Part 6 (1/2)
”Yes.”
”Come on, then.”
Milton led the way. As he opened the door to the street, he became aware of someone watching and, as he turned, he saw the old woman from earlier staring down at them from the half-landing with a disapproving expression on her face. Milton wasn't concerned. He doubted that the police would ever become involved-owners of brothels didn't tend to enjoy the attention of the authorities, after all-but, even if they did, all she would be able to do was describe what he looked like. Milton could live with that.
Sarah followed him.
”I have a car on the other side of the road,” he said. ”Come on.”
Chapter Eleven.
MILTON DROVE to Bethnal Green Road. The cafe he had in mind was near the junction with Cambridge Heath Road. It was called E Pellicci, and it was something of a local inst.i.tution. It was, at its heart, a simple enough greasy spoon, but it was so much more than that. The building itself had been listed by English Heritage, and the lovingly maintained decor was one of the reasons that the place had established such an enduring appeal. Chrome-lined custard-coloured Vitrolite panels covered the facade outside, there were colourful sarsaparilla bottles lined up in the window, and the bearded hipster and his tattooed girlfriend who went inside before them were an indication of how the clientele had evolved in recent years as the area became more and more trendy and authenticity became a prerequisite for commercial success.
Milton opened the door and held it open for the girl to pa.s.s inside. The interior was lined with wood panelling, and the same Formica tables had been there for decades. The cafe had been open since 1900 and had been in the hands of the same family ever since. It had come to prominence in the sixties when the Krays, who lived in nearby Voss Street, held court here. The notoriety of the twins had propelled it into prominence, but it had maintained its popularity thanks to the friendly smiles and banter from Mama Maria and her children, Anna and Nevio Junior.
Anna was behind the counter and she smiled when she saw Milton come inside.
”All right, John?” she said.
”Good, thanks. Can I take the usual table?”
”Course you can, love. What do you want?”
”Two cups of coffee,” he said, and, looking down at the desserts inside the gla.s.s-fronted cabinet, he pointed at the Portuguese pasteis de nata and held up two fingers.
”Sit down,” she said. ”I'll bring it right over.”
Milton led the girl to a table in the corner of the room. The table was beneath a monochrome picture of the original proprietor and his family. He sat down and indicated that she should do the same. She paused for a moment, looking back to the door. Milton could see that she was scared, but that wasn't surprising, under the circ.u.mstances. It was possible that she might decide that she was safer on her own. He didn't want her to think that. She would have been wrong.
She put her bag on the floor beneath the table and sat down opposite him.
”It's all right now,” he said. ”You're safe. And you don't have to worry about me.”
”That... m-m-man...” The words came in an awkward stammer. ”What did you do to him?”
”He pulled a knife,” Milton said.
”What did you do to him?”
”I knocked him out.”
”No, you didn't.”
”I-”
”If you lie to me, I'm just going to go.”
Milton held his tongue.
”You killed him, didn't you?”
”He would have stabbed me.”
And, Milton thought, you don't think he deserved it? He let that ride.
She looked down at the table and cursed in Arabic.
”I didn't have a choice,” Milton said. ”He would have killed me.”
”Do you know who he is?”
”No,” Milton said. ”Who?”
”He is one of them. The Albanians who run the brothels. I think he is very senior. They will kill you for what you've done.”
”No, they won't,” Milton said. ”They have no idea who I am.”
”They had a camera.”
”I took the hard drive. It wouldn't matter. They won't be able to find out who I am. And they won't know where you are, Sarah. Please, try to relax. It's over. You're safe now.”
She paused, her fingers tapping against the Formica. ”Okay,” she said at last. ”What do we have to do now?”
”What do you mean?”
”I can't go to the police.”
”You don't need to do anything. I told you: you're safe here. No one knows where you are.”
”I can't stay here forever. What do I do next?”
”I'll help you.”
Anna brought over the drinks and the cake just as the cafe door opened. The bell tinkled cheerfully and the girl looked up in panic. Milton turned. An elderly man shuffled to the counter with the aid of a stick, took off his flat cap, and ordered a pot of tea.
”Enjoy,” Anna said as she went back to the counter to serve the newcomer.
Milton looked back to the girl. He slid the cake across the table. ”Have some,” he said, with no idea if that was the right thing to do. ”It'll make you feel better.”
She took the fork, sliced off a portion and put it in her mouth. Milton waited. She finished the first mouthful and quickly took another. She was hungry.
”My name is John,” he said. Milton saw that her fingernails had been bitten down to the quicks. He tried to think how he could get her to lower her guard. He was going to need her to trust him. ”Where are you from?” he asked.
”Syria.”
”Where?”