Stay Dead - [26]

Annie bit her lip. Not too long ago, she’d had trouble with the Delaneys – and at that point, she’d thought they were done for. And most of them were. Tory, Kieron, Orla… Once, the Delaney gang had been powerful and frightening. They were now part of the past. But… she knew that the scariest Delaney of all was still alive.

Redmond.

She felt a shudder go straight through her at that thought. A big Irish Catholic family, the Delaneys had struck terror into the streets at one time. All gone now, history – except Redmond. And the thought of him could still frighten her. She’d seen him in the flesh a few years ago. Hadn’t thought it was possible. She’d been off her head at the time, and had half-believed that she’d dreamed his being there… but afterwards she had known. Afterwards, she found proof of it. Redmond wasn’t dead. He was alive.

‘There’s no connection that I can think of,’ she said. And she hoped, prayed, that was true.

25

Annie was ticking things off her mental checklist. She had checked in with Ellie; she had forced herself to visit the scene of Dolly’s appalling murder at the Palermo; she had called in at the cop shop and let them take her prints again; and now she was on her way to the Blue Parrot. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was something that had been chewing at the edges of her brain, gnawing at it the way a rat would chew on a piece of rancid meat.

Calls from Gary.

The calls from Gary were what seemed to have brought about the change in Max. Assuming the calls were indeed from Gary, as Max claimed, and not from some grasping little tart intent on stealing him away from her. So, if Gary was calling Max – why so frequently? With Max out of reach, the only way to find out was to speak to Gary.

Tony was nowhere to be found, Chris was still out and about on some sort of business, so Annie took a cab over there. It was late afternoon, and still raining. The sky was a grey upturned bowl darkening steadily into night, the traffic was thick, swooshing through the streets, headlights cutting through the gloom, wipers running at top speed.

Fucking England, she thought.

As the cab wove its way through the traffic, she thought of Layla and Alberto, her daughter and her stepson, cruising the Caribbean; they might be fugitives but they were in love and free as birds. She couldn’t help envying them; it broke her heart to think that she and Max had been like that once – obsessed with each other, always wanting to be together. Now… Annie’s throat clenched with misery… now, he couldn’t seem to wait to get away from her. And he didn’t even do her the courtesy of being upfront about it. He just went.

When they got to the Blue Parrot she paid the driver and hurried inside. The bar staff were getting ready for the evening’s trade: polishing glasses and bringing up crates of mixers from the cellars. Like the Palermo Lounge and the Shalimar, the décor in here was dark chocolate and gold, angels and cherubs, faux tiger skin on the chairs and some of the banquettes. In fact, all three clubs looked damned near identical.

But there’s a difference, she thought as she stood there in the big room that constituted the main body of the club. At the Shalimar, Ellie’s motherly presence gave the place a warm ambience. And at the Palermo, Dolly had imbued her territory with a brassy sweetness. Here, there was only Gary and a coven of ever-changing girlfriends to run the place. The atmosphere was not cosy, not welcoming. Strictly business.

‘Shit, not you,’ said a male voice from behind her.

Annie turned around and there he was: Gary Tooley. Over six and a half feet tall, and so skinny it was as if he’d been stretched on a rack. His eyes were devoid of any humanity; she’d always thought that and clearly nothing had changed.

Gary Tooley looked like what he was: a vicious thug. His straight straw-blond hair had been restyled since she’d last seen him; he now wore it swept straight back, giving him an even more hawkish air. He was wearing a dark designer suit, a white silk shirt open at the neck. Working for Max had given him a good lifestyle; he’d come from the East End gutters, but today he looked rich and she knew that would please him, because Gary loved money – it was his god, the only thing that mattered to him.

‘Hi, Gary,’ she said, and then her eyes went to the minuscule blonde at his side. Big calculating blue eyes rimmed with black lashes, a sneer on a face plastered with too much fake tan and make-up, and a too-short pink leather dress showing off a taut little body.

‘And who’s this?’ asked Annie.

‘I’m Caroline,’ said the blonde. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘This is my girlfriend,’ said Gary to Annie. Then to Caroline he said: ‘This is the boss’s wife, hun.’

The woman linked both arms possessively through one of Gary’s. ‘Gary and me, we’re together.’

Looks like a match made in heaven, thought Annie: a horrible cow and a soulless, sadistic bastard. Ignoring the blonde, she addressed Gary: ‘You heard about Dolly?’

‘Yeah. Big friend of yours.’