by Jessie Keane
Dolly came in, clipping on discreet diamond stud earrings. She looked at Annie.
‘Any news yet?’ she asked, indicating the note.
Annie shook her head and folded the piece of paper.
Dolly’s face was grave. ‘They’re phoning back this Friday, ain’t that right?’ she said.
‘I don’t need reminding, Doll,’ said Annie, the panic eating at her. Time was running out fast now—it was all but gone. And so far she’d achieved nothing. Not a damned thing.
‘I thought you were going to get a loan off the Barolli mob?’
‘I was. Um…there were strings attached.’
‘What sort of strings?’
Annie got up and closed the door into the hall. She turned and looked at Dolly.
‘Constantine Barolli wanted to sleep with me,’ she said.
‘And?’ Dolly looked at her blankly.
Annie returned her stare. ‘What do you mean, and? He wanted to sleep with me, Doll, and then and only then would he hand over the money.’
Dolly leaned back against the worktop and studied Annie closely. ‘Sorry. You’ve lost me. Barolli wanted to sleep with you…?’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said.’
‘For half a million quid.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then what the fuck are you waiting for: hell to freeze over? Why ain’t you done it?’
‘Jesus, Doll, I was going to.’ Annie clutched her head in her hands as her mind replayed the whole embarrassing experience in detail. ‘I offered myself on a plate. Which was what he wanted. And then he changed his damned mind.’
Dolly nodded at the note on the table. ‘That’s from him?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Saying…?’
‘Saying sorry.’
Now Dolly looked bewildered too. ‘Sorry for what?’
‘I don’t know. How the hell should I know? Sorry for changing his mind, I suppose.’
‘Look,’ said Dolly reasonably, ‘if he’s saying sorry, then at least he’s still talking to you, so maybe it’s not too late. You could still get over there, do the deed, get the money, get Layla back.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Annie, her mind in turmoil. The thought of going through that again was humiliating, but she’d do it for Layla.
‘It’s a bit of business, that’s all.’
‘What?’ Annie let out a mirthless laugh. ‘It might be a bit of business to you, Doll, but not to me. I’m a married woman.’
‘You’re a widow.’
‘You want me to go and shag some—some stranger? For money? You think that’s easy?’
‘Got it in one,’ said Dolly, filling the kettle. ‘And no, I don’t think it’s easy, but tough. Do it.’
‘Look, you may have some experience of selling your body like a farmer sells his pigs in a market, but I don’t,’ snapped Annie.
Dolly’s face was suddenly a picture of hurt. ‘Oh, and you think I enjoyed being a brass? You think I liked being a brass? You know damned well that I was only on the game because of what happened to me at home. I went out on the streets when I was fifteen, and it was only Celia being so kind and giving me a roof over my head that saved me from those filthy rotten pimps out there. You also know that I jumped at the chance to stop all that, to become a Madam. You know it.’
Annie took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Doll,’ she said, contrite. ‘It’s just…it’s a really sore subject. Fact is, I tried. I really did. I bottled it, turned him off the idea. I just couldn’t do it.’
Dolly switched the kettle on and eyed her friend. ‘Oh don’t be bloody daft. It’s a business fuck, that’s all. Have a brandy, take the plunge.’
‘Don’t drink,’ said Annie.
‘You know what I mean. Christ, it’s not as if he’s flipping ugly. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, that’s for sure.’
Annie eyed her in disbelief. So far as she knew, Dolly had no one in her bed and that had been the case for a very long time. She didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.
‘One little indiscretion—just one; and if he’s like most men I know, it’ll be two minutes then out the door—and then you get the money, and Layla’s safe,’ Dolly rolled on.
One little indiscretion.
Annie stared at the floor. Angry words, spiteful words poured into her brain.
Words like, And who are you to tell me about my love life? You ain’t got one.
She swallowed the words whole. Getting arsy with Dolly wasn’t going to help anyone.
‘Or am I missing something here?’ asked Dolly, taking down the teapot and fishing out the tea caddy.
‘Meaning what?’ Annie looked up at her.
‘Meaning—I dunno—maybe you think it wouldn’t end there? Meaning, maybe you might actually like it, and how would you square that with your conscience about Max?’
Annie looked at the floor again.
‘That’s it,’ said Dolly in triumph. ‘I knew it.’
‘That is not it,’ said Annie.
‘The fuck it ain’t. You fancy Constantine Barolli, that’s the problem. You’re terrified you might actually enjoy it.’
‘You’re off your head, Doll,’ said Annie.
‘There’s nothing wrong with calling a spade a spade,’ said Dolly, pouring boiling water into the pot. She stopped pouring and looked up at Annie. ‘Come on, Annie love. Get a fucking grip. Max is gone. Layla’s life’s is at stake here. You got no choice.’
‘No?’ said Annie stubbornly.
‘Nope. Not as I see it. You were ready to go ahead and do it last time, but you put him off by having a fit of the vapours, you idiot. But he’s still interested, or else why the note? So you can do it again—and this time for fuck’s sake be a little more damned inviting, eh?’
The phone was ringing in the hall. Ross picked up and poked his head around the kitchen door.
‘For you,’ he said to Annie.
Annie went out into the hall and picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘What have you said to him?’ Kath’s voice shrieked at her. ‘What have you done?’
‘What?’ Annie frowned. ‘Kath? That you? Calm down, for God’s sake.’
‘How can I calm down? He’s taken them away. He’s taken them away!’
‘Kath, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Slow down. What’s happened?’
‘Jimmy’s taken the kids away from me, you cow. It’s all your fault, he’s taken my kids away.’
59
Annie got over to Kath’s pronto. She felt like shit. All the way there in the back of the car she thought about her meet with Jimmy yesterday, and how mad he’d been. She’d thought she had the upper hand, but she’d been wrong. Jimmy Bond was sticking two fingers up at her yet again.
Jimmy Bond, her main man.
Who should be her friend, her supporter. Her cousin’s husband. Her kin, by marriage.
That bastard.
By the time she got to Kath’s, she was fuming. Kath was in a terrible state, wandering around her tip of a home, crying, saying she’d kill him, she’d kill him.
‘He just took ’em,’ she said between sobs. ‘Came in here bold as brass with that horrible little fucker Jackie Tulliver, and between them they took all the kids’ stuff, and the kids too. Didn’t even tell me where they were going! My kids. I’m still breastfeeding the baby, and I said that to him, begged him not to take little Mo as well as Jimmy Junior, and do you know what the rotten git said? He said she’d have to get used to the bottle. Can you believe he’d do that? Can you?’
Annie thought Jimmy Bond was quite capable of doing it. And she had a fair idea of where they’d be, too.
‘I’ll have a word,’ said Annie.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. And what difference is that going to make? He won’t listen to you. He only ever listened to Max or Jonjo, and they’re bloody gone. It’s no use, he’s taken them and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.’
Kath started sobbing again
and pulling her hair, beside herself with grief.
‘I’ll have a word with him,’ Annie said again.
‘Yeah. Right,’ said Kath.
Sick at heart, Annie left her there and went back out to the car.
Tony handed her a note. ‘Some bloke just gave me this,’ he said. ‘Said it was a pizzi-something for Mrs Carter.’ Tony frowned. ‘It’s just a few numbers on a sheet of paper.’
Another note.
Annie sat in the back and quickly read it, deciphering the simple code as she went. It read: News. C.
Annie looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock, and she was going to meet the boys at the Palermo at eleven. She had time.
‘Take me over to Constantine Barolli’s place, Tone,’ she said, her stomach in knots.
Constantine was in the dining room this time, seated at the head of a grand twelve-seater table and finishing breakfast with his sons Lucco and Alberto and the elegant dark-haired woman with the down-turned mouth and unfriendly eyes. The doorman showed Annie straight in, saying that Mr Barolli wanted to talk to her as a matter of urgency.
‘Mrs Carter.’ Constantine stood up, came around the table, wiping his fingers on a white napkin. ‘Thanks for coming. Had breakfast?’
Annie nodded. She’d eaten something about two hours ago, but she didn’t know what. Maybe some toast, a bit of egg. Food made her gag, ever since Layla had gone she was living on her nerves, running on empty.
‘Right, let’s go into the study. You’ve met Lucco?’
Annie looked at the smooth, dark-haired youth. Beautiful and poisonous. Lucco stared back at her with blank dislike.
‘Yeah. We’ve met,’ she said.
‘And Alberto?’
The blond one gazed at her with narrowed blue eyes. He was spookily like his father. Bloody gorgeous, in other words, but half formed, gangly, not yet the man he would become. He nodded.
‘Mrs Carter,’ he said.
‘Hello, Alberto.’
‘And this is my sister Gina,’ said Constantine, and the woman pinched her lips and gave a nod.
Looks like she’s got a bad smell under her nose, thought Annie. And guess what? It’s me.
Annie nodded back.
‘Come on,’ said Constantine, and led the way out into the hall, shutting the dining-room door behind them.
They crossed the big empty hall and went into the study. Constantine closed the door behind them, and crossed to the desk. He sat down behind it and indicated a chair to Annie. He was all business today, and she was very glad of that. Their last meeting had been cringingly embarrassing, and she didn’t want to be reminded of it. Nevertheless, she remembered it. Vividly. She also remembered what Dolly had said and felt colour start to rise into her cheeks. Was that the real truth? Did she really want Constantine Barolli, just as he wanted her? But he’d changed his mind. And then he’d sent her a note saying sorry. Now what the fuck was that all about?
‘You said you’ve got news,’ said Annie, cutting across her own tumbling thoughts.
Constantine kicked back his chair and looked at her.
‘Do you know a Jeanette Byrne?’ he asked.
Annie looked at him in surprise.
‘I know a Jeanette, I don’t know her last name,’ said Annie.
‘This Jeanette was a dancer in one of the Carter clubs.’
‘A stripper. Yeah, I know her. Blonde.’
‘That’s right. My people tell me she’s involved with one of yours. Jimmy Bond. He’s set her up in a house.’
‘That’s right.’
‘He must be creaming a good bit off the business, to afford to run two houses,’ said Constantine.
‘You think he’s cheating the firm? So do I. I think he’s been dipping into the takings.’
‘And what are you going to do about that?’
‘I’ve no idea, yet. I looked at the books but there’s nothing obvious there. But then, I don’t know the clubs like Max did. I don’t know what the takings would normally be. Jimmy does the books.’
‘So you have access to them?’
Annie gave a bitter smile.
‘Oh yeah. And I’ve looked at them. I haven’t understood them, but I’ve looked at them.’
‘I could have our consigliere check them over for you,’ he said.
‘What’s that, like an accountant?’
‘An accountant, a lawyer, a counsellor. A good, solid man,’ Constantine nodded.
A good solid man in the pay of the Mafia. Annie looked at him and wondered yet again what the hell she was doing here.
‘So you think this man is robbing you, and setting himself up as…what? As a rival for the Carter manor?’
Annie shook her head in irritation. ‘Look. Who cares? All that matters is my daughter. Once I’ve got her back, I can sort Jimmy.’
‘You remember you told me about the kidnapping? That Jeanette was conscious throughout?’
Annie nodded.
‘My sources tell me that Vita Byrne—Jeanette’s sister—was shopping in Palma the day before the kidnapping took place.’
Annie swallowed, heartbeat accelerating.
‘Only, I think that could be significant—don’t you?’
Annie thought about that, frowning. The one thing that characterized Jeanette most strongly was her inability to keep her fat mouth shut. If she’d known her sister was on the island, she would have blabbed all about it to Annie. Wouldn’t she?
She remembered now that Jeanette had borrowed Rufio’s car the day before the hit and taken off to Palma, alone. She hadn’t talked about it when she got back to the villa, except to say that she’d been shopping. Solitary trips did seem out of character for Jeanette, but at the time Annie had been so delighted to get rid of her for a day that she hadn’t given it a second thought. If Jeanette had gone into Palma to meet up with her sister, if it was all completely innocent, then why hadn’t she told Annie about it?
‘You said you thought the line was being tapped, when you were in the villa after it happened?’ asked Constantine.
Annie nodded. Even thinking about the aftermath of the hit made her break out in a sweat.
Then he was silent, staring at her face.
‘Look, you’ve got something on Jeanette, what is it?’ prompted Annie anxiously. ‘Is it to do with this sister of hers?’
‘Do you know Jeanette’s family?’ he asked.
Annie shook her head. But knowing Jonjo’s taste in women, she wasn’t expecting them to be the Windsors of Buck House.
‘She’s got two sisters and a brother. The sisters have both done time—petty stuff—and the brother has a record for smash and grab, drug use, demanding money with menaces. You really don’t know the family?’
She shook her head again.
‘Oh, but I think you do,’ said Constantine. ‘The brother’s called Danny.’
‘No, I don’t know him.’
‘One of the sisters is called Vita.’
‘Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘What about the other sister then? She works at Dolly Farrell’s massage parlour. Where you’re living right now. Her name’s Una.’
60
By the time she got to the Palermo at ten past eleven, Annie felt as if her brain had been plugged into the mains and fried.
Una.
Jeanette and Una were sisters.
Jeanette, Una, and Vita. Plus Danny, the brother.
There were similarities. The girls had the same broad faces, the same slight overbite. The same big tits too. Una was the taller, but Jeanette was tall too, as tall as Annie.
It was no surprise to her that Una had done time. Una was a hard, vicious bitch, and Annie didn’t think for a minute that she would be above a bit of petty larceny. Well, fair enough. She’d done the crime and done the time and that was an end to it.
But was it?
What about the other sister, the one called Vita? This one she knew absolutely nothing about. And motor mouth Jeanette hadn’t ever me
ntioned her sisters or her brother Danny, not once. In all the times that they had lounged about together, her and Annie, side by side under the warming Maj orean sun, Jeanette—who could shoot the breeze for England—had not once mentioned her family, or that her sister Vita was on Majorca too.
Tony parked the car near the club and she sat in the back and looked at the seedy frontage. No one had the keys now except her, so she expected to see the boys loitering about outside.
But no.
But then, maybe they were doing the same as her, sitting in their cars waiting for her to emerge. The weather was cold and wet: who wanted to stand shivering their balls off in a doorway? And she had said no group arrivals, keep it discreet. Well, they were only taking her at her word.
At a quarter past eleven she got out of the car. She crossed the road with Tony and unlocked the door to the club and they went in.
The club was silent.
No strippers parading their wares around the stage. No weary, scruffy punters giving the poor long-suffering hostesses a furtive feel.
Annie walked down the stairs into the empty club, her steps echoing. She stood in front of the stage, looking up at the faded red velvet curtains, at the big linked gold MC at the highest point, where the drapes met. Tony stayed up at the top of the stairs to greet the boys while she looked around her. The club was more than silent, it was dead. An air of sadness, of better days long gone, permeated the place.
Maybe she’d been wrong to close it, but seeing the pest-hole it had become had damned near broken her heart. She remembered the great acts Max had hired to perform here, Tony Bennett and Johnnie Ray and Billy Fury—all those solid gold acts that in the end had become too expensive.
She had closed the clubs on instinct, on impulse. Put people out of work. Dried up a good source of income. Pissed off Jimmy Bond.
She sat down at one of the little circular tables, and waited.
At twelve o’clock Tony came downstairs, looking unhappy.
‘Don’t look like they’re coming, Boss,’ he said.
