Truth Dare Kill by Gordon Ferris Read Free Book Online

sleeve. It was an effective deterrent to folk who thought they might like a cut of his fag and booze racket.
    I made my report, Annie threw a fit, but instead of – or maybe as well as; I never heard – taking it out on Stanley, she tracked down Laura Dayton to the Brickie’s Arms in the Old Kent Road and took a slice out of her rival’s younger face with Stanley’s clasp razor. Poetic justice, she must have thought. Gang war broke out, two pubs got wrecked, five people ended up in hospital, some with bits missing that would never grow again. And I began vetting my clients a little more carefully.
    Mary’s ears were tuned to the jungle drums and she was happy to gossip except when it came to clients, for whom she would undergo torture to avoid naming or shaming. I followed her through to her tiny living room, and remembered to duck as we came in through the door to avoid the huge wind chimes that dangled from the ceiling. As ever, I was mildly shocked at the amount of junk on every flat surface and every wall. And, apart from the enormous pile of old newspapers in one corner, the overwhelming preference for red junk. I think the colour of my hair was the other factor in her being helpful to me.
    I pushed aside an avalanche of red satin cushions and perched on the edge of her couch. Tea appeared to lubricate the conversation. “You sure you no wanna girl?
    Can get one up, lazy cows sleep all day and night too if can.”
    I grinned and shook my head. “What’s the story on the streets, Mary, about these killings?”
    She turned her mouth down. “Very bad, very bad. Bad for girls bad for business.
    Men stay away ’cos they scared of bobbies.”
    I bet. “Does anyone know anything though? Anyone see anything?”
    “Dead girls all work for one man. Big time pimp. No like my place. You safe here. I kill anyone who hurt my girls!” She raised her little arm and dropped it in a swift chopping motion. It was a threat not to be dismissed lightly. I doubted if Mary herself had the strength to squash a bug but she had good connections in China Town where the Tongs held sway. I also knew that Mary’s concern for the half dozen girls who worked here was more than just business or posturing; the girls themselves talked of her kindness to them. Mama Mary they called her.
    “Do you know the name of the man? This pimp?”
    “I know, I know all right. He Jonny Crane. Hard man. Don’t you cross him, Danny.
    He chop you into chow mein. Eat you up for dinner!”
    I stored the name away. “What else? Any sightings? Any disturbance?”
    She shook her head. “Only bobbies. Big chief, big fat bastard. He come round, throw everything up in air. Make questions. Scare customers. Scare girls.”
    A thought struck me. “What’s his name?”
    “Wislen. Somet’ing like that.”
    “Wilson? You mean, Inspector Wilson?”
    “That him.” She nodded hard. “Stinky bad man. Always round here. He like girls, but no pay for them.”
    “Wait, wait, Mary. Are you saying that Wilson comes round here and uses the girls? And that he doesn’t pay for it?”
    “That right. He pig! But not here. Other houses. He know not come China Town house. Chop, chop!” She stabbed the air. “They say he hit girls and make ’em do bad stuff.” She shrugged. “That OK if girls say OK and he pay. But not for no money.”
    A businesswoman to the roots of her dyed-black hair. I thought of Wilson and shuddered at what he might demand of a girl. Fat bastard indeed. I remember the first time I met Detective Inspector Herbert Wilson of the Yard. I’d been going for about six weeks and was starting to make some headway; a few clients, enough to pay the rent anyway.
    Did I mention the cat? There’s a thin moggy with half a tail that comes by most days. It creeps up the stairs, pauses at the second top step and checks out the lie of the land. If it sees me at my desk and I don’t make shooing noises it comes up on to the landing and rubs itself against my door. It meows as it rubs.
    I’ve taken to leaving a