Black Widow

by Jessie Keane

  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.

  17

  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?

  18

  Jimmy Bond had been as good as his word and delivered the accounts books to Annie. Now all she had to do was try and read and understand them, and she’d never kept legitimate accounts in her life.

  Annie knew she had a choice. She could sit around and wait, or she could keep busy and stop herself going crazy. No contest. Later that afternoon she snatched the books off Dolly’s dressing table, put on her coat, and told Dolly she was off out. She hesitated and then left the gun in Dolly’s top drawer.

  She’d brought it all through Customs with her, expecting to be stopped, searched, banged up, but no: they’d let her through, and she was glad. Having Max’s gun made her feel a little better, a little safer. She told Dolly the gun was there, and Dolly nodded as if this was an everyday occurrence.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ asked Dolly. ‘In case that bastard phones unexpectedly.’

  ‘To the clubs. And Max’s mum’s old place.’ To search for Max’s stash of money. He had to have one somewhere, and she was determined to find it.

  ‘Okay.’

  Outside, Tony was reading the paper while sitting patiently behind the wheel. She tapped his window. He wound it down and looked at her without expression.

  ‘We’re going to the clubs, Tony. Palermo first.’

  Annie got in the back and put the accounts beside her on the seat. She settled back. Tony hadn’t started the engine. His eyes were watching her in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Problem?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ve got a plaster over your eyebrow,’ said Tony.

  ‘Ten out of ten for observation.’

  ‘Anyone giving you grief, Mrs Carter?’

  Annie held his gaze. ‘Fell down the stairs, Tony.’

  Tony watched her a moment longer, then he reached over to the glove compartment. He drew out a small cylindrical black item and handed it back to her.

  Annie looked at it, mystified.

  ‘You just flick it out. It’s a martial arts weapon. It’s called a kiyoga,’ said Tony.

  Annie gave the thing a hefty flick. A spring appeared, and a steel ball. Jesus, she thought. Whack someone with that, you could kill them.

  ‘In case you fall down any more stairs,’ said Tony.

  Annie nodded and looked at the kiyoga. ‘Um,’ she said.

  ‘Tap the steel ball on a hard surface to close it up again,’ said Tony helpfully.

  Annie leaned over and tapped the thing on the floor. The spring and the steel ball vanished back inside the thin black tube. Annie straightened and put the lethal little thing in her coat pocket.

  ‘Thanks Tony,’ she said.

  Tony looked awkward.

  ‘Mr Carter’s always been very good to me,’ he said, and started the engine.

  ‘Let’s call in at Jimmy’s place first,’ said Annie decisively. ‘Time I caught up with our Kath.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Kath asked Annie when she opened her front door and found her cousin standing there.

  ‘Just catching up with family,’ said Annie, recognizing Kath more by her voice and her bright flinty brown eyes than by any other feature.

  She looked beyond Kath and the whining toddler clinging to her leg. The hallway was dusty, dirty, and cluttered. Filth on the
carpet, toys and prams littering the hall. A radio was blaring out ‘Love Grows’ by Edison Lighthouse somewhere in there, and a baby was crying. Bedlam.

  And the state of Kath. Christ, she’d never been a treat to look at but at least she used to make an effort. Annie had never seen anyone change so much in such a short space of time. Kath had never been a beauty, but she’d made the effort, taken trouble with her appearance, and somehow she’d looked good.

  Now she looked bad.

  She’d piled on the weight. Her hair was short now and showing grey at the roots, styled into an unflattering old-lady perm that aged her a good fifteen years. She wore loose dark slacks and a shapeless T-shirt.

  Poor bloody Jimmy Bond. And what had Annie said to him? You ought to keep your house in-order. Where the hell would the poor bastard start in this tip? Well, no one had ever thought Jimmy married Kath for her looks. Maybe for her sparkling personality?

  ‘I suppose you’d better come the fuck in, now you’re here,’ grunted Kath, turning away from the door to display an arse the size of a small continent.

  Maybe not for the sparkling personality, then. Annie trailed in after Kath unwillingly, wondering what fresh domestic disaster she was going to discover.

  She soon found out. In the kitchen, the breakfast dishes were still all over the table. There were dirty nappies on chairs. The draining board and sink were stacked high with filthy plates. There was a child bawling its head off in a pram by the back door. Annie leaned over to look at the crying infant and the stink of urine and faeces stung her nose. She touched the baby’s bedding and found it wet. Christ, it was soaking. There ought to have been a sodding rainbow over the end of the pram.

  ‘This kid’s wet through,’ she told Kath.

  ‘I’ll change her in a minute,’ said Kath, shaking out a ciggie from the packet on the table and groping around for matches.

  It didn’t seem to be bothering Kath in the least, but the baby’s wailing was grating on Annie. She took off her coat and picked up the little girl.

  ‘Where do you keep the clean nappies?’ she asked Kath, clearing a space on the table and laying the baby on it.

  Now the toddler was joining in with the baby’s crying. And Kath was still rummaging around for matches.