Freddie still had an ambition in life, and fucking Maggie was it.
She looked at him and he knew she was looking down her pretty little pointed nose, but the time would come when he would bring her down a peg. Like his father always used to say, wait long enough and you'll get what you want from life. Just make sure it was worth the wait.
He walked into a flat on the ninth floor. The door was open, the door was always open. The flat was occupied by a nineteen year old called Charlene, who had thick blond hair and green eyes framed by thick dark lashes. There was no doubt about it, she was a looker, and her neat little body was made for Freddie Jackson's large, brutish lovemaking. However, she had a kid called Deandra, a name she had heard on a TV show and loved. The child was a nice little thing, and she was also at Charlene's mum's, as it was a weekend.
As he walked into her tidy front room he was smiling. Charlene, however, was not.
'You took your fucking time.'
Freddie was doing his best not to laugh at her. She really thought she was something special. What was it with these girls? Did they really believe a few fucks and a couple of Indian meals represented a relationship?
Pat was getting suspicious, and if he cared about any woman it was her. This whore had actually phoned her house and then threatened him with exposure, not only to her but also to his lawful wife!
Now that was a melon scratcher as far as he was concerned, and he knew he had to shut this fucker up once and for all or she was going to be one of those girls who caused more trouble than they were worth.
'Hello, Freddie, good to see you, Freddie. Ain't that what you are supposed to say to me?' His sarcasm was lost on the girl, who all her life had been feted, first by her father and mother and then by everyone in her orbit, because she was so beautiful.
She had got pregnant by a no neck at sixteen, and he had gone on the trot without a backward glance. He was now doing an eighteen for armed robbery and drugs offences, so he was definitely out of the picture. She had latched on to Freddie because he was good looking, he had plenty of poke, and he was also the number one diamond geezer in her vicinity.
She had what he wanted – a lovely face, a good body, and she knew how to make a man feel like a king in the kip. Now she was flexing her little muscles. She wanted him full time, was not happy with his erratic style of courtship, and she was under the impression that he was as up for this fairy tale as she was.
He looked at her dispassionately. She was lovely, really lovely, but she had about as much conversation as a junkie in a holding cell. Her only allure as far as he was concerned was that she had her own drum, clean knickers, and made a decent cup of tea in the morning: his criteria for a good shag.
Charlene was sitting upright now, on her second-hand three piece, and looking at him daggers. She really thought she had enough nous to keep a man like him interested in her. It was unbelievable the way these young girls kidded themselves when they were there for the taking for men like him.
They were in every pub and club he frequented, they were like leaves on the ground. When you dumped one, another one would be standing in the same place in the same bar a few hours later.
They wanted him, they wanted what he was, and what he had to offer. They were like those young girls who married old geezers who were caked up with dosh. When one of them married some old fucker with no poke, except his pension, and moved into his sheltered accommodation, he would believe it was love.
Until then, bollocks to them all.
This girl would spout love if he wasn't careful. He had been there, done that.
'You can't treat me like some fucking tart, I won't have it.' She was all on her dignity and full of her own self-importance.
Her eyes were made up and her lipstick was perfect. She had been expecting him and he knew she had been dolled up to the nines every day waiting for him to arrive.
She really was a lovely little thing.
She was about to experience one of the worst days of her life and he was sorry for her because of that. But needs must when the trollop drives!
He walked to her and dragged her up from her seat by her thick blond hair. Pushing his face close to hers he said quietly, and with deliberate menace, 'Who you talking to?'
He was so close to her face she could smell his breath, and the sweet aroma of the grass he had smoked earlier.
'You are going to tell my old woman about us, are you?'
Charlene was trying her hardest to shake her head but he was holding her like a vice.
'No one threatens me, lady, and anyone who does, man or woman, is a cunt. Do you understand what I am saying to you?'
She was terrified. Her lovely green eyes were filled with tears, and she was thankfully speechless with terror. This was going to be easier than he thought.
'If my wife or kids ever hear about my little wander into your flat, I will blow this fucking place off the face of the earth. Do you hear me?'
She was desperately trying to nod her agreement.
He let her go then and, smiling at her with that charming dead smile he had, he kissed her on the forehead and said, 'You know it makes sense, darling.'
Then he pushed her back on to the sofa and left.
She could hear him whistling to himself as he walked back towards the lifts.
Chapter Eleven
Jackie had drunk herself sober by the time Freddie arrived at the house.
As he pulled up outside he was impressed despite himself. This was his idea of a nice place, not like Jimmy and Maggie's last one with its pantiled roof and all the old-fashioned fireplaces. He liked the newness of this house, the clean lines, the integral garage. He would love a drum like this, and he could have one if he wanted to.
He always reminded himself of that when he was around them, and he always promised himself that it would happen sooner rather than later. If Jackie wasn't such a dirty bitch he would have gone for it years ago, but no matter how much he weighed out, no matter how much they decorated, their place was still a shit hole.
Dirty, scruffy and in constant need of redecoration.
Young Jimmy had always bought for cash and then remortgaged, that way the money was clean. It was a perfect way of laundering their robbery and drugs cash. Freddie had missed the boat in a lot of respects. It was getting harder to do that now, unless you bought really cheap. But his money went through his hands like water. He would put on large bets, lose the money and then recoup and lose it all once again. He was constantly out and about. He would make the night last as long as possible because there was nothing to go home to. He ended up paying for everyone, not just with the drinks but also with the gear. He attracted hangers-on, the piss heads and the druggies who knew he was always good for a night out because he could never let the night end.
Jimmy would have a couple of beers and say his good nights. He was happy to go home to Maggie and their nice bed and their nice life. Freddie had never been able to do that, even when the kids had been young. Maybe it was a personality trait, or something missing in him, he didn't know. But he had sat for twenty-four hours at a time and spent huge amounts of wedge on people he didn't even really like.
The money just disappeared. He had no real back up if there was an emergency, and he knew he was ashamed of that because they had earned real money. Most people would kill to earn like they had, and he had pissed it all away.
And with Jackie having their place decorated on a regular basis he knew he was just throwing good money after bad. Jackie had nagged at him until, a few months ago, she had been delivered of a new white wood kitchen, and already it was rotten. Even while the men were fitting it she had not bothered to clear her dirty dishes away, or make it habitable. He had seen the men tiling the walls and having to move used plates and mugs out of the way themselves.