Authors: Jessie Keane
When Annie got back to Limehouse it was business as usual—punters arriving, punters leaving, Una knocking the living crap out of some poor twisted bastard up there in the back room that Aretha used to occupy. Darren was entertaining a gentleman from the City, Dolly told her over a cup of tea in the kitchen, and Ellie was busy with a chubby-chaser—very popular too, she was.
‘It’s all hands to the pump, if you’ll pardon the expression,’ said Dolly, putting her cup down. ‘So how’s it all going?’
‘Oh, peachy,’ said Annie. ‘My baby girl’s been snatched, my husband’s been hit, and now I find his clubs have been turned into strip joints.’
‘Ah.’
‘You knew?’
Dolly shrugged. ‘Everyone did, it’s no big secret. Jonjo Carter made the changes. No one questions
the Carter brothers over what they do. Everyone thought Max knew about it.’
‘No,’ said Annie positively. ‘He couldn’t have. He’d have hated it.’
She’d been appalled at what had happened to the Palermo. Then she’d had Tony drive her over to the Shalimar and the Blue Parrot, only to find they’d been given the same down-market treatment.
She’d closed them both up, sacked the managers, got Tony to get the locks changed. Tony had got quieter and quieter as the day had progressed, and finally Annie had asked if there was a problem.
‘No,’ he’d said, driving through the drizzle and the heavy traffic, his eyes not meeting hers in the mirror.
‘No? Only I think there is.’
Tony shrugged.
‘Tell me,’ said Annie.
‘The boys might not like all these changes. That’s all’
Annie sat back. ‘You mean Jimmy Bond?’
Jimmy hadn’t exactly fallen over himself to welcome her, and that was a fact. Which was a shame, because she knew she badly needed Jimmy onside.
‘Him and others,’ said Tony diplomatically.
Meaning that where Jimmy led, the others followed
, thought Annie.
‘Well,’ said Annie, ‘if Jimmy—or any of the
other boys—have something to say about the alterations I’ve made, then they can say it to me, can’t they?’
Tony had grunted and said no more.
‘So you’ve closed the clubs. Now what?’ asked Dolly.
Annie looked at Dolly blankly. ‘Meaning?’
‘You’re not going to leave them shut, are you? Those clubs must have been bringing in a lot of dosh for the Carters.’
Annie sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. Dolly was right. But she’d been outraged at what she’d seen happening to Max’s clubs. They’d been his pride and joy, and she had acted on instinct and stepped in. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she would very soon have been glad of that income. But maybe not. When the kidnappers asked her to cough up the money—as soon they must—she was sure that it wouldn’t be covered by a couple of big-titted girls twirling their tassels lunchtime and evening.
‘I remember those clubs as they were, Doll. Class acts on. Good, respectable punters. The place clean and tidy, the staff happy, the whole thing running smooth.’ She pulled a face. ‘You ought to see the fucking place now. Sleazy don’t cover it. I’ve run better knocking shops.’
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘For the clubs? I dunno yet.’
‘The boys are going to be up in arms.’
‘Yeah, Tony told me that.’
‘You don’t care?’
‘Doll—I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m just waiting for Friday.’
But before Friday could come around, Jimmy Bond was knocking at the door mob-handed with Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley minding his back. Ross let Jimmy in, and Steve and Gary loitered with insolent ease in the hallway while Jimmy and Annie went into the kitchen.
This time Jimmy was breathing fire. She’d rattled his cage good and proper, and Annie was perversely glad to see him riled. At least he was engaging with her now, not being snide and laughing her off as a ‘bit of skirt’.
‘What the
fuck
have you been up to?’ he demanded when they were alone in the kitchen.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Annie icily.
‘You heard me.’ Jimmy leaned his gloved hands on the table and loomed over her as she sat there, all innocence. ‘You’ve closed up the clubs. You’ve had the fucking locks changed. You’ve fired the staff. You crazy?’
‘Nope.’ Annie stood up and leaned her fists on the table, too. They were glaring nose to nose. ‘And watch your mouth, Jimmy. I told you. I’m taking over.’
‘Yeah, sure you are. You know about running clubs, do you?’
‘I’ve run businesses.’
‘You’ve run a high-class whorehouse, and you nearly did time for that, which wasn’t very clever, was it?’
Annie bit back an angry reply. She had to get him onside. Somehow.
‘Who was in overall charge of the clubs? Who collected the takings from the managers?’ she asked.
‘I did.’
‘Then you know how bad they’ve got.’
‘I know they’re making good money,’ he retorted.
‘How good?’
‘Better than they were as nightclubs.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘The books don’t lie.’
‘I want to see them. Who keeps them?’
‘I do. You got a problem with that?’
Convenient
, thought Annie.
Jimmy took a breath. ‘Those acts Max used to hire, they cost a fortune. Strippers are cheap.’
‘Jonjo had no right to make these changes without consulting Max.’
‘Max must have known.’
‘Do you really believe that Max would approve a low-tone operation like that?’
‘Who knows what the fuck Max would do? He
took off for the sun and left Jonjo in charge of the manor. What did he care?’
Annie heard the resentment in his voice. She looked at him and he dropped his eyes first. ‘I want those books here this afternoon,’ she said. ‘And Jimmy—don’t come in here again with half a fucking army, for God’s sake. I’m here on sufferance. Redmond Delaney’ll only take so much.’
Max had trusted Jimmy, so she had to. Simple logic. She hoped her logic was sound this time. Whatever, she wanted to see those books.
‘And do you know the combination on the safe at the Palermo?’ she asked him.
There was just the one safe, she had discovered. Nothing at the Blue Parrot and the Shalimar except small cash boxes with bugger all inside.
Jimmy gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Jonjo trusted me with a lot of things, but not with that,’ he said.
Fuck it
, thought Annie.
‘We’ll need the locksmith,’ she said.
Annie awoke with Layla’s little body snuggling in against hers. She could feel Layla’s silky-soft hair and buried her nose in the back of Layla’s neck, where the baby-smell of her was strongest—talc and sweetness. She turned, smiling to herself, and came up against Max’s skin—hard, hot, reassuring.
‘Annie?’
A female voice.
Max was gone. And that wasn’t Inez talking. This voice was pure East End of London. A bit roughened by fags and booze and hard times, but familiar.
Annie opened her eyes and this time came properly awake. Dim light in Dolly’s bedroom. Dolly there, smiling down at her like a fond mother, putting a mug of tea on the bedside table. Then it came back to her again, all of it. The pain; the anguish. But instead of howling and screaming
with the agony of loss that she was feeling, she sat up. Dolly pulled back the curtains to let in the cold grey English light. The Majorcan villa was a world away.
And—
oh fuck
—it was Friday.
She’d slept very late. What was it with her, all this sleeping?
Escaping from reality
, Annie thought. Funny how she always woke up feeling exhausted, though. All these dreams. Max, falling…her reaching for him, but it was too late, far too late. Layla screaming. Annie, alone in a wasteland, no one there except her and a feeling of impending doom. All those
bloody
dreams.
Feeling tired and edgy she washed, dressed in Dolly’s black shift dress again, brushed out her hair, dabbed a bit of Dolly’s rouge on her cheeks and on her lips and still looked like death—not that it mattered.
She stepped out of the bedroom and on to the landing. Loud voices and laughter drifted up from the front room. Ross was sitting down there in the hall in the corner by the door that Chris had always occupied when she was last here.
Friday. Of course. Lunch party day. Noises from the other bedrooms, someone moaning, someone crying out
yes, yes, yes.
Music, too. Fleetwood Mac playing ‘Albatross’, fading into older stuff from days gone by—smoky, bluesy
‘Mad about the Boy’, Etta James’s voice dripping with passion.
Annie stood there at the top of the stairs and let it wash over her.
That song said everything she had ever felt about Max. Stupid to have been drawn to him—her sister’s husband. Knowing he was dangerous. Knowing he was off limits. Knowing she could not resist his piratical charm, his strength, his masculine allure.
God, I’ve got to snap out of this
, thought Annie.
‘What the hell are you looking at?’
Annie looked up. Una, with her white-blonde crew-cut and her pallid blue eyes was standing in the doorway opposite. She was in black leather today. There was a whip in her hand. As Annie watched, a droplet of blood fell from the end of the whip and hit the landing carpet. The droplet expanded, spreading in the thick pile. The door behind Una was ajar and Annie could see a naked man in there, tied to a chair, his shoulders striped red, his head drooping.
A dominatrix didn’t get paid, Annie remembered. She was awarded a ‘tribute’ from the punter when he left. The punter wanted to be abused, debased, humiliated—and the dominatrix happily pandered to his vice, and was amply rewarded for doing so.
‘I’m not looking at anything,’ said Annie
truthfully. Fuck it, if the punters wanted to be whipped and if Una got her kicks that way, what did she care?
‘Good. You want to keep it that way, babes, or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Right.’
‘Only I don’t like your attitude.’
Annie looked at her. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said.
‘You see? There it is again.’ Una came in close. She smelled of sweat and cheap perfume and her eyes were glittery with excitement, ready for a fight. ‘Your mouth says all the right words, but your eyes say
fuck you.
You got a real attitude problem, babes, and I don’t like it.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Annie, and turned toward the stairs.
Or she started to. She vaguely saw Una’s booted foot come out, but it was too late to step back. She felt herself start to fall, snatched at the banister, but too late. She went head over heels all the way down to the bottom and ended up at Ross’s feet with all the wind knocked out of her. She looked back up the stairs as Dolly and Ellie came running to her aid, and there was Una, smirking down at her.
Everything hurt. She’d bumped her head, there was blood coming from a cut above her right
eyebrow, her left arm felt wrenched where she’d tried to stop herself falling.
‘Fuck it, Annie, what’s going on?’ asked Dolly, hauling her back to her feet.
Annie looked up at Una, still standing there, gloating.
‘Nothing,’ she said to Dolly. ‘I just tripped, that’s all. Careless of me.’
Una’s smile broadened. She turned and strolled away, back to her room.
It was late afternoon when the call came. The phone had been ringing all day, and every time Annie had tensed, bracing herself for the next horror. All through the long day, she had been in the kitchen, waiting. Wishing she smoked, wishing she drank.
Listening to the revelry of the party going on in the front room, the thumping of feet going up and down the stairs, the laughter, the noises of hot frantic sex going on over her head.
Thinking of what could be happening to Layla. Of what had already happened to Max. And poor bloody Jonjo, who had never liked her. Well, she’d never liked him either. But still.
Driving herself mad.
A few hours later and the party was over, the washing-up done, the bottles cleared away, the takings counted. When the phone rang it was Dolly who picked it up again, and it was for Annie.
‘Give us a minute, will you, Ross?’ Dolly said quickly, and the bouncer went off into the front room, closing the door behind him. Dolly shut the kitchen door. Only her and Annie were in the hall. Dolly had her hand over the mouthpiece.
Suddenly shaking, Annie took the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘I said I’d call on Friday,’ said the Irish man.
Annie took a breath.
Game on.
‘Yeah, you did.’
‘And here I am, as good as my word.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So…’ He was toying with her again.
‘I want to speak to Layla,’ said Annie, feeling as if she was about to scream.
‘Can’t be done right now.’
‘Why not?’ God, was she hurt? Had they harmed her in some way?
‘I told you before, no questions.’
‘Sorry.’ Annie’s heart was thudding sickeningly in her chest. She could barely breathe.
Dig deep
, she thought.
Got to dig deep.
‘Listen, think about what I said. We could do a deal. A swap. Hand Layla over and take me instead. Let Layla go and have me.’
There was silence on the other end of the phone, except for that noise again. Teacups, or something. Annie strained to hear it. Maybe it would offer
some sort of clue. She was willing to clutch at any straw. But it stopped as soon as it started. She thought that the sound was somehow familiar, but she couldn’t bring it to mind. Her brain was in a flat spin.
‘Ah, no. The kid’s worth more.’
‘More money,’ said Annie grimly.
‘That’s it,’ he said cheerily. ‘Because you’ll pay any amount to get her back, ain’t that a fact? But who’d pay to get you back? No bastard, I’m thinking.’
Annie swallowed hard. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ she said.
She had no blood kin who would speak up for her. Ruthie was God knew where, and although they had reached a sort of understanding over Annie’s love affair with Max, they hadn’t spoken in a long time. Kath despised her. There was no one else. She wondered how he knew that.
‘And now we come to it,’ he said. ‘The money. What we want from you. From the wealthy Carters.’
But I don’t know where the fucking wealth
is, thought Annie wildly. But she kept quiet. Forced herself to.
‘Half a million pounds sterling for the girl. Just that.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I’ll phone back next Friday.’
Half a million quid! Annie’s ears rang with shock.
‘Wait,’ she said quickly. ‘Wait.’
‘That gives you a week to raise it,’ he said, rolling right on. ‘One week.’
‘But wait…’
God, why couldn’t she think straight?
‘Wait for what?’ he snapped.
Annie was shaking her head helplessly. ‘I don’t think I can raise that sort of money,’ she blurted.
Silence.
Silence except for that goddamned
noise
again. What the hell was that noise?
‘Well now,’ he said. ‘That’s a pity.’
‘Wait.’
‘A great pity.’ He sounded regretful.
‘Just wait. I can raise some, but maybe not that much.’
‘Pity. I’ll talk to you next Friday. Same time. Enjoy the gift.’
Gift?
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already gone.
‘So what happened? How much do they want?’ demanded Dolly as Annie stood there with the phone still in her nerveless hand.
Annie replaced the receiver. ‘Too much,’ she said, and went into the front parlour and closed the door behind her.
Had to
think.
Half a million quid.
A total impossibility. She looked at the tray of drinks set out on the sideboard. Vodka, gin, whisky. Anything the punters wanted. She took one of the upended glasses and looked at the bottles.
There was a knock on the door and Darren pushed it open and stood there, lounging against the doorframe, arms folded.
‘Well, one drink’s not going to kill you, now is it, Annie Carter?’ he said.
Annie looked back at him. Looked at the empty glass, the bottles. Thought of her mother lying in hospital, yellowed and skinny and dying, because she had to have the fucking booze.
She put the glass down and turned away from the drinks. ‘Yeah, but could I stop at one?’ she asked him.
‘That bad?’ asked Darren.
Annie nodded. ‘Worse.’
‘Dolly told me you’ve got trouble,’ said Darren.
‘Did she tell Ellie?’
‘What, you afraid she’ll tell the Delaneys your business?’ Darren shook his head. ‘I think Ellie knows which side her bread’s buttered by now. And anyway, they know you’re here, don’t they? Ross must have said. Dolly
had
to say. And didn’t the big boss of the Delaneys send you a note?’
Annie let out a heartfelt sigh. Yes, Redmond
knew she was here and for the moment it seemed he was content to let her stay. How long that would last, she didn’t know.
‘Anyway,’ Darren went on, ‘you’re in tight with the Delaney twins, ain’t that right? I heard you used to be big mates with that gang.’
Which was a bit of a joke, really. She’d never even known the eldest Delaney child, Tory, although she had known his brother Pat—to her cost. And Kieron, too. It was true that Redmond Delaney had once done business with her, and Orla his twin had always been polite—almost, but never quite, friendly. A funny pair, those twins. Cold. Red hair and white skin, a perfect, handsome pair, like book ends carved from marble. Hurt too early to ever recover.
Annie thought of Layla, who might be hurt too, abused, ruined for the whole of her life, and the pain and anxiety started to gnaw at her guts again. She folded her arms over her middle, feeling achy and frozen.
‘Is this trouble something I can help with?’ asked Darren.
Annie looked at him. Good old Darren. He might look like shit, but he was the same. A firm friend; a great listener.
She shook her head.
He indicated the small plaster Dolly had applied over her eye. ‘Heard you had a run-in with our Una. And it looks like you came off worse.’
‘I’m okay, but things could be better. How about you, Darren?’
‘Oh, fine.’
‘Liar. You look ill’
Darren’s mouth twisted and his bright blue eyes moved away from Annie’s. ‘It’s nothing,’ he shrugged.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ said Annie.
‘Not much to tell.’ He went over to the couch and sat down and looked up at her. ‘I was in love, you know,’ he said.
Annie looked at him. ‘With who?’ she asked, more gently. Dolly hadn’t told her this in any of her phone calls. And if Darren had found someone, why was he still here working as a brass? Ah, but he’d said he
was
in love. Past tense.
Over.
‘No one you know. A punter.’ Darren gave the ghost of a chuckle. ‘Stupid, falling for a punter. One of my regulars. We just seemed to…hit it off, you know. And he didn’t seem to care what I was. Which is rare, as you know. Not many men care to associate with us working girls.’
‘So what happened? He go off the idea?’
‘Nah, nothing like that. We were making plans and everything. He worked in the City doing some funny thing or other with money markets—pork-belly futures or something daft like that—and he said he was going to jack it all in and we would
take off together. He was rich. Not too old. Late fortyish. Fair bit older than me, but that has its attractions. We were going to travel the world. See Rome, and Paris, and Venice…’
Darren’s voice trailed away and he looked at the floor.
‘Then he got sick,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Cancer. Took about a year and a half, and his sister looked after him for the last six months. I visited every week, which she was pretty sniffy about: didn’t like the whole gay thing at all. He got pneumonia in the end, I was holding his hand when he died…’
Darren swallowed and shook himself and looked up at Annie, eyes bright with tears. ‘So that was that, really,’ he said.
‘Darren, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Dolly never said when she phoned me.’ Annie sat down beside him. She put an arm around his stick-thin shoulders. Jesus, it was like hugging a child!
‘I asked her not to tell anyone. Didn’t want the sympathy vote.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Annie helplessly.
‘Ah, it don’t matter,’ said Darren with a sniff and a smile. ‘What’s that old saying? “Nothing matters very much and in the end nothing matters at all”.’
‘Wise words. If only we could believe them.’
Annie gave his skeletal shoulder a squeeze. Was this the reason he’d sunk so bloody low, let himself
go the way he had? He’d lost the man he loved—just as she had. The loss had hit him like a runaway train—that much was obvious. She had the feeling this wasn’t the whole story, but he was upset; she wouldn’t push it for now. And she had grief enough of her own to bear without taking on more.
‘Come on, Darren,’ she said briskly. ‘We all get crap sooner or later. What matters is how you deal with it.’
And who am I trying to convince?
she thought.
Me, or Darren?