Anthony was fifty-eight years old, with the body of a much younger man, the brain of an ancient, and a wife of twenty-two. He admitted to his ugliness every time he glanced in a mirror, his thick bull neck adding to his overall brutishness. Yet he knew he was attractive to women, always had been, and hopefully always would be. It was the sheer force of his strength and personality that drew them. He looked dangerous and, he admitted to himself occasionally, he was dangerous.
Anthony Calder was a fixer; he could fix anything. If a man needed a lighter prison sentence then Anthony Calder was his man. He knew every policeman worth knowing, from the Met to the Merseyside. He knew their prices, knew whom to approach and whom not to approach. He knew whether they wanted cash or holidays, whether they were gamblers or if their tastes ran to women or nice cars. It was his job, his career, and he gave it his all.
Calder was now a millionaire and he didn’t have to raise a finger in anger to anyone any more. Gone were the days when he was a paid heavy who would break an arm or a leg for a certain sum of money. His big chance had come when he made the acquaintance of Detective Inspector Billings from the Serious Crime Squad. Billings used Anthony as a go-between in a deal he was setting up with two notorious brothers who wanted suspended sentences instead of life terms. It was at this time he found he had a natural flair for negotiation.
DI Billings had written to the judge saying the brothers were narking for him, and that they were more use on the street than behind bars. The judge had given this careful consideration and, for the princely sum of twenty-five thousand pounds per brother, had allowed them to walk from the court on suspended sentences. Anthony had done his job - and in so doing had found his vocation. Now Calder resided in a large leafy suburb in Chigwell with his little wife, his newborn daughter, and two large Dobermanns. He ran his business from home and socialised with both police and criminals. He was respected by all concerned, especially the police, who saw him as a way of subsidising meagre salaries.
Anthony was pleased with life, and he gave a grin of deep-felt satisfaction as he saw Alan Cox walking across his manicured lawn towards the gym annexe where he spent most of his day.
‘Hello, Alan, me old mate, long time no see.’ Anthony’s voice still had a thick cockney twang.
‘All right, Tone? You’re looking well.’
Anthony shook his hand. ‘What can I do you for then?’ The business was starting and Alan was aware of the fact. It was one of the things he liked about Anthony Calder: the preliminaries were few and far between.
‘I need a few whispers from you, me old son. I am in the throes of planning a little get-together with an old mate and I need the ear of a few Old Bill.’
Anthony replaced the heavy weight into its carriage and wiped his face and neck with a pristine white towel.
‘Where’s the setup?’
Alan smiled. ‘The Isle of Wight.’
Anthony laughed then. ‘I see. Well, that’ll cost a few bob, but I expect you know that. Any particular face in mind?’
Alan sat down on a small bench and loosened his coat buttons. ‘I need your word on strict security. This could become very nasty.’
Calder shrugged. ‘I never open me mouth - you know that, Alan.’
‘Not even if it steps on Donald Lewis’s toes?’
Alan was aware of the big man’s shock.
‘What’s Lewis got to do with this?’
‘Nothing, Tony, and that’s how I want it to stay. I don’t want him to know anything. He owns most of the Old Bill on the Island, and I want to spring an old mate without Lewis sussing anything about it.’
Tony stared down at him for a moment. ‘That’s a dangerous proposition, Alan. It’ll cost you. Big money.’
‘I’m good for it, Tony, you know that. But I have one thing to tell you: if Lewis even gets a faint whiff that something’s going down, me and you are going to fall out, do you understand me?’
Tony nodded, serious now. ‘I hear what you’re saying. But you know that Lewis has his fingers in more fucking pies than little Jack Horner.’
Alan shrugged the statement off. ‘That’s his prerogative. He’s a ponce and I don’t like him and he’s stepping on a dear friend of mine’s toes, which means he’s stepping right on one of my corns at the same time. So you tell me who to see and where to see them and I’ll do the actual negotiating. That way you’re not too involved.’
Anthony sighed deeply. ‘I’ll have to have a think about all this, mate. It’ll take some arranging.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’
Anthony was nonplussed for a few seconds.
‘I thought you was straight these days,’ he said eventually. ‘I heard you was raking it in with legitimate businesses? ’
Alan grinned. ‘I am. But like the old saying goes, yours is not to reason why. Especially where I’m concerned.’
He took a thick envelope from his inside pocket and placed it on the bench beside him.
‘There’s fifteen grand in there in fifty-pound notes. That’s just for starters. There’s plenty more where that came from. I want this arranged with the best of care and money’s no object, OK?’
Anthony picked up the envelope in his meaty fist and weighed it in his hand before he answered.
‘Fair enough, but I must warn you, Alan, Lewis’s arm is long.’
Alan shook his head slowly.
‘And so, my dear Tony, is mine.’
Donna had just emerged from the shower when the telephone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Donna, just a quick call to let you know the books are ready for your perusal.’
‘Fine. I’ll be over about nine tonight.’
‘How’s Georgio?’
‘Bearing up. Will you try and get in for a visit?’
Stephen’s voice was clipped. ‘It’s difficult, his VOs to me are few and far between. I expect you’re the one he wants to see.’
Donna felt the animosity coming in waves down the telephone. ‘I am his wife Stephen.’
‘Of course you are. It’s just I was supposed to be helping you run the businesses and now it seems you don’t want to know. I feel very upset at you checking up on me . . .’
Donna’s mouth was a perfect O as she listened to her brother-in-law’s voice.
‘Checking up on you? Now come on, Stephen, I am just exercising a right. I am a partner in your business, naturally I want a working knowledge of it.’ Donna’s voice was rising and she forced herself to calm down.
It was Stephen’s turn to sigh. ‘You own a twenty-five percent share, that’s all. I have the controlling interest. I think you have a bloody bare-faced cheek, to be honest, and I’m only humouring you because you are my brother’s wife. Now let’s drop the subject, shall we?’
Donna was amazed to find he had put the phone down on her. Wrapping the thick pink towel tightly around her, she sat on the bed in a daze.
Whatever was wrong with Stephen couldn’t simply be the fact that she wanted to see his books. She asked herself now why she was so adamant about seeing them. It didn’t really matter either way. But as she sat there, Donna realised exactly what was wrong with her, what had been wrong with her for a good while. She didn’t trust Stephen Brunos.
It was a startling revelation.
Hattie had listened patiently to Stephen’s ranting and now she shook her head sadly.
‘She’ll find out soon enough, and then it’ll be the worse for you and everyone concerned.’
Stephen forced a smile on to his face.
‘Nah, she won’t. None of them will. I’m too clever by half.’ He grinned to lighten the mood, but Hattie just shook her head once more.
‘No one’s that clever, and you’re playing with fire, my lad. You can’t run with the fox and hunt with the hounds. No one can.’
He stood up impatiently and kissed Hattie on the top of her head.
‘Stop worrying, Hat, I’m as safe as houses.’
Hattie sipped at
her vodka and tonic. He was too handsome by half. All her life she had been a sucker for a pretty young man and she realised now that, even going into old age, she wasn’t going to change.
‘Does she know everything about Talkto Enterprises?’
‘No, she doesn’t, and there’s no reason why she should. Now I’ve got to go, Hats. I’ll pop in later tonight if you’re not too busy?’
Hattie couldn’t refuse him.
‘I’m never too busy for you.’
Smiling widely, he left and Hattie stood where she was in the centre of the room, brooding. He was playing a dangerous game. She only hoped it didn’t backfire on him.
Donna walked into the Talkto offices at nine o’clock as arranged and was surprised to see no sign of Stephen, only a young woman in a tight black cocktail dress waiting for her.
‘Mrs Brunos?’
Donna nodded, smiling.
‘I’m Cathy Harper. Mr Brunos asked me to let you in. The books are here on this desk. Can I get you a cup of coffee?’
Donna nodded at the earnest young girl in front of her. Cathy was plastered in make-up, taking the edge away from her natural fresh-faced good looks. Her plump young body encased in a black beaded dress gave her an air of tartiness, and Donna wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming smell of Charlie perfume and fresh sweat.
She sat behind Stephen’s secretary’s desk, noticing that the rest of the offices were locked up and aware that this was a subtle insult to her. The girl plonked herself down on a settee and lit a cigarette.
‘Are you going to wait for me?’ Donna asked.
She nodded absentmindedly. ‘That’s what Mr Brunos said. He told me to let you in and to sit and wait until you’d finished. Then I was to let you out and lock the door behind me.’
Donna smiled once more. ‘Is he nearby, waiting for the keys to be delivered back?’
‘As far as I know, he’s still in the club in Wardour Street,’ the girl told her, ‘but he could have gone by now. I’ll just give the keys to Daragh.’
‘Daragh?’
Cathy Harper smiled at the question in Donna’s voice.
‘Daragh O’Flynn. He’s an Irish bloke who runs the club for Mr Brunos. Funny name though, ain’t it? We all laugh at it - behind his back, of course.’
Donna laughed with the girl and said conspiratorially, ‘Of course.’
Cathy beamed, happy to find that the woman was fun. She had been wary of her mission, knowing that some of the people Mr Brunos dealt with were not exactly the answer to a maiden’s prayer, being rough, determined, and for the most part vicious. This pretty woman, with the chestnut hair and the subtle make-up, was like a breath of fresh air. Cathy settled herself further into the sofa and picked up a magazine.
Donna took her cigarettes out of her bag and lit one, slowly savouring the smoke as it was drawn into her lungs.
‘Where do you work, Cathy?’ The question was innocent enough, but hinted that Donna knew more about the operations than she did.
‘I work in the clubs and I do the peepshow on Mondays and Fridays. It’s easier for me like this, gives me a bit of time with the kids, like. I prefer the peeping to be honest. I ain’t got to actually do nothing and the money’s regular. In the club you can sit all night with some bloke and only come out of it with the hostess fee. Some of the customers are as mean as catshit, know what I mean?’
Donna nodded, looking as if she had been there once or twice herself. Cathy warmed to her even more.
‘What peepshow are you working in?’
‘La Bohème, just off Dean Street. A right shithole it is and all. The smell! It’d knock you down, but you get used to it, like.’
‘You work there for Stephen . . . Mr Brunos?’
Cathy nodded. ‘I’ve worked for Brunos since I was nineteen. He ain’t too bad, none of them are. But I expect you know that, being married to one yourself.’
Donna felt that she was only being treated as she was by this girl because her name was Brunos. She spoke the name with respect. Donna smiled again.
‘How about that coffee?’ She took a ten-pound note from her bag. ‘I’d also like a cheeseburger. Would you mind nipping round to McDonald’s?’
Cathy took the proffered money and hesitated for only a second. Mr Brunos had told her not to leave the office while this woman was looking over the books.
Donna saw her hesitate, and pulling out another ten-pound note, she gave it to the girl, saying, ‘No one need know you left me here, and I’m dying for a cup of coffee and something to eat.’
The girl snatched the other ten-pound note and left the offices. Donna smiled as she saw the keys still on the settee where Cathy had left them. Getting up from her chair, she stubbed out her cigarette, picked up the keys and let herself into Stephen’s office. Turning on the lamp on his desk, she began going through his drawers, looking for anything that might catch her eye. She was certain now that Stephen was hiding something from her, and she also had a premonition that whatever it was, he was hiding it from Georgio as well. She couldn’t put a finger on why she felt as she did, it was just a gut reaction. Stephen was acting out of character. Maybe it was because she’d found out that his business dealings were not strictly kosher, maybe it embarrassed him, but she didn’t think so.
Pulling on the last drawer in the desk, Donna was met with resistance. Taking the keys, she tried two before the drawer lock clicked open. Lying at the bottom of the drawer were two blackbound ledgers. Picking them up, Donna stiffened. Seating herself behind the desk, she began looking through them.
Twenty minutes later when Cathy arrived back breathlessly with a couple of cheeseburgers and a large polystyrene cup of coffee, Donna was once more in the outer office, looking over the books left out for her by Stephen. Cathy was aware that Mrs Brunos had something on her mind; she wasn’t as chatty as she had been.
Locking up after the visitor, Cathy made her way to O’Flynn and after a gram of amphetamine felt much better. By eleven o’clock Donna was gone from her mind.
Alan was not surprised to see Donna standing in his office. He had had a feeling she was going to show up. He poured her a small brandy and as she lit herself a cigarette, he sat back in his chair, enjoying the sight of her. She was really a sweet-looking little thing, even if she did have a tongue like an adder.
‘So Mrs B. What can I do for you?’
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Donna. Taking a deep draw on her cigarette, she said gently, ‘I need to know what’s going on, Mr Cox.’
Alan lifted an eyebrow. ‘Sorry?’
Donna could feel herself getting annoyed and forced herself to calm down. She tried another tack.
‘Look, Mr Cox, I was hoping we could forget about what happened and start fresh. Georgio is depending on us, and I don’t think it’s a good idea if he knows that we aren’t getting on very well. I think we should at least give it a try, and if it doesn’t work out in say a month, we’ll both have a rethink. What do you say?’
Alan tut-tutted gently.
‘In case it’s escaped your notice, I have invited you into my office, I have poured you a brandy, and I have lit your cigarette for you. Now, lady, according to my lights, that is an act of forgiveness. I will give you two weeks - and if you don’t show enough savvy, me and you are parting company whether Georgio likes it or not. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough.’
Donna was shrewd enough to realise that this was as close as Alan Cox would ever come to any kind of apology.
‘May I ask you something, Mr Cox?’
She observed the exaggerated shrug and felt once more the prickle of annoyance he always provoked in her. ‘Do you know anything about Stephen Brunos at all? Either before Georgio was put away or since?’
She watched his pupils dilate and felt a stab of satisfaction. ‘What I’m asking you, Mr Cox, is do you know anything about Talkto Enterprises?’
Nonplussed for a second, Alan felt his own temper rising inside him.
‘Wh
at the fucking hell are you on about now?’
Donna sighed and started to talk calmly and reasonably. ‘All I am asking is this. Talkto is supposedly a telephone business - you know the kind of thing: how to cope with arthritis etc. It’s got a good turnover and it’s making a handsome profit . . . except I found another set of books tonight, and these books have only a list of names and amounts of money written beside them. For example, one entry said, “Gilly, fifty-five minutes, sixtyfive pounds”. Then beside that in a separate column, “ten pounds”. I take it those were Gilly’s earnings. Then in another book I find shifts written down, once more with girls’ names, times, et cetera. There was a young lady at the offices who worked in a peepshow. I think the second set of books are about that. I wondered if you could shed any light on all this?’
Alan downed his brandy and said testily, ‘Are you trying to accuse me of pimping?’
Donna’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Of course not . . .’
‘Well, why would you think I’d know anything about that then?’
Donna was frightened by his reaction.
‘I am not accusing you of anything, but as you seem to be a member of the Soho élite I just thought you might know what it was all about, that’s all. I am not, I repeat not, accusing you of anything untoward.’
‘I should fucking hope so and all! Let me give you a bit of advice. Whatever Stephen Brunos is doing is his affair, all right? Not yours, mine or anyone else’s. That’s one of the first things you need to know. Don’t judge anyone, don’t question anyone, and never, ever under any circumstances ask anyone what they do for a living. Even a peepshow hostess. It’s the unwritten law, love. Keep your beak out of everyone’s affairs. It can become very unhealthy if you know too much about anyone, do you get my drift? If Stephen Brunos is running a few toms then that’s his affair, not yours, and fucking certainly not mine.’
Donna lit another cigarette and said in a trembling voice, ‘Why are you so aggressive towards me? Swearing upsets me.’
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