Free Working Girls by Maureen Carter Page B

folded her arms, glared at Val. “Your pal Bev? She had a little helper durin’ her night on the town. Pointed her in all the right directions. Know what I mean?”
    Val put a hand to her mouth. This was very bad news. “Cassie?”
    “Don’t be stupid. She was gettin’ her face re-arranged.”
    “Who then..?”
    Chloë looked at each girl in turn, then back at Val.
    “You tell me, ma. Who’s missin’?”
    “Photo doesn’t do her justice, does it, Victoria? Real goer was young Michelle.”
    Vicki would have agreed. Was keen to agree. Would have gone out of her way to agree. Except she couldn’t move and couldn’t see: Charlie’s back was in the way. He was kneeling
on the bed, staring at the front of the Star. The Sunday papers were strewn all over the floor but Shell’s picture had only made the local rag. Charlie had been in the same position
for ages; she was wondering how much his tan had cost. Where’d he been to get an all-over job? And where the hell had he put her clothes? They weren’t within eyeshot and she had no way
of extending that. Couldn’t lift a finger, let alone her head.
    Yet, he hadn’t touched her. Well of course he had. He’d shagged her all night but he hadn’t hurt her. He was good in the sack, but then she’d always known that. He
hadn’t said much so far. Didn’t need to. The knife on the bedside table spoke volumes.
    He stood, stretched, looked down and smiled. Lovely teeth. Gorgeous face. Looked even better with long hair. No wonder he charged his own tarts.
    She wished he’d loosen the belts though: the leather was cutting into her skin. Maybe she could get him to take her to the loo again. Bet he slipped something in that Coke. It was getting
dark; must be half-four, five-ish. Pissing down, she could hear it on the window.
    “Now. What are we gonna do with you?”
    Funny really; his voice was quite nice. Take the gag off me, dickhead.
    “I’m gonna take this off in a minute. If you start anything, it goes back. Right?” She tried a nod but it hurt. He raised her head, started untying the knots.
    The scarf had been Shell’s. Lifted it at Debenham’s. Then they’d wandered over to the smellies. Spraying stuff everywhere; having a right laugh. Stuck-up cows behind the
counter hadn’t liked that. Shell had taken a fancy to the Ralph Lauren. Smell was still there.
    “You remind me of her, know that?”
    She opened her mouth, didn’t know what to say.
    “Not looks. Not that. Just something…” He turned away, clenching his fists. “Shit. I don’t know.”
    What was his game? It was a bit late for the sorry card. She still didn’t know what to say. One word out of place and she’d be talking through gaps in her teeth. She darted a few
glances round the room. Didn’t stint himself. Not Charlie. Everything brand new. Leather sofas at one end. Thick cream carpet. Mirrors everywhere. Caught her looking.
    “Having a good nose?” He turned. Christ. She wished he’d put something on. “Won’t do you any good. You’ll not be coming back.”
    Shit. She was going the same way as Shell. “How d’you mean, Charlie?” He laughed. Must have been the tremor in her voice. Her knees’d be playing My Way, if he
hadn’t splayed her legs.
    “I’m not happy, Victoria. You’ve been a very naughty girl. And what happens to naughty girls?”
    She closed her eyes. Not that. Please. Not that. Last year, a girl had fleeced Charlie. She’d kept a few quid back; just the once. He said it was the same as putting her hand in the till.
She only had one hand now. Everyone said he’d taken a hacksaw to her.
    She opened her eyes. He was just standing there, smiling. She watched as he sauntered over to a mirror on the far wall; slid it back to reveal a vast array of suits and shirts. He ran a finger
along a line of shoulder pads, stopped halfway along.
    “Black for mourning isn’t it, Victoria?”
    She shrugged.
    “I didn’t hear you Victoria?”
    “Yes, Charlie.”