The Runaway (69 page)

Eddie stood up. ‘Get your coat back on. Me and you are going to pay this woman a little visit.’

Michaela nearly fainted. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me. You are going to see this bitch and tell her what’s happened to her daughter - and if she decides to kick your ass, I ain’t going to stop her, honey pie. In fact, I might just give her a hand. In all the years I’ve known you, Mickey, I knew you was a user, but this lot takes the fucking red rosette. But then, you see, there’s another side to all this. Now I can get my brother wasted without even raising my hand.
That
, to me, sounds like good business.’

Michaela was stunned. ‘Come on, Eddie, you wouldn’t sell me down the river? You wouldn’t do this to me?’

He smoothed his hand across his shaven head and said gaily: ‘Oh, but I would. You just watch me.’

 

Eddie finally tracked Cathy down to the club where she was waiting with Susan P and Desrae to learn the location of the party. When he walked into the office with Michaela, Susan and Desrae both stared as if they had seen a ghost.

‘Eddie Durrant and the Lovely Michaela - to what do we owe this pleasure?’ Susan P’s voice was heavy with malice.

‘Long time no see, Susan. You’re looking good, baby. But then, you always did,’ Eddie said smoothly. He smiled at Cathy, holding out one perfectly manicured hand. ‘Mrs Pasquale? A pleasure I’m sure.’

Cathy stared at him with relief. If this was Trevale’s brother, the one who hated him, then they were in with a chance. The coke had kicked in by now and her mind was razor sharp though her hands were trembling. Then it registered properly that this was Michaela standing with him: Michaela who had taken Cathy’s baby from school and delivered her to the man who would destroy her innocence.

As Cathy flew across the room and grabbed at him, no one else moved a muscle.

Ripping his wig off his head, Cathy proceeded to punch, kick and pummel the slim-hipped young man lying abjectly on the floor before her. Grabbing his face in her hand, she looked down into his eyes.

‘I’ll see you dead, you bastard, over this night’s work. I’ll see you screaming in fucking pain and I’ll laugh, mate. And if you think you’ve got a handful with me, you wait until the girls get their hands on you!’

As Michaela, crying and wailing, tried to explain himself, Eddie Durrant said: ‘Can it, Mickey.’ Then he told Cathy and the others exactly what Michaela had done. As he spoke Mickey saw his chances of survival slipping further away with every word.

 

In the club the night was just picking up. Red, a large-boned Irishman with a Danny la Rue laugh and the clothes of Carmen Miranda, was just going into his opening number. They could hear him singing ‘I, I, I, I, I, I love you
very
much,’ in a strangely mixed Irish-Mexican accent.

It always went down a bomb, and tonight was no different.

Susan P listened then said: ‘So where’s the girl, do you know?’

Eddie nodded sagely. ‘But I want something in return.’

Desrae snorted. ‘Well, spit it out, nigger, we ain’t got all fucking night!’

Eddie faced him and smiled, his eyes hard. ‘I ain’t no one’s nigger, and if you think I’m after money, I’m not. I am after the cessation of my brother’s power of breathing - if you understand me?’

Cathy nodded. ‘Don’t you worry, if I get my hands on him he will never draw fucking breath again.’

Eddie appeared satisfied with this. ‘The house your daughter is in is just off Kensington High Street,’ he told the assembled gathering. ‘It’s my half-sister’s house, but she ain’t there. He packed her off today with the kids. I assume he’ll move your girl there just before the party begins.’

He looked at his watch. ‘It’s just after nine-thirty, and the parties usually don’t start until around eleven, eleven-thirty. All the heroes like to get well tanked up beforehand, prepare themselves for their night’s entertainment. We should catch her then.’

‘And we should catch Trevale there, too, shouldn’t we?’ Cathy asked, her voice a whisper.

‘Of course.’

Everyone moved at once. Michaela was still lying on the floor, scared and bloodied. Cathy looked down at him. ‘I’ll deal with you later, Mickey.’

‘I’ll watch him,’ Eddie promised. ‘You get yourselves off and when you come back you can tell me all about it.’

Cathy nodded, her eyes dead. ‘You can bank on that, Mr Durrant.’

The big black man grinned and spread his arms in a gesture of friendliness. ‘Please, call me Eddie. All my friends do.’

No one answered. They left the office in double-quick time. Eddie smiled down at Michaela. ‘Now then, they have a well-stocked bar, can I get you a drink after all?’

Michaela stared up at the man he had slept with on numerous occasions and said thickly, ‘You bastard.’

‘But of course! Everyone knows my daddy never married my mummy,’ Eddie said pleasantly. ‘It’s the root of
all
my problems.’

Helping himself to a large Remy Martin he savoured the taste, anticipating the moment when he would be told his half-brother was dead.

Chapter Forty-Four

Johnny Cartwright watched as Terry Campbell forced the girl into the room. She was terrified. Her hands were tied behind her back, and he felt sorry for her, really sorry, because he knew that she was to join him as tonight’s entertainment. With her long dark hair and her huge blue eyes she was stunning, and he knew she would take a lot of the heat off him.

As she lay on the floor he could see her whole body trembling. She was already in a state from either drugs or shock, maybe a mixture of both. One thing was for certain: she had no real idea what was going on around her. Her eyes were wild, like a trapped animal’s, a long streamer of spittle was hanging from her mouth and her lips were pulled back over her teeth in a grimace of terror.

He found it in his heart to feel sorry for her.

He had been in this room for hours, and as the day wore on had become resigned to what was going to happen to him. He had been selling himself for a long while so the thought was frightening but not exactly new to him.

This girl, however, was different. You could tell she wasn’t in the life by her abject fear, her neat clothes and her cleanliness. He guessed, rightly, that she was a stolen child. His deep green eyes were sad as he saw Trevale pulling her on to the large bed. Her skinny kid’s legs were on show, and her underwear, school issue navy blue drawers, were baggy on her. Johnny knew that this would be a major selling point for the people who were to come to this so-called party.

She was tall for a young one, but had the fresh-faced look they craved, neither girl nor woman. Flat breasts and sparse pubic hair were the order of the day for these people, he knew that himself. After all, he sold himself on a daily basis, knew more about it than all the so-called psychologists and social workers. They merely observed, had never participated.

Kitty had decided to fight back and tried to claw the man as he dragged her on to the bed. He punched her as hard as he could in the thigh, careful not to mark her face. The dead leg penetrated even the Demerol with which she had been injected and she screamed in agony. Two minutes later she had her mouth taped and her arms tied to the headboard, pulled above her head.

Terry was just lighting a joint when the first visitors arrived. Johnny sat quietly, watching the man and the woman as they came through the door. They were in their fifties and well dressed in matching leather jackets. Terry greeted them like a maître d’ in a fashionable restaurant. The woman was heavy-set with exaggerated eye make-up and backcombed hair. Johnny took her to be an ageing prostitute; the man beside her was obviously her partner.

It was strange the way these people seemed to find each other without the aid of clubs or anything normal people used to socialise.

The woman was staring at Kitty as if she had just been given the winning lottery numbers before the draw.

The man watched Johnny, who stared back at him impassively. He could hear Terry telling them how the two kids were going to do a scene, and how they were going to video it, and if they wanted an individual show it would cost extra, and that if they wanted the tape edited professionally that would also cost more, but it was worth it because the quality was exceptional.

The woman was already haggling for a private hour with the girl and Johnny watched and listened, amazed at the level to which people could sink. He thought he had seen it all in his young life but this cold-blooded trade in flesh was overwhelming even for him.

He smiled at the man gently, knowing what was expected of him and delivering it. He wanted to walk out of this room at some point and, with Terry Campbell that meant toeing the line. He hoped he could get close enough to the girl to tell her that. But the state she was in, she probably wouldn’t be able to take onboard what he was saying anyway.

But he’d try.

The man ruffled Johnny’s hair, running his fingers through its thickness. He looked up with his deep green eyes and the man was immediately enamoured. If Johnny could make a good impression, the man might insist on a one-to-one and if he had the money then Terry would agree to it, bringing in someone else for the other customers. His luck was out, though. The man was soon happily greeting two friends who had just shown up.

He was a crowd man. Johnny felt his heart sink down into his boots. Still, it had been worth a try. The two men were dressed in bondage and Johnny’s heart sank even lower. The bondage gays could be vicious bastards; he knew, he’d already had a few in his time. They associated pleasure with pain. Funny how they seemed to enjoy inflicting it more than receiving it, though.

He smiled again, because he knew that the odds of his passing on the HIV virus were growing shorter and shorter. If they made him bleed, and he had a feeling that’s exactly what they were going to do, he would give them an extra little present tonight, other than his body and his self-respect.

Terry was pleased by the boy’s professional behaviour. Terry knew that a lot of the paedophiles felt better if the child seemed willing because then they could kid themselves that he had acquiesced and was happy with what they were doing. It reinforced their belief that children loved it all really, whatever the experts might say.

Everyone had a drink, even Johnny. He gulped down the vodka thirstily, hoping to get drunk as well as drugged out of his head. He saw Terry forcing vodka down the girl’s throat, too. He could hear her choking. Everyone laughed, it was comical to them. Terry carried on pouring the neat spirit into her, and the girl drank quite a lot before passing out.

Johnny was pleased for her; hoped she didn’t wake up until it was all over.

The woman, who turned out to be an estate agent - Johnny knew this because she was discussing the sale of a property in Willesden that could be used the next week - then asked Terry again how much for some time on her own with the girl.

He looked at her and considered the matter. ‘I’ll give you an hour, you give me the loan of the Willesden house next week for nix. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?’

The woman laughed. Her teeth were stained yellow from smoking and her make-up was so thick it cracked and flaked off in little pieces. Terry then proceeded to usher the men and the boy through to the adjoining room.

Johnny had expected something like this. The other room was equipped with a bed and a stock of drinks. As they moved through, Terry’s minder delivered two more party-goers to him.

These were City gent types, suited and booted and carrying briefcases. Unlike the others, they were quiet. Accepting a drink, they stood together and Johnny guessed they were lovers who indulged in the exotic every now and then, when they could afford it. He kept his gaze on the door, hoping the girl was OK. He certainly wouldn’t have fancied being left alone with the big dyke.

The two leather-clad men approached him. One caressed his hair while the other stroked his genitals through his trousers.

‘Take your clothes off, son, we want to see what we’re getting.’

Terry nodded at him and Johnny started to undress slowly. The men all watched in anticipation. Johnny closed his eyes and went on to auto pilot. He heard a groan from the other room and glanced towards the doorway, hoping the girl was all right.

He prayed they would both be all right.

 

Kitty could see the woman through her drunkenness. It was very hard to focus for more than a few seconds, though. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that something bad had happened, but could not remember for the life of her what it was.

Opening her eyes once more, she saw a woman leaning over her. Her face wore a garish mixture of bright make-up and she stank of perfume.

When Kitty realised the woman was kissing her breasts, she felt such distress that she vomited, vodka flying all over the woman’s hair and shoulders. Kitty felt an urge to laugh and scream all at the same time. She couldn’t do either, however, because she was finding it difficult to breathe. The vomit had come through her throat and nose, and tied as she was on her back, she was fighting for breath.

The woman was now sitting upright, face contorted with rage. She slapped Kitty hard across the face.

The girl could feel herself passing out and her last thought was of her mother. As she sank into the welcoming blackness, she wondered if Cathy was looking for her; if she knew that she had been taken from school.

The woman tried to clean herself up. She heard a commotion in the other room and opened the door a crack. There was pandemonium out there. People were all over the place: uniform, plainclothes, and in her terror she was amazed to see at least two transvestites. She assumed they had come for the party.

Shutting the door, she surveyed the room. She opened the curtains and tried to force open the window. It was nailed shut. But then it would be, wouldn’t it? There had been instances where the kids had jumped out, and the party had had to be abandoned.