Victor nodded slowly, his dreams and his hopes fading before his eyes.
‘So when we shoot you in your feet, you’d better thank us, because we saved your lives.’
Mario looked at his father in shock. He tried to raise himself from his chair and Tommy shot him at close range in his right foot, shattering the ankle bone and the shin.
Mario dropped back in his chair, his devastated foot hanging loosely on to the floor.
All were aware that the hubbub in the club outside had dwindled into silence.
Tommy poked his finger in Mario’s face.
‘So, what do you say?’
Mario groaned with pain, and Tommy screamed at the top of his voice: ‘What’s that? I can’t hear you, Mario. Did you say, “Thank you, Mr Lane”?’
Victor saw his son’s face, the sweat standing out on his brow, the trickle of mucus running from his nose.
‘Thank him, Mario. For God’s sake, thank the man and get this over with!’
‘Th ... Thank you.’ Mario’s voice came out stronger than he’d expected.
‘Thank you, Mr Lane.’ Marcus’s voice was high-pitched, as if talking to a child.
‘Thank you, Mr Lane.’ Mario’s voice had tears in it now.
Tommy grinned. Then, shooting Mario in his other foot, he said, ‘You’re welcome, my old son. More than welcome in fact.’
Victor looked at his child, his first-born son, and a seething hatred for Tommy Lane swept over him. He swiftly opened his desk drawer. Marcus aimed his gun at the older man and shot him full in the chest.
Victor slumped over the desk, his body twitching uncontrollably in the throes of death.
Tommy tutted loudly. Walking to the man, he turned him over. In the desk was a small revolver. Tommy took it and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. Then Marcus and he walked slowly from the office, and through the hushed crowd outside in the club itself.
As they drove the few streets to The Windjammer, Tommy was humming to himself. Marcus, on the other hand, had not reached the point where the use of a gun didn’t bother him at all. But he was determined he would get there, in the end.
‘You really expect me to believe that?’ Briony stubbed her cigarette out with such force she pushed the ashtray across her desk. Only the quick action of the girl before her prevented it from crashing to the floor.
‘Honestly, Miss Cavanagh, it’s the truth.’
Briony walked around the desk and held up a finger. Pointing it into the girl’s face, she said slowly, ‘You ever try and muscle in on another girl’s customer in my club again, I’ll have your guts. Do you hear me?’
The young girl opened her eyes wide in alarm and once more tried to deny everything.
‘But I never...’
Briony stared into her face, her green eyes glittering with malevolence.
‘Are you calling me a liar? Because I was watching you, love.
You waited for the girl to get up and go to the powder room. Then you sauntered over there like butter wouldn’t melt and tried to muscle in. I saw you! Now I couldn’t give a toss, but Betty wasn’t having any of it. You two were fighting in my club.’ She poked herself hard in the chest. ‘My club! You hear what I’m telling you, girl? You don’t fucking cause hag in my place. Now get your bag, and get your arse out of here. If I ever see you or your lousy mate on my premises, I’ll see you never work the smoke again. Do I make myself clear?’
The girl nodded, her face frozen with fear at the change in Briony Cavanagh. Only a week before Briony had stopped by her table and said a friendly hello. It was silly to underestimate her, it was foolhardy. Now she well and truly had her card marked, and all over a punter who was only good for a fiver, top whack. She could cheerfully kick herself.
Picking up her bag, she left the room. Her face was drawn and her shoulders drooped.
Briony watched her leave and sighed heavily.
Brasses weren’t worth the hag half the time. She was happy for the girl discreetly to ply her trade. It didn’t bother her in the least. She was clean, well dressed, and blended in with the clientele. But two of them arguing the toss over a man was a different ball game. It lowered the tone of the club, and that was the last thing Briony wanted.
The door opened once more and she turned away in a temper. ‘I don’t want to see or hear any more about it, Julian!’
Tommy’s voice was soft as he said, ‘Hello, Bri. All right?’
Turning back, her jaw dropped with the shock.
‘Tommy? Oh, Tommy.’ Her voice was thick with pleasure.
‘Can I sit down then, or is everyone getting a bollocking tonight?’
Briony laughed at his jocular tone.
‘Oh, Tommy, you’re the last person I expected. Sit. Sit down and let me get you a drink.’
She poured him a large scotch, her brain whirling with the implications of having Tommy Lane in the club, in her office, chatting to her as if nothing had happened.
He pulled off his heavy coat and slung it casually on to the floor. Then he sat down and opened the cigarette box on her desk. He blew out the smoke heavily, a large grey cloud forming around his head.
‘Jesus, Briony, what’s in these fags? Camel shit?’
She placed his drink in front of him.
‘Could be, they’re Turkish!’
‘You’re supposed to give this kind of crap to the punters and smoke the usual Gold Flake yourself! Now then, how are you?’
Briony sat down opposite him; and gazed into his eyes. ‘All the better for seeing you, Tommy.’ Her voice was soft, gentle.
Tommy looked at her for a long moment. Smiling, he said, ‘How’s the family?’
As she spoke of her sisters and her mother, he felt the familiar pull of her. But he also reprimanded himself for being weak enough to come and see her. She was like a dainty piece of Dresden china: her milky-white skin so flawless, her deep red hair emphasising the green glint of her eyes. Her mouth looked too good to be on a mortal woman. He could hear the deep longing in her voice, see it in the depths of her eyes, and just for a second he wondered if he had come here deliberately. To show her he could walk away from her again, maybe even to show himself.
‘So Eileen’s getting better? I’m pleased to hear that, Bri. Really. She had a rough deal, did old Eileen. I’m glad I got rid of the pair of ponces.’
Briony smiled. ‘So am I.’
Tommy sipped his scotch.
‘Actually, Bri, I helped us both out tonight. That’s why I’m here. Maltese Victor was all for blowing this place up! Can you credit that? He wanted protection. Anyway, I heard a whisper so I got your new bloke, Marcus, and me and him went round to see the old bastard and gave him and his son the bad news.’
Briony’s eyes had widened to their utmost.
‘He was going to do what?’
‘Give this place a quick singeing. Cheeky bugger! Anyway, everything’s sorted now. That’s why I came round.’ He looked at his watch ostentatiously. ‘I have to run in a minute. I have to see a man about a dog.’
Briony sat back in her chair heavily.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Her voice sounded small and hurt. Tommy found he couldn’t look at her. ‘You mean, you’ve come here to let me know you’ve slapped Vic the Maltese, and that’s all?’
‘I did a bit more than slap him, love. I shot Mario the wonderboy in his feet and Marcus shot the old man through the heart. I expect the Old Bill is having a field day about now. It’s only round Greek Street, ain’t it?’
Briony nodded, her mouth twisted in a grim line.
‘Oh, I get it now. You had to show a front. You still own part of the clubs so you wanted to protect your investment. I’m sorry, Tommy. I thought maybe the years we spent together might have brought you back round here, but I was wrong. I won’t make that mistake again in a hurry.’
Standing up she snatched his glass from him and slammed it down on the desk. ‘Well, you’ve told me your bit of news. Exciting as it is, I think I have the details now. So why don’t you piss off to wherever it is you’re going? Or more precisely, whoever.’
Tommy stared at his empty hand, then picking up the glass he drained his drink in one gulp. Standing, he picked up his coat from the floor and walked towards the door.
‘You dirty bastard, Tommy! You came here to see how the land lay with me. You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?’
He faced her then.
‘No, actually, I’m not. You’re still a big part of me, Briony. But I’ll tell you something for nothing, love, something I’ve told you many times before - your big mouth and your attitude will always be your downfall. You couldn’t swallow could you? Just for a few minutes. I always had to do what you wanted. Well, if you want me back, I’m sorry. Because at this moment I wouldn’t have you gift wrapped.
‘You’re too demanding, Bri. You have to take the lead. You have to be in charge. Well, you don’t pay my wages, love, and you never have. I do what I want, when I want, and that includes visiting you or any other woman in the smoke as and when it suits me.’
He poked himself hard in the chest as he said the last word and Briony fought back tears of frustration and rage.
‘Well, you don’t visit no other woman while you’re with me, I won’t stand for it!’
Tommy laughed then. ‘But we’ve already established I ain’t with you, am I? We’re partners, Briony.’
‘Yeah, silent partners, and that suits me right down to the ground. In future
I’ll
sort out Vic the Maltese or anyone else who wants to muscle in, all right? You sort yourself out. I still own the lion’s share of this place, mate.’
Tommy smiled sarcastically.
‘Of course you do. You always owned the lion’s share of everything didn’t you? Well, now I’ve been put well and truly in my place, I’ll fuck off.’
As he walked out of the door Briony threw her own glass of scotch at the door. It smashed into thousands of tiny pieces. Tommy shut the door quietly behind him without looking back. Briony sat down at her desk, the tears running down her face. How could he have done this to her? How could he have walked in here, all sweetness and light, and then dumped her back down on the ground so wickedly? She had felt so euphoric at seeing him, telling herself he could not live without her the same way she couldn’t live without him, and all the time it was just business. Plain, simple business.
Stalking across the room, she opened the door. Spotting Julian, she bellowed, ‘Get Marcus Dowling, now!’
Julian winced visibly as the door was slammed. Walking through to the club itself, he spied Marcus at the bar with Bernadette.
‘Briony wants you, now. And I do mean now. She’s rather upset.’
Briony was standing by her desk when Marcus walked into the office. ‘Oh, so you’ve come then? I understand you did a bit of business with Tommy late tonight. A bit of business you should have consulted me about?’
Marcus licked his lips. ‘That’s correct. I did a bit of business. But I didn’t see fit to bother you with it, Miss Cavanagh. After all, I am your number two. It’s what I’m paid for. I deal with things as and when they come up.’
‘Did Tommy Lane approach you?’
‘Yes...’
Briony cut him off.
‘You’ve been reporting to him, haven’t you? Now don’t lie to me, Marcus.’
He sighed. ‘I have never lied to you, Miss Cavanagh.’
‘No, you ain’t lied, you just ain’t said nothing. Well, I’m telling you now, as the person who pays your wages, you owe
me,
not Tommy Lane, your loyalty. He’s a sleeping partner. I am the main owner of this place. I don’t employ dogs and then bark myself. Do you get my drift?’
Marcus nodded. ‘Yes, I understand. But we was trying to protect you ... We was just ...’
Briony flew across the room and grabbed his shirtfront. Shaking him hard, her tiny body possessed of the strength of great anger, she screamed: ‘I don’t need anyone to protect me, especially not a slag like Tommy Lane! Me and you could have sorted that out. Me and you! That’s why you’re my number two. How’s it going to look now, eh? Tommy Lane still fighting my battles. Well, I can fight me own battles, and if you still want to work for me, you’d better get that into your thick head!’
Marcus grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from his clothes.
‘I’d thank you never to drag at me like that again. I know you pay my wages but I was doing my job. Believe me when I say tonight was well thought out and well planned, Miss Cavanagh. I am known to be your number two, and me and Tommy showing up like that only made you look stronger. More in control. Now calm yourself down. You’re not acting rationally. I’ve never seen you like this before.’
His deep gentle voice was her undoing. Leaning against him, she began to cry, a high sobbing that wrenched at his heart. Putting his arms around her, he held her close, letting her cry herself out. He could feel her body shuddering with each breath she took, and for the first time ever he felt a twinge of sympathy for her. She seemed more human now than at any time before. Gone was the work machine. The hard-nosed businesswoman. In her place was a Briony Cavanagh who could be hurt, who was human and cried because she was hurting inside. All that he saw was pain, and an intense loneliness that made him ashamed of all his previous feelings about this little woman.
In the space of five minutes, he knew her better than he would ever have believed possible.
He held her until she had cried herself out. Then he lit her a cigarette and poured her a drink. Leaving her sitting at her desk, he went back to Bernadette, knowing in his heart of hearts that neither he nor Briony would ever mention this night again but that it would always be there between them. It would anchor him to her. Because it was proof that Briony Cavanagh could feel. Something he would have found very hard to believe had he not seen it with his own eyes.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Kerry sat beside Eileen, her hands resting on her belly. Her pregnancy was not yet evident to outsiders but her spreading waistline was now obvious to friends and associates. Kerry poured out the weak tea and, mustering up her best voice, said gaily: ‘How do you fancy a nice cup of tea, Ei?’