Max stiffened. ‘Eddie shouldn’t have said that.’
‘And what are you going to do about that, “discipline” him? Send the boys round? You’ll have a hard job. The poor boy’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘You’ve been drinking,’ said Max with disgust. His eyes had narrowed to slits. His mouth was grim. He leaned in very close and Ruthie started to feel frightened. ‘Listen. You don’t go to the police. You don’t start any trouble. You keep your mouth shut and you do as you’re told, or I get very annoyed. You got that?’
Ruthie nodded dumbly.
‘I didn’t kill Tory Delaney,’ said Max with soft venom. ‘But I’d like to shake the hand of whoever did. Serious. I’d like to buy that fucker a drink and pat him on the back. I wish I’d done it myself, but I didn’t.’
‘Then who the hell did?’ asked Ruthie more quietly. She knew she was in danger of going too far. She could see it in his eyes. Time to tone it down.
‘We’d all like to know the answer to that,’ said Max, letting her go. ‘But it’s done. And, really, who gives a shit? The bastard’s dead. End of story. Now is there anything to eat?’
Ruthie settled down after that. Went and cooked him some bacon and eggs while Max sat on the couch and listened to his favourite Mozart concerto. He thought of the haul from the department store, all used notes and stored away nice and safe for the time being. God bless the January sales. That safe had been stuffed. He thought of the situation he was in, keeping face by remaining married to a woman he detested. He thought of Annie, up in Upper Brook Street. He thought of her dark green, laughing eyes and her thick dark hair spilling over the pillow as she slept.
Fuck it, he thought.
No one ever said life was going to be perfect.
Sometimes you had to do things for a person’s own good. Billy knew this to be true. When he was little and he had used swear words, his mum had washed his mouth out with carbolic soap and water.
‘It’s for your own good, Billy,’ she had told him while he gagged and struggled. ‘You don’t want to grow up using words like that, now do you?’
And he didn’t. Oh, Max and the boys used bad words all the time, but he wouldn’t do it. His mum had taught him that standards were important, and he knew she was right.
That was why he was standing in the police station now. The desk sergeant was looking at him as if he’d just landed from Mars.
‘I want to report someone running a …’ He paused to get his words straight … ‘a disorderly house.’
‘Really?’ The sergeant looked at him. Clearly a nutter. Rigged out like Sherlock Holmes, for God’s sake. With a sigh the sergeant pulled out a sheet of paper and started taking down the details.
‘Where?’ he asked.
‘Upper Brook Street.’
The copper’s eyebrows raised. ‘That’s a nice area, son,’ he said. ‘Not much disorder around there, I shouldn’t think.’
‘Oh, there is. Posh people, too, going in and out.’
‘Who’s running this disorderly establishment then, son?’ asked the sergeant.
This would give the boys in the back room a laugh, at least. Poor simple sod, probably a figment of his imagination. He looked shot away with his long face and his vacant eyes, his deerstalker pulled down low.
‘Miss Annie Bailey,’ said Billy with a tremble in his voice.
He hated to do this. He’d wrestled long and hard with his conscience about it, but it was for her own good. He reminded himself of that. She couldn’t go on like this, doing bad things with all these men. She really couldn’t.
‘And do you have any evidence to substantiate these claims?’ asked the sergeant with a sigh.
‘I’ve got it all written down,’ said Billy, rummaging in his briefcase. ‘In my book.’
He placed the book on the counter. The sergeant opened it. There was nothing but illegible scrawl in there. Page after page of it.
‘I’ve been keeping watch outside and noting down times and things,’ said Billy. He looked down at the open book and at the sergeant’s face. ‘No, no. Not at the front. At the back.’
The sergeant turned to the back of the book. There, in neat handwriting, were clear legible details of people entering the building, people leaving, times, dates, everything. The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. He was looking at the names of cabinet ministers, bankers, lawyers – even peers of the bloody realm.
‘You see?’ said Billy in triumph.
The desk sergeant took a breath. ‘Have a seat over there, son,’ he said at last. He picked up the book and the sheet of details. ‘I’m just going through to have a word with my superior. Hold on. I’ll be back in a jiff.’
Billy sat down, knees together, his briefcase hugged tight against his chest. This was hard, one of the hardest things Billy had ever done. But you had to protect the ones you loved. His mum had taught him that. Even if what you did seemed harsh, even if they had to suffer for it, their best interests were what counted in the end.
He loved Annie Bailey. He always had. He was doing this for her.
It was April and Annie was trying to put her cares behind her by throwing a special party. Her birthday fell on a Friday that she had scheduled for one of her regular parties, so she decided that she would make it extra-special for all the gents in attendance. There would be six additional girls, friends of Jen and Mira, to entertain the revellers. There would be birthday cake and champagne, and a reduction on the door. Fifty pounds would get you in for an afternoon of bliss.
She was going for a pink theme. She had pinned up pink balloons and streamers, there were pink tablecloths on the bar section and on the buffet. The cake itself was a masterly confection of pinks and white. There were pink flowers in profusion. Even the bloody champagne was pink. Perhaps she had overdone it?
‘No, it looks gorgeous,’ Mira assured her when they were ready for the off. ‘And so do you. Happy birthday, Annie darling.’
Mira air-kissed either side of Annie’s immaculately made-up face and slipped a small carefully wrapped package into her hand. Annie looked at it in surprise.
‘From Jen and Thelma and me,’ said Mira. ‘We hope you like it.’
‘Oh – well, that’s so nice of you,’ said Annie, touched.
She still couldn’t get used to receiving gifts. Max had been lavish with
