Dirty Game (24 page)

Toby Taylor’s Jermyn Street gallery was heaving with crooks that Friday night, and he was thrilled. Regans, Nashes, Krays, Delaneys, Foremans – everywhere you looked, it was Crook City. Toby was the original mob whore. Mixing with criminal gangs almost gave him an orgasm.

He was mincing around the gallery, smiling and pressing the flesh, his ever-expanding belly straining against his fluorescent green floral shirt, his toupee clinging to his sweat-dampened head. His rings and neck chains flashed in the gallery’s vivid lighting. Paolo, who was being swept unwillingly along in his partner’s slipstream, thought Toby had all the easy charm of a rabid rat.

All around them hung Kieron’s work. Landscapes: fields and dales, cliffs and turbulent seas. Some were already sold, but it wasn’t going as well as his last. English pastoral always lost out to the
more exciting African savannah. And the portraits and the nudes were missing this time. Everyone loved a good nude.

‘Maybe he’s lost his muse,’ said Toby to Paolo.

Paolo cast a sullen look at his older lover. ‘No he hasn’t. There she is, right over there.’

Paolo drew closer to Toby.
Major
odour alert, he thought, wrinkling his pert nose in disgust. Couldn’t the pervy old whore ever wash? If Toby wasn’t so free with his cash, Paolo would have been
out
of there in an instant.

‘They say she is running a very discreet establishment in the West End now,’ whispered Paolo.

Toby gazed at Annie. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’

Paolo thought that if he were ever to fancy women – not that he imagined he ever could, with their strange sex odour and their sponge-soft bodies – Annie Bailey was the sort of woman he’d go for. She was not only beautiful. She had the unmistakable gloss of prosperity, too. Even he might be tempted. For a little while, anyway, if she treated him right, and spent plenty.

But Toby’s attention had drifted on. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘Not again.’

 ‘So, are you enjoying yourself?’ Kieron asked Annie as they stood in front of a painting showing a tranquil scene of a river and a bridge.

Annie was gazing intently at the painting. Thinking that she wished she could vanish into a scene like that, lose herself somewhere peaceful. Lose the guilt. Lose the ability to think. To imagine. To not constantly see Pat Delaney –
this man’s
brother
– dead at the bottom of the sea.

‘Yeah, very much,’ she lied.

She sipped her drink. Fruit juice again. Kieron had tried to get her into champagne, but it was a lost cause.

‘Hungry?’ he asked her a touch desperately. She was hard work tonight, stiff as a block of wood, distant. Unlike herself. Something must have upset her.

‘No,’ said Annie.

Since Pat had gone, her appetite had waned. Sometimes at night she had bad dreams. Even awake, she had flashbacks – the door to her room crashing open, Pat reeling into the room, drunk, drugged, dangerous, threatening rape and God knows what else.

She’d had a bolt fitted to her bedroom door at the new place. With that on, she could get a little sleep. Just a little. She knew it was silly, but she had been unable to sleep at all without it.

‘I’m pleased Red and Orla could come,’ said Kieron.

‘Yeah,’ said Annie.

‘They weren’t sure they’d be able to make it.’

‘Oh.’

‘Business, you know. I might have known Pat wouldn’t show up, of course. Perhaps it’s just as well. He can’t seem to behave himself these days.’

Oh, he’s behaving himself now
, thought Annie.

‘I’m pleased you came, too,’ said Kieron determinedly.

‘Sorry, Kieron, I’m a bit tired tonight,’ said Annie. Poor Kieron, he looked anxious. She had to try to behave more normally. That was what Max had told her. Behave normally. How did you do that, when you had blood on your hands?

‘It’s okay,’ said Kieron more gently. He put a friendly arm around her shoulders. ‘You’re here. That’s all that matters.’

Annie wondered afterwards how it all kicked off.

She was aware of a commotion behind her. Then someone grabbed Kieron’s arm. She was shoved sideways. She stumbled and her sore knee shot pain up her leg. Had someone passed out in the warmth of the gallery, and knocked against them?

‘Oh,
not
your fucking minder again,’ she heard Kieron say.

There was a moment of complete bewilderment. Then Annie saw that Max was there. He had hold of Kieron’s shirt front and was shaking him and glaring into his eyes. Max’s eyes were glittering. They looked murderous.

‘Fucking hell,’ gasped Kieron as all around them people drew back. ‘You again.’

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Max demanded.

‘Max!’ said Annie.

‘I knew it was you, you little bastard,’ said Max. ‘You want to fucking-well watch your step.’

‘I’m not afraid of you,’ said Kieron, going purple as Max exerted more pressure.

‘No? Well you cunting-well ought to be, you tosser.’

‘Ready to kill another Delaney, are ya? Well not me. I’m not scared of the likes of you!’ gabbled Kieron.

Annie’s head was spinning. She hadn’t even seen Max come in. He must have moved like a rattlesnake. Toby ran up with Paolo and started making calm-down noises.

‘Fuck off out of it,’ snarled Max, and they both scuttled back.

All the other gangs were looking the other way, Annie realized with dismay. No one wanted to upset Max, or side with him against the Delaneys. Picking sides would be unwise. No one wanted to start anything.

‘You’re talking out of your arse,’ hissed Max, glaring into Kieron’s eyes. ‘You think I don’t know that it was that fat bastard Pat who did for our Eddie? I ain’t even
started
with you Irish cunts yet.
And if I see you lay a fucking finger on her again, I’ll fucking-well kill you, and that’s a promise.’

‘Stop it, for God’s sake,’ said Annie, horrified. ‘Max – please.’

Max ignored her plea. ‘I’m warning you,’ he said to Kieron.

‘Carter,’ said a cool voice at her shoulder. ‘Get your hands off my brother.’

It was Redmond. Annie turned and there he was with Orla and three minders. Where was Max’s backup? She couldn’t see anyone. He had come in here alone, she realized, and had seen Kieron with his arm around her and had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Max gave a sneer and dropped Kieron. He sagged against the wall.

‘Now just get out,’ said Redmond.

‘I’m going. I want a word with you,’ Max said to Annie.

‘You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,’ said Kieron.

Max gave Kieron a look that should have dropped him dead.

‘It’s okay. I’ll get my coat.’ Annie’s legs were weak, she felt as if she’d just avoided death herself. ‘Okay, Max. Let’s go.’

 Max drove them in his big black Jag. He parked the car near the Embankment and they walked
along by the Thames. The Houses of Parliament loomed across the black, glittering river. Big Ben chimed out eleven. Annie sat down on a bench, shaking with cold and still trying to get over the night’s events. After a moment Max sat down, but at the other end of the bench. There was a large space between them.

‘I’m calling in the debt,’ he said. ‘I sorted the Pat Delaney problem for you, now it’s time to pay up.’

Annie looked at him. So that was it. He wanted her to sleep with him again.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Max. ‘All right. I’ll admit it. You drive me crazy. Most of the time I don’t know whether I want to fuck you bandy or wring your bloody neck. But all I want right now is the truth. I want to know what happened on the day of your mother’s funeral. Something changed for you that day. I want to know what it was.’

Annie looked at the ground. She hated herself for feeling a twinge of disappointment.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I met Celia.’

‘Celia? I thought she took off somewhere a long time ago.’

‘She did.’ Annie glanced at Max. ‘She was frightened of what you’d do. Because of Eddie. One day, she was gone. There was a note, nothing else.’

‘Go on.’

‘She showed up at Mum’s funeral.’ Annie’s mouth dried as she remembered that fateful day. ‘She didn’t mean anyone to see her there, but I was waiting outside because I didn’t want to upset Ruthie. I didn’t want a scene. So it was by pure accident that I saw Celia out by the gate and went to speak to her – not that she wanted to speak to me. She was trying to get away, but I stopped her.’

‘And?’ prompted Max when she hesitated.

Annie gulped. ‘She had no right hand. A present from you, those who did it told her.’

Max paused, taking it in. Annie could almost see his mind ticking over. She didn’t know, or even want to know, what was going on in his head.

‘I told you once, Annie. What happened with Celia had nothing to do with me or my boys. Whoever said otherwise is trying to fit me up.’

Annie drew a breath. These were the words she wanted to hear, but it was so much easier to hate him than to love him.

‘I know it wasn’t you. I know it
now
, anyway. I didn’t know it then. Then, I just couldn’t face you. I hated the very thought of you. I had to leave. But now I know it was Pat Delaney who did it. Something he said before he died. It was him, the rotten, sick bastard. He did it to cause trouble for you, you’re right.’

Max gazed out over the river. A barge passed by,
slipping silently through the water like a snake through oil.

‘Then you left me for nothing,’ he said. ‘You lied to me and told me it was because of Ruthie.’

Annie turned her head and glared at him. ‘It
is
about Ruthie. It always has been and it always will be! It was just …’ she paused, feeling hopelessly confused. ‘It was just easier to lose you if I could believe that you were the one responsible for Celia.’

‘You’re still in love with me.’

Annie looked directly at him. She quickly looked away. ‘Do you still have the apartment?’ she asked. ‘Not that it matters.’

‘No,’ said Max. ‘I hated the fucking place without you.’

Annie shook her head. ‘I loved it there,’ she said sadly.

‘We could be there again,’ said Max.

‘No. No going back.’ She felt as if her heart was bleeding. He was right, she was still in love with him. Totally and hopelessly in love. But it could never be.

‘Why?’

Annie leapt to her feet and started to pace around in agitation.

‘You fucking-well
know
why, Max,’ she burst out. ‘Because it’s still about Ruthie. My blood. My kin. All right, I didn’t tell you the full story
when I told you I was leaving you because of her. I didn’t tell you about Celia and I should have done. Maybe I should have trusted you more and doubted you less, but you made it hard for me.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying I did the right thing that day, for the wrong reason.’

‘You’re saying it’s over.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there another layer to this?’

‘What?’ Annie frowned. Now what the hell was he talking about?

‘Kieron Delaney?’

Annie sighed. There had always been trouble between the two families, trouble from way back, and she knew it wasn’t over yet.

‘You and the sodding Delaneys. You’re like a dog with a bone, Max.’

‘It’s
my
fucking bone.’

‘There’s nothing between Kieron and me.’

‘He’d like there to be.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Annie threw her arms wide in exasperation. She was shaking with nervous exhaustion. ‘Make this easy for me, will you? I can’t do this to Ruthie any more. It’s making me sick. Let me go, Max.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You have to.’

‘Telling me what to do?’

‘I have free will, Max. Like Kieron, I’m not afraid of you. Go back to your boys, and leave me to live my life again.’

Max stood up and came very close to her. They locked eyes.

‘It’s Kieron Delaney,’ he said again.

‘No. It’s not.’ Annie stared straight back at him.

‘It fucking is.’ Sudden rage flicked on in Max’s eyes. ‘I’m going to do that rotten little fucker.’

Now Annie was getting riled up too. ‘What, like you did his brother Tory?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Annie, you can’t get on your high horse, now can you? Or have you forgotten what happened to Pat?’ spat Max.

Annie went pale. He was right, she was no better than he was.

Max was furious now, coming in close to her and glaring into her eyes.

‘Listen,’ he growled. ‘I didn’t touch Tory Delaney, but right now I could wipe every Delaney there is right off the face of the earth. Why the fucking hell you feel you have to defend the bastards I just don’t know. Perhaps you could explain that to me?’

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Max,’ yelled Annie. ‘It seems to have escaped your notice, but you don’t fucking own me, okay?’

Max leaned forward, breathing hard. He was going to kiss her. Annie braced herself for it, told
herself that she would be strong, she wouldn’t weaken. But he hesitated, then drew back.

‘If I find out you’re lying over that ponce Kieron Delaney, I’ll kill the bastard, Annie. You hear me? I’ll kill him.’

He turned away and started walking back towards the car.

Annie stood there staring after him. Fuck it, she had
wanted
him to kiss her. He could still get to her, just like he always could.

‘Home’s in a different place now,’ she called after him.

‘I know,’ Max threw back over his shoulder. ‘It’s in Upper Brook Street. You’re running a business there.’

‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ asked Annie, her voice sad and low.

Max stopped walking and turned back to face her. ‘I don’t know how to get you, Annie Bailey,’ he said. ‘But I tell you this – if I can’t have you, no one else is going to have you either. Particularly not a fucking Delaney.’

 Orla Delaney bent and laid a bouquet of twelve blood-red roses on her brother Tory’s grave. Kieron stood to one side and watched her as she emptied the dead blooms, put in fresh water from one of the council cans, and carefully started to arrange the fresh flowers in the urn. Petey, her minder, watched them from the cemetery gates.

She was good to do it, thought Kieron. Every week, she was here.

‘I do it for Mum and Dad,’ she said once when he questioned her about it. ‘I promised them I would.’

Still, he thought she was good to do it. Very good, under the circumstances.

It was cold today. An arctic breeze swept through the graveyard. It was autumn and soon winter would be here. Jaysus, he hated the winter. Africa had been heaven compared to this. He pushed his
hands into his coat pockets, hunched his shoulders against the cold, and watched her.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should report Pat missing to the police, what do you think?’

Pat hadn’t been seen for over two months now. All right, Kieron hated the bastard, but the bastard was his brother and it seemed like he had dropped off the edge of the world. Whether he wanted to or not, he was starting to feel concerned.

Orla thrust the last of the blooms into the urn and straightened up. She looked him dead in the eye.

‘You’re having a laugh,’ she said.

‘
No
,’ said Kieron. ‘I’m not. It’s looking odd, Pat not checking in with any of us for this length of time.’

‘We don’t ever deal with the police, Kieron,’ said Orla. ‘Jaysus, you don’t know much about this family but you must know that.’

There it was again. He was Kieron the outsider. Kieron the precious little artist, while his brothers did all the real work. It annoyed him.

‘So what do we do then?’ he demanded. ‘Just let it go?’

‘Yes, you’ve got it. We just let it go.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I’m not joking, Kieron.’ Orla stuffed the dead roses into a bag and handed him the watering can.

Kieron looked at the grave. The roses looked starkly red in the cold grey light. Hothouse blooms, he thought. A frost was threatened. They’d be dead overnight, too delicate to survive the elements. A bit like him, maybe. He still felt bad about how Max had made him look the other night at the exhibition. The bastard had belittled him in front of all the important London faces, and he was still seething with hatred over it.

Annie hadn’t even had the decency to call him on the phone, either. That really riled him. She’d been there as his guest, and she’d just fucked off with Carter without a word. She couldn’t treat him like that, and he intended to tell her so.

‘Pat’s a very big boy now, Kieron,’ Orla pointed out. She glanced at him. ‘Hey, are you listening to me?’

Kieron snapped back to the present. ‘Yeah. I’m listening. And I know that. But I suppose we should at least enquire …’

Orla shrugged. ‘We’ve put the word round that we’re looking for him. No one’s come up with anything.’

‘Well, do you think anything’s happened to him?’

Orla looked at Kieron. Her eyes were cold. ‘We both know that’s a possibility,’ she said.

‘Then perhaps we ought to be more worried?’ said Kieron.

‘Perhaps we ought.’

Kieron thought with irritation that she sounded completely dispassionate. Orla was a cold fish and he hated her lack of feeling sometimes. Redmond was the same. Both of them, cold as haddock.

Orla stood there, looking down at their brother’s grave, murmuring something under her breath. She was a diamond of a girl, he knew. She did this for their parents in Ireland. She tried always to do the right thing. Molly was old now, and their father was shot away to put it mildly, didn’t know what day of the week it was, by all accounts. Didn’t know which way was up. A sad end to a dynamic man. Sad for those around him, anyway. Davey himself seemed perfectly happy. It was Molly who shed tears over the man who no longer even knew her. So Orla did this little service, and phoned Molly and told her so. Just a little thing, but to Molly, so important. Davey had adored Tory.

Now he couldn’t even remember him.

His eldest.

His first-born.

His favourite.

Now the old man was gaga, and the son was dust and ashes. Life was strange. It was all down to Redmond now to hold the remains of the Delaney empire together. Pat might show up next week, or never be seen again. Kieron drew closer to his sister and put an arm around Orla’s shoulders.

She stiffened.

He withdrew his arm. He had forgotten that she didn’t really like to be touched. Hugs and kisses were out. He stood there, frozen to the marrow, while she murmured her prayers and gazed at the grave. Her red hair danced in the breeze. He tuned in to what she was saying. Prayers for the dead, no doubt. He listened, and was shocked by what he heard.

‘You bastard, dead at last aren’t you, and you know what? I’m glad. And if I was alone here I’d dance on your grave.’