Jessie Keane - Ruthless

It had been a man chasing Layla in the park. Annie thought it unlikely that it would have been Redmond himself – Layla had described her assailant as thick-set, huge, with a wild mane of hair. Nonetheless Redmond might be the one calling the shots. And if he was, he’d be wondering where his sister had vanished to. It wouldn’t be long before he’d come looking for her.

‘Something serious?’ Dolly was frowning at her. ‘Like what?’

‘Never mind,’ said Annie. Part of her wanted desperately to confide in Dolly, but it was no good flapping the lip to her about this. The less people knew about what had gone on last night, the better. She let out a shaky sigh. ‘How’s tricks, Doll?’

‘Good,’ said Dolly, peering closely at her old mate. Something was up, but Annie had that familiar keep out expression on her face. No use pushing. If she wanted to confide, she would. If not, forget it. ‘Full of loaded punters most nights, everything’s fine.’

‘Girls all OK?’

‘One or two niggles, nothing much.’

Annie looked around her. ‘This old place has seen some changes,’ she said wistfully.

This was true. Back in the Sixties, when it was known as the Palermo Lounge, major acts had performed there. Heinz with the white-blond hair, and the chap with the deaf-aid, Johnny Rae, and many others had taken to the stage beneath the arching red curtains with the gold MC over the centre. Then for a while – along with the other two Carter clubs, the Shalimar and the Blue Parrot – it had been a cheap strip joint, one more tasteless haven for the dirty-mac brigade. Annie had soon put that right.

In the seventies she had transformed the three clubs into discos where dolly birds bopped in white-fringed bikinis on strobe-lit podiums while the punters lounged on chocolate-coloured banquettes eating scampi or chicken in the basket with chips.

Now it was the eighties. You moved with the times or you got left behind. The Carters never got left behind. So the clubs offered table-dancing. Nothing tacky, not here. The clientele were wealthy City types, jaded executives, TV personalities, sometimes even film stars. Following the stock market crash last year there’d been a sharp decline in trade, but there were still enough high-flying punters to keep the clubs busy. All three venues were packed with yuppie bankers and stockbrokers every night, out for a good time and a wind-down after a frantic day’s trading on the money markets. Max’s clubs were giving Stringfellows a run for their money, and if they were doing that, then they were doing just fine.

‘Is anything wrong? Anything else?’ asked Dolly delicately.

Annie shook her head. ‘Listen, in future, Doll, if something happens – regardless what Layla says – don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me or tell Steve, pronto.’

‘What about Mr Carter?’ asked Dolly. ‘Should I tell him too?’

Annie stood up. ‘Dolly,’ she said, ‘shut the fuck up, will you? I’m going to borrow Tone and the car. OK?’

Dolly’s mouth opened. Then she closed it with a snap as she saw the look on Annie’s face.

‘What?’ asked Annie.

Dolly shrugged. ‘I’m wondering why you need a driver, that’s all. You drive.’

Annie stifled her irritation. She’d taken her test a couple of years after the split from Max. Maybe she’d been trying to prove she was self-reliant, that Max Carter could go and fuck himself.

‘I think I need some muscle around me at the moment,’ she said. ‘If that’s OK with you?’

Dolly curled her lip. ‘I suppose it’ll have to be,’ she said. ‘Won’t it.’

‘You got that right,’ said Annie, just as the window exploded inward, showering them with glass and knocking them both to the floor.

For long moments all they could do was lie there, the wind completely knocked out of them. They could hear people yelling, out in the street.

‘What the fu-’ said Dolly, crawling to her feet and helping Annie get back to hers. They stared at each other in shock, then looked at the window. It had blown in, but there were still jagged bits of glass clinging to the edges of the frame.

‘You OK?’ asked Annie. She saw that a trickle of blood was winding its way down Dolly’s cheek.

Dolly nodded. ‘Yeah. You?’

‘Doll, you’re bleeding.’ Annie fumbled in her bag, found a tissue, dabbed at Dolly’s face.

Dolly looked in surprise at the blood on the tissue. Then Annie turned and stumbled out of the door, down the stairs. Dolly followed. They threw open the double doors on to a scene of chaos. Smoke, flames, and…

‘That’s my car,’ gasped Annie.

Or at least it had been. All that remained of the Mercedes was a blackened, mangled, smoking heap. Cars around it had caught some of the blast, too. All the windows on the opposite side of the street, where she had parked, had shattered. Glass glittered on the pavement like snow after a winter blizzard.

‘Where’s Tone?’ asked Annie, her heart in her mouth. She’d seen him parked up in the company Jag when she’d arrived. He’d waved at her. Huge, bald and wearing twin gold crosses in his ears, he was an old and trusted friend.

Her ears were humming and she was afraid she was about to pass out.

Delight and Marlena crowded into the door behind them.

‘Oh my God, what happened?’ demanded Delight, eyes wide.

Annie barely heard her. She couldn’t see Tony. She couldn’t see the Jag. Bile rose in her throat. This wasn’t the first time she’d survived an explosion. Terrifying memories came flooding back in all their sick-making, ear-shattering horror. The glass, the sirens, the screaming…

‘Oh Jesus…’ She couldn’t see Tony anywhere .

‘There he is!’ said Dolly, pointing.

Tony was climbing out of the Jag. It was parked halfway down the street, on the other side of the road. His expression was shocked as he stared at the remains of Annie’s car. Then he spotted the women in the club doorway. After a long moment, he closed the car door and walked over.

‘I thought you were parked right next to it,’ said Annie, shuddering and clutching at her chest.

Beneath his usual healthy tan, Tony was looking grey.

‘I was,’ he said. ‘I went to fill up. When I got back, someone had nicked that spot, so I parked further away. You OK, Mrs C?’

Christ will he ever stop calling me that? thought Annie. But she was so very glad to see him, she could have kissed him at that moment. The car that had taken Tony’s slot was a smouldering wreck.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’ve got glass in your hair,’ he said. ‘And fuck it, look! You’re bleeding, Doll.’

‘It’s nothing, just a scratch,’ said Dolly, dabbing at her face.

Annie brushed tiny shards of glass from her hair. ‘Really. I’m fine. We all are.’

They were silent then, gazing around them at the chaos.

‘D’you think anyone’s been hurt?’ asked Dolly.

‘I can’t see anyone.’

Other people were emerging from buildings, staring at the wreckage in a dazed fashion. Then they heard the sound of sirens approaching.

‘Shit,’ said Annie. ‘That’s all I need, the old Bill on my case.’

‘I think I see some blood there,’ said Dolly, pointing.

Annie felt her stomach turn over. Dolly was right: there was blood on the pavement. Her car had been blown up, and someone must have been standing alongside it when it happened.

‘Well, now you’re definitely going to need Tony and the Jag,’ said Dolly shakily.

Tony turned to Annie. ‘What, you got some bother?’

For a moment Annie felt too overwhelmed to speak.