The Graft Read online

  She was out with her mates and had to keep her reputation as the top girl in their crew. Plus she needed to let off some steam. Nick was using her as usual, and even though she would allow herself to be used it didn’t mean she wasn’t upset about it all. Her life was looking like crap again. She had nothing really. Her husband was no good to her, she had broken up with her toy boy waiter, and her sons were asking if they could stay on at their private school for the next lot of holidays.

  All she really had was Angela, and what use was that for a woman who wanted to have fun? She knew her friends wanted her to fight this scrubber, she knew it was wrong to fight Kayleigh, but it was the answer to her prayers tonight because if she didn’t lash out at someone she would crack, Tammy knew it.

  Cocaine always did this to her in the end. Her high lasted for a while and then she became depressed, bitter, seeing slights where there weren’t any and convincing herself that everyone was talking about her. Coke paranoia caused more fights than whisky and brandy mixed.

  Suddenly, Kayleigh was the cause of all her troubles and Tammy wanted to smack her one so badly it was almost tangible.

  Kayleigh came out of the toilet unsteadily and, as she checked her make-up, accidentally jostled Tammy who was just about to snort a large line of cocaine. It was all that was needed. Tammy brought herself up fast and smacked the bigger woman in the face with all the force she could muster.

  Kayleigh, weighing in at eleven stone, was knocked backwards by the blow. Despite her diminutive size Tammy could fight, due to the fact that she actually liked fighting.

  Kayleigh, though, was well able for her and as she had about three stone on Tammy the fight soon spilled out of the toilets and into the wine bar itself. Men and women moved quickly out of the way of the brawling pair. Kayleigh picked up a bottle of wine from one of the tables and as she held it aloft, ready to bring it down on Tammy’s expensive hair, a large man called Greg Peterson quickly snatched it from her and, with three of his friends, finally separated the struggling women.

  Suzy Snaith was shouting, ‘Get them outside!’

  Dragging the kicking and swearing women outside was a hard task and it took the men a good five minutes.

  ‘I’ll teach you to shag my husband!’

  Tammy laughed.

  ‘No, love, it should be me teaching you to shag your husband, surely?’

  That was the trigger for the fight of the century.

  Kayleigh came out of her captor’s arms like a lunatic and Tammy was ready and waiting for her. Stabbing her stiletto heel into her own escort’s foot, he yelped and she flew from his arms and met Kayleigh head on. Both of them continued the fight with glee.

  The men knew it was pointless trying to separate them now and in all honesty those long false nails and professionally whitened teeth looked intimidating even to them. They decided to leave the two women to it.

  The police arrived five minutes later.

  Tyrell sat outside the public toilets in his car. They were on the estate his son had grown up on and he had passed them many times without a second’s thought. They were situated by the car park next to the local high street.

  He saw that the place was teeming with young boys and fought an urge to vomit. He was watching to see if there were any boys he recognised from seeing them with Sonny.

  It was after eleven and other than the local Tesco’s which was open twenty-four hours the high street was all but deserted. The toilets, however, were a different matter. Cars were pulling up and driving off at an alarming rate. It was a whole new world to Tyrell and he was shocked that such things even went on here. He thought it was confined to Soho and places like that. Vice centres. He didn’t know that this went on in nearly every public toilet in the country.

  As he lit himself another Marlboro Light a gentle tapping sound made him jump. He turned to see a blond boy in his early teens smiling at him.

  Tyrell opened the window quickly.

  ‘What do you want?’

  It was only then that he realised the boy was touting for business. The shock nearly rendered Tyrell speechless.

  Did he look queer?

  But then, after seeing some of the men who had been in and out of the place tonight, he wondered what queer was supposed to look like exactly. Most of them had looked like normal family men.

  ‘You new round here?’

  The boy smiled in a friendly way. His teeth were crooked and Tyrell put him at about fifteen, or maybe younger. He was slim, skinny even, and dressed like one of the refugees you saw shunting round Piccadilly.

  He was obviously homeless.

  Tyrell took a deep breath.

  ‘You worked here long?’

  The boy nodded and then started to open the passenger door.

  ‘Come on, mate, I am fucking freezing. You up for it or not?’

  Tyrell made a split-second decision and let the boy get into the car.

  ‘Where do you want to go, mate?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Tyrell’s voice was puzzled.

  The boy grinned and said, ‘Fuck me, you are new. We can’t shag on a public road under the street lights, can we? Let’s go to the park.’

  Tyrell started up the car, every inch of his skin crawling with the fear of getting caught out by Old Bill.

  He would never live it down.

  But he pulled away without incident and the boy proceeded to direct him to an appropriate spot.

  Nick could see how drunk and stoned Tammy was, and knew the policemen could see it too.

  ‘I fucking love him . . .’

  She was trying to kiss her husband and he was trying to keep her away from him.

  ‘Thanks for keeping it quiet.’

  The policemen looked at him with pity. Tammy was battered and bruised but obviously the victor, her high spirits told him that much.

  ’Are there any charges?’

  The elder patrolman shook his head.

  ‘Just take her home, mate, she’s doing our heads in.’

  Tammy was half-lying on a plastic seat in the station house, trying to stop herself from falling asleep. DI Rudde came out then and called Nick through to an interview room.

  ’All right, Nick?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Who was she fighting with this time?’

  Nick’s voice was tired-sounding and Rudde guessed rightly that he had had enough for one night.

  ‘Kayleigh Kalibos. Her husband has already been and picked her up and I can tell you now, I would not want to be in her shoes when he gets her home.’

  Nick knew Kayleigh’s husband would be terrified of a comeback from him and that Rudde was also aware of the fact.

  ‘Heard anything more about Gary?’

  Rudde shook his head and said sagely, ‘More to that than meets the eye, but from what I can gather they can’t get a trail anywhere. Still, you know Gary. He had a finger in so many pies it was only a matter of time before he got burned.’

  ‘You can say that again! He tried to tuck me up a few times but even so I’m sorry about what happened to him. I weighed his old woman out, had to really, he did work with me for years.’

  Rudde tried to change the subject. ‘By the way, Tammy had some grade-A cocaine in her possession. I’ve sorted it but she has to be told, Nick. I can’t get her off if it happens again.’

  He sighed.

  ‘If the papers got hold of that there would be a field day, you know the score, especially after all that’s happened.’

  Nick nodded once more.

  ‘It hit her very hard, you have to understand that . . .’

  The detective smiled his understanding. Nick knew that like everyone else Rudde secretly wondered why he did not give his wife the slap of the century.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave her in your more than capable hands. By the way, Nick, a word to the wise. Sonny Hatcher’s father Tyrell is snooping around, thinks someone put his boy up to robbing your drum. Expect to see or hear from him at som
e point, OK?’

  Nick was shocked and Rudde could see it.

  ‘He’s like any father, mate, just trying to make sense of what happened. He don’t bear no malice towards you, I know that for a fact. All I am trying to do is warn you so you can be prepared for him.’

  Nick smiled.

  ‘I appreciate that. Now I had better get my dear wife home.’

  They could hear Tammy laughing raucously and the sound seemed to make Nick’s face even paler and more troubled. Rudde had never been afflicted by marriage which was something he was very grateful for. The more he saw of it at close hand, the less he liked the idea of being in lumber to someone for the rest of your days.

  ‘She been on the lash all day?’

  Nick nodded. Wiping a hand across his face, he sighed as he said sadly, ‘I know what everyone thinks but Tammy has a lot on her plate, you know. A few drinks and a bit of gear soften the edges for her.’

  Rudde didn’t answer. Instead he watched Nick Leary leave the room to the sounds of his wife retching half her guts up, and marvelled once more at his own good fortune in not being the marrying kind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The boy’s name was Lomax, William Lomax, and he went under the nickname Willy. Tyrell decided he would call him Lomax, or plain Will. Under the circumstances he didn’t think he could bring himself to say that nickname out loud.

  ‘What do you want then?’ the boy said.

  Tyrell was parked up by the local park under the shade of some overhanging trees. It was dark and in the dimness he could make out the figures of men and boys all along the park railings. It was something he had never thought to see. Some had wandered into the bushes through a gap in the fence and he realised once more that there was a whole underclass here of which he had no knowledge at all.

  But then again, why would he?

  Unless you had reason to look for something out of the ordinary you would not necessarily know it even existed. He had known that this kind of thing went on, it had just never occurred to him that it went on night after night all over the country in such numbers. His son, his Sonny, had once been like this little boy beside Tyrell, selling himself to strangers for a few pounds.

  It was disgusting, it was shaming, and most of all it was so squalid and demoralising that he wondered if Louis Clarke was right and ignorance could be bliss. To think that the boy he had loved and cherished had been reduced to this and worse, and his own father had never once had an inkling, amazed Tyrell even as it broke his heart.

  ‘Look, mister, I ain’t got all night. If you just wanted a wank we could have stayed at the cottage.’

  Tyrell looked at the unkempt boy beside him once more.

  ‘Cottage?’

  The boy grinned.

  ‘The bogs . . . toilets? Where you picked me up.’

  He laughed louder then.

  ‘Is this your first time?’

  ‘I don’t want sex from you.’

  Tyrell’s voice was shaking with emotion and the boy took it the wrong way. Willy Lomax assumed he had a new boy on the block here. Placing one grubby hand gently on Tyrell’s thigh, he said throatily, ‘Come on, don’t be silly. You’ll be all right.’

  Tyrell stared at him then. The boy saw how the man’s eyes looked him over and with the experience of long practice he smiled once more and caressed his groin, finally going for the zip of Tyrell’s jeans.

  His hand was slapped away much harder than he had believed possible. The stinging sensation brought tears to his eyes and Tyrell felt a moment’s shame for taking his feelings out on a boy.

  ‘Look, mate, I ain’t staying here for all that, I don’t do the pain stuff.’

  He was unlocking the door and trying to get out.

  Tyrell stopped him by grabbing his arm gently and saying, ‘I don’t want sex, son, I just need to know about a boy called Sonny Hatcher.’

  His words stopped the boy in his tracks. He had blond hair that was cut below his ears. Tyrell supposed he was quite a nice-looking young man, but his grey eyes already had the look of someone who had seen and done too much. The atmosphere in the car grew charged. He felt the boy’s fear and said in as friendly a voice as he could muster, ‘I’ll pay you for any information you give me.’

  The boy was still hesitant.

  ’And I’ll pay you well.’

  He relaxed back into the seat now. Taking a pack of ten Benson’s from his pocket, he lit one and after a deep leisurely puff, said, ‘He was a mate, that’s all. What do you want to know?’

  He blew out the smoke noisily and Tyrell relaxed.

  ‘How long did you know him?’

  Lomax shrugged.

  ’A year or so. He wasn’t round the cottage much after a while, he seemed to know who to pick up like. Did you know him?’

  Tyrell nodded.

  ‘Nice fella, old Sonny, had a hard life.’

  The boy pulled on the cigarette again.

  ‘How much you giving me?’

  ‘Depends how much you tell me.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  Tyrell pulled out two fifty-pound notes and said quietly, ‘Everything you know about him basically.’

  ‘There’s a café round the corner. Throw in an all day breakfast and you got yourself a deal.’

  Suddenly, the boy looked what he was: a nice little kid. Tyrell started up the car, glad to get away from the people around him, shadows who sneaked around in the dark with young boys and tried to convince themselves they were doing nothing wrong.

  Jude was stoned.

  As she lay on the sofa and felt herself going on the nod she placed her cigarette in the ashtray and left it burning while she followed the feelings inside her head and body. She had finally got enough money for her dealer by doing three blow jobs one after the other. She had not used a condom for any of them.

  She could still taste the salty bitterness after half a bottle of vodka. But she had what she wanted now and just wanted to relax and let the good times roll.

  She had Fleetwood Mac on the stereo, ’Albatross’ on low. The guitar strains had always helped mellow her out and as she lay back even the stench of her own surroundings was gradually receding as her mind and body were taken over by the high. This was the only time she could think about her Sonny Boy without feeling anger. But whatever happened she would be making sure she got full compensation for her Sonny Boy’s demise.

  Nick Leary was a known face, for all his prancing about on TV and his interviews in the newspapers. Well, he owed her, and she was going to see that he paid her in full. She knew, for example, that it was his mate, Gary Proctor, who had brought her boy to that house. She also knew that Nick Leary would pay well to keep that information quiet because now Gary Proctor was dead and all. Sonny had liked Proctor, had said he was an all-right bloke. Maybe he was? It was too late now.

  She was scared, she knew what her Sonny had told her and she knew how to use the information but the fear of taking him on overrode everything else. Now Proctor was dead, and she was going to have to front up Leary; he was the hero of the hour and she would make him pay for that.

  As she melted into the furniture she heard a noise and, opening her eyes, saw Gino standing by her seat. He was already well on and she smiled dreamily at him. Even when he picked up her bag of brown from the table and started to burn himself a fix she didn’t say anything. He was back, that was all she was worried about.

  No more being on her own, no more outings for money, he could take over that role now. As for his mother, Jude would cross that particular bridge when she came to it.

  The café was an all-nighter and so it was quite busy, but they managed to get a table in the corner and Tyrell ordered the boy a large breakfast with a side order of chips and bread and butter. He also ordered two mugs of tea and two cans of orange Tango. He took the Tangos from the fridge and collected his change from the twenty-pound note he had given the owner.

  ‘I don’t want him in here for long, ri
ght?’

  Tyrell looked at the man in surprise.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The café owner, a large overweight Turk with crooked white teeth and a whiter apron, said: ‘I don’t encourage them, they normally use the burger van off the high street. This once I’ll swallow because he’s with you, but tell him not to venture in after tonight. They ain’t welcome. And a word of warning - they’re all thieves. If you’re new to this then you remember that for the future and all.’