Annie told Tony where she wanted to go next, and Tony drove in silence. It wasn’t his usual relaxed, amiable silence, however. This silence had a voice, and that voice was
disapproving.
Annie read the paper in the back seat and waited for him to tell her what was wrong. He kept glancing at her in the rear-view mirror then, when she glanced at him in return, his eyes flicked away.
She sighed and looked at the paper. Ulster was still in turmoil, Coronation Street had been running for a thousand episodes now. She put the paper aside.
‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘Come on. Say it.’
‘Say what?’ Tony shrugged, smoothly changing gear.
‘Whatever’s on your damned mind, Tone. Either that or stop with the face, will you? I got troubles enough, without you throwing a strop on me.’
Tony was still silent.
Fuck it
, thought Annie, and sat back.
‘Okay,’ he said suddenly. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Mrs Carter. Called in the Barolli mob when we’ve got people of our own at hand. It gives a bad impression. Makes it look like the boys can’t soak up a bit of trouble, and you know they can. They’ll hear about it, and they won’t like it. You’re belittling them. That’s all I got to say.’
Annie let out an exasperated breath.
‘Is that what you’re brooding about? For fuck’s sake.’ Annie stared at him wrathfully. ‘Look, Tone. Here it is. I was in a mess and I had to act fast, I didn’t have time to think about hurt
feelings
, for the love of God. But what I did think was this: I couldn’t call the boys into a dispute with the Delaneys on Delaney turf. It would have looked like an aggressive act—hell, it
would
have been an aggressive act. And they would have had to retaliate or look like weaklings, like fucking pussies. Redmond Delaney could have moved against Dolly in reprisal, and then it would have been outright war.’
Annie paused. In the past, she knew she had acted on instinct, recklessly, without thought, causing things to happen that could have been avoided. She regretted those things every day, with all her heart. Now, she had learned. She was more careful. The tragedies of the past still haunted her, and her own culpability had made her more
circumspect in her actions. She didn’t want Dolly or anyone else hurt if she could avoid it.
‘You ever play any chess, Tone?’ she asked him.
‘A bit,’ said Tony.
‘Max taught me when we were abroad. It’s an interesting game, you know. Moving pawns and knights and stuff around the board. What I did by calling on Constantine was checkmate. It ended the game, cut all repercussions dead. Redmond Delaney wants to get in good with Constantine. He respects him. But more important than that, he fears his power. I knew that only someone with Constantine’s clout could smooth this over without unnecessary bloodshed.
Now
do you see why I didn’t just call up the boys?’
Tony’s eyes met hers in the mirror. His expression was slightly warmer.
‘Yeah, Boss,’ he said.
‘Happier?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you’ll explain it to the boys, pass the word? I wouldn’t want to make
them
unhappy.’
‘I’ll tell them, Boss. Count on it. Where to now? Back to the Alley Cat?’
‘No, I’ve had another thought. We’re overdue a visit to the Delacourts.’
‘Holy fuck, not you again,’ said Rizzo Delacourt, standing in the doorway wearing pyjama bottoms
and nothing else. He was yawning, stretching, running a hand through his thin, messy hair, scratching his navel. His skin was white; he was scrawny with a sunken chest and a small pot belly.
Not
a pretty sight. The heavy reggae backbeat of ‘Israelites’ was thumping off the dingy damp-stained walls of the hall; Desmond Dekker was giving it his all.
Out in the front garden, Annie and Tone had picked their way past a threadbare sofa, a pile of pallets and a mound of dog shit. Now, Annie stepped into the house without waiting for an invitation, and Tony followed.
‘Hey, I’m busy you know,’ said Rizzo, following them into the front room.
Tony looked around in disgust. It was filthy; he could smell dirt and piss in the air. A woman who could have been anywhere between forty and sixty looked up dully at them as they came in. Her hair was scraped back from her skinny face, her eyes looked sunken and red and without hope. She was smoking a fag, drawing the stuff deep back into her lungs and sitting huddled in a scruffy armchair beside an empty fireplace. There were photos on the mantelpiece above it, all thick with dust.
Inside, the row was deafening.
‘Turn the music off,’ said Annie to Rizzo, but she couldn’t make herself heard above the din.
She looked at Tony. He picked up the boom box and searched for the off switch. When he didn’t find it, he smashed the box against the wall. Desmond Dekker fell abruptly silent.
‘Hey! There’s no call for that,’ shouted Rizzo into the sudden peace.
‘I want a word with Mrs Delacourt, Val’s mother. Are you Mrs Delacourt?’ Annie asked the seated woman.
‘Well, maybe she don’t want a word with you,’ said Rizzo furiously.
‘Hey, my friend, keep it down,’ said Tony.
‘This is the one, Ma,’ said Rizzo, hopping from foot to foot in rage. ‘This is the one who had her bastard yobs kill Benj. Can you believe anyone would do that, kill a helpless animal?’
Annie looked at Rizzo.
‘That dog was a fucking menace,’ said Mrs Delacourt.
Annie looked at her in surprise.
‘Used to scare the shit out of me, that bloody thing. You had grandkids, you couldn’t let them anywhere near a dog like that.’
‘But you don’t
have
grandkids,’ said Rizzo.
‘The neighbours got kids. They complained to the council.’
‘Well fuck them.’
‘I know I ain’t got grandkids, you don’t want to go rubbing it in,’ said Mrs Delacourt, almost
talking to herself. ‘Not gonna have any now either, am I? Val’s gone. Fuck knows what’s happened to Peter, he never even shows his face these days. All I got left is you, Robbie, my little Robbie, and look how
you
turned out.’
‘Well, that’s just fucking charming,’ said Rizzo.
Litle Robbie
, thought Annie.
She stared at this
object
standing there and thought of what he had done to his own sister, luring her into a life on the streets; and to Mira, feeding her drugs until she was clean off her head. Both of them, sinking into a pit of despair and dependency. Mira might yet be pulled back from the edge, but Val was beyond hope, beyond anything at all. Cold anger flooded Annie at the thought of what this pathetic little man had inflicted on them.
She held it down to a dull roar. Looked at the mother sitting there, also without hope. Poor cow. Annie looked at the photos on the mantel. A pretty blonde there, could be Val. Two dark-haired boys, seven or eight years old, arm in arm, laughing on a beach. A tattooed man, flexing a huge bicep for the camera.
‘Is that Peter?’ Annie asked Mrs Delacourt, pointing to the photo.
Mrs Delacourt looked up at the print, nodded. ‘I don’t like all them tattoos,’ she said with a scowl. ‘Ugly things. He’s a handsome man, my Pete, why
does he want to go covering himself in all that stuff?’
‘Is he here?’
‘Nah, he never comes over, never bothers with his old Ma. He’s got his own shop,’ Mrs Delacourt said.
‘I know,’ said Annie. ‘The one next to the Alley Cat nightclub in Soho. You see him much? Only the place seems to be shut up most of the time.’
Mrs Delacourt opened her mouth to speak.
‘Hey!’ Rizzo cut in. ‘Who d’you think you are, coming round here asking all these damned questions? We don’t have to answer to you, bitch,’ said Rizzo.
Annie turned her gaze on Rizzo. ‘What did you say?’
‘Hey, you heard. You got something else you want to say to me, sister? Like, sorry for barging in like this, you being not even dressed yet, something like that?’ asked Rizzo, returning her stare.
Annie looked over at the huddled woman in the armchair.
‘Not in front of your mother,’ said Annie. She turned and walked out the door. ‘Bring him, Tone,’ she said over her shoulder.
Rizzo Delacourt wasn’t pleased to be hauled off God-knew-where while still wearing his night attire, and he said so loudly on the way out to
the car, causing a few net curtains to twitch in the neighbouring houses. Tony gave him a backhander across the cheek, which quickly quietened him down. He then forcefully shoved him in the front of the car, where he could keep an eye on him.
‘Where to?’ he asked Annie when he was back behind the wheel.
‘Soho. The tattoo parlour. To see Rizzo’s brother Peter.’
‘Hey, you don’t want to go upsetting Pete,’ advised Rizzo, swivelling round in his seat to give Annie a challenging grin. ‘Get him in the wrong mood and he’ll chew you up and spit you out. He’s mean, that one.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Well, Tony’s pretty mean too. So I’m not too worried.’
Rizzo was still grinning. He delved into his pyjama jacket pocket and pulled out a dog-eared rollup, then stuck it in his mouth. ‘You got a match, girl?’ he asked her.
‘Yeah, I got a match. Your face and my arse.’ Annie leaned forward and snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and flung it out the window.
‘Hey!’
‘
Shut
it, Rizzo,’ advised Annie. ‘You know that girl you had on the game—Mira?’
‘Mira? I don’t know no Mira.’ He frowned in mock concentration. ‘Oh, you mean
Misery.
’
‘Why’d you call her that?’
‘Because that’s what she is, the miserable cunt. Thank Christ she’s wandered off somewhere, because I’m telling you, seriously, I was going to have to let her go.’
‘Shit, I bet she’d have been sorry about
that
,’ said Annie.
‘Hey, is that sarcasm? That’s the lowest form of wit, you know that?’
‘Yeah, I do know that. And you’re the lowest form of
life
, Rizzo.’
‘You think that? That ain’t true. I took her under my wing. Gave her work when she was on her uppers. And Pete ain’t exactly the antichrist either; he passed her on to me.’
‘What?’
Rizzo nodded. ‘See, now that’s surprised you, ain’t it? He did the girl a big favour. Word was she had to lose herself for a while, some hard faces were on her tail, she was in a panic about it, and Pete did the good thing, he put her on to me.’
Annie stared at him. ‘And you put her on the game by the canal under the Mile End Road.’
‘Yeah, sure. She did a little business for me, got paid, got a little nose candy to keep her going, but was the girl grateful? I don’t think so.’
They’d arrived in Soho. Tony eased the car into the kerb. Annie got out.
‘Hey, I’m in my fucking jimjams here, I ain’t getting out,’ protested Rizzo.
Tony hauled Rizzo out on to the pavement. Passers-by looked at him, stifled smiles.
‘What
you
staring at?’ shouted Rizzo.
Business was obviously brisk in the Alley Cat. Punters were going in, music was pulsing out, heavies were handing out flyers. But in the parlour, nothing. The tattoo parlour was empty of customers again, the closed sign up on the door. Upstairs, the curtains were still pulled closed, and there was the same dim light shining behind them.
‘Let’s go round there,’ said Annie, and Tony grabbed Rizzo by the arm and walked him down the road and into the alley.
They walked around the back, passing a Chinese chef in dirty whites, loitering at the back of his open kitchen door, smoking a fag during a lull in business, then on past the chemical waft and hum of a dry cleaner’s. They came to the back door of the tattoo parlour. Rizzo surged ahead and swore, loudly, when he saw the door was hanging open. He swore even more loudly when he saw that the lock was shattered.
‘Look at this!’ he said to Annie and Tony. ‘Someone broke in here.’
Annie and Tony exchanged a look.
‘Maybe he got locked out and busted it to get in,’ suggested Annie.
Rizzo was shaking his head.
‘He wouldn’t do that. He’s careful, Pete is. He don’t mix much. Lives for his work. Well, he
is
his work. He’s tattooed all over. Started doing them to up his self-esteem, and it did, but it made people scared of him, the way he looked, so he got sort of stay-at-home in his habits, you know what I mean? He’s sort of what you might call
reclusive.
’
‘That’s a big word for an idiot,’ said Annie.
‘That’s a big
mouth
for a bitch,’ retorted Rizzo.
‘And you got a death wish, my friend,’ said Tony, shoving Rizzo through the mangled door and along a short dingy corridor, bypassing a flight of stairs to their right. ‘So shut your trap before that wish gets granted.’
They arrived in the front of the tattoo parlour. It was full of charts displaying various tattoo designs, a few chairs, a little counter with a till. The CLOSED sign was up at the door, and the windows hadn’t been clean in a long while.
There was a dirty little kitchen, a small cloakroom, a little room with a massage bed in it, draped with a white sheet. There was a table beside the bed with tissues, disposable rubber gloves and a large silver box, bigger than a toaster.
‘What’s that?’ asked Annie as Rizzo wandered in behind her.
‘That’s an Autoclave, like dentists use, for sterilizing the needles,’ he said. ‘Pete’s very hot on cleanliness.’
Judging from front-of-house, Pete didn’t look
that
keen on cleanliness. Tony pushed Rizzo ahead of them again and they went upstairs to Pete’s flat. They could hear a faint buzz of conversation. No lock here to bust, and the door at the top was open.
‘It ain’t like him, leaving these doors open like this.’ Rizzo was still babbling on. ‘Pete’s a big doorshutter, you know the type? Always closing doors into this room, closing doors into that room, drives you nuts after a while, I’m telling you, and he always says to me, what’s the matter with you, were you born in a fucking
barn
or something, shut the damned door.’ He went through the door and bawled: ‘Hey, Pete, you here?’
There was no answer.
Annie and Tony exchanged another look and followed Rizzo in. The noise of conversation was just the TV. They looked around the little bedsit, which was lit by a single bare low-wattage bulb in the middle of the room, with the curtains still pulled closed. The bed was unmade and the sheets stale, an empty beer bottle and half a plate of congealed shepherd’s pie was on the floor by the couch.