Jessie Keane - Black Widow

‘That fucking peacock Arnie,’ his friends always laughed.

Arnie was a character: everyone said so. He was dark and good looking and prone to being pursued by short-skirted dollies wearing tight tops, white heels, and love bites. One slapper had chased him all through Woolworth’s and her boyfriend had got a bit narked. Finally the boyfriend had tracked him down to this very place, where he was propping up the bar with his pals and had said: ‘Are you Arnie?’

‘Me? No,’ said Arnie-with his fucking name picked out in studs on the back of his jacket.

Oh, how his mates had laughed.

Before the skin and hair started flying, that was.

But that had been before the Carter mob moved in and kept the peace, squashing such incidents before they even started. Lolly Dean the owner now paid a good wodge over every week, and this was a decent place. Fights were a dim memory. Dim like Arnie, his friends joshed him.

The trouble with Arnie was he always bent the rules. Couldn’t resist it. Loved to throw the dice in the air and see how they fell. Loved to take risks. Loved to live on the edge.

So tonight he was on a roll, a real diamond of a roll. He was playing this dickhead from across town who couldn’t use a cue to save his life, so why not make things a little more interesting? He laid down fifty quid and so did Dickhead.

Only maybe the man wasn’t such a dickhead after all.

Because suddenly Dickhead’s form seemed to come good; he was potting them all over the place and Arnie was standing there with his mouth open, catching flies. His mates were wincing and smirking. Poor Arnie, he’d fallen for one of the oldest scams in the book. You played like a two year old, let the other boys see what a complete cunt you were at the game, and you waited for them to take the bait. Then you turned out to be county champion.

Arnie had swallowed the bait whole. Had invited Dickhead to play a game, and what about a wager on the side?

Dickhead had reluctantly agreed.

And Arnie had been neatly stitched up.

He felt the anger burn him as his mates stood at the bar, snorting with laughter into their pints at what an arsehole he’d been made to look. All Dickhead’s mates were sniggering down the other end and Dickhead was potting the black. He’d wiped the table with Arnie.

‘Nice,’ said Dickhead, his hand reaching for the hundred-quid prize.

But Arnie whipped out his cue and rapped Dickhead’s knuckles.

‘Nah, that’s not fair. Best of three. Let’s say best of three,’ said Arnie.

All his mates held their breath.

‘I’ve had enough excitement for one night.’ Dickhead pushed the cue aside. ‘One game was the deal, and one game we had.’

‘I still think we ought to do best of three,’ persisted Arnie. His face was smiling but his eyes were cold. He didn’t like being made to look a prick.

‘Sorry,’ said Dickhead.

‘Never mind, Arnie, come and have a pint,’ said Col, one of Arnie’s mates, feeling nervous on his pal’s behalf.

Not that there would be any trouble. The Carter boys were sitting in the corner…or they had been. Col straightened, feeling a little twinge of unease. He looked up and down the bar but all he could see was that gawky mare Deirdre polishing glasses behind the bar and eyeing the punters. Deirdre was a lovely girl but no looker. She was tall with big feet that played her up so she had to wear orthopaedic shoes.

‘Christ,’ he’d teased her on more than one occasion, ‘with feet that size you’d be better off wearing the fucking shoe boxes.’

Oh yes, how they’d laughed at that one. But nothing seemed very funny right now. No Lolly, no Carter boys. Nothing, in fact, between silly Arnie and a good kicking, because he was in the wrong, as usual, but the dopy cunt was still pushing his luck all the way.

Col was looking at Deirdre, whose face was suddenly rigid with horror. Behind her in the bar mirror he saw the chair coming, and ducked. The chair crashed into the mirror and knocked half a ton of bottles about like skittles. The noise was deafening. Col turned and saw Arnie on the floor, with Dickhead using Arnie’s stomach for football practice.

Silly bastard , thought Col.

All Dickhead’s mates had gathered around to cheer Dickhead on.

Col looked down at Arnie as Dickhead transferred his attention to Arnie’s head. It was too late for Arnie, but Col gave his mates the nod and they waded in. Right or wrong, a mate was a mate, after all.

But where the fuck were the Carter boys?

Deirdre was screaming her stupid head off and yanking down the metal grilles over the bar. The other punters were scattering for the door. As Col doled out a punch to someone’s chin, he saw the club doors swing open and spotted Greg, one of the Carter boys, getting it in the neck even worse out there in the car park than they were in here. There was a big gang at work here tonight. He realized that as he lay on the floor next to what remained of Arnie.

Silly bastard , he thought again, and then Col passed out.

‘It’s started,’ said Jimmy Bond.

Annie sat at the kitchen table next day and looked up at him as he stood leaning over her, gloved fists on the table. She had the nightclub books spread out before her and she’d been deep in thought jotting down figures when Ross had reluctantly let Jimmy in. Depressing thoughts like, strippers probably do pay better than class acts. Black thoughts like, my child is missing and my husband is dead. Killing thoughts like, why am I bothering with this? Despairing thoughts like, where the fuck did Max keep his money?

‘What’s started?’ she asked him wearily. ‘And when’s that bloody locksmith showing up, are you on that?’

She had to get that safe open. Had to know what was inside.

Half a million?

She knew she couldn’t get that lucky.

‘Yeah, I’m on it, I told you. There was trouble down Lolly’s billiard hall last night. Someone kept our boys busy out the front while they trashed the place.’

Annie’s attention sharpened. ‘Anyone hurt?’

‘One of the regulars got brain damage-he’s in a fucking coma. Couple of others hospitalized. And Lolly’s hitting the roof. Asking why did he pay protection to the Carters when they didn’t actually protect him.’

Annie sat back. ‘The Delaneys?’

Jimmy sat down, exhaling sharply. He glanced sideways at the closed kitchen door and lowered his voice a notch.

‘Fucking sure,’ he said. ‘Word on the street is that Jonjo and Max are long gone, so they’re chancing their arm, trying to muscle in.’

‘Where were our boys?’

‘They jumped them first when they were out front.’

Oh Jesus , thought Annie. She threw down the pencil and rubbed her eyes.

‘Get some of the boys round there,’ she said. ‘Make good any repairs. Replace anything broken. Double up on security for the foreseeable future. Apologize to Lolly, but don’t make a big thing of it.’

‘He was talking about a discount,’ said Jimmy.

‘He’s having a laugh,’ said Annie. ‘That’s not open to discussion. Make sure he understands that. Make sure he knows that this was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’

Jimmy nodded. He didn’t look happy, but at least he was agreeing with her and that was a fucking miracle.

‘You look like shit,’ said Jimmy.

‘I’ve had better times,’ said Annie. She looked at him. ‘I went to see Kath yesterday.’

‘She told me,’ said Jimmy.

‘Not exactly a warm welcome, I have to say.’

‘Were you expecting one?’

I was expecting some respect at least.’ Annie’s voice was sharper.