Daisy's Chain

“Anyway, I’ve already tried to explain that we would have gone under if we hadn’t worked with them in the old days - but the same is still true. Men like a bit of nooky when they’re on holiday. Surprising, isn’t it, that even these lowly, penniless girls can shape business? Still, the only thing that has changed is the reason why the girls want money. In the Sixties, it was for was for life’s basic essentials, and now it is often for luxuries… except in the cases of the refugees, of course. Is it wrong to help people achieve their goals? Is it not better not to criticize someone, unless you can honestly say to yourself that you have walked in their shoes?

“I don’t think that it is wrong to try to understand and to try to help, especially when the people who are making the laws are also sitting in the bars of an evening with their hand inching up the bare leg of the pretty, young stranger sitting next to them. Most people are hypocrites, chicken. It’s all ‘Do what I say, not what I do’. You are still young, and I wanted to shield you from the crappier side of life, as I have done your mother, but I have realized that I was wrong. You are working in the firm, and Andalucía is not large. Now that you are living here and taking an active rôle in the community, you were bound to hear about our family reputation sooner or later”.

“What else am I likely to hear?” She was all ears. Her father had never talked to her about his family, his past, or his business interests so openly before. However, she was shocked at herself more she was with him. She had expected to take the high moral ground, but she found that she was not. She also realised that the kids in school had been speaking more than a little of the truth, not that that made any difference to what she thought of them - they had still meant to insult her family after all and that was enough, whether they had been right or not.

John sighed. “Well, also back in the early days, the girls liked to smoke grass or dope. Many of the them came from Morocco, and the best weed and light-weight hashish comes from there… just across the water, in fact, from Ketama. You have to remember that these girls had watched the men in their families smoking it all their lives and it was cheaper than beer and safer than moonshine. It was also the start of Flower Power, Jimi Hendrix, and the Hippies. The possession of drugs was a criminal offence in Britain, and here, but the local police would look the other way.

“So, the girls would have their smoke, and share it with their clients… and some savvy hippies even came just for the ‘scene’ as they called it. It was inevitable, we got into supplying drugs to first the girls and then to others. That was profitable, I can tell you!

“We would send a Transit van, like a camping wagon. over to Morocco for a month, and it would disappear into Ketama for a week while touring. The farmers would dismantle the vehicle, stuff it with four or five hundred kilos of dope and rebuild it. A day later it would be on sale here. We could average £1 a gramme, so that was half a million a month in those days! And all for an out lay of fifty thousand!

“The problem was that it was so lucrative that others tried to muscle in. We fought off competition for years… that’s how Paco got shot. I was shot twice on other occasions and escaped injury dozens of times more. Still, those drugs never hurt anyone. I used to smoke them myself and I bet your mother did too before we got married. We got out of drugs when the chemists moved in. A bit of coke or speed, even a trip was OK, but when they started enhancing the basic drugs, we stopped.

The Irish and the Russians control most of that now, and we just let them get on with it. They’re forever shooting or blowing each other up… It’s a mug’s game… not for me and my family, but I won’t deny to you that we did do it for about thirty years or maybe a bit longer.

“What else is there…? We smuggle cigarettes to the UK, where the government has taxed them so much that the ordinary smoker can’t afford to buy legit cigarettes. Er, gambling… we do a lot of that. We have places where known clients can bet on horse racing and the like… mostly British races, but the Internet is eating into that… We have strip joints, but we are not involved with any other kind of porn… We don’t do guns, except for our own personal protection. I suppose you could say that we do a bit of most things, but not the extreme stuff… any longer.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes… it gives me a lot to think about… Could you give me a list, like you did last time?”

“Yes, if you’re sure. Give me a couple of days though and never let it leave the house”.

She walked upstairs to her own office in a daze. Most of the bad things people had said about her family were true after all.

When she collapsed into the swivel chair behind her desk, she wasn’t sure what to make of it all. She phoned down to the kitchen for a coffee and a cake, pushed back into her chair and put her feet on her desk. She was analysing her feelings and was surprised to find that there was no trace of disappointment. Her father had told her what had happened and why and it made perfect sense to her. They were different days, long before she was born; her father, and, no doubt, her mother had faced challenges and dealt with them in the best ways that they were capable of. It was easy to criticize people for what they did, but how would her offspring judge how she would deal with the problems that would one day come her way? Kindly, she hoped, but then didn’t everyone want that too? Yet she knew that it didn’t always work out that way.

She couldn’t wait to see her father’s new list and get involved with the people who were working with the businesses on it. It all seemed so much more exciting than the ‘legitimate list’.

1 5 THE ILLEGALS

When Daisy had received the list of legitimate businesses, she had recognised the names of most of them, despite having spent most of her late teens in the UK in school and university. However, one name jumped out at her - a bar in the nearby hills with a salacious reputation amongst the locals. It was said to be a bordello, a brothel, and it was marked on the list as that - one of five such ‘bars’ or ‘hotels’. There were seven ‘madams’, each running girls; twenty smugglers each running mules carrying contraband (mostly cigarettes) to the UK; three illegal gambling dens, an ex-customs agent who helped men obtain dodgy family permits for spouses who would otherwise not have qualified for a UK visa and a money laundering service, which charged a whopping forty percent.

She had no figures to work from, and based on her naïveté, the illegals didn’t seem to be worth much, but she remembered that her father had said that they raised five times more than the legals did.

She needed another heart-to-heart with her father before she would get to the bottom of the businesses on the new list, but she was looking forward to it immensely. She broached the subject with him, guardedly for her mother’s sake, over lunch and he told her to find him in the garden at three.

“Are you going for a walk in the garden with your father, Daisy? That’s nice. It’s a real picture out there. I’d love to come with you, but three o’clock… I’ll be in the middle of my siesta. Why don’t you make it later, say five thirty and then I can come with you? You know that three’s company and two is, er, not’, she said hesitantly.

“Perhaps we’ll still be out there when you wake up, Mum. You have my mobile number, give me a ring and we’ll come and get you”.

It seemed to satisfy Teresa and she shrank back into her own little world, where everything was always lovely and the sun was always shining or the moon was always full.

∞

“If you are determined to go down the route of managing the other side of the firm, I want you to learn how to use a firearm and I want everyone to know that you know how to use one. I am scared to death of you entering this world, but if I died tomorrow, you would have to anyway, so you might as well do it with my help as without it”.

“OK, Dad, I quite fancy that idea anyway… I always have. How do you mean to go about it?”

“I, no, you will open a legally registered gun club with you as the owner. Tony or someone he recommends can manage it for us, but I want you to be seen there at least twice a week, and whether you turn out to be a good shot or not, we will have the word put about that you are a marksman, er, woman. That will give you some protection, but we will also get you a weapon that you can handle well, whichever that is. Tony will sort that out with you. Just ask him”.

She nodded, already feeling an adrenaline rush pulsing through her veins.

“These are all quite low risk businesses to be honest, but you never know when some upstart is going to want to get in on the act. The gun is not to be used to start trouble, do you hear me, only to defend yourself should anyone else start anything. Get it lodged in your brain right now, that you cannot win a turf war. Any old Joe Blogs from Liverpool could hire a hundred guns to come after you and you would be dead, and you would probably get your mother and me and Tony and his men all killed as well trying to look after you. Those old, black and white, American mobster films were just films. That is not how it works, at least it has never been like that in my time.

“It’s the lone gunman that you have to be watchful for… or woman, I guess these days. I have had a couple of bullets and one hurts me every day, but nowhere near as much as the ones my men took for me. I think about those guys and their families every day. Never forget this: when you affect a person’s life or even take it, you will change many lives including your own”.

They both fell silent for several minutes. Daisy didn’t dare break her father’s mood, and he wanted to give his words chance to sink into his intelligent, but perhaps impressionable daughter.

He explained about the illegals, as he called them and where and how they operated, promising to give her the managers’ names and addresses in the near future.

“When all is said and done, Daisy, the way I see it is, whether you like it or not, whether you’re a feminist or not, there will always be a market for girls selling sex. Old men don’t want to shag old women - that is not the way they think. They still want young ones, and at fifty, sixty or seventy, they get more of a thrill out of bedding a twenty-year-old than a twenty-year-old boy does. Much more… much, much more. So, as long as there are old men with money, there will be young women willing to sleep with them. It is not called the oldest profession for nothing. I see it as a sort of dating service. It helps both parties get what they want and some of the girls end up getting married too.

“So, that is one staple, and money laundering is the other main one. Arranging family policy permits to get girls into Britain used to be very profitable, but the vote for Brexit may have put the kibosh on that, we’ll have to wait and see. Anyway, laundering money will always work, because there will always be newbies who don’t know how to do it, ‘though to be honest, even some of the big firms can’t be bothered. They must factor the cost of laundering into their prices. In fact, it’s a lot easier than you would imagine, if you know how.

“Any questions, am I going too fast for you?”

“No, I find it all fascinating… perhaps when everything has sunk in, and I have looked at the details you’re going to send me, I will have a few points”.

“Not send, chicken, handed. The illegals need to be dealt with with the utmost privacy. And that means no unnecessary records, not even between family, and even those notes have to be shredded or otherwise destroyed. Do you understand me? If you chuck a note from me into your waste-paper basket, the cleaner may find it, or the dustman, or someone at the landfill, but there might even be people, say, the Inland Revenue, looking for scraps of information… or the media. You have to train yourself to be meticulous when dealing with any potentially incriminating evidence. That, and security, which it is a part of, must be your main preoccupations. Have you got that?”

“Yes, Dad. You have taught me to be cautious, and careful about security all my life, so this is just taking it a stage further”.

“Yes, but before I was mostly worried about you being kidnapped and held for ransom, now the worry is that you could land us all in jail. That might kill your mother, I might never see the light of day as a free man again, and you might spend years in the nick… not to mention the hundreds of other lives that would be affected if all of our businesses were to be closed down. Being the boss certainly carries privileges, but it also bears responsibilities… and they can be heavier than you can imagine at the moment…” He drifted off again, but she was still loathe to bring him back to the topic in discussion.

“Have you ever heard me called Micky the Bastard?” he asked suddenly.

She genuinely wasn’t sure whether she had or not, but the epithet did sound vaguely familiar. “I don’t think so, Dad”, she chose to reply because she found it embarrassing. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a nickname that has followed me about for most of my life. It started even before I went to school. You don’t know my family history, not really. You only know a potted, sanitised version of it. Your mother and I thought it better not to saddle you with it in the early days, but it is time you learned the truth now. Let’s sit on that bench over there in the shade.

“To start at the beginning, I have to take you back to the First World War. The Germans invaded Belgium one day, so, many Belgians crossed the Channel to London. In the main, they were middle-class, but they had to leave most of their possessions behind. Within a short space of time, many of them were penniless. Most of the men amongst them joined the army and went back to fight, leaving the women to fend for their families as best they could. Some supplemented their incomes by working on the streets at night.

“An enterprising young Irishman called John saw an opportunity, rented a house and put a dozen of the prettiest girls into it. Well, to cut a long story short, he soon had several properties and scores of girls and within a few years he owned those buildings. My mother was one of the children of those women… a second generation Belgian, you could say, and she worked in one of John’s houses. Most people who were willing to talk about my past said that she only looked after the girls - cooking, cleaning, washing and the like, but maybe they were only trying to be kind. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter to me. I’m sure that she was only doing what she had to do.

“Anyway, John could not manage his empire alone and gave his family jobs to help him. One of these was one of his brothers called Dermot. Dermot raped my mother one day and I am the result.

“I know what that look is on your face, but don’t feel sorry for me. Pity your grandmother, if anyone. She had me and I grew up with her and her mother. I don’t know if her father came back from the war or whether he was already dead when they arrived in Britain. Anyway, my birth certificate said Father: Unknown. I don’t remember anything about those days. Then, one day, when I was about two, my mother shot Dermot dead. Again, I don’t know what drove her over the edge to do it, or whether she had just been biding her time.

“Two or three days later, Dermot’s three sons burst into our rooms and shot my mother and grandmother dead. I don’t know why they left me alive… perhaps they couldn’t kill an infant in cold blood, or perhaps it was because I was their little brother - half-brother.

“The next bit is blurry, but the police must have come and put me in care. John, Dermot’s older brother, the man I called ‘father’, then adopted me and brought me up as his own. He didn’t have any other children.

“He had my name changed by deed pole to match his and I became John Baltimore. I don’t even know what my original names were. John, Dad, never told me, never kept the original paperwork, and I never asked. It just didn’t seem to matter. That makes you half Spanish, a quarter Belgian and a quarter Irish by blood, but half Spanish and half British legally.

“Anyway, back to my little story. Some people were envious of my good fortune at being adopted by the millionaire John, and referred to me as Mick the Bastard… ‘Mick’ meaning Irish, unless my original name had been Michael… or even Michel. Mick soon became Micky and I always imagined that ‘bastard’ came from ‘lucky bastard’, but maybe that was wishful thinking. Anyway, the nickname stuck.

“Kids can be so cruel, you know. They taunted me with that name throughout school and I cried myself to sleep most nights, until John found out about it. He made me take boxing lessons and the name-calling dwindled… to my face at least, but now the nickname certainly didn’t refer to my legitimacy, but to my ability and readiness to exact revenge with my fists quickly and without mercy. Then the nickname suited my purpose. People don’t use it here much, but they still do among the old crowd in the East End, although most of my contemporaries are dead now”.

Daisy waited a while to see if he would continue, and then said, “Wow! I didn’t have a clue about any of that. I’d heard vague rumours about Mafia and London gangland, but I never paid them a great deal of attention… well, I tried not to anyway”.

“Like I said before, we tried to shield you from my past, but you have chosen to be a part of it. Still, you can ignore what I just told you, if it suits you better. It doesn’t matter”.

“So, if I Google your names, I might find something?”

“You might do. You may find some oblique references with regard to the Richardsons or the Krays, but we were not in their league. John, my Dad, had properties and girls and then just property. John was before those big gangsters’ time… they were more my age… but we were in different businesses… there was a slight overlap perhaps. However, our solicitors have gone to great lengths to remove any references to me or Dad from the Internet. Google cooperated, and so did most of the other search engines, and we have been keeping a low profile since we’ve been living in Spain… certainly a much lower profile in any case”.

“How did you meet Mum then? Was she a part of all that stuff too?”

“Your mother? No, Heaven forbid! I don’t think she had ever even been abroad when I met her. Still, I think that that’s her story to tell, so I won’t go into it, but I can assure you that you were not a product of violence like I was. In fact, neither of us thought that we were capable of having children. I took a few beatings in my younger days, and the doctors said that I’d probably never be able to have any… and your mother said that she was past the menopause. Crikey, I was no spring chicken either! Your mother called you ‘a gift from God’ and I wanted to give you the name of a flower in memory of my mother, whose name was Fleur.

“Your mother and I were in love, er, and still are… and I am your real and biological father. See what a mess you’re getting me into? That’s why this subject is better left to your mother”.

“OK, Dad”, she replied smiling. “We all know that you don’t do emotions very well. You know, I’ve learned more this afternoon than I did in any one week in uni. Thanks for telling me… I’m sure that it couldn’t have been easy. I love you, Dad. Do you want me to walk you back to the house?”

“No, you run along, I’ll just sit here a while and smell the flowers. Be careful, won’t you. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you”.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. You worry too much”.

“If you need anything, anything at all, just come to me or see Tony. Watch him and learn from him. He’s a good man and can teach you a lot”.

“I will, Dad. Don’t worry. Shall I have Maria bring you out some iced coffee or ice cream?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go in shortly. Is that one of Tony’s new toys up there?” he asked pointing at an object in the sky.

“I’m not sure from this distance. It could be a bird or a drone. If you watch it a while, it’s flight pattern will tell you. Yes, I think it’s a drone, but I don’t know whether it’s one of his or not. Do you want me to phone him and ask?”

“No, I’m just curious, that’s all. I’ll just watch it and find out for myself. I’ll see you later”.

“OK, if you’re sure. See you”.

“Did you have a happy childhood, Daisy?” he called after her.

“Yes, Dad, very”. Then she continued on her way.

“Good. I’m glad of that”, he mumbled to himself. “I sometimes feel that I didn’t spend enough time with you… I regret that, but just didn’t know how to. Sorry, chicken”.

She returned to her office, head swimming with her new knowledge. She picked up her mobile, activated it and pushed a button.

“Are we still on for this evening, Tony? Great. I’ll see you at seven. Oh, Tony, were you flying a drone a few minutes ago? No? OK, it’s just that we saw one between us and the hills to the north-west”.

∞

Daisy was waiting on the front porch when Tony brought the Mercedes around and got in without more ado.

“Daisy, instead of going down the coast as you suggested, let’s go to another bordello tonight - it’s up in the hills near where you saw the drone. We’ve also got a casino between here and there that I can show you on the way back. We can do your two choices another time”.

“Yes, sure, no problem. You saw the drone then?”

“No, not really. I saw a distant speck which could have been anything. I’ll have someone look out for it tomorrow with binoculars”.

“Could it be a threat then, do you think?”

“No, not really, but anything could be a threat. It’s just best to be aware, stay alert and keep on top of things. I try to avoid surprises. We aren’t having strife with anyone though, so it could be anything from hobbyists to drug enforcement.

“We practically own the little village we’re going to now. There is a nice bar, which will hold twice the local population, a dozen girls working in it, a snack bar and a dance floor, where they also do karaoke three times a week. Not tonight, I might add. I hate karaoke”.

“Me too”.

“The bar has a couple of rooms upstairs, but most of the girls sleep at the guest house. Your Dad owns both establishments and everyone in the village works for us except two old ladies with small shops. They are all very loyal to the Boss, so it will be a good place to start. We have started making enquiries, on your behalf, regarding an old, disused mine nearby, which we could convert into an indoor firing range. We can drive past it, if you like”.

“Yes, please. You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you?”

“It’s the way we’ve always worked. Take as long as you need coming to a decision, but once it has been made, get on with it, before someone beats you to it”.

“The strategy seems to work. I’m just here to learn, so, please, teach me”.

“OK. There’s the village, Santa Amalia, up ahead to the left. It really isn’t far out of town”.

“What, those six or seven buildings halfway up the mountain?”

“Yes, and there is the mine on our right…” Tony swung the car around the next hairpin bend, “Right here”. He stopped the car, but didn’t switch off the engine or make any move to get out. “I know it doesn’t look much at the moment, but it’s close to the village, so it will become a part of the community”. He drove on for a kilometre and stopped in a car park, which already contained half-a-dozen cars and a taxi. “The taxis’re ours - part of the tour operators”.

She nodded. “I take it you’ve warned Rick, is it, that we are coming? OK, so let me go in first, and you follow me in in five or ten minutes’ time”.

“Whatever you want; but are you telling me five or ten minutes. I like to know where I am”.

“Let’s say ten minutes, I want to get a feel for the place before they know who I am. Oh, and do your ‘Hello’s’ before you acknowledge me, please”. With that, she hopped out of the car and dashed around the front to the entrance. Tony set the alarm on his watch for nine minutes and scanned the skies.

Meanwhile, Daisy entered the bar. She was greeted by stares from the staff and the girls seated at the bar, where she proceeded to sit down. The lighting was on the dark side and there were quite a few even darker nooks and corners, some of which were occupied by couples. It was obvious that there was a lot of groping going on.

“Hello, Miss, are you lost?” asked a voice which surprised her.

“No, why do you ask?”

“We don’t get many unaccompanied young ladies in here. How can I help you, Miss?”

“A bottle of San Mig, please”.

“Certainly, Miss. With ice and a glass?”

“No, just the bottle, please”.

He placed it before her. “That’ll be seven Euros fifty, please”.

“Put it on a tab, I’ll probably have a couple more”.

“As you wish. Would you like some company?” he asked thinking that she could be a lesbian.

“Later, perhaps. I just want to relax a few minutes”. He took the hint and moved to the other end of the bar to talk to the girls, all of whom were about her age and just as pretty. Two of them looked Arabic; one was possibly Moroccan Rif. The door opened behind her and Tony emerged from the thick red cloth that was hanging just inside it She looked away before his head poked through. He passed her by and sat in front of Rick. She could just about hear them talking. Daisy caught the word ‘lezzer’ and watched them both turn to look at her.

“Hello, Tony!” she said holding up her right hand in greeting. She took great pleasure in watching Rick’s features squirm as he realised his mistake. Daisy picked up her drink and clutch bag and moved to sit with them. Tony made the introductions.

“Daisy”, she said. “Sorry about the subterfuge, but first impressions and all that”.

“Rick”, he said, nodding glumly.

“I saw a drone over this way this afternoon, did you see anything, Rick?”

“Me? No, but then, I don’t go outside that often. This place can be a twenty-four/seven operation. You’d be better off asking some of the villagers, or I can ask the cleaners in the morning and phone Tony, if you like?”

“Sure. Thanks”. The three of them and all the unoccupied girls looked at the red curtain as they heard the outside door open. The security camera inside the door showed a white male of about thirty years of age. He sat at the bar a few seats away from Daisy and ordered a pint, which one of the female staff provided for him. Minutes later, he was standing next to Daisy.

“Why don’t you come and join me, darling? I haven’t seen you here before”.

“No, thank you”, she replied, “and get your hand off my leg”.

“Oh, playing hard to get, are we?” He began to stroke her thigh.

“I won’t tell you again”, she warned him. He tried to rub her crotch, and as she saw Tony get up, she lashed out with a backhanded chop to his carotid artery. He dropped like a sack of coal down a shute. Tony picked him up and carried him to a sofa.

“He’s unconscious, but all right. Sorry about this, Rick. You can deal with this can’t you? We’d better be going. Come on, young lady”.

They hurried to the car and got in. “That was a dangerous thing to do back there, even though he was in the wrong”.

“I wouldn’t allow any man to do that to me in any bar. I would have reacted like that whether you were there or not, and whether I was in one of Dad’s places or not”.

“I believe you, but that’s not the point. If you are going to punish someone, break his nose, knock a tooth out, but do not, ever knock him spark out on a tiled floor… or any hard floor for that matter. What if he had broken his neck on a barstool or banged his head on the floor, had a brain haemorrhage and died? You’re up for man slaughter, not just assault. And that would bring the cops sniffing around and several people could go down with you. It was a stupid thing to do, Daisy! You should have let me give him a slap and throw him in a taxi. Please, don’t do it again in one of our bars”.

“Point taken. Consider me reprimanded. Are we still going gambling?”

“No, I’m taking you home. We’ll go another evening”.

She didn’t say another word. She knew that he was right, but felt justified in hitting a man who was assaulting her

1 6 TERESA’S STORY

As she was getting dressed for breakfast the following morning, Daisy was thinking about the night before and how to best handle the situation. She didn’t yet know whether the man she had hit had fully recovered or not, but she knew that Tony would have to report the incident to her father. She also realised that it would be awkward for him to bring the subject up, because it would mean admitting that Tony had told on her.

She concluded that the best thing to do, would be to admit it to him as soon as possible. She didn’t mind doing that. People would realise that she had simply made a mistake, lashed out, and would be grateful for her honesty. ‘At least, I hope they will’, she thought.

“Good morning, Mum, how are you today? Lovely day, isn’t it?” she said to her mother who was already seated. “Where’s Dad?”

“He hasn’t come back from his morning stroll around the garden, dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a top. Shall we start without him? He’s probably talking to Tony”.

“Yes, all right”, she replied, but instead of going to the buffet, Teresa walked to the open French windows and scanned the garden. “I can’t see him”, she said, but it does look lovely out there”. She helped herself to bacon, eggs and mushrooms and then joined her daughter at the dining table. “The Costa del Sol is so beautiful at this time of the year!” she said in the Andalusian dialect of Spanish.