The Locksmith Linda Calvey (phonics readers .txt) 📖

In many ways, life in the East End was like being in a time warp. Decent women didn’t go to bars alone, only prostitutes ever did that. Somehow, everyone in that pub knew she wasn’t a whore. So, what then was she doing there? Ruby smoothed down her pencil skirt, relishing the feel of the expensive silk lining against her skin. She was tall in her heels, and she made sure she looked the barman straight in the eyes.

‘Right, love, well, why don’t ya sit ’ere at the bar with me? I’ll keep ya company. Don’t want a pretty girl like you to get lonely.’ The barman grinned sleazily as he poured a generous shot of gin.

Ruby reached into the bag that she always carried, the knock-off her mum had bought her. She preferred to keep this handbag, it was like keeping a piece of Cathy with her. She was about to bring out her purse when a familiar voice sounded.

‘I’ll get that, mate. Well, well, if it ain’t Ruby Green Eyes.’ It was clear that Freddie Harris had put away a few pints already that evening as he swayed slightly on the spot. His mate Smithy was standing next to him, a pale lad with dark hair and eyes that glinted, sizing up Ruby and clearly liking what he saw. Both men grinned like foxes eyeing a chicken coop.

‘Freddie, I can’t seem to get away from you,’ Ruby smiled, making a couple of the men within earshot smirk. ‘No matter how hard I try.’

Freddie, cocky as ever, swaggered up to her. Ruby turned to him, her eyes meeting his, flashing under her thick, dark lashes. Freddie smiled widely but stepped back all the same. ‘And what brings you out, Ruby?’ Freddie said, emphasising her proper name.

Ruby considered ignoring his question, but assuming her contact wasn’t running late, he’d know what she was up to soon enough. ‘As it happens, Freddie, I’m meetin’ someone,’ she said.

Freddie looked about to launch another of his smarmy come-ons, but before he could move, the door of the pub opened for a second time. Glancing over, Freddie caught sight of the area’s number-one crime boss, big-time blagger Charlie Beaumont, dressed in a sharp Savile Row suit with flash gold jewellery and trailing expensive cologne. Freddie stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t every day he got to smarm up to a proper villain.

‘All right, Mr Beaumont,’ Freddie said. ‘Nice to see ya.’

Charlie ignored the weasel, his gaze turning instantly to Ruby. For the second time that evening, the tables went silent. Even the thick fug of cigarette smoke seemed to still.

Ruby looked at the man who was both feared and respected in the underworld, a man who was a big player, someone everyone knew not to mess with.

‘You must be Ruby,’ Charlie said to the young woman. He looked her up and down, seeing the effort she’d made, the style she carried herself with, and he nodded his approval. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby could see Freddie looking between her face and Charlie’s, at a complete loss, until realisation began dawning on his face. This was the man Ruby had arranged to meet. This man, this crime boss, was Ruby’s reason for being in the notorious crook hangout at 8 p.m. on a Saturday night. Ruby almost laughed out loud as the look of comprehension spread over Freddie’s thin face, his beady eyes flitting between them both. Well, this’d give him something to stare at.

‘Yes, I’m Ruby. You must be Charlie Beaumont. I’m pleased to meet ya,’ she said, extending her slender hand for him to shake.

‘Not botherin’ you, is he?’ Charlie said, his eyes not moving from Ruby’s face. It was clear he meant Freddie, though.

‘Oh no, he’s nuthin’ to worry about,’ Ruby smiled, enjoying every moment of Freddie’s discomfort.

‘Let me know if he’s annoyin’ ya and I’ll sort it. Now, you’re lookin’ too good for in ’ere, and there’s too many ears. Let me take you to a place I know where we can talk.’ It wasn’t a question, it was a command.

Despite Charlie’s fearsome reputation, the violence he perpetrated, the robberies he’d pulled off and the adversaries he’d beaten, Ruby didn’t feel unsafe. She knew he wasn’t a ladies’ man. He’d been married for years and, unlike the other big-time crooks, wasn’t seen sporting girlfriends on his arm with a wife tucked away somewhere out of the limelight. By all accounts he’d stayed faithful to the woman he’d married. He’d robbed banks, had underworld contacts all over the city, and was known for dealing swiftly, and decisively, with any betrayal, but above all he was a businessman. Ruby understood business. Her choice was made. She nodded her agreement.

Charlie nodded back to her. ‘I’ll take you for somethin’ to eat and we can talk, but let’s get out of ’ere.’

Ruby let the gangster steer her out of the bar with the lightest touch on her back. As he opened the door for her and stepped aside to let her through, she couldn’t resist throwing a look of pure victory at Freddie Harris and Smithy, who were standing at the bar still, their mouths open, gawping at this new, unexpected turn of events.

Once outside, Charlie opened the door of his shiny black Merc and Ruby slid into the front seat, feeling the intense thrill of sitting on white leather seats. Charlie drove them north to Epping. They eventually stopped outside a small family-run Italian restaurant. Leaving his car on the double yellow lines as if he was above the law in all things, Charlie opened the car door and helped Ruby out and in through the inviting doorway. It was clear Charlie was a regular, as the staff greeted him like a visiting dignitary.

The owner of the restaurant appeared, a balding Italian man in a grey suit, and personally ushered them both through the restaurant, past the diners at their tables, to a back room. Inside this room was a single