idea of fun.

  ‘Martial arts.’

  ‘Fucking Kung-Fu,’ said Weasel. ‘Glasshopper.’

  This piece of wit caused them all to laugh nastily.

  Niki didn’t know what he was talking about, as Kung-Fu had never reached Russian TV in the Seventies.

  She looked confused again. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Fucking ignorant Gyppo,’ said the first man around a mouthful of Stella Artois, and he went to push her down.

  It was his second mistake of the day. The first was getting up.

  Niki swayed away from his touch, and moved within reach of the Lady-Killer who grabbed her by the shoulder. Another bad idea in a lifetime of them.

  Niki turned sharply and roughly pulled her shoulder away.

  Weasel laughed. ‘What’s the matter with you two?’ he said, ‘She’s just a girl,’ and he tried to stuff the hand not holding the can up her tee-shirt.

  It was this clumsy attempt to touch her that filled her with rage. She bounced on her Nike trainers, and appeared to simply touch the man three times. Once on each shoulder, and once in the solar plexus. Weasel dropped like a stone, his can erupting foam, as Niki spun on the balls of her feet and delivered a kick to the Barrel Man’s crotch. His scream froze passers-by as he doubled up and fell to his knees, his beer joining Weasel’s on the grass.