The Lipstick Killers

want to come in and say good-bye ?’ asked Roxie.
    ‘No,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll call them later.’
    On the drive Roxie tried to tease Margaret about Mahoney, but her mood was grim and she didn’t respond. Eventually she gave up.
    They were back in Battersea early, and went over the plan again before Margaret went down to the high street and bought a prepaid mobile phone.
    ‘I want some gear,’ said Roxie when she got back.
    ‘You sure.’
    ‘Absolutely. I need something to keep sharp,’ she answered.
    ‘OK, I’ll call Boy.’
    She speed-dialled his number, and he answered promptly. ‘It’s me. Not too early?’ she said.
    ‘No. Been for a bike ride already.’
    ‘Really? Never had you down for the sporty type.’
    ‘You never know how things can change,’ said Boy, cryptically.
    ‘Sure. You sorted?’
    ‘When haven’t I been?’ snorted Boy.
    ‘See you in a bit then.’
    She closed her phone. ‘He sounds weird, probably trying to be a funny bastard,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

68
     
     
     
    This time Roxie drove to Loughborough Junction, and once again they left the car in the supermarket car park.
    They walked to the estate, past the usual crowd of kids, and knocked on Boy’s front door. It was opened by the young black girl again, wearing a dressing gown, but with one eye swollen almost shut. ‘What happened to you?’ asked Margaret as she and Roxie went inside.
    She didn’t answer, just looked terrified as she slammed the door shut behind them. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice wavering.
    ‘What?’ said Margaret, as two men came into the hall, one from the living room and one from the kitchen. Both were thickset hard case types, both wore black bomber jackets and jeans and heavy lace up boots – and both were carrying baseball bats. ‘Now, who do we have here?’ said one of the men.
    ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Margaret. ‘Where’s Boy?’
    ‘Here he is,’ said the other man, and pulled Boy out of the living room. He was white faced and shaking, and he was bleeding from a badly cut lip. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping away some of the blood with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I couldn’t warn you. I tried.’
    ‘All that bike riding bullshit,’ said Margaret. ‘I might’ve guessed.’
    ‘But you didn’t,’ said the man holding Boy, a horrid smile on his face. ‘Your hard luck.’
    ‘Hard luck for you,’ said Margaret. ‘We’re police.’
    ‘Bollocks,’ said the first man. ‘You’re punters. Police don’t phone and make an appointment.’
    ‘Police,’ repeated Margaret.
    ‘Cagney and fucking Lacey,’ said the first man. ‘Better call for back-up then. Ain’t that what you do on TV?’
    Margaret said nothing.
    ‘Cat got your tongue?’ said the second man, letting go of Boy. ‘Where’s your radio? Stupid cow. Now he owes us, and I bet you’re holding. So let’s have your bag.’
    He made a move towards Margaret, and Roxie spoke up sharply. ‘Leave her.’
    ‘It speaks,’ said the first man. ‘Bit tasty too. We were going to have fun with the spade, but we prefer white meat.’
    ‘Fuck you,’ said Roxie, pulling the big Colt automatic from under her sweatshirt, and pointing it at his head. The pistol still looked massive in her tiny hand, but she held it steady. ‘It’s old, but it’s reliable,’ she said, ‘and it’s full of hollow point bullets. If I shoot you in the face from this range it’ll blow your head into the middle of next week.’
    The black girl put her face in her hands and slumped back against the wall, crying silently.
    ‘Now drop the bats,’ ordered Roxie. ‘And down on your knees. That’s what they do on TV ain’t it?’
    ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ said the first man, but the blood was gone from his face.
    Roxie cocked the pistol with a click that was loud in the silence of the flat. ‘Try me,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I have to. Take my word for it. I might look like a pretty face but I will fuck you up with no hesitation.’
    The bats hit the carpet as both men went down onto their knees.
    ‘Why’d you bring that?’ asked Margaret.
    ‘Didn’t like the vibes last time,’ said Roxie. Then to Boy. ‘No offence.’
    ‘No offence taken,’ said Boy. ‘Christ I wish I had a sister like you.’
    Roxie grinned, then ordered both men into the living room at gunpoint and made them sit on the sofa, hands under their backsides. ‘So what do we do with