The men around the table sniggered.
They numbered ten in total, and, as often happened in circles of this sort, there were several types on show: the snivellers – typical Cockney rat-boys with thin features, greased-back hair and suits that looked second-hand even though they probably weren’t; the bruisers – shaven headed, scar-faced, and invariably sporting chunky, tasteless jewellery. Then there were the nondescripts, the quiet ones – they could be smart or casual, and their ages could vary from thirty to sixty. They might be soldiers or lieutenants, but these were the ones you had to be careful of. They didn’t put on a show, because they didn’t need to.
One of these, a youngish chap with a red goatee beard, wearing a blue silk suit and a white silk shirt buttoned to the collar, was the one who’d finally come to the door and let the callers in. He was now back in his seat, checking his hand of cards. As they all were. Heck’s unexpected arrival was only a minor distraction to them.
‘So let me get this straight,’ Bobby Ballamara said slowly. He too was engrossed in his cards, and in smoking a large cigar, but his lips were taut, his eyes lidded – he looked like a lizard about to strike. ‘You want me to help you … because you have fucked up so much that even your own people are out to nail you?’
‘It’s only for one night.’ Heck stood facing him the way a condemned man might face a deliberating judge.
Lauren had been told to wait in a corner, where she now sat, looking alone and nervous. At first glance, she’d had difficulty working out what the purpose of this room actually was. By the unlagged piping running across its ceiling, and the steel girders in some of the walls, it had once been part of an industrial facility, maybe the ground floor of a warehouse. To get in here, they’d walked through several big, empty chambers with bare brick walls and utilitarian wooden boarding for floors, though this one was a little plusher than those. It had a bar at one end, where more of Ballamara’s heavies were lounging. Beside that was a low stage with a steel pole in the middle. An elderly woman in high heels and a leotard was putting two junior strippers through their paces. Music, downbeat jazz – very soothing and romantic, like something from the late 1940s – was playing. It suited the low lighting and rich pile carpet.
‘You are aware, Heckenburg …’ Ballarama said. ‘It’s okay if I call you “Heckenburg”? I don’t have to bother with the “Detective Sergeant” bit anymore?’
There were more sniggers from the rest of the men.
‘Heckenburg’s fine,’ Heck said.
‘Because it wouldn’t strictly be true to call you “Detective Sergeant Heckenburg” anymore, would it? Perhaps it’d be more appropriate if I called you “Prisoner Heckenburg, 48276983” or whatever the fuck your inmate tag ends up reading.’
‘I told you, it’s a misunderstanding. I can sort this out. I just need a little time.’
Briefly, Ballamara was too occupied with his hand to reply. He finally played it.
‘You see – Heckenburg, one of the problems I have is that your usefulness to me only lasts as long as you’re looking for my daughter. So if you now can’t do that, which you clearly can’t – because you’re too busy looking after your own arse – then as far as I’m concerned you’re a non-person. You don’t matter.’ He glanced up with those grey, coin-like eyes. ‘And you coming here uninvited is a right fucking liberty.’
‘I can still find your daughter,’ Heck said. ‘At least, I can find out what happened to her.’
‘I’ve got six private dicks working on that now. I fail to see how you – in your current reduced state – could be a better bet than them.’
‘I very much doubt they’ve even got close.’
‘And how would you know?’
‘Because I am close, and they’re not in the picture.’
Ballamara looked at his cards again. ‘Three days ago you didn’t have a fucking clue.’
‘A lot can happen in three days.’
Ballamara played his next hand. For Heck, the delay seemed torturous.
‘And this is how you expect to bribe your way into my protection, is it?’ the gangster said. ‘By teasing me with what you think you’ve learned … after stringing me along for the last two years?’
There were no sniggers from the rest of his crew now. They could sense when their boss was becoming agitated, even though his body language remained calm.
Heck held his nerve – this was always going to have been the tough bit. ‘I’m offering a straightforward trade, Mr Ballamara. Refuge for me and Lauren here – for one night. In exchange, I’ll give you everything I’ve got. Down to the last detail.’
Ballamara stubbed his cigar in an ashtray and laid his cards down. ‘And what’s to stop me having it beaten out of you right now?’
‘Feel free to try,’ Heck said. ‘I’ll crack at some point, sure. But how much will I crack? How do you know what I’ll be telling you is kosher? How do you know I won’t give you the best run-around you’ve ever had?’
Their eyes locked as Ballamara contemplated this.
‘All I’m asking is a bed for the night,’ Heck said. ‘Is that so steep?’
‘I can give you a bed for the night, Heckenburg – and your skirt. But tomorrow morning you’d better be ready to spill your guts.’ Ballamara spoke in a low monotone – he was almost droning, but there was no mistaking the intensity there. ‘You don’t tell me everything I want to hear, I’ll make sure that whoever messed your face up yesterday looks like an absolute novice.’
Heck nodded and tried to swallow, but had almost no saliva. ‘There’s one other thing I could use,’ he said. ‘A couple of mobile phones – clean ones. I only want to borrow them. You can have them back when I’m done.’
Ballamara said nothing, merely nodded to another of his goons, a black guy in a t-shirt and wraparound shades, with a physique that suggested he bench-pressed with heavy machinery. The black guy ambled away, and the gangsters resumed their game. There was muted conversation as more cards were placed and the money pile in the middle grew larger. One of the trainee strippers approached with a tray, to collect the empties and take orders for another round. She was dressed only in a thong and heels, but she was thin and pale, and had a vaguely Eastern European look – she was sixteen years old at the most. Heck caught Lauren’s eye. Neither felt sufficiently comfortable to even imply what they were thinking about their new ‘ally’. Heck glanced towards the bar, where the black guy chatted briefly with Lennie Asquith before lumbering back over. He handed Heck two mobile phones, a red one and a blue one.
‘Thanks,’ Heck said.
‘You’re welcome,’ Ballamara replied without looking up. ‘Goodnight.’
More sniggers followed. Heck beckoned to Lauren, who hurriedly joined him. Asquith was now waiting beside an open door, beyond which stairs led upward.
‘Oh … Heckenburg!’ Ballamara called after them when they were halfway there. They looked back. He continued to lay cards. ‘Do not be fucking me around.’ He took a slug of Scotch. ‘Never make that mistake, Heckenburg. I don’t forget things and I don’t forgive them. You shit on me and I will seriously shit on you.’
And that was the end of the conversation.
Asquith led them up the stairs to a first-floor passage that was lit, rather suspiciously, by a crimson light. Numerous doors led off it, but he took them to the one at the end. When he opened it, the room beyond, though plain, was not as seedy as they’d expected. There was one bed, a double – complete with an iron bedstead and duck-down duvet, a writing desk with a chair drawn under it, a sideboard on which a portable television sat, a closet with a slatted door and, besides that, the entrance to a small en suite. The décor was dull – all beige and brown, but at least it was clean. The window looked down on a dismal alley, but they were able to close the blinds and block that out.
‘There’s no hidden camera in here, is there?’ Heck asked Asquith. ‘We don’t want to end up for sale in one of your gaffer’s backstreet DVD shops.’
Asquith almost looked offended. ‘Like we could make money out of you two.’
He banged the door closed as he went out.
Lauren shook her head. ‘Heck, you’re not serious about …’
Heck put a finger to his lips, moved across the room and switched the television on, making sure to turn the volume up. ‘No cameras, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a mike,’ he said quietly.
‘You let someone like Ballamara into this investigation, and he’ll ruin the whole …’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll feed him some fictional bullshit. All I needed to do was buy us a night.’ He got undressed, stripping down to his boxers.
‘Heck, this is a dangerous game we’re playing.’
‘This firm’s like a women’s church group compared to the one we’re after.’
‘That why, five minutes ago, you looked like you were about to cack your pants?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it sorted.’
He went through to the bathroom, to wash. Lauren wasn’t far wrong though. Despite his bravado, this was a risky strategy. He again considered calling Gemma, not just because the guilt he felt about keeping her in the dark was burning a hole through him, but because her support – in fact any kind of support – would be more than useful. But he was now so far out on a limb that just getting in touch with her would be exactly the wrong thing to do. Even if she believed his theories, she would insist that he came in. She’d probably send units to arrest him. It would be career suicide for her to do otherwise. It didn’t matter if the trail went cold as a result of him being taken off the streets. That could never be her priority now.
‘In which case I’m still on my tod,’ he muttered, as he stared at his battered reflection in the mirror. ‘Sorry, Gemm.’
When he returned to the bedroom, Lauren had stripped to her bra and knickers. It struck him as strange how informal they already were with each other after such a short period of time. Of course, Lauren, being ex-army, was probably well used to being undressed in the company of men. Despite this, she was caught on the hop when Asquith barged back in without knocking.
‘Bob says there’s some sandwiches downstairs if you’re hungry.’ His eyes rolled appreciatively over Lauren’s athletic form.
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ Heck replied, taking a break from checking the two mobiles, to stare pointedly at him.
Asquith shrugged and withdrew. The door clicked shut.
‘If I’ve got a choice, I’ll take the red one,’ Lauren said, indicating the phones.
‘Neither of these are for you, I’m afraid.’
She looked surprised.
Heck was about to explain, when he heard a creak from the passage. He moved to the door, yanking it open. Asquith was still there, but immediately headed off towards the top of the staircase. He glanced back innocently.
‘Just keep walking, pal,’ Heck said. ‘Or the deal’s off. And you’ll be the one who has to tell your boss why.’
Asquith curled his lip in a sneer, but vanished down the stairs. Heck closed the door, just as laughter exploded from below. Immediately, the music changed and became louder. The easy melodies of the 1940s were replaced by black metal – thumping, dark-hearted, the vocals shrieked as if by a madman in a cage.
‘We’d have been better on a park bench,’ Lauren said, sitting on the bed.
‘No we wouldn’t.’ Heck slid under the duvet on the window side. ‘Even if we don’t sleep, we need rest. You don’t mind sharing, by the way? I don’t take up much room.’
She shook her head, switching the light and TV off before climbing in alongside him. It wasn’t particularly dark; from outside, an on-off neon glow, green one minute and yellow the next, penetrated the thin curtains.
Lauren chuckled, but there was no humour there. ‘Like a movie, isn’t it?’
‘A bit,’ he agreed.
The tone of her voice changed. ‘Only you’re not much like the cops we see on telly.’
‘You mean I’m not as good looking?’
‘No, I didn’t say that. I mean … you’ve not got some detective buddy who’s still on the right side of the fence and is now doing everything he can to get you out of the shit.’
Heck felt her hand on his thigh. He became aware of her proximity. Her trim but feminine curves fitted snugly with his more angular, masculine shape.
He rolled onto his side so that his back was to her. ‘We should try to sleep, Lauren.’
In response, she knelt up and reached behind her to loosen the catch on her bra. When it fell away, her breasts tumbled forward.
Heck glanced round at her. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Okay … why are you doing it?’ He was trying to be tough with her, but her breasts swayed enticingly, and a heat was stirring in his loins.
‘I know you like what you see, Heck. I’m not blind. I knew that first night in the pub. You’d have done anything to shag me then.’
‘That was then, this is now.’
There was a brief pause before she said: ‘Look … I don’t want to feel alone tonight. Not in here. You don’t need to worry; I’m not asking to be part of your life. I don’t want to take your control away. I just … it’s this place.’
Before he could resist – not that he tried very hard – their lips fastened together, their tongues entwining. Hers was sweet, soft and it probed into the deepest corners of his mouth as he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her down onto the pillow.
An hour later, Lauren began to cry – at first very softly, but then with progressively deeper sobs, which she struggled to suppress.
Heck, who’d only been half-asleep, put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter?’
She shrugged him off. ‘I don’t know … nothing, something daft.’
He sat up tiredly. ‘Problem shared, and all that.’
‘I don’t know … stupid. Mum would so disapprove of what we’ve just done. She thinks sex without love is a bad thing.’ Lauren sounded embarrassed, though her tears were still flowing. ‘Just her generation, I suppose. But it’s got me thinking about her … everything she’s been through in her life, and now this. Sitting in that flat all day next to the phone, waiting for good news to arrive about Genene. And why? On what basis? I mean I bought my way out of the army to be with her, and I’m not even there, am I? I’m here with you!’
‘She knows what you’re doing,’ Heck said awkwardly. ‘You told me that, yourself.’
‘I also told you she doesn’t approve. You know, she and Genene were so like each other; always pleasant and polite, dead straight-laced, proper ladies even in that shithole. Me … I was just a juvenile delinquent who thought the crap I’d suffered meant I could do anything I wanted. I so wasted my school years; hanging out, getting involved with gangs. Genene said I was letting the side down.’ Lauren shook her head, fresh tears appearing. ‘I was too dimwitted to realise that behaving like a street hoodlum only gave those who hated us even more ammunition. I only went into the army through default,’ she said. ‘The second time I got arrested for being found in a stolen car was the day it became obvious something had to change. My probation officer said I’d only avoided juvenile prison by a miracle. He pointed me to the armed services.’
‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?’ Heck remarked.
Lauren nodded and sniffled. ‘That was what Mum said. She was worried sick by it. I mean, there were wars kicking off everywhere. But Genene thought it was a good idea. She said it wasn’t as dangerous as the route I’d been following in Chapeltown. Anyway, me and Genene … we still didn’t see eye to eye on stuff. I almost rejected the idea because she supported it, but thankfully, in the end, I didn’t. The army was the first bunch I’d ever met who weren’t concerned that I didn’t have any grades. They said they’d train me, and not just to fight. They’d find out which disciplines I had an aptitude for, and educate me appropriately. They said I’d come out better equipped to make a go of it on civvy street than most university leavers did …’
‘Good bit of blarney, if nothing else.’
‘They needed bodies, didn’t they?’ she said. ‘They were off to war. Anyway … despite that, things went well. Suddenly I had a career, money, prospects.’ Fresh moisture glinted in her eyes. ‘And all because of Genene, who I never once thanked. Christ … Heck, I’d got into some bad habits during my dumb days. One of them was always assuming there’d be time to do things later. You know what I mean? Anything difficult or awkward; anything you don’t really want to face up to. You keep putting it off because there’ll be time for it later. Except … there might not be.’ Briefly she couldn’t speak. More hot tears dripped onto her breasts. ‘Isn’t there …’ She struggled to get the words out. ‘Isn’t there anything you can say … about Genene, I mean? About where she is, what might have happened to her? It was bad enough when I thought some pervert had grabbed her, but now … the idea that it’s more than one pervert, maybe a bunch of them, who specialise in grabbing women, for God knows what purpose! I mean … come on, Heck, tell me something … You’re a copper!’
Heck wanted to put his arm around her shoulders, but felt it would be inappropriate. What they’d just done together had been too quick and functional to entitle him to behave like a boyfriend. Besides, she was seeking comfort, and he had none to give. To most folk, Genene Wraxford was nothing more now than a tattered, peeling face clinging to a few rain-soaked lampposts, and most likely that was all she’d ever be.
‘Lauren … this is the reality of crime,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not about Robin Hood, or rebels without a cause, or likeable rogues. It’s about evil actions destroying innocent lives. And all we can do as police officers is react to it. Clean up the mess any way we can, wishing as much as everyone else that we’d been there in time to prevent it. I don’t know where Genene is or what happened to her. But I’ve got to be honest with you, it’s not good. She’s been missing a long time, love.’
Again Lauren mopped her tears away, frowning, the young street-tough trying to reassert herself. ‘Why couldn’t it have happened to me, eh? I could have dealt with it. Poor Genene wouldn’t have had the first clue.’
Heck didn’t bother to mention that few, if any, dealt easily with the onslaught of typical urban predators.
She blew her nose, and then, unexpectedly, said: ‘You need to be a lot nicer to your sister, Heck. I don’t know what happened between you two in the past. But if you intend to make up with her – and I reckon you do, because you don’t strike me as the sort of bloke who carries a grudge forever – you’d better get a move on. One of these days, all of a sudden, she’s not going to be there anymore.’
She reclined onto the pillow and rolled over, turning her back to him. ‘For the record, I’m pissed off as hell that you’ve seen me in this state. Bet you were thinking: “She’s alright, this one. But no, hang on … she’s just a soppy girl after all.”’
‘You think I don’t cry?’ Heck replied.
‘Not in front of anyone else, I bet.’
‘Only because it’s a long time since there’s been anyone else.’
‘Well don’t break down on us yet.’ She sniffled again. ‘You’ve got some cases to solve.’
Heck sat up for several minutes after she’d gone back to sleep, pondering her final comments. In truth, he didn’t know which prospect he found more onerous – the increasingly dark road along which this investigation was taking him, or the road to reconciliation with his sister.