Black Widow (23 page)

‘Oh…I’m sorry, Papa—I thought you were alone.’ Lucco paused, taking in the spectacle of his father in a passionate clinch with a woman. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything?’

It was dark when Tony pulled up outside Dolly’s place. He walked Annie to the door, glancing left and right. Someone had tried to kill her and he was being extra cautious.

‘I won’t need you again tonight, Tony. Thanks,’ she said, as Ross opened the door to her, outlining her in yellow light from the hall.

Tony did the right-left glance thing again, planted a hand on her back and gently but firmly pushed her inside. ‘Don’t stand about in doorways, Mrs Carter,’ he said. ‘Too visible.’

And he pulled the door quickly closed behind her.

Ross went off to the kitchen and for a moment she was alone in the hall. She leaned back against the front door, her mind in total turmoil. Was she glad Lucco had interrupted them, or disappointed? She couldn’t believe that she had actually been kissing Constantine Barolli.

She pushed a shaky hand nervously through her hair, trying to collect her tumbling thoughts, trying to regain what little composure she had left.

‘Fuck
it,’ she said savagely under her breath, closing her eyes, thumping the door with her fist in anguish.

What was happening to her? Her husband was barely cold, her daughter was in danger, yet there she’d been kissing another man. Was she going completely off her head?

Dolly was coming along the hall as Annie started to unbutton her coat. She froze at the look on Dolly’s face.

‘What’s up, Doll?’ she asked.

‘Mr Delaney’s in the front room. He says he’s come to see you.’

Annie stopped taking off her coat. Checked her pockets. The kiyoga in one, the gun in the other. She slipped one hand in her pocket and grasped the gun.
Kieron fucking Delaney.
At last. This time, given half a chance, she would finish this for good. She would put him down like the mad dog he was.

She thought of Layla’s finger.

Max, dead.

Jonjo, shot between the eyes.

Rufio and Inez, butchered.

Now it’s your turn, you bastard
, she thought. But then she paused. No. She mustn’t act in haste.
He might be here to review terms for Layla’s return. She had to slow down, to think, to talk…but later, given the merest chance, she would kill him. She swore she would do that.

‘It’s okay, Doll,’ she said, sounding surprisingly calm even to her own ears. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

And she went into the front room and closed the door behind her.

She leaned against it and looked at the man standing there.

It wasn’t Kieron Delaney. It was
Redmond
, his older brother. Orla’s twin and the boss of the Delaney mob.

Redmond!

Once her friend. Cool and red haired and immaculate in black coat, black leather gloves, black suit, and shoes. Just the same as always. Emotional as a block of stone. Pale green eyes watching her through a fringe of reddish-blond lashes. Tall and slender and warm as an icicle. Not a bruiser like his dead brothers Tory and Pat. A thinker, and all the more dangerous for that. A cold, bloodless ruler.

Her hand closed over the gun in her pocket.

He had his hand in his coat pocket too.

‘Mr Delaney,’ said Annie with a nod. Her heart was thumping.

The head of the Delaney clan was standing here in Dolly’s front room, confronting the head of the
Carter clan. But they were on
his
patch, not Annie’s. He looked very cool, very confident. As always.

‘We haven’t seen each other in some while,’ he said. ‘Orla sends her regards.’

‘That’s kind of her.’ Was he going to just shoot her? Would she have time to shoot back, before she died?

And what would happen to Layla then?

He was staring at her, his eyes intent, his expression regretful. ‘But sadly this is not a social call,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ Annie’s mouth was dry.

‘I have a reputation to protect, Mrs Carter.’

‘I understand that.’

The pale eyes stared into hers. ‘Do you? Good. Because I’ve been very fair, wouldn’t you say? I allowed you to be here, and said nothing. As a matter of courtesy, because we were once business associates, I allowed that. But it seems that now you are taking advantage of my generosity, Mrs Carter. You will understand that I cannot be seen to do nothing when my right-hand man is abused. That would indicate weakness on my part, and that might lead on to trouble.’

Annie nodded. His voice was just as she remembered when she used to take his weekly phone calls. The same musical Irish lilt, sounding so calm, so assured, but now promising mayhem.

He was going to kill her. Shoot her dead where she stood.

She knew it now.

She wondered why she didn’t care more. Maybe she was just tired of the struggle. Trying to save Layla. Mourning Max. Attempting the impossible in winning over Max’s boys. Trying not to admit to herself that she was going to sleep with Constantine Barolli to get her daughter back. Wondering how she could bring herself to do that, hating herself because she had relished his kisses, felt desired, felt
wanted
, and that feeling had been good. And would poisonous Lucco stand aside and watch his position within his father’s firm rendered unstable? Would he risk letting his dead mother be usurped by another woman?

Dig deep and stand alone
, she thought.

That was what she had always done.

But she was tired now, tired of finding another iota of strength to carry on, tired of standing alone against the world. It was strange to her now, doing that. Her love for Max had made her weak.

Redmond Delaney looked into her eyes.

Silence settled between them.

‘We never involve the police, do we, Mrs Carter?’ he said quietly. ‘We always take care of our own business.’

‘Yeah,’ said Annie. ‘That’s true.’

What the hell
, she thought.
Constantine was
right. He warned me this could happen. And now, do I care? Not much.

‘I did say I hoped your visit here would be a short one, didn’t I, Mrs Carter?’ said Redmond. ‘In my note. You did
get
my note?’

‘I got it,’ said Annie.

‘And yet here you are—still.’

‘I won’t stay much longer.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You won’t.’

Annie nodded.
Get on with it
, she thought.

‘And now
I
have business that I have to take care of and regrettably it involves you,’ he said.

Annie wondered why she couldn’t just shoot. The gun was in her hand, Max’s hair-trigger gun; it was loaded; she was ready to deal out death at a moment’s notice.

Redmond would shoot first, and this time she would die. No recovery, no hope of redemption this time. Just blackness, just death.

I’ll be with Max.

And soon with Layla too.

But Layla wasn’t dead yet. That jolted Annie. Layla had had no chance to even live her life. She was so young, everything ahead of her. She ought to grow up into a beauty, perhaps marry, have children of her own. But if Annie died, she knew that Layla was finished, her story unwritten.

Something in Annie choked at that. She couldn’t accept it.

Her life had become intolerably hard, but she had to live—for Layla.

Her hand tightened on the trigger, and she gently released the safety catch. But then Redmond took his hands out of his pockets.

Her hand grew still.

‘Redmond,’ said Annie.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something I have to ask you.’

He nodded. ‘Go on.’

Annie swallowed. She took her hands out of her pockets too. ‘Where’s Kieron?’ she asked.

Redmond’s long, pale face twitched briefly with amusement.

‘You don’t change—Mrs Carter,’ he said.

‘So I’m told. So where is he?’

Redmond was silent a moment, watching her face. Then he said: ‘He’s in the graveyard, Mrs Carter. Kieron’s dead.’

‘That’s a lie,’ said Annie.

‘I assure you, it’s the truth.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Annie, her eyes searching his face, looking for signs of a lie. ‘Until I see his rotting
corpse
, I won’t believe you.’

‘You think he’s snatched your child, don’t you? Oh yes, I know about that. I’ve heard the rumours. But think again, Mrs Carter.’ Redmond’s smile was bleak. ‘My younger brother is dead. Dead and buried and beyond hurting anyone any more.’

Annie looked at him, open-mouthed.

It
had
to be Kieron who was doing this to her.

If not Kieron, then who? Who could possibly hate her so much as to cause her such torment?

But she looked at Redmond’s face and saw that he was telling the truth.

‘When did he die?’ she asked numbly.

‘Two years ago. In Spain. He was painting in Andalusia. He cut himself when he was sharpening a pencil, isn’t that silly? He had surgical scalpels to do it with, obtained through a friend of the family who worked as a nurse. Cut his finger, didn’t get treatment, developed blood poisoning, and died. All perfectly accidental and entirely preventable. By the time we got to hear about it, he’d been dead for a fortnight.’

And you’re even cold-blooded about that
, thought Annie.

‘Did you see the body?’

‘Mrs Carter, of course I didn’t. Two weeks after the event, in that heat? It wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.’

‘The grave, then?’

‘Yes, I saw the grave. And I can tell you exactly where it is.’

‘He
can’t
be dead!’ she burst out.

‘That’s what Orla said,’ Redmond told her. ‘She was wrong, Mrs Carter, and so are you. Kieron is dead.’

‘No…’ Annie was shaking her head.

It couldn’t be true. She had been so sure it was Kieron behind all this. It
had
to be Kieron. Redmond was just protecting him…

But then she looked at Redmond again. Saw the truth written in his face. Saw the sorrow behind the blank coldness of those pale eyes.

He’d lost all his brothers now. Only had his sister left.

Kieron Delaney was dead.

Someone else was doing this to her.

But who?

‘I’m really sorry about this, Mrs Carter,’ said Redmond, and walked towards her.

So this was it.

The end of the road.

Annie tensed as Redmond came closer, but she didn’t touch the gun again or even the kiyoga. She waited to see what he was going to do. Maybe slit her open with one of Kieron’s scalpels. Maybe throttle her with his bare hands.

Redmond came up to the door and stood right there in front of her, inches away.

‘I really do regret this, Mrs Carter,’ he said, and reached past her and opened the door. ‘Finish your business, and don’t take too long. I want you out of here,’ he said, and then he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.

She was still in one piece.

Annie slumped against the wall. She heard him going softly along the hall, heard the front door open and close. For a moment there was silence, then Dolly threw the front room door open and looked wildly round it. She saw Annie standing there and put a hand to her chest.

‘Fuck! You’re all right.’

Annie nodded. Couldn’t get a single word out.

Kieron Delaney was dead.

And what the fuck did Redmond mean by what he’d said? Yes, she was still alive, and he was going to let her finish her business here. But her stomach was doing somersaults; she felt sick with apprehension.

She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan of horror at what she might now have unleashed.
I was wrong. Oh Jesus, I was wrong
, she thought, half crazed with the realization of it.

She had made a huge mistake. Misread the signs. Fastened in her panic and despair on answers that were hopelessly misguided. There would be blood spilled over this. Redmond Delaney had something planned. Something bad.

Next morning they were all around the kitchen table having breakfast—Ellie, Darren, Dolly, and Annie; no Una, thank God. Then Aretha breezed in like a chic black tornado, her hair in a huge Afro, a tan Afghan coat swirling around her, a purple feather boa wrapped around her neck, her six-foot frame hoisted even further upwards by three-inch platform soles.

‘Hey, girlfriend,’ she greeted Annie with a grin.

Annie stood up and was enveloped in a bear hug. Aretha took her shoulders and pushed her back and looked at her face.

‘You look like shit, Annie Carter,’ she said frankly.

‘You, on the other hand, look bloody great,’ said Annie.

Aretha was right. She
did
look like shit. Felt like it too. She was in a state of terror and
bewilderment so bad since seeing Redmond that she wondered if all this was going to drive her completely mad.

‘I get by,’ said Aretha modestly, giving her a high-five.

Nodding at her other friends, she took off her coat, revealing skin-tight denim hot pants and a tie-dyed cheesecloth shirt. Dolly poured her a mug of tea and Annie sat back down, budging up to make room for Aretha.

‘So, you still in the biz then?’ Aretha asked Annie.

‘Nope. Going straight. How’s Chris?’

‘Oh, he cool,’ said Aretha.

‘Yeah, but is he cool about
this?’
asked Annie, trying to take an interest. ‘You coming back to work and everything?’

‘I tol’ you, he cool. No worries.’

Annie glanced across at Ellie, who was diving into the biscuits again, her chubby face suffused with angry colour. Darren looked down in the dumps, too. He looked really ill and it worried her. She turned her attention back to Aretha. Aretha’s presence here might rattle Ellie’s cage, but it would also give this place a much-needed shot of exuberance.

‘Well, that’s good,’ said Annie.

‘I’ve got something to tell you that’s not so good,’ said Ellie.

‘Oh?’

‘Your horrible cow of a cousin kicked me out.’

‘What, Kath?’

‘How many cousins you got? Yeah, Kath. Your dirty-bitch-mother-from-hell cousin. Those poor kids.’

‘So what happened?’ Annie asked, feeling a surge of anger at her description of Kath—but it was accurate. Ellie was only telling it like it was, annoying though it was to hear.

‘Told you,’ said Ellie past a mouthful of biscuit. ‘She kicked me out cold. I was just minding my own business and going up to start doing the bedrooms—I ain’t been up there yet, had my hands full downstairs, I can tell you—and she went apeshit. She said to get out and not bother coming back. Said she didn’t want me poking around among her private things, it gave her the creeps. I ask you. I was getting sick of it anyway, working there,’ said Ellie. ‘I mean, the place is a tip. I don’t mind a bit of mess, but that place is something else. And she was always following me around the place while I cleaned, too. Actually, I never saw the upstairs at all. I wasn’t sorry when she told me to clear off.’

‘Well,’ said Annie. ‘At least you tried.’

‘I certainly did,’ said Ellie, giving Aretha a smug glance, as if she’d just got a commendation off teacher. Then she looked at Annie. ‘I was sort of
thinking, maybe you’ve got something going for me at the Carter clubs?’

Annie shook her head. ‘The clubs are shut.’

‘Yeah, but you could reopen them,’ said Ellie.

‘Not right now,’ said Annie.

Christ, didn’t she have enough to think about without that?

And open them as
what?
Jimmy was right about one thing: the old-style clubs that Max had favoured were no longer in fashion. Strip joints were the new thing. And discotheques. Not classy nightclubs. Those were going to the wall every day. She knew that. Yeah, Jimmy was right. But right
now
, she didn’t have the strength or the inclination to tackle the problem.

‘Come on,’ wheedled Ellie. ‘We could all help. It’d be us against the world again. The four musketeers.’

‘Except there’s five of us,’ pointed out Darren, nodding at Aretha as he sat there chewing a hangnail, shoulders hunched as if against the cold. It was toasty warm in the kitchen.

‘Don’t split hairs—we could do it,’ pouted Ellie.

‘Annie don’t want to do it,’ said Dolly, giving Ellie a warning look. ‘She’s got a shitload of problems already, don’t talk rubbish, Ellie.’

Ellie’s expression was sulky. ‘It was just a thought.’

‘An’ a good one,’ said Aretha. ‘But maybe not right now.’

‘Who asked you?’ snapped Ellie.

Aretha shrugged amiably. ‘Just sayin’.’

‘How you getting on with Una?’ Annie asked her, tactfully changing the subject.

She knew Ellie was needled by Aretha coming back here to work. Dolly had said there might be one or two minor ructions about it, because Aretha had what Ellie had always wanted—a good steady husband in Chris, a home, a proper life, maybe even soon a baby. It offended Ellie that Aretha was coming back here to get pin money and a few thrills when she had all that Ellie desired. But Annie thought that if Ellie pushed her luck too far with the sharp comments, then Aretha’s legendary good nature might reach the edge of its endurance. And, when that happened, she would without doubt kick Ellie straight up the puss.

Aretha rolled her eyes at mention of Una. ‘Oh, she just a
barrel
of laughs that one. Sashays around the place like she own it. Don’t you worry, I got her number. An’ from what I hear, you have too, Annie girl. Knocked her showy white behind all down the stairs, I heard. Wish I’d seen that. Good goin’, sister.’

The doorbell rang.

‘First punter of the day,’ said Dolly, standing up and stretching. ‘Come along, troops, time to shake a leg.’

A week on Friday, the kidnappers would be expecting Annie to pick up the phone and say yes, she had the money.

Today was Wednesday.

Annie’s guts churned as she lay on Dolly’s big comfy bed that afternoon, listening to the sounds of sex all around her in the other rooms. The moans, the shrieks, the bouncing bed springs.

A week on Friday.

In just over a week, she was going to have to perform a miracle. Produce the money. That huge amount of money. Or risk losing Layla’s life. Constantine still hadn’t said a definite yes or no to that, and she knew what he was waiting for. For her to succumb, to agree to his demands.

She listened to the sounds of sex. Couldn’t help it. The sighs, the groans, the secret shared laughter…she’d had all that and more with Max. He had been a wonderful lover: rough, passionate, vigorous.

She thought of Constantine Barolli, and into her mind came the treacherous images that she’d been fighting off since she had last seen him. What would he be like as a lover? She knew he would be different to Max. Subtler, she thought. Slower. More sensuous. Very different.

She turned over, beat at the pillow, tried to get comfortable, tried not to feel the ache of it, the soft siren pull of sex.

If the people who were looking for Layla actually found her, would Constantine tell her, or would he withhold the information until his demands were met?

Annie rolled over, hugging herself. She was supposed to be resting, but she couldn’t. She was churning around at night, exhausted during the day. Dolly had suggested she take a nap in the afternoon, but she couldn’t sleep. Just couldn’t. The tension of it all was getting to her, gnawing away at her remaining shreds of composure.

She buried her head in the pillow and thought:
What the fuck am I going to do?

And the answer came back, loud and clear.
Whatever you have to, to get Layla back alive.