Black Widow (14 page)

Annie’s first thought when they got to the Barolli residence was that she’d made a huge mistake in coming here. There were swarms of people wearing expensive clothes and buttonholes unloading from limos and taxis and going in through the front door. She clocked two obvious faces checking invites.

Fuck it
, she thought. The wedding was today. And it looked as if the reception was going on
chez
Barolli.

‘You didn’t tell me the wedding was today,’ she told Tony in frustration.

Tony shrugged.

‘I didn’t know, Mrs Carter.’

Annie thought it over. But not for long. She was too hyped up to just turn around and go home. Home! Well, back to Dolly’s place anyway. Her home was gone, along with her life.

‘Wait for me, Tony,’ she told him, and got out, slamming the door behind her.

This time she was careful; she looked left and right before hurrying across the road. She shuddered again as she thought of what could have happened. Had someone really intended to knock her down? Other people, people dressed up to the nines in their wedding finery, were ambling along the path up to the big house in front of her, chattering and laughing, making her grind her teeth at their slowness.

It gave her time, though, to look up at the house. It was just as big as Max’s Surrey place. It was a red-brick William and Mary mansion, beautifully proportioned and standing full-square. As she edged toward the pillared doorway and the big men in black suits, she saw the lollipop bay trees placed on either side of the vast doorway, decorated with pink and cream satin ribbons.

Moving along with the crowds, she slowly ascended the six big curving marble steps leading up to the front door. Chamber music, refined and gentle and soothing, drifted out from the open doorway along with a gust of warm air.

Finally she was on the top step.

Now the people right in front of her were wandering off inside, into a palatial and opulently lit hallway, taking champagne from a silver tray held out by a waitress. And one of
the men in black was holding out his hand for her invitation.

‘I don’t have an invite,’ said Annie, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘I’ve got urgent business with Mr Barolli.’

There was a roar of laughter from inside. The taller of the two heavies was regarding her with gently quizzical eyes.

‘Mr Barolli is busy today. Family business. His daughter’s wedding.’

‘Still, I need to see him. It’s urgent. Or I wouldn’t bother him, believe me.’

The two men exchanged a look, then the one she was talking to shook his head and reached past her to take the invitation card from the next guest.

‘I have to see him,’ she said, as the guests around her looked at her curiously.

Annie suddenly realized what a strange picture she must present. All in black, with her hair uncombed and no make-up on her face. More suitably attired for a funeral than a wedding.

Should have thought this through
, she berated herself.

‘I have to see him. Please,’ she said more urgently.

Guests were moving past her, their eyes on this strange woman with her desperate ashen face and her weird black clothing.

The two heavies no longer seemed to be hearing her.

‘Seen enough?’ Annie snapped at one woman wearing a huge pink-feathered hat. The woman quickly looked away.

One of the heavies moved in and gently clasped Annie’s arm.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Come back tomorrow. Or phone.’

Annie shook her head. ‘I need to see Mr Barolli,’ she reiterated.

‘Well, perhaps Mr Barolli don’t need to see you. Not today, anyway.’

‘Tell him I’m here, will you?’

‘Please go away.’ He gently clasped her arm.

‘Look, it’s all right,’ said Annie. Another minute and he’d be hustling her down the steps and off the premises. She had to convince him she wasn’t trouble.

But she knew that’s exactly what she looked like. Unhinged. Disarrayed.
Crazy.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ said Annie, pulling her arm free. ‘I’m not here to make trouble. I just need to see him. Look, I’ll wait.’

She went over to the far edge of the top step and sat down on it.

‘I’ll wait, okay?’ she said hopefully.

Fortunately they were busy or they’d have kicked her arse straight off that step and down the others,
she was sure of that. They went back to attending to the invited guests, who continued to file past Annie and gawp at her curiously. Annie tried to ignore them.

She just sat there, waiting.

She was still there when the last of the guests had gone in, and the heavies went inside too, closing the door on the laughter, the music, the warmth.

Annie sat there and shivered.

Along the road, as the light started to go, she could see Tony sitting in the Jag, watching her with anxious eyes.

He thinks I’ve lost it
, thought Annie.
How long before he trots off to the nearest phone box and calls Jimmy and tells him I’ve flipped?

It was almost dark now. Two big lights came on over the porch, and moths started to do their suicidal dance around them. Annie could faintly hear the music going on, the laughter, the clink of glasses.

Time passed.

After what she guessed was about an hour—she wasn’t wearing a watch—one of the heavies opened the door and stared out at her, then shut the door again.

Time went on. She couldn’t see Tony behind the Jag’s wheel any more, and she hoped he hadn’t gone and found a phone box; she hoped he wasn’t
talking to Jimmy at this minute; she hoped and prayed the pair of them weren’t going to come and grab her and move her on as if she was a drunken old bag lady. That would be embarrassing.

Her buttocks were numb from sitting on the step. She was stiff. She was aching.

More time passed.

It was full dark when she stood up creakily. Had to either fuck off or bang on the door. Couldn’t decide which.
Time to shit or get off the pot
, she thought, and approached the door, her fist raised.

The door opened.

The blast of light, heat, and noise made her blink.

‘All right, what’s your name?’ asked one of the heavies, looming in the doorway.

‘Carter,’ said Annie, swallowing her surprise. ‘Annie Carter. Max Carter’s w—’
Widow. She’d nearly said widow. Maybe she really
was
losing it.
‘Wife. I’m Annie Carter, Max Carter’s wife.’

‘Wait.’

‘No! Hold on.’ Annie brought Max’s ring out of her pocket. ‘Show him this, will you?’

The man nodded and took the ring. The door closed again.

Annie stood there, staring at her reflection in the highly polished navy blue paintwork of the door.

Now, of course, he wouldn’t see her anyway
,
she thought in dreary exhaustion. And what the hell would she say to him if she saw him? Hey, lend me half a million? Help me out here? Her mind felt numb and woolly, not her own. It was no good. Jimmy was right, Layla was dead meat and here she was, kidding herself that she could save the day. Save her daughter. Rescue a situation that was already too far beyond her control.

She turned and walked down the steps.

Give it up, you silly cow.

And then the door opened behind her, and light flooded out. She blinked as she looked back up the steps, at the man who was standing there in the open doorway.

‘Mr Barolli will see you now,’ he said.

The noise and the hot crush of bodies inside nearly defeated her. She stumbled after the hulking shape of the heavy as he cut a swathe through the glittering crowds beneath huge, brilliantly lit chandeliers. The place was massive, she took in that much. A huge curving staircase, swathed with more ribbons…hundreds of candles, all alight with a golden glow that warmed the happy scene…massive arrangements of white lilies in glass bowls.

In the midst of all this grandeur, Annie felt shabby, insignificant, badly out of place. But she had a job to do here, so she followed him even though she was stiff and aching and almost out of hope.

The man paused at a set of double doors and knocked.

‘Come,’ Annie heard from within.

The man opened the door, gave her a nod. She slipped inside.

Into quiet and warmth. A man’s study, lined with books, two large worn tan leather Chesterfield couches set out on either side of a fire that was burning brightly, fending off the chill of the spring night. At the far end of the room there was a big desk, a golden banker’s light there spreading a gentle glow.

The door closed behind her and a man rose from behind the desk and came forward, extending a hand, palm down.

What, does he expect me to kiss his hand? Ain’t that what people do when they meet a Mafia don?

She had no intention of doing that.

‘Mrs Carter? I’m Constantine Barolli. Come and sit down.’ His accent was pure New York.

Her first sight of Constantine Barolli shocked her. She had expected an old man, heavy in body and grave in manner. But he was younger than she had supposed he would be—early forties, she guessed—given that he had an adult daughter getting married. He looked fit, tall, streamlined, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. The silver-grey suit he wore was beautifully cut, and he even smelled good. Annie caught a fragrant whiff of Acqua di Parma cologne as he came close. He had a thick head of silver-grey hair, darker brows and a tanned, intelligent face with stunningly clear blue eyes.

Annie walked forward over costly rugs and sat
in the chair on her side of the desk. The soft tan leather creaked as she sat down. Max’s ring was in the centre of the desk, beside an empty crystal brandy glass.

‘Drink, Mrs Carter?’ he offered, sitting down behind the desk.

Annie shook her head.

He reached for the decanter and poured a snifter for himself.

He had big hands, she noticed. But it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They were deep-set, penetrating, searching her face.
Mafia
, she thought, and shuddered. These were dangerous people. People that not even someone with gangland connections on this side of the pond should mix with. She remembered all Jimmy’s warning words and thought:
What the fuck am I doing here?

But she knew.

This was Last-Chance Saloon.

There was nowhere else for her to go, nothing else for her to do.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
But still, she shivered at her own boldness and wondered if this was a terminally stupid move.

‘What can I do for you, Mrs Carter?’ he asked. He had a low voice, calm, unhurried. ‘I apologize for keeping you waiting today,’ he went on, surprising her. ‘It’s not every day a daughter gets married.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Annie automatically.

He shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture that was pure Italian.
No
, thought Annie,
Sicilian.

‘He wouldn’t have been my choice, but then, who would? Who would ever be good enough for a father’s little girl?’

It was a rhetorical question. Annie sat silent, thinking of her own little girl, wounded now, perhaps irreparably damaged by what had happened to her.

‘So tell me what I can do for you,’ said Constantine again.

Oh nothing much
, thought Annie.
Lend me half a million. Save my daughter. Bring my husband back. Turn back the clock. Make it all go away.

‘I heard there was some trouble on Max’s turf,’ said Constantine when she didn’t speak. ‘At one of the venues.’

Jesus, already the word was spreading. And wasn’t Jimmy Bond supposed to be keeping a lid on things?

‘I heard two of the Delaney venues had trouble too.’

‘I ordered that,’ said Annie, her eyes moving nervously away from that laser-like gaze.

‘It don’t pay to let these things go uncorrected,’ he agreed, sipping brandy. ‘You’re sure…?’ He held up the brandy balloon.

Annie shook her head.

‘What is it you want then? Backup?’

‘No. We can handle our own affairs pretty well.’
Just in case you’re thinking of moving in like Jimmy says you are.

‘Max abroad?’ asked Constantine.

‘Jonjo and Max had some urgent business to take care of,’ lied Annie smoothly. ‘I can’t reach them.’

‘And I guess you’re in charge now?’

‘I’m in charge now.’

I’m a wreck and I’m in charge
…

‘Only the word on the street says Jimmy Bond’s running the show.’

Annie shook her head. ‘Then the word’s wrong. Jimmy has stood in, sure. But now I’m back to take over. That’s what Max wanted.’

‘So the problem is…?’ he prompted.

‘I have to raise some money fast. A lot of money.’

He nodded again. ‘For what?’

And here was where she could either go on lying her head off or appeal to his better nature. Supposing he had one, which she doubted. With unsteady fingers she took the little box out of her pocket and opened it. She took out the broken chain and the heart, slipped those back into her pocket. Then leaving the box open, she placed it in the centre of the desk, beside Max’s ring.

‘You have a daughter who’s getting married today, Mr Barolli,’ said Annie. ‘I have one who’s missing a finger.’

The silence in the room was almost choking. Annie swallowed and felt sick all over again, looking at Layla’s lifeless finger on its little bed of grubby cotton wool. A roar of happy laughter went up from outside in the hall, and she flinched.

Constantine was still looking at the finger.

Why don’t he say something?
she thought in frustration.
Is he that cold-hearted, to sit there looking at a child’s finger and feel precisely nothing?

Next thing his wife would be in here, asking why he was neglecting his guests. Maybe she ought to have gone away, tried again tomorrow. She was getting nowhere here.

I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, standing up and reaching for the box. ‘This wasn’t a good day to call, was it?’

Constantine was still staring at the box and its pitiful contents. He reached out a hand and caught hers before she could pick it up. His hand was hot. Hers was freezing cold.

‘Wait.’ His eyes rose to her face. ‘You can’t come in here, show me
this
and just go. Tell me what the fuck’s happened.’

Annie swallowed hard. ‘Layla—my daughter—was snatched in Majorca,’ Annie said. ‘She could be there or in England now, we don’t know.’

‘Max don’t know about this?’

‘No.’

‘You can’t get in touch with him?’

‘No.’

‘And now these people want money?’

Annie nodded.

‘You refused?’ He nodded toward the finger.

‘I didn’t refuse. It just threw me, how much they were asking for.’

‘And that was?’

‘Half a million pounds sterling. I said I couldn’t raise that sort of money…’

‘That true?’

‘Of course it’s true!’

‘And that’s why you’re here. To ask me for this money?’

‘I know you were a business associate of Max’s.’

‘Were?’

‘
Are.
’ Annie clutched at her brow. ‘I don’t have access to that sort of money and I can’t contact Max about it.’ She hesitated. ‘Look, I have three clubs and a house.’

‘No.’ Constantine put the brandy glass down on the desk. ‘You don’t.
Max
has three clubs and a house. Unless of course he’s dead, in which case, as his widow,
you
would own them. You got the title deeds?’

‘I’ll get them.’
But they’re in Max’s name, of course. And I don’t have a fucking clue where they might be.

‘So you don’t.’ Constantine was silent for a beat. ‘Is Max dead, Mrs Carter? Because without a body
I believe it’s five months before he can be legally declared dead and his estate would then, and only then, pass to you.’

Annie felt sick again. His cold assessment of her situation was just too painfully accurate. All she was doing was tying herself in more knots. There was no way out of this situation. Layla was lost. She got shakily to her feet.

‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time,’ she said stiffly, reaching for the box.

Again he caught her wrist.

‘Hold on. Now come on. Level with me. Is he dead? Is that it?’ asked Constantine.

‘No, he’s alive. He’s not free to help at the moment, that’s all.’
They’ll take over the manor
, Jimmy had warned her. This was a huge mistake.

Constantine’s eyes were steady on hers. ‘Is there a deadline on this?’

‘A month last Friday,’ said Annie.

‘Then we have time. Okay, so why pay up? There’s an alternative.’

‘Such as?’

‘Find them.’

‘And how the hell are we supposed to do that?’

‘It’s worth a shot. Have your people tried?’

‘No.’ Annie shook her head firmly. ‘The kidnappers told me no police, no funny business. If they even suspect we’re looking, they could kill her. Could you let go? You’re hurting my wrist.’

He let her go.

Annie repacked the little box as Constantine Barolli came around the desk. He held out Max’s ring to her as she pocketed the box.

‘Thanks,’ said Annie, glancing up at him. She took the ring.

‘We’ll start looking,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Annie.

‘Time may be shorter than you think. Any chance is worth taking.’

Annie looked at him, shook her head in confusion. ‘No. I don’t know. I’m not sure.’

She had come for the money, that was all. Now she had an offer of something more, something riskier for Layla. And yet there could be a chance here. He was right. A chance to get Layla out whole, or at least alive. Not dead.

‘Do you have any idea how many people were involved in taking her?’ he asked.

Annie looked at him and gave up. She told him what Jeanette had told her about the gang. It wasn’t much.

‘The address of the villa,’ he said.

She told him. He wrote it down.

‘Give me a description of Layla.’

She described Layla. He wrote that down too.

‘How do I reach you, Mrs Carter?’ he asked.

‘You don’t,’ said Annie with a firm shake of the head. ‘I think they had a tap on the phone line in
Majorca, and I think they’ve done that here too. So no phone calls to where I’m staying. Sorry.’

‘All right.’

‘Have someone pass a message to my boy Billy Black. He drinks at The Grapes in Bow.’

Constantine nodded. ‘No problem. To be doubly sure we’re safe, I’ll use the code.’

‘What code?’

‘Caesar’s code,’ he said. ‘It’s over two thousand years old. Each letter of the alphabet becomes a number, and you add three. So A is one, plus three, which equals four, B is two, plus three, that’s five, and so on. You got that?’

Annie nodded. Then she looked at him and spoke from the heart.

‘Layla’s life could depend on this,’ she said. ‘For Christ’s sake be careful.’

‘You got it,’ said Constantine Barolli, and held out his hand, palm down.

Annie looked at his face and she almost believed what he was saying. Her eyes dropped to his hand.

And here we go again
, she thought.
He expects me to kiss his damned hand. It’s like having an audience with the Pope!

Something in her rebelled.

Annie extended her own hand and shook his briefly. Constantine Barolli looked at her with an expression of mild amusement.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

Annie nodded and left the room, feeling that she had somehow made a pact with the devil.

When she’d gone, Constantine stood there for a long moment staring at the closed door. Then he went back to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialled. It was quickly answered.

‘Nico?’ he said after a beat. ‘Got a job for you.’