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.
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