The Lipstick Killers (20 page)

67

They ate in front of the TV with the sound turned down and the lights low as the sun set over the town. It was peaceful, and Margaret relished it, figuring it would be the last peace she’d know for a long time. Mahoney had dressed again, but Margaret preferred to wear his dressing gown. She knew it was stupid, but for once she didn’t care.

After they’d eaten they began to fool around again, and eventually ended up back in bed. The sex was less desperate that time and lasted for hours. Almost like making love, thought Margaret, but dismissed the thought. Afterwards they lay together in each others’ arms and went to sleep.

Margaret woke as dawn broke, and disengaged herself from Mahoney’s embrace. He stayed asleep, and she thought of waking him for another go round, but knew it would only make it harder to leave, so she took her clothes into the bathroom, and quietly got dressed.

He was still sound asleep when she looked into the bedroom. Sorry Mahoney, she thought. But this is the
best way, as she gathered her things and slipped out into the bright morning.

She drove back to Sharon’s, showered quickly and changed into trousers, sweater and her trusty leather jacket. She got back in her car and went out to the cottage where Roxie was waiting by the gate. How is everyone?’ Mags asked her little sister.

‘All fast asleep. Do you want to come in and say
good-bye
?’ asked Roxie.

‘No,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll call them later.’

On the drive Roxie tried to tease Margaret about Mahoney, but her mood was grim and she didn’t respond. Eventually she gave up.

They were back in Battersea early, and went over the plan again before Margaret went down to the high street and bought a prepaid mobile phone.

‘I want some gear,’ said Roxie when she got back.

‘You sure.’

‘Absolutely. I need something to keep sharp,’ she answered.

‘OK, I’ll call Boy.’

She speed-dialled his number, and he answered promptly. ‘It’s me. Not too early?’ she said.

‘No. Been for a bike ride already.’

‘Really? Never had you down for the sporty type.’

‘You never know how things can change,’ said Boy, cryptically.

‘Sure. You sorted?’

‘When haven’t I been?’ snorted Boy.

‘See you in a bit then.’

She closed her phone. ‘He sounds weird, probably
trying
to be a funny bastard,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

68

This time Roxie drove to Loughborough Junction, and once again they left the car in the supermarket car park.

They walked to the estate, past the usual crowd of kids, and knocked on Boy’s front door. It was opened by the young black girl again, wearing a dressing gown, but with one eye swollen almost shut. ‘What happened to you?’ asked Margaret as she and Roxie went inside.

She didn’t answer, just looked terrified as she slammed the door shut behind them. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice wavering.

‘What?’ said Margaret, as two men came into the hall, one from the living room and one from the kitchen. Both were thickset hard case types, both wore black bomber jackets and jeans and heavy lace up boots – and both were carrying baseball bats. ‘Now, who do we have here?’ said one of the men.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Margaret. ‘Where’s Boy?’

‘Here he is,’ said the other man, and pulled Boy out of
the living room. He was white faced and shaking, and he was bleeding from a badly cut lip. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping away some of the blood with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I couldn’t warn you. I tried.’

‘All that bike riding bullshit,’ said Margaret. ‘I might’ve guessed.’

‘But you didn’t,’ said the man holding Boy, a horrid smile on his face. ‘Your hard luck.’

‘Hard luck for you,’ said Margaret. ‘We’re police.’

‘Bollocks,’ said the first man. ‘You’re punters. Police don’t phone and make an appointment.’

‘Police,’ repeated Margaret.

‘Cagney and fucking Lacey,’ said the first man. ‘Better call for back-up then. Ain’t that what you do on TV?’

Margaret said nothing.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ said the second man, letting go of Boy. ‘Where’s your radio? Stupid cow. Now he owes us, and I bet you’re holding. So let’s have your bag.’

He made a move towards Margaret, and Roxie spoke up sharply. ‘Leave her.’

‘It speaks,’ said the first man. ‘Bit tasty too. We were going to have fun with the spade, but we prefer white meat.’

‘Fuck you,’ said Roxie, pulling the big Colt automatic from under her sweatshirt, and pointing it at his head. The pistol still looked massive in her tiny hand, but she held it steady. ‘It’s old, but it’s reliable,’ she said, ‘and it’s full of hollow point bullets. If I shoot you in the face from this range it’ll blow your head into the middle of next week.’

The black girl put her face in her hands and slumped back against the wall, crying silently.

‘Now drop the bats,’ ordered Roxie. ‘And down on your knees. That’s what they do on TV ain’t it?’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ said the first man, but the blood was gone from his face.

Roxie cocked the pistol with a click that was loud in the silence of the flat. ‘Try me,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I have to. Take my word for it. I might look like a pretty face but I will fuck you up with no hesitation.’

The bats hit the carpet as both men went down onto their knees.

‘Why’d you bring that?’ asked Margaret.

‘Didn’t like the vibes last time,’ said Roxie. Then to Boy. ‘No offence.’

‘No offence taken,’ said Boy. ‘Christ I wish I had a sister like you.’

Roxie grinned, then ordered both men into the living room at gunpoint and made them sit on the sofa, hands under their backsides. ‘So what do we do with them now?’ she said.

‘You owe them money?’ Margaret asked Boy.

He nodded.

‘Can’t pay?’

He held both hands out palms upwards. ‘Cash flow,’ he said.

‘Seems to me you’ve become too fond of your own product.’

‘You know what it’s like,’ said Boy, sheepishly.

‘OK,’ said Margaret. ‘You two. Wallets.’

They both pulled wallets from the pockets of their jackets. Margaret looked inside both for ID, then
satisfied
, she dropped both into her bag. ‘I’m keeping these,’
she said. ‘Now, then boys. Trousers off.’

‘Do what?’ said the first man.

‘You heard. Trousers off. One at a time. Roxie,’ she said, turning to her. ‘Seems like these boys can’t hear properly.’

Roxie grinned and steadied her gun. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Do what the lady tells you. Slowly.’

The first man stood awkwardly and lowered his jeans, exposing yellowing Y-fronts. ‘Right off,’ said Margaret.

He tugged his trousers off and dropped them on the floor.

‘Sit down again’, said Margaret. ‘And you should get your mum to do your laundry.’

He did as he was told. ‘Now you,’ she said to the other man.

He obeyed. This time it was Union Jack boxers ‘Patriotic,’ said Margaret. ‘The queen must be so proud of people like you. Right, off you go.’

‘The car keys,’ said the first man, a look of panic in his face. ‘In my pocket.’

‘Forget it,’ said Margaret. ‘There’s a bus stop round the corner. Hope you’ve got change.’

‘Have a heart,’ said the second man.

‘You beat up this young girl and you’re asking me to have a heart,’ said Margaret. ‘You’re lucky we don’t give you a taste of your own medicine.’

The two men went to the door. ‘We’ll be back,’ they said.

‘Don’t,’ said Margaret. ‘We know who you are, and we are police.’

The two men left, and Margaret watched them run out of the estate chased by the catcalls of the gang of kids.
‘You’d better make plans for a holiday,’ she said to Boy. ‘A long one. I think we’ve pissed them off.’

‘It was time for a move anyway,’ he replied. ‘What do you reckon Glo?’ he said to the black girl.

‘Hackney,’ she said. ‘I’ve got people there.’

‘Sounds OK,’ said Boy. ‘It was getting old around here anyway.’ Then to Margaret. ‘I owe you one.’

‘It’s her you should thank,’ she said, nodding at Roxie. ‘She brought the gun.’

‘Course,’ said Boy. ‘Thanks love. I owe you more than one. You da ‘bidness,’ he said in his fake whiteboy patois.

‘A pleasure,’ said Roxie. ‘Brightened up a dull day.’

‘So can I get you something?’

‘That’s what we’re here for.’

‘They never got the stash. You got here just in time.’

‘Well come on then,’ said Margaret. ‘Get a move on, before those boys find some clothes.’

Boy went into another room and came out with a big bag of powder. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘On the house, and your tab’s clear.’

‘Cheers, glad to hear it,’ said Margaret.

‘Right,’ said Boy. ‘Come on Glo. We’d better make a move sharpish.’

‘Won’t take a minute,’ she said. Then to the sisters. ‘You saved us. I’ll never forget you. Those bastards meant what they said. They were gonna… They were gonna rape me. You should have heard what they were saying before you got here. Thank you,’ she said, her voice full of gratitude.

‘Just keep safe,’ said Roxie.

‘Keep in touch,’ said Margaret to Boy. ‘You’ve got my mobile.’

‘Soon as we’re sorted I’ll give you a bell,’ said Boy. ‘I’d give you a kiss, but…’ he pointed to his lip that was still bleeding, and shook them both by the hand. ‘I mean it. You saved our skins. We won’t forget.’

‘See you then,’ said Margaret, and she and Roxie left the flat. They didn’t see either of the men on the way back to the car.

Once inside, she said. ‘You done good there Rox. Would you have used it?’

‘You better believe it,’ said Roxie.

‘Christ. Look at us, the lipstick killers. We’re our mother’s daughters, no doubt.’

69

After a few samples of Boy’s thank-you gift, the two sisters left in Margaret’s car for Kensington at six pm. Roxie had two phones. Her own, and the prepaid that Margaret had bought earlier, now fully-charged, and connected to Margaret’s mobile line. Roxie was dressed to impress. Short skirt, killer heels and a jacket that emphasised her ample chest. The live phone went in the top pocket of the jacket, and the .38 revolver in her bag – just in case. They sat opposite the bar, and right on time Peter Saint Cyr arrived, dressed in a Burberry macintosh and a trilby hat. ‘That’s the fella,’ said Margaret.

‘Too smooth for my taste,’ said Roxie.

‘Don’t worry. I reckon you’re just up his street. Now go, girl, and remember you can do this.’

She left the car, crossed the street, went into the bar and sat at a stool in front of the counter, two seats down from where Saint Cyr was sitting. He noticed her
immediately
, as did every other man in the place. She looked at her watch with a frown and ordered a white wine
spritzer from the barman. He produced it with a flourish and a smile which she didn’t return, just looked at her watch again and tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

Saint Cyr looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and took a sip of his beer. Margaret had been right. Roxie was just his type, especially looking the way she did that evening.

Fifteen minutes passed and Roxie had hardly touched her drink, just kept checking the time before she took her own mobile out of her handbag and pretended to make a call. To Saint Cyr it simply looked like no one answered, and she pulled a face before switching the instrument off. That was when he made his move, standing and walking down towards her. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.

She turned and gave him a dirty look. ‘What?’ she said.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Roxie snapped at him.

‘Sorry. But I couldn’t help noticing. You look like something’s wrong.’

‘If it’s any of your business, which it isn’t, I’m supposed to be meeting someone and they haven’t turned up.’

‘Then he’s got very bad taste. He should be ashamed,’ said St Cyr, smoothly.

‘It’s not a he, it’s as she, as a matter of fact, and she’s always doing this. Her phone’s switched off and not even a bloody text.’

‘Sorry again. But don’t waste the evening. Can I get you another drink?’

‘I haven’t finished this one yet, and I should be going.’

‘Don’t go. This is a decent place, and it livens up later. Have you been before?’

‘No.’

‘Thought not. I’m a bit of a regular after work – and I’d have noticed you no doubt. Why don’t you stay a while? Just a friendly drink. Anyway, your friend might have been delayed. She could still turn up.’

‘Suppose so,’ said Roxie, pretending to give it some thought.

‘May I join you then.’

‘If you want.’

Saint Cyr fetched his drink and took the stool next to Roxie. ‘My names Peter, by the way.’

For the first time Roxie smiled. ‘Peter. I’m Tessa. My friends call me Tess.’

‘Pleased to meet you Tess,’ he said, and they shook hands. While Peter busied himself ordering the drinks, Roxie took the chance to check that the phone in her top pocket was still running – that Mags could hear every word of their conversation.