Dirty Game (21 page)

Annie collected the keys to the Upper Brook Street apartment, and went straight over to see it again. It was perfect, she was made up. In ebullient mood she returned to Limehouse with the keys in her purse and her head full of plans.

She found Dolly alone in the kitchen with a face on her. Jim Reeves was playing on the little red radio by the sink. Dolly loved Jim, usually she sang along to his ballads and was happy. But not today. Annie asked her what was wrong.

‘Oh nothing at all,’ said Dolly. ‘Only you setting up in business with the Delaneys and taking my sodding trade, that’s all.’

You could always rely on Dolly to call a spade a shit-shovel.

Annie sat down at the table. After Dolly’s reaction to her moving back in, she had been expecting something like this.

‘I’m not taking your trade,’ said Annie. ‘I’ll be operating up West.’

‘Look. My gents come out from Whitehall to get here to Limehouse for a good time. They won’t bother if you’re right there on the bleeding doorstep.’

‘Yes they will. You’ve got a nice client list going. Lots of regulars, and they’re loyal. They’ll still come.’

‘No they won’t.’

‘They will. And you know damn well that the parties are oversubscribed. You do three parties a month, I can do one on the week you don’t, how’s that? You must agree there’s already an overspill. I can take care of that. You can pass business to me and I’ll pass business to you. It’ll work.’

Dolly looked sceptical. ‘Those brasses up West are going to expect to be paid the earth,’ she warned. ‘They know the clients have got plenty of cash.’

‘We’ll work something out.’

Dolly nodded. ‘What’s he really like then – Redmond Delaney?’

Annie thought of how it had been in the Upper Brook Street apartment when she had been there with Redmond. He’d looked the place over with his pale eyes and his calculator brain. Two minders with him, because there’d been a lot of trouble on the manor lately. The estate agent had been white and sweating while they followed him around,
there had been a lot of nervous laughter. Poor bastard. Annie didn’t miss not having a minder. She wondered what had become of Donny, her own personal hulking shadow. He might have gone back to Manchester. Or down to Smithfield meat market like Celia, if Max wasn’t happy with his answers about her leaving.

‘He’s scary,’ said Annie. ‘Cold.’

‘Just like on the phone then,’ said Dolly.

‘You being polite to him when he rings?’

‘God yes. Arse-licking like mad.’

They both knew that respect was due, and lack of it was dangerous. Look at what had happened to Celia with Max. Annie still shuddered when she thought about it. She still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d never thought Max would make war on women, but he had. Who knew with boys like these where the lines were drawn? These were hard men, and you stepped carefully around them.

‘If there’s nothing else?’ Annie asked, standing up.

‘Your sister phoned while you were out.’ Dolly pulled a face. ‘She sounded pissed. Wanted to talk to you.’

Yeah, to heap more abuse on her head. Annie didn’t need any more aggravation. It was bad enough that she felt like a cruel bitch for giving Kieron the hard word. All she needed was Ruthie spitting poison down the phone at her. Annie picked up her bag.

‘I might give her a call later on,’ she said.
Or
I might not
. ‘I’ll be moving out on the Monday after next, Doll. I need to get some girls lined up, I hope you don’t mind if I do that while I’m here?’

‘Nah, I don’t mind,’ said Dolly. ‘So long as you don’t pinch my new girls out from under my nose. They’re good girls and I want to keep them.’

‘I just need their contacts,’ said Annie. ‘A couple of them are classy, they’ll know the West End working girls.’

Dolly thought. ‘Okay then,’ she said.

Talk about walking on fucking eggshells, thought Annie, but she was more amused than put out by Dolly’s carping.

‘I just want to say thanks for this,’ she said. ‘For letting me stay and everything.’

‘What else are friends for?’ asked Dolly. She hesitated. ‘I hope it goes well up West. I really do.’

 The best and most trustworthy boys were in for the meet upstairs at Queenie’s old place. Max and Jonjo were there, with Jimmy Bond their number-one man, and Gary Tooley and Steven Taylor – all staunch men. Deaf Derek was off somewhere getting pissed; since Eddie had come to grief, Derek had learned the hard way to give Max and Jonjo a wide berth; he was no longer welcome in their inner circle. He counted himself lucky to be still breathing.

Sitting near the head of the table with Jonjo and Max was an ex-telephone engineer and a gelly man, both recommended to Max by one of the other London firms.

‘So run that past me again,’ said Max.

Jonjo loved to see his brother like this, focused on business like he should be. Life was too short to get hung up on a piece of skirt. He was pleased to see that Max had finally realized this. Jonjo was excited about the job. It was a large department store on the Delaney patch, rich pickings from all accounts. With any luck it would cause the Delaneys major grief, which would be a bonus.

‘There’s a frame room where all the lines come into the premises and cross-connect,’ said the engineer. He was lanky and bald and his eyes were active, like his brain. ‘All the lines inside the building, to each department and to the alarm, come out of this point. I have to get in there.’

‘Piece of piss,’ said Jonjo. ‘Jimmy can open any locked door, he’ll be with you.’

Jimmy nodded. He had already cased the store; Jonjo’s insider had pointed out a room marked Staff Only that the security guy never bothered to check on, where they could hide away before the store closed. All they had to do was wait until the appointed hour and then get inside the frame room.

‘Once I’m in there, I go to the records and find the alarm’s DP on the cards.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Max.

‘The distribution point, the line the alarm’s on.’

‘Then what?’

‘It’s simple. I bare the wires here and here.’ He did a little drawing on a notepad. ‘Then I put on two crocodile clips to the bare surfaces with a diverter wire attached. The circuit’s still complete but the alarm’s inactive.’

Max nodded. ‘That’s good. We come in the back entrance. The alarm’s out. Then it’s over to you, Jack.’

Jack was the gelly man. He was sandy-haired with a red moustache. He had the look of an airline pilot or a submarine commander – icy cool under fire. Jesus, thought Jonjo, when you were handling gelignite you had to be bloody cool, or you were in trouble. No good getting all hot and sticky. That stuff sweated like a bastard as it was.

‘No problem,’ said Jack, and placed a packet of three condoms on the table. ‘I use these.’

‘You’re having a fucking laugh,’ said Steven.

‘French letters or balloons,’ said Jack. ‘They’re the best things for keeping your gelly in.’

There was a surge of laughter from around the table.

‘I’ve heard it all now,’ said Gary.

Jack went on to explain how he intended to crack the department store safe wide open, so they could pocket the thirty grand that should be inside
it. Not a bad night’s work, and it sounded easy enough. Made you wonder why more people weren’t out on the rob, really.

The meeting broke up after midnight and, as the other boys filed out, Jimmy took Max to one side.

‘Kath asked me to tell you that Ruthie’s not answering the phone,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ Max was pulling on his coat.

‘Kath rings Ruthie on Monday at seven in the evening, then Ruthie rings her on Tuesday, and so on all through the week. Only Kath’s been ringing and getting no answer, and Ruthie hasn’t called her either.’

Fuck it. Bloody Ruthie was a liability. She was probably on the piss again, laid out on the sofa and drunk as a lord.

‘I’ll give Miss Arnott a call.’ Then Max remembered that they’d already let Miss Arnott go. Damn. Ruthie was on her own down there apart from his boy, and he wasn’t exactly the brain of Britain. If he heard the house phone ringing off the hook, he wouldn’t trouble himself to wonder why.

‘I thought I’d better mention it,’ said Jimmy apologetically.

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

With everyone else gone, Max went downstairs to the hall and phoned the Surrey place. No bloody answer. He rang Dave’s number, but no answer
from there either. He flung the phone back on the cradle. Fuck that raving drunk. He ought to just let her stew. But … there was something else he could do. He dialled again.

‘Hello?’ One of the Limehouse tarts had picked up.

‘Put Annie on, will you?’ he asked.

‘Who shall I say?’

‘Max.’

There was a pause.

‘This is Dolly,’ said the woman. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Carter. Annie’s told me she don’t want to talk to you.’

‘Put her the fuck on this phone,’ said Max. ‘It’s about her sister.’

Yeah, revenge was sweet. Annie was so concerned about Ruthie, was she? She couldn’t go on doing Max behind her sister’s back? Fair enough. So let her look after her fucking sister, if they were so tight together.

‘Hello?’

It was Annie. Sounded like she’d been dragged out of bed. Well, good. Fuck her.

‘Ruthie’s not answering her phone. Kath’s been trying to reach her, and she can’t. I haven’t the time. You can go down and see what she’s up to,’ he said.

‘Me?
’ Annie sounded aghast. ‘It’s after bloody midnight.’

‘Yeah, you. Didn’t you say you were concerned for your sister? Prove it. Put your money where your fucking mouth is. I’ll send the car round and the key.’

‘Wait! Just a bloody minute.’ Annie clutched her head and tried to think. Ruthie would be passed out drunk again, that was all. Max was just playing silly buggers, winding her up deliberately. ‘Okay. I’ll go in the morning. Send the car at ten. All right?’

‘Deal.’ Max threw the phone back into the cradle. Women! They were a pain in the arse, a bloody torment. Jonjo was right. And why, when he had everything he wanted out of life – money, prestige, respect, all that shit, and he could have any woman in the world he wanted – why then did he only want
that
one, that fucking Annie Bailey?

It was a mystery.

It was beyond him.

At ten on the dot on Friday morning one of Max’s boys pulled up outside the house. Annie had been watching from the window, waiting. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. As she lay awake in bed she started to think, what if Ruthie wasn’t just arsing about drinking herself into a stupor? What if she was in trouble and needed help? Maybe she should have gone down there last night, or maybe she was just panicking over nothing.

God, she wasn’t looking forward to this.

Ruthie hated her, and it hurt like fuck.

 At lunchtime Dolly put one of her favourites on the radiogram in the front room. Brian the barman was lining up bottles and polishing glasses, setting out the food the girls had prepared this morning. Dolly hummed and twirled along to Andy Williams. Smiling, she looked around; the whole
room gleamed, the food looked good. Brian poured her a voddy and black, she liked that. Everything was going well.

She was happy. She was in control.

‘Hey, babe, got one of those for me?’ asked Aretha, coming in wearing black PVC thigh boots and a white plastic bikini.

Brian poured her a shot.

‘Everything ready?’ Aretha asked Dolly.

‘Yep.’

‘What crap’s that you’ve got playing? Girl, ain’t you heard of the Stones? This stuff is just
gone
, Dolly.’

‘It’s a classic, Aretha.’

And then the bell rang, and they were on.

 It was a good party. There were a few gentlemen from the Horse Guards, nice, fit, muscular men who had been recommended by friends and family. Dolly’s was the place to be for fun. Experienced men loved the diversity of the girls here. Young innocents were brought here by their fond papas to be properly introduced to the arts of love.

Ellie set to work with two of the Guards upstairs. Darren had one of his regular politicians, and Aretha was doling out severe punishment to a High Court judge. Two of the new girls were going at it like good ’uns with a couple of the older clients in the front room – the stairs were difficult
for them, poor old sods – while Dolly circulated and made sure everyone was happy. Chris was on duty at the door. Brian was mixing drinks and keeping a deadpan face on him, as ordered. Annie had cleared off somewhere, Dolly didn’t know where. Everything was fine – until Pat Delaney showed up.

Dolly didn’t like Pat Delaney. She wondered if anyone did. He was a creep. Annie reckoned he’d been passing stuff around at a couple of the parties. She’d told Redmond about it, apparently, but Redmond hadn’t brought Pat into line. If Redmond couldn’t do it, they sure as fuck couldn’t. You didn’t cross a Delaney. It would be madness.

So she greeted him politely while he sneered at her and glared at Chris.

‘It’s the new Queen of Tarts,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Where’s the old one then? Busy upstairs, is she?’

‘If you mean Annie, she’s out,’ said Dolly.

‘Shame,’ said Pat. He was swaying on his feet and sweating. His eyes looked odd. He was high as a kite, Dolly realized with a sinking feeling. ‘I like a high-class cunt like her.’

Suppressing an expression of disgust, Dolly guided him into the front room, throwing a look back at Chris.
Watch him
, she mouthed. Chris nodded.

‘What can we get you to drink, Mr Delaney?’ asked Brian.

‘You a poof? You look like one,’ said Pat.

Brian flushed brick red.

‘Mr Delaney likes whisky,’ said Dolly quickly, and Brian poured him a Bell’s.

Pat reeled away with his drink and collapsed on to the sofa, nearly landing on one of the girls and a frail old gent.

‘Watch it!’ complained the girl.

‘Fuck off out of the way, you filthy whore,’ said Pat icily.

The girl took one look in Pat’s eyes and scrabbled up, dragging her old gentleman with her, his trousers still at half-mast. They fell to his ankles and he clawed at them, embarrassed. Pat let out a shout of laughter.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Darren, coming down the stairs with his client and seeing Dolly’s face as she stood in the front-room doorway.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. And then she noticed that Chris wasn’t in his seat any more.

Annie let herself into the Surrey place. There was no sign of Ruthie’s minder. She looked around at the great dark barn of a hallway and the big sweep of the staircase and heard only silence.

Christ, the place was huge. She thought of Ruthie living here, all alone. She must be going out of her head.

‘Ruthie!’ Annie called.

There was no answer.

She went through to the drawing room; empty, the fire unlit. She wandered through the whole ground floor, checked the kitchens, calling Ruthie’s name with increasing exasperation. Then she traipsed up the stairs and repeated the exercise, feeling more anxious with every step she took.

‘Ruthie! Where the hell are you?’

She pushed open three bedroom doors and found only emptiness beyond. She opened the fourth, and there was Ruthie, slumped fully dressed across the bed, boxes and clothes scattered around her. The nearly empty voddy bottle and the glass were there too.

‘Oh Jesus – Ruthie!’

Annie hurried to her side, her innards twisting with guilt as she saw Ruthie lying there drunk – drunk because she was miserable, and why was she miserable? Because of what
she
had done to her.

‘Oh, Ruthie, no,’ she moaned, snatching up Ruthie’s cold hand. ‘No, don’t do this …’

And then she saw the pill bottles. Lots of them.

 The clients were leaving like rats from a sinking ship. Not that Dolly blamed them. Pat Delaney was insulting everyone, laughing at their elderly gents, asking the Guards why they had to pay for it, couldn’t they get a woman to look at them, or did they just shag their precious horses?

‘You mouthy Irish bastard,’ snarled one, and Dolly had to step in quick.

‘Ah, you think you’d like a bit of me, do you, you poncy toy soldier?’ mocked Pat, downing tablets as he spoke.

‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Dolly, wondering where the fuck Chris was when you needed him. ‘Let’s all have a drink together and be friends, okay?’

‘I’m not drinking with him,’ said the Guard, shrugging into his shirt and stuffing it into his trousers. And he left.

‘You’re driving my clients away, Mr Delaney,’ said Dolly mildly.

‘Like I give a feck,’ said Pat. He reeled off to the toilet and came back again. ‘Another drink over here, poof-features,’ he said to Brian as he fell back on to the sofa in the rapidly emptying front room.

Dolly nodded to Brian. Best to give the sod all the drink he wanted, she thought. The sooner he passed out cold, the better. Then she’d just get some of Redmond’s boys to carry him out and take him home. No good waiting for Chris to put in an appearance. Chris was no fool. Rather than get into a ruck with Pat and make a vicious and powerful enemy, he was keeping out of it. Dolly couldn’t blame him for that. But all the Guards were gone now. It was starting to get dark outside, and the extra girls were making going-home noises. Brian
was packing up too. Soon there would be just her and Ellie and Aretha and Darren alone with Pat Delaney, and that wasn’t a cheering thought.

 ‘Come on, Ruthie. Don’t arse about, you’re scaring me.’

Annie was patting her sister’s cheek whilst feeling the sickness rise in her own stomach. She was sweating all over, the fear squeezing her in a tight vice-like grip. Jesus, she’d slit her own wrists if the stupid cow was dead. She felt Ruthie’s scrawny neck and thank God, there was a pulse. She was breathing. She was alive. Her eyes flickered open.

‘Oh thank fuck for that,’ gasped Annie, and hauled her sister into a sitting position.

Ruthie moaned. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back.

‘
No
, Ruthie. Come on.’

Fuck, this was bad, really bad. She’d known Ruthie was unhappy, but she had no idea she was low enough to try and finish it. Annie felt her guts twist with guilt. This was all her fault. What had she been thinking of, getting involved with Max? And poor Ruthie had been closer to Mum than she herself had ever been, she must have been feeling the loss of Connie so much more than her. Annie should have been here for her, she should have made sure she was all right.

Ah, but you felt too guilty even to look your
sister in the eye, didn’t you?
mocked a voice in her head
. If there was damage done, you didn’t
want to see it, did you
?

Which was true enough.

Annie ran down the stairs to the kitchen. She put the kettle on to boil, then she flung open cupboards and found the salt. She ran water into a glass tumbler, spooned salt into it, and raced back up the stairs. Ruthie was still lying there, her eyes open and gazing glassily at the ceiling. Annie hauled her up again. Ruthie moaned and muttered in protest.

‘Come on Ruthie. Drink up,’ said Annie, and held the glass to her sister’s lips.

It must have tasted foul. Ruthie’s face screwed up and she started to gag. Annie held her nose. Water sputtered on to the counterpane and all down the front of Ruthie’s dress, but a lot went down her throat. Ruthie pushed weakly against Annie as she made her down every drop of the vile-tasting liquid.

‘Oh you … you
bitch 
…’ gasped Ruthie, and then she started to retch.

‘That’s it,’ said Annie. ‘Let’s get it up,’ she said, patting Ruthie’s back. Her shoulder-blades were like knives poking through her skin.

I did that to her
, thought Annie.

‘You
bitch
,’ groaned Ruthie again, and began to heave.

Vomit splattered out over the carpet.

‘That’s it,’ said Annie, as the smell and the mess erupted out of her.

Ruthie heaved again, and more came.

‘God, I hate you, you bitch, you bloody
whore
,’ whimpered Ruthie as drool hung from her lips.

Annie put a hand on Ruthie’s brow. She was sweaty and white, but hopefully she’d got whatever she’d taken out of her system.

Ruthie spat and wiped a shaking hand across her mouth. She looked at Annie, focused on her for the first time. ‘You utter
cow
,’ she said.

Annie went back downstairs and made strong coffee. She found cloths and a bowl and filled it with sudsy water. Then she took the whole lot back upstairs.

Ruthie was perched on the edge of the bed now, looked disgustedly at the floor. Annie handed her a mug of strong black coffee.

‘Drink,’ she ordered.

‘I bet you’re bloody enjoying yourself,’ accused Ruthie, wet-eyed and shaking. She clasped the mug of coffee.

‘Drink it up or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down you,’ said Annie, getting to work on cleaning up the mess.

‘Cow.’

By the time Annie had disposed of all the stuff Ruthie had sicked up, Ruthie was halfway through the coffee. Annie stood up.

‘Come on now, on your feet.’

‘Oh, just leave, will you? I didn’t ask you to come here,’ said Ruthie weakly.

‘I said on your feet,’ said Annie, and grabbed the mug and put it aside. She pulled Ruthie up with an arm around her waist and walked her up and down beside the bed, with Ruthie all the while pouring curses in her ear.

‘Call me a whore, call me what you like, just keep walking,’ said Annie.

Ruthie staggered at first. Annie had to use all her strength to hold her up. But after a few steps Ruthie seemed to regain her equilibrium, and that was when the cursing really kicked in. When Ruthie could stand alone, Annie let go and poured out more coffee and thrust it at her sister.

‘I hate you, Annie Bailey,’ said Ruthie.

‘Hate away,’ said Annie. ‘Drink the bloody coffee and tell me what the fuck you were trying to do. Were you trying to kill yourself?’

‘Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you,’ said Ruthie. ‘Me out of the way and you left with Max.’

‘I told you. It’s over, me and Max. Drink that fucking coffee or I mean it, I’ll force it down you.’

Ruthie pulled a face but drank the coffee.

‘It’s over,’ reiterated Annie.

‘Sure it is,’ mocked Ruthie. ‘It’ll never be over, you and him. I’ve seen the way he reacts to the sight of you. I saw it at poor Eddie’s funeral. Oh
yes, I saw you. It’ll only be over when they shovel him into the ground, don’t you know that?’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Ah, you don’t like the thought of that?’ Ruthie crowed. ‘And you said it was over? Tell me another.’

‘You know, I think you were nicer when you were spark out on the bed,’ said Annie. ‘You finished that coffee?’

‘There.’ Ruthie presented the empty mug like a triumphant child. ‘Pleased now, you bossy bitch?’

Annie went to the window and opened it, letting in an icy wind to blow away the stink. She gathered up the remaining pill and vodka bottles then put the empty mug on the tray with the sodden cloths and the bowl.

‘Get yourself washed and changed,’ said Annie. ‘I’m going to clear this lot away. I’ll see you down in the drawing room. Get a move on.’

Annie was almost surprised when half an hour later Ruthie appeared in a clean dress, with her face washed and her hair neatly combed. She looked pale, but okay.

Annie sat on the couch and Ruthie sat opposite. Annie saw Ruthie’s eyes go to the drinks cabinet, but she didn’t get herself a drink or offer Annie one.

‘Why’d you do it, Ruthie?’ asked Annie urgently. ‘
Were
you trying to top yourself?’

Ruthie dropped her head into her hands. Suddenly
she looked haggard and ten years older than she actually was. ‘I was just trying to get some sleep last night, that’s all. I don’t sleep well. I took some pills of Eddie’s, then I wondered if I had taken enough to make me sleep so I took a few more, and I drank a bit, then I don’t remember anything else until you started slapping me about this morning. I wasn’t trying to top myself, I really wasn’t. But I hate this place, it’s so lonely. Since Eddie’s gone it’s got even worse. There’s no one here to talk to and I’m forever in the shadow of the sainted Queenie. Max is never here. When he is, he never talks to me.’

Max hated drunks, Annie knew that. To see his own wife smashed out of her face every day would drive him up the wall. But she couldn’t get over the fact that it was Max and herself who had done this to Ruthie. Would she have become a bloody drunk if Max was a better husband, and if she had been a better sister to the poor cow? Annie doubted it.