Nameless Read Online Free PDF Page A

what happened!
    The remnants of Tranter’s boys had scattered. Now it was the Darke brothers who took charge of the bomb-ridden streets, and Charlie saw it as his first solemn duty to visit the grieving widow, bung her a few quid and reassure her that she would be looked after.
    ‘Gang money?’ she asked him, looking him over and clearly finding him wanting.
    Charlie was a handsome man. Dressed in a black overcoat with a Homburg hat in his leather-gloved hand and his curly hair slicked into submission by Brylcreem, he looked the part of the boss now.
    ‘I don’t want your dirty money,’ she said, but she left it there on the table where he had placed it and went to put the kettle on. Out in the scullery, she ran the water into the kettle and came back into the kitchen to place it on the gas. Then she looked at him. ‘I suppose it was you?’
    ‘Me? Me what?’ asked Charlie, but he knew.
    ‘You killed him?’
    Charlie shrugged, said nothing.
    A wry smile twisted her face. She was around thirty-five, not exactly ugly but no beauty either; she looked forty if she was a day. Only her ginger-brown eyes retained any vestige of spirit. The years of marriage to Tranter had taken their toll.
    ‘Not saying much, are you? Well, if it was you, all I can say is thanks. You did me one fucking big favour,’ she said. She glanced down at the money on the table. Then her eyes met Charlie’s again. ‘Don’t get like him,’ she said. ‘Don’t ever get like him.’
    ‘I won’t.’
    ‘Yeah, you say that. Fat chance. It changes a person, you know. People creeping around frightened of you, it twists you after a bit. Makes you feel the power you got. Then you abuse it. And then it abuses you .’
    After he’d visited the widow Tranter, Charlie met up with Betsy in the street.
    ‘Oh – hello,’ she said, colouring up like she always did when she saw him.
    ‘Hello,’ said Charlie with a smile, thinking that she was sweet, and tiny, with her Betty Grable pinned-up curls and the lines drawn up the backs of her shapely little legs with gravy browning to make it look like she had stockings on. He’d bung her a few pairs, he could lay his hands on just about anything. She’d love that. He liked her smallness. Made him come over all protective. He thought briefly of Mrs Tranter. She was a dog , compared to Betsy. ‘Glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you.’
    ‘Me?’ She was looking at him as if he was God Almighty. And he liked that too.
    ‘Yeah, in private.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Over here,’ he said, and guided her into an alley.
    ‘What about?’ Her cheeks were flushed bright red now.
    ‘This,’ said Charlie, and kissed her. His tongue went into her mouth and Betsy let out a strangled squawk of surprise.
    Charlie drew back. The Tranter woman was, annoyingly, there in his head again. What was he thinking about that tired old mare for, when he had this on offer?
    ‘Come on, you can’t say you haven’t been expecting this?’ he smiled.
    ‘Well, yes. No. I didn’t. You just . . . startled me,’ said Betsy, but she was smiling back at him. This was great. This was Charlie Darke , and he was a big noise around here now, everyone knew it. And he was kissing her!
    ‘Come on then,’ said Charlie, and kissed her again, and his hands were quickly inside her blouse and then inside her bra, touching her nipples, teasing them into hard little points. Hot bolts of sensation were shooting down from her breasts to her groin, and she moaned at the sweetness of it. It felt so nice, but when his hands roamed lower, she stiffened in shock. She wasn’t that sort of girl; did he think she was?
    ‘Charlie . . .’ she struggled to say, but his tongue was in her mouth again and now he was tugging her panties down.
    ‘You want it,’ he gasped. He’d felt worked up ever since that run-in with Tranter, he needed this. ‘Don’t you? I know you’ve always fancied me. And don’t be afraid, I’ll look after you.’
    ‘You mean