The Make (18 page)

Chapter 39

‘Ah, shit, shit,
shit,’
moaned Lefty, and took another hard snort of the butane.

They were standing out on the cold street again. Mona wished she was somewhere,
anywhere
else rather than here with this crazy junkie.

More and more, he seemed to be losing it.

More and more, she was scared shitless.

He’d killed that cab driver. And she had been party to it; she’d seen it
happen.
And God, she still felt sick about it. When Lefty had approached her again in the club days later, she had shaken her head at him. She’d been up on her podium, jigging away in her thong and a leather mask. Looking down on the revellers, it looked like a scene straight from hell in here. People tied up in chains. Fat guys in skintight rubber suits,
not
very attractive. The big heavy curtains over the archway that led into the orgy room were pulled back a little, and she could see heaving naked bodies in there. But she was used to that; it didn’t bother her. What
did
bother her was this fucking lowlife Lefty who had grabbed her leg and was holding on.

‘No. Uhn-huh. Whatever you got to say to me, I don’t want to know. You just piss off, Lefty. I’ve had enough,’ she’d yelled down at him.

Lefty’s grip on her leg had tightened, the nails digging into her flesh.

‘Ow! For fuck’s
sake.
’

‘You can’t back out now, girl,’ said Lefty, having to shout too, to make himself heard over the crashing, grinding noise of the club’s huge sound system. ‘You are in
way
too deep.’

And she was; she knew it. She’d witnessed a murder. She looked into his crazed eyes and wondered if she ought to go to the police, tell them what was going on. But she couldn’t. The Bill would laugh in her face. She had a record. She didn’t want to get herself in more trouble than she could handle. She couldn’t handle
this
; how would she take the Bill coming on hot and heavy, looking into her background, checking up on the facts? What frightened her most was the prospect of social services steaming in and taking Josie away from her.

No – no police.

Lefty was right. She couldn’t back out. But every time she thought of that night, the cab driver squealing like a pig while Lefty hacked at his throat, and then the cab twirling down into the black depths of the Thames, she was filled with sick horror. What if the damned thing popped up again? She’d heard that could happen, gases and stuff from dead bodies, would that be enough to propel a car from the riverbed up to the surface? If it was and if it did, she knew she would be in deep, deep shit.

‘What now?’ she asked him, thinking,
Oh God please get me out of here.

‘We’ll keep checking the cabs and the night buses. Do the underground again. Anything. Whatever it takes.’

And so they did. It was a long, long night; but hey, there was a bonus. This time, Lefty managed not to kill anyone – although several times he
did
come close.

Chapter 40

George was just about to start work. He’d got all togged up in his purple dealer’s waistcoat in the locker-lined staff room. He was dealing
vingt-et-un
tonight, good old twenty-ones. He had Alfie with him. There was a whiff of faint dis approval among some of George’s work colleagues as he joined them in the staff room, Alfie dogging his heels.

‘Jesus, it’s George. Where you been, Georgie boy?’ asked Ned, one of the mouthier lads who was half in and half out of his work clothes.

‘Caught a damned virus or something,’ said George. He knew he’d been taking far too many sickies, bunking off on far more lucrative escort work. People were noticing. People were getting resentful. He was sure Lorcan would have noticed too, big style. And would probably kick his arse from here to New Year, but he
also
hoped that being Lorcan’s brother-in-law would extend him some small privileges, allow him just a little wiggle room.

All dressed up for work, he left the utilitarian bleakness of the staff section and took Alfie with him out on to the plush, carpeted and brightly gleaming casino floor. They went through into the back where the manager’s office was situated, beside the count room. Maybe he wouldn’t bother Lorcan with this. Maybe he’d just chat it over with the manager, Thomas, who was a slightly easier touch. But he didn’t get the chance to go for the soft option. Lorcan was passing by outside the count room, and he snagged George then and there.

‘Oh! Lorcan. Hi, mate,’ said George chattily.

‘Fuck me! It’s not George is it?’ quipped Lorcan.

‘Sorry. Been down with a virus, it was really nasty.’

‘Next time you go down with something, a doctor’s note would be good.’

‘Will do,’ George assured him earnestly, pulling Alfie forward. ‘Can I just introduce Alfie, a friend of mine? He’s looking for work.’

‘Does he catch many viruses?’

‘That’s funny,’ said George with a hectic laugh.

‘It’s not
that
funny.’ Lorcan looked Alfie up and down. ‘Go see Thomas, I think there’s a couple of trainee floor-walkers needed.’

‘Great!’ George hurried away.

Lorcan stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘George.’

‘Yeah, Lorcan?’

‘You take the piss with me any more, you’re out. First and last warning, okay?’

George’s smile vanished. He gulped. ‘Sure, pal.’

‘And I ain’t your pal, I’m your employer. Don’t take fucking liberties.’

George nodded. Lorcan went off into the count room.

‘Jesus. He’s a bit heavy,’ said Alfie.

‘Yeah,’ said George, and went and knocked on Thomas’s door. He was going to have to jack this in and concentrate on the escort work. Lorcan was right, he
was
taking the piss, and Lorcan had been fair to him in the past. He deserved better. But first, George was going to get Alfie fixed up with a job.

‘So, what’d he say?’ asked George when Alfie emerged from the manager’s officer and came over to the table where George was busy dealing out cards to a punter.

‘Looks good. I filled out an application form. Put your address on it, that okay?’

‘No problem.’

‘I really appreciate this, George.’

‘Look, hang around, go and have a go on the slots or something, get yourself a drink. I’ll be off in a couple of hours, okay?’

They went home to the flat together. Harry was out on an escort job. It was a cold, crisp night, so they heated up some pizza, drank some coffee, and then George made up the sofa bed for Alfie. They said goodnight, and George pushed off to bed, thinking that once New Year was out of the way, he was resigning from Lorcan’s pay roll and expanding the escort biz. Not
too
much though; he didn’t want the taxman getting wind of it. That would never do.

He fell asleep dreaming of the piles of money he already had in his bedside table. The women, he could take or leave. Shameful to say, maybe, but the truth. He never had been pussy-mad like Harry. And once or twice – oh, and this was even more shameful, wasn’t it? – he had felt a hot tug of attraction to a boy he’d met in passing. Not often . . . not often enough to worry him, maybe, but it had happened, it was there. So the women? Not too bothered. But after years of being flat stony broke, he just
loved
the money.

When George awoke in the dead of night, he just knew it was Alfie again with the dreams. Like a mother who could detect a feverish infant through a brick wall, George could now sense Alfie in distress even when he was in the next room. He was so close to Alfie now that he thought he would know about it even if Alf was in the next
county.

Groaning, he crawled from the bed, wrapped his robe around him, and padded off down the hall. He slipped inside the lounge, closed the door behind him. It was a regular routine now. Don’t wake Harry. Wake up Alfie, reassure him everything was fine.

‘Alfie! Alfie my son, wake up!’ he hissed, crossing the room in the dark, flicking on the table lamp so that a cosy glow lit up the room, chasing back the shadows.

George sat down on the sofa bed and looked at Alfie, his angelic blond curls plastered around his thrashing head.

‘No, no . . .’ Alfie was moaning.

‘Come on Alf.’ George shook his shoulder gently. Alfie’s skin was damp, hot and smooth to the touch.

Suddenly Alfie’s eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, then his head turned and he was looking straight at George.

‘All right, Alf? The dreams again, yeah?’

Alfie drew a shuddering breath. A tear snaked down from one eye and fell on to the pillow.

‘It’s all okay, Alfie. No problems. No worries.’

‘I know. It’s stupid.’ Alfie put an arm over his eyes. ‘Oh
shit
,’ he said softly.

‘Get you a drink or something?’ offered George.

Alfie dropped his arm. ‘No. Just . . . stay with me a bit, will you, George?’

‘Can do.’ George dragged a spare pillow across, put his legs up on the sofa, made himself comfortable. ‘Bet you’ll get that job at the casino,’ he said, to distract Alfie from his woes.

‘You really think so?’ Alfie’s expression was unsure.

He looked young in the soft light, and very vulnerable. George thought that he would like to get hold of that twisted git Deano Drax and beat seven kinds of shit out of him. Now he was beginning to understand Alfie better, and to appreciate why he’d said no police. It was for the same reason that so few female rapes were reported. The victims felt too humiliated, too soiled and embarrassed to have to relive it all over again under questioning. He could see now that Alfie felt
exactly
like that. And at the same time . . . it was horrible but it was true . . . he could see how Alfie, so stunning, so
beautiful
, could appeal to a sick perv like Drax. Or to
anyone
, come to that.

‘Sure I think so. You’d be great in the job.’

‘Your brother-in-law didn’t seem very happy with you.’

‘Lorcan’s like a bear with a sore head most of the time,’ sniffed George. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of that.’

‘You don’t talk about your sister much?’

‘No. I don’t.’ George thought about it. It was a sadness for him, not seeing Gracie. He’d loved his big sis, back in the day. But she hadn’t contacted them, Dad hadn’t contacted them, and Suze had bad-mouthed the pair of them until George thought that if he
did
try to get in touch it would cause all sorts of shit to start flying. Then Mum would be upset, and what if she was right and they really didn’t want to know him after all this time . . .? And so the years had gone by, and there had been this
void.
But it didn’t seem now that there was a damned thing he or anyone else could do about it.

‘It’d be good to have a sister,’ said Alfie, an only child.

‘Good? What, all those hormones and giggles and knickers hanging up in the bathroom, all that stuff?’

‘Someone to boss around,’ Alfie said, and raised a smile.

‘Jesus, you never met Gracie!’ George had to laugh at that. ‘Boss her around and she’d kick you straight up the bollocks.’

‘Did she kick
Lorcan
up the bollocks?’

‘I think she came damn close.’

‘So they couldn’t live with each other?’

‘Have a day off will you? She’s in Manchester, he’s in London,’ said George. ‘Read the signs, Alfie. Read the signs.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Yeah, it is. Lorcan always seemed like the only one who could handle Gracie. If
he
can’t, no one can.’

‘Funny, what draws people together,’ said Alfie.

‘Yeah. Funny.’ George propped himself up on one elbow and smiled down at Alfie. ‘You feeling better now mate?’

‘Yeah, but . . . stay, will you?’

‘Sure.’ George felt a shiver of unease. He was sleepy, he could nod off at a moment’s notice, and what would Harry think if he strolled in here in the morning and found him lying on the sofa bed with Alfie?

He’d think we’re a couple of queers
, thought George, and he remembered the cab driver who’d picked them up on the night they met, the way he’d looked at them in the rear-view mirror, that knowing, faintly sneering look . . .

‘I’d better be getting back to bed,’ he said, drawing back, feeling confused all of a sudden, almost disorientated.

‘No, don’t!’ Alfie’s eyes were wide and pleading. ‘Stay with me George. Please.’

‘Alfie . . .’

‘
Please.
’

‘Okay,’ said George, giving in. What could it hurt, after all? They were pals; he was just reassuring a pal who’d had a hard time of it. That was all.

He switched the light off and lay down, still securely wrapped up in his robe. Alfie flipped the duvet back and George nearly said
whoa, what’s going on here?
But he didn’t. Alfie needed him. He got under the duvet and snuggled down – no part of him touching Alfie’s body, he made very sure of that. Pretty soon, he was asleep.

In the dim half-light of morning George came awake to the unexpected warmth of another body pressed against his own. He lay there for a moment, thinking
what the . . .?
And then he remembered Alfie’s nightmares and that Alfie had asked him to stay; and he had. He’d fallen asleep . . . and now Alfie was cuddled up close in the crook of George’s arm, his blond head tucked in beneath George’s chin, his arm flung across George’s chest. Alfie was hugging him like he was a favourite teddy bear or some damned thing, and it felt . . .

George lay there, feeling like he had just entered another country, another
world.

It felt
wonderful.

What the hell was happening?

He stirred slightly and Alfie felt the movement. Alfie was awake too. His head raised and George could see Alfie’s eyes were open. And then Alfie stretched up just a little and kissed him right on the lips. Alfie’s mouth was soft, pliant. His breath smelled like strawberries and lavender, sweet as the sweetest nectar. Relaxed and full of sleep, George responded. Kissed him back. It was the strangest sensation; like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

Alfie’s mouth opened and George’s tongue explored it. George had never kissed anyone quite like this, so wholeheartedly; and he had never felt this huge surge of compassion along with an entirely healthy dose of lust.

He had done women by the score, but that had been almost mechanical.
This
was something else. His erection was sudden and enormous. He felt Alfie’s hand sliding inside his robe, scudding over the hairs on his chest, leaving a tingling trail of want – and then dropping down. Alfie sighed as his hand went where it wanted to be, cupping George’s naked balls and then travelling slowly, sinuously up the length of his penis to the dampening tip.

Suddenly George came fully awake. He shot off the sofa bed, yanking his robe around him to hide the full shameful extent of his arousal. Jesus, what was he thinking?

‘No! George, don’t . . .’ said Alfie, but George was already out of the door and heading for the shower, feeling disgusted with himself, his treacherous body still thrumming with need. He jerked himself off in the shower, his mind full of images of Alfie, and then he stood there for a long time under the warm flow of water, leaning his head against the cold tiles, panting, gasping, and wondering what the fuck was happening to him.

Bender
, whispered a voice in his head.

But he wasn’t that at all.

Was he?