Underneath the Arches.

The girl was a recent arrival. When pressed, which wasn't often, she
unwillingly gave her name as Annie. Nobody believed that this bore any
relationship whatsoever to the wording on her birth certificate, but
most of the inhabitants of the arches were well beyond caring. Such
areas exist in most of our large cities, whether we choose to
acknowledge their existence or not, and they differ but little from one
to the next. Any place which offers some rudimentary shelter from the
worst of the weather, where the police habitually turn a blind eye to
the untidy settlement, can slowly become transformed into such a
community.

Annie's accent wasn't local, but that was hardly a novelty - her
fellows spoke (when capable of rational speech) in a bewildering
variety of accents representing most of the recently de-industrialised
areas of the British Isles. Geordie, Glaswegian, Liverpudlian; a rich
and diverse mixture united only by a great common feeling of
hopelessness.

Annie scorned their company whenever possible, vanishing during the day
and returning to sleep well away from the others. She didn't trust men
of any description, not after the harrowing "childhood" that she'd
endured rather than enjoyed. She didn't intend to become a victim
again: if necessary, the well-polished hunting knife that she kept
concealed in her worn clothes would see to that. She knew how to use
it, too, as several would-be "partners" had already discovered. Just
occasionally, however, she'd favour a couple of her younger
fellow-sufferers with her company if there was some advantage to her in
the temporary relationship.

"Hey, watch it!" Des shouted as the can bounced past his ear. Annie,
who'd booted it from a good twenty yards back with surprising
precision, looked well pleased with her aim as she strolled up, hands
in pockets.

"Seen that?" she asked without apologising for her petty assault. "That
bloke?"

"Yeah, why?" Des and Johnnie had turned to look idly at the anonymous
but expensive-looking dark saloon that was cruising slowly past. The
windows were heavily tinted, and none of them could discern the
identity of the driver.

"Been driving round for half an hour. Looking for business."

"So?" Johnnie shrugged listlessly. If anything, he was even more spaced
out than his friend.

"He ain't looking for nothing legal. Why else would he come down
here?"

"Who cares? Ain't my business," Des said, looking away. Like the
others, he knew only too well the unpleasant consequences of taking too
much interest in other people's affairs.

"I could take him for a ride," Annie chuckled mirthlessly.

"Why don't you, then? Leave us out of it. Besides, how do you know it's
a 'he'?"

"It will be, stupid. Think any woman in her right mind would hang out
round here?"

"You do."

"Maybe I ain't in my right mind!" Annie had pushed her face to within
an inch of her cowering companion's. "Who is round here?" Satisfied,
she withdrew without breaking eye contact.

"So, what're you saying?" Des mumbled.

"I can get him into the factory, where it's quiet, right?" She smiled,
and the others nodded knowingly. They could guess what she'd be
offering as bait - what else did she have to trade? "Then you two show.
I'll split it with you, right? He'll have cards, cash, probably a pile
of CDs, God knows what in a motor like that. The police ain't gonna
have too much sympathy, right? Coming round here alone?"

"Right," Des nodded. "And what if we don't feel like sharing?"

"Try double-crossing me!" Annie took a step closer and Des shrank back.
"Just bloody try it!"

"Only bloody joking, ain't I?" Des complained.

It made sense, and there might well be rich pickings. Annie was gone in
an instant, back into the murky shadows of the arches. When she
emerged, minutes later, a quick splash of water and a hairbrush had
altered her appearance radically. With her coat pulled open to display
a surprisingly attractive figure, Des and Johnnie hardly knew her.
Stalking across to the road, she leaned against a lamp-post and watched
the dark saloon approach.

"Shift!" she hissed at the transfixed pair, and Des led Johnnie back
into the shadows. As the car pulled to a halt, they were already
half-way to the empty factory that was to be the scene of the
robbery.

"You're new round here, aren't you?" the driver said quietly as Annie
leaned in through the window. As she'd guessed, he was a well-spoken
middle-aged man in a well-cut suit.

"Yeah," Annie replied. "You lookin' for business?"

"Maybe. Depends on the price."

"Fifty for straight. I don't do no extras."

"I never pay that much," the would-be client chuckled. "You're wasting
my time, love."

Annie's face fell, betraying her naive attitude to the straightforward
transaction.

"Thirty," the man countered.

"Forty?"

"Get in. I assume that you've not got a place?"

"That old factory. We're not going to be disturbed there."

"Sure." The window closed silently as the car purred effortlessly away,
through the rubble, into the silent maw of the semi-derelict
building.

"What you doing round here, anyway?" Annie asked.

"I'm a businessman. Folks round here buy what I have to sell."

"Eh?" Annie said, sitting bolt upright. "You sell.. stuff?"

"There's a big demand, young lady. Somebody has to sell it. If I
didn't, somebody else would."

"You don't look the type.."

"Exactly. I can pay you that way if you like. Give you a good deal,
it's all kosher gear."

"I don't use it!" Annie retorted.

"You will, sooner or later. Only a matter of time," the man replied
casually. "You're already selling yourself, aren't you?"

"I doubt it. Now.."

"There." Two crisp twenties had been slipped from a bulging wallet.
Annie grabbed for them greedily and stuffed them into her pocket. What
she pulled back out, however, was to come as a complete surprise to her
potential customer.

"What the.." The man had begun to undo his trousers, but shrank back
into his seat as the knife brushed icy-cold against his throat.

"Shut up. I wouldn't do nothing for you, not if you was the last bloke
on earth. Now, you ponce, hand over your wallet. Slow, no
tricks."

"You little bitch.."

"Now!" Annie shouted. She was sweating profusely, and as the familiar
faces appeared at the window she exhaled noisily.

"Okay, don't do anything stupid.." The man reached slowly for his
wallet as Des yanked the driver's door open.

"Here." Annie threw the knife out, and Des caught it expertly. "Cover
this slimeball while I check the back of the car."

Annie twisted to look into the rear seats as the man spoke.

"Okay, Des? not buying today?"

"Not today, mate. Skint."

"What?" Annie shouted, whipping back round.

"New motor?" Des continued. "Never knew it was you, did I?"

"Never use the same one twice, not round here. A respectable
businessman doesn't risk getting stopped. Oh, here.." The man reached
into his glove compartment and pressed two small packages into Des's
grubby paw. "Have one on me, eh, you and Johnnie? Call it payment for
keeping watch."

"Sure!" Des laughed, delighted with his good fortune. "You won't be
disturbed. Good luck, Annie!"

Annie had frozen. The man slammed down the central locking button
before reaching roughly into her pocket to retrieve his advance
payment.

"Maybe forty was too much," the man growled. "Far too much for some
slag who pulls a knife on me. You should have known when you were well
off. Take a tip from my business, give the punters a free sample first.
They might get to like it. Now.."

As Annie scrabbled desperately to open her door, Des and Johnnie
pressed their faces against the glass to watch the "fun."