Jessie Keane - Black Widow

They nodded. Jimmy Bond was to vanish off the face of the earth. She’d just signed his death warrant, but her hands were clean.

She walked out of there, knowing that finally, finally , she had taken her revenge, and that the thing was finished.

When they got back to Limehouse, the phone was ringing again. Ross answered, and handed it to her with his usual scowl.

‘Hello?’ said Annie, unbuttoning her coat with one hand and holding the receiver with the other.

Ross went off into the kitchen.

Her sister’s voice said: ‘Annie? Is that you? Are you okay?’

Ruthie.

For a moment Annie couldn’t say a word. Her eyes were full of tears and she couldn’t utter a sound through a huge lump in her throat.

‘Fuck it all, Ruthie,’ she gasped.

How could she begin to tell her all that had happened? That she’d been through hell, that Max was gone?

‘Annie, are you all right?’ asked the kind, concerned voice of her sister. ‘Kath phoned and said you’d had trouble. I just wanted to check you’re okay.’

Annie blinked and clutched hard at the receiver. She swallowed and dragged her hands through her hair, but somehow managed to force out a laugh.

‘I am now,’ she said, and it was true.

She sat down on the bottom stair and told Ruthie everything.

Annie had an attack of nerves next day when she had to leave Layla again.

‘Fuck me,’ said Dolly in exasperation. ‘She’s got me here with her, and Aretha, and Ellie adores her-and Ross is her very own personal bodyguard. He’s soft as butter with kids, though he tries to hide it. Get your arse off out of it, she’ll be fine.’

But Annie had to really brace herself to do it, to kiss her daughter goodbye and go and pay her dues.

‘Are you coming back soon, Mummy?’ asked Layla, wrenching at Annie’s heart.

‘A couple of hours and I’ll be back with you,’ Annie promised, hastily scribbling a note. ‘Mummy has to do a bit of business, that’s all, and she’ll be right back.’

Unlike Daddy , thought Annie as she walked out the door. She hadn’t addressed that problem with Layla yet. How to tell her that Max was dead? She didn’t know how she’d face giving Layla that sort of pain to deal with. Layla was a daddy’s girl. Max was the moon and the stars to her: he was everything.

But Annie comforted herself with the fact that her daughter was a tough little thing. She’d withstood all this-she would deal with that, too. It would hurt her. It would hurt her horribly. But she would get through it, Annie would make sure of that. She would dedicate the rest of her life to keeping her daughter- Max’s daughter-safe. She owed him that.

The pain hit her again as she went out to the car and climbed in the back.

It always surprised her, how physical the pain of his loss could be. It hit her right in the gut again, made her gasp. But she had accepted it now. She knew he was gone. She had made her peace with that.

‘Where to?’ asked Tony, folding up his paper and half turning in his seat to look at her. ‘You okay, Boss?’

‘I’m fine, Tone. Couldn’t be better. Holland Park. Mr Barolli’s place.’

Tony nodded, gunned the engine into life, and eased the big car out into the traffic. They were silent all the way over to Constantine’s house, but it was an easy, companionable silence. No words needed to be spoken. Annie sat back and relaxed. Relaxed completely, as she hadn’t for weeks.

In her mind she bid them all goodbye. Max. She had slipped his ring on to her thumb this morning, it felt right there somehow. She was comfortable with it and with what it represented. She looked down at it, blue and gold. Oh, Max, how I loved you. And there was Jonjo. A pain in the arse, but her brother-in-law, to be accorded respect. Dear, sweet Billy Black. She wished him the sleep of the just. And Darren, the unlikely hero, the golden boy of Limehouse. God bless you, Darren.

She was half dozing by the time the Jag pulled up outside Constantine’s place.

‘Won’t be long, Tone,’ she said, and jumped out of the car and ran up the steps, feeling light, feeling free and airy all at once.

Everything was ahead of her now. She might reopen the clubs, but as what? She still wasn’t sure about that. Raymond’s Revue Bar was raking in plenty of dosh in Soho, but did she really want to go that route? Jonjo had made the clubs tacky and seedy; she wanted to bring the tone back up. But how to do that, and which market to tap into, was as yet unclear.

She might do anything-there were no limits, no obstacles. She smiled as she thought of her breakfast chat with Dolly. Even Dolly was catching the bug of ambition from Annie: she was talking about expanding into the escort business.

Humming to herself, Annie lifted the heavy brass knocker. A middle-aged woman wearing a maid’s uniform and sensible shoes opened the door.

So where are the big ugly heavies? wondered Annie vaguely.

‘I want to see Mr Constantine Barolli,’ she said.

‘Mr Barolli not here,’ said the woman in a Spanish accent, and made as if to shut the door.

Annie stuck her foot in the gap.

‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘What do you mean, not here?’

The woman looked at Annie’s foot. Annie kept her foot right where it was. The woman’s dark eyes rose and rested on Annie’s face.

‘He gone airport.’

‘What?’

‘He gone airport.’

‘Which airport?’

‘Heathrow.’

‘Not Gatwick? Not City?’

The woman shook her head.

‘I tell you-Heathrow.’

‘Is he going back to New York?’

‘ Sí , New York.’

And without a fucking word to me , thought Annie, feeling deflated, irritated, disappointed to her bones.

He was going, and he hadn’t told her.

‘And the rest of the family?’ she asked.

‘They go days ago,’ said the woman.

Lucco would have been sorry to have missed another opportunity to snipe at her, that was for sure. Annie glanced at her Rolex. ‘Has he been gone long? What time’s his flight due to leave?’

The woman told her.

Fucking hell.

Annie skidded back down the steps, wrenched open the back door of the Jag and threw herself in.

‘Heathrow, Tone. Step on it, will you?’

Constantine was just about to go through passport control at Heathrow to board his private Gulfstream 111 jet when he heard a shout. He turned-and so did the meaty mound of black-suited muscle beside him. They saw Annie Carter running full-pelt towards him. She was all in black, dark hair flying out behind her as she ran. Actually ran.

Constantine stepped out of the queue.

Annie skidded to a halt in front of him, looking breathless, venomous, disbelieving.

‘You bastard ,’ she said when she could get her breath. She glared at him standing there, looking annoyingly good as usual. Immaculate suit, thick silver hair. Dark tan, startling blue eyes.

Bastard.

Constantine gave the heavy a ‘give us a minute’ look, and the man walked several paces away. He kept watching his boss with a protective eye.

‘That’s some greeting, Mrs Carter,’ said Constantine. ‘Care to try again?’

‘Oh don’t give me all that smooth stuff, I’m not impressed,’ snapped Annie, shooting a glare at two women who turned and looked at them. ‘I can’t believe that you were just going to fuck off and not even say goodbye, you bastard.’

‘I’m going home to do some business, catch up with family. We’ll be landing at Teterboro. On the way, we’ll stop in Goosebay-that’s Newfoundland-to refuel. Is there anything else you’d like to know?’