Black Widow. Jessie Keane

drizzle and the heavy traffic, his eyes not meeting hers in the mirror.

      ‘No? Only I think there is.’

      Tony shrugged.

      ‘Tell me,’ said Annie.

      ‘The boys might not like all these changes. That’s all’

      Annie sat back. ‘You mean Jimmy Bond?’

      Jimmy hadn’t exactly fallen over himself to welcome her, and that was a fact. Which was a shame, because she knew she badly needed Jimmy onside.

      ‘Him and others,’ said Tony diplomatically.

      Meaning that where Jimmy led, the others followed, thought Annie.

      ‘Well,’ said Annie, ‘if Jimmy—or any of the other boys—have something to say about the alterations I’ve made, then they can say it to me, can’t they?’

      Tony had grunted and said no more.

      ‘So you’ve closed the clubs. Now what?’ asked Dolly.

      Annie looked at Dolly blankly. ‘Meaning?’

      ‘You’re not going to leave them shut, are you? Those clubs must have been bringing in a lot of dosh for the Carters.’

      Annie sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. Dolly was right. But she’d been outraged at what she’d seen happening to Max’s clubs. They’d been his pride and joy, and she had acted on instinct and stepped in. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she would very soon have been glad of that income. But maybe not. When the kidnappers asked her to cough up the money—as soon they must—she was sure that it wouldn’t be covered by a couple of big-titted girls twirling their tassels lunchtime and evening.

      ‘I remember those clubs as they were, Doll. Class acts on. Good, respectable punters. The place clean and tidy, the staff happy, the whole thing running smooth.’ She pulled a face. ‘You ought to see the fucking place now. Sleazy don’t cover it. I’ve run better knocking shops.’

      ‘So what’s the plan?’

      ‘For the clubs? I dunno yet.’

      ‘The boys are going to be up in arms.’

      ‘Yeah, Tony told me that.’

      ‘You don’t care?’

      ‘Doll—I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m just waiting for Friday.’

      But before Friday could come around, Jimmy Bond was knocking at the door mob-handed with Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley minding his back. Ross let Jimmy in, and Steve and Gary loitered with insolent ease in the hallway while Jimmy and Annie went into the kitchen.

      This time Jimmy was breathing fire. She’d rattled his cage good and proper, and Annie was perversely glad to see him riled. At least he was engaging with her now, not being snide and laughing her off as a ‘bit of skirt’.

      ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’ he demanded when they were alone in the kitchen.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Annie icily.

      ‘You heard me.’ Jimmy leaned his gloved hands on the table and loomed over her as she sat there, all innocence. ‘You’ve closed up the clubs. You’ve had the fucking locks changed. You’ve fired the staff. You crazy?’

      ‘Nope.’ Annie stood up and leaned her fists on the table, too. They were glaring nose to nose. ‘And watch your mouth, Jimmy. I told you. I’m taking over.’

      ‘Yeah, sure you are. You know about running clubs, do you?’

      ‘I’ve run businesses.’

      ‘You’ve run a high-class whorehouse, and you nearly did time for that, which wasn’t very clever, was it?’

      Annie bit back an angry reply. She had to get him onside. Somehow.

      ‘Who was in overall charge of the clubs? Who collected the takings from the managers?’ she asked.