Authors: Kate Kray
Rosie spotted him the moment she walked in. He was standing in front of a mirror, holding up a shirt and carefully examining himself. A pair of hungry-looking female assistants faffed around him, ogling every inch of his toned body. With his French accent and good looks, Pascal had real sex appeal… and he knew it. He wasn’t shy of encouraging anyone, and women were always falling for him. Unfortunately for them, of course, he was a confirmed homosexual.
He tossed the shirt aside and began fingering his way along the Armani clothes section, periodically holding up different garments, with his attentive assistants in tow. Rosie was not immune to his charm, and she had warmed to Pascal the moment she had met him. They had struck up a friendship when he had asked to borrow her lip gloss, of all things.
Spotting her, Pascal held out his hands, offering a warm embrace.
‘Bonjour, Rosie!’ he said, kissing her gently on both cheeks.
‘Bonjour!’
‘Tell me,’ he asked, holding up a denim jacket by Armani, ‘does this blue complement my eyes?’
Rosie confirmed that it did, a sentiment quickly echoed by the sales assistants.
‘Haven’t you enough designer labels?’
‘Calvin Klein, Yves St Lauren, Gucci… a boy can never have enough!’ he announced, tossing the jacket over to one of the assistants.
Rosie took Pascal by the beautifully manicured hand, and began to lead him away from the racks of clothes and towards the food hall.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go have something to eat.’
As they ate their bacon-and-avocado club sandwiches, Pascal asked, ‘So,
ma chérie
? What can I do for you?’
Rosie opened her mouth, and closed it again. This was going to be harder than she had expected.
‘I need to ask you about something… well, some
one
actually.’
Pascal cocked his head to one side, a puzzled look on his face.
‘Who, Rosie? What person?’
Rosie explained, slightly embarrassed as she did, how she had worked a few waitressing shifts, and had seen Pascal in the booth number five the other night. Pascal shrugged, and took an enormous bite of his sandwich. Rosie could tell that, behind the mask, he was a little uncomfortable.
‘You know the man with the cross tattoo on his back?’
‘Johnny, his name is.’
‘No, that’s the name tattooed on his back, all right. But Johnny is his brother. His name is Eddie.’
‘Well, Johnny, Eddie, whatever. They just call him “Mad Dog”,’ his accent sounding suddenly much stronger.
‘Yeah, Mad Dog Eddie. That’s him.’
‘And he
is
a dog. Very, very nasty man. A bad man. He disrespect me.’ Pascal burnt up a lot of energy even when he was chatting – his hands and face expressing as much as the words that came from this mouth. Rosie could tell that his hatred of Eddie was genuine, deep. Although she took no pleasure in seeing Pascal get hot under the collar, she knew it would make him sympathetic to his cause.
‘You still hungry? Another sandwich?’
‘Why not?’ answered Pascal, quick as a flash.
After Rosie called the waitress over and placed the order, Pascal gave her a charming smile and asked, concerned, ‘Why are you interested in the Mad Dog?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Don’t get involved with him, okay? He is a dangerous man.’
‘I know that, don’t I?’ said Rosie. ‘He’s my brother-in-law.’
She went on to disclose to Pascal the whole unsavoury saga: her marriage to Johnny, Eddie’s murderous past, and the fall-out from telling Johnny that it was over.
‘So I need something I can use against them. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
‘The “security” tapes?’
‘Exactly.’
It was one of the Keyhole’s many secrets: Roberto videotaped everything that happened in the booths of the Hard-on rooms. Whether it was for security, Roberto’s own personal gratification, or simply for salacious secrets that he could sell to a Sunday newspaper on a rainy day, nobody knew. Rosie had hardly been able to believe it when Kristina had told her about the hidden cameras that she’d found.
‘Eddie has a lot to lose,’ Rosie explained to Pascal. ‘A house, a family… not to mention his reputation. Sylvia – that’s his wife – would take him for everything he’s got, if she found out about this.’
‘Clever girl, Rosie. You have seen the cameras when you work in the office, yes?’
‘Yes. But I also know that Roberto takes the week’s tapes away somewhere every Sunday. Look,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘I know you and Roberto are close, so I was wondering if you knew where he takes them?’
Pascal thought for a moment. The waitress placed his second sandwich in front of him, gave him a flirtatious glace, and made her way back to the counter.
‘True, I like Roberto,’ he said. ‘But I like you too… and, as it’s that bastard, Mad Dog…’
‘So you know where they are?’
‘Of course! He keeps them in a box in his garage.’ Pascal’s eyes danced with mischief. ‘Okay, I can find you the tape. I don’t know exactly when I will next go to Roberto’s place, but I can get it. This time next week, I think. Okay?’
‘Really?’
‘It will be my pleasure. Together, we will catch the dog. It will be our secret? Yes?’ Pascal took another monster bite of his sandwich. ‘One condition.’
‘Anything.’
‘You get lunch,’ he said with a smirk.
‘I was going to, anyway.’
‘I must leave you now,’ he announced dramatically, standing up, taking the remnants of his lunch with him.
He looked deep into Rosie’s eyes, and held onto her hand a little longer than necessary.
‘Rosie, my dear…’ His voice was low and husky. It felt to Rosie like everyone in the room, male and female, was watching.
‘Out with it then, you big flirt,’ Rosie said, smiling. Pascal really had the knack of making a woman feel special.
‘I will do it… I will do it for you,’ he whispered, before kissing her on both cheeks, and disappearing out of the food hall.
T
he call to Mr Slick-and-Slimy was never going to be an easy one to make. Eddie’s business – some sort of import/export enterprise – was based in a vast office overlooking the river. He surrounded himself there with all things garish and crass… right down to the young woman who answered Rosie’s call.
‘Mullins Exports, Sharon speaking. ‘Ow can I ‘elp.’
Rosie didn’t recognise her voice. Sharon was obviously new. ‘Can I speak to Eddie?’
‘You mean Mr Mullins. Who can I say is calling? And what is it regarding?’
‘Could you tell him it’s Rosie.’
‘Rosie
who
? What is it in connection with?’ Rosie detected a slight hint of jealousy in young Sharon’s voice. Perhaps Mr Mullins was more than just a boss to her.
‘Just tell him it’s Rosie Mullins,’ Rosie said abruptly.
Young Sharon’s voice and attitude suddenly changed. ‘Sorry, Mrs Mullins. Putting you through.’
Now comes the difficult bit
, thought Rosie.
‘Rosie,’ came the crowing voice, which made her instinctively cringe. ‘Long time, no hear. How are you? Still as gorgeous as ever? I spoke to Johnny the other day, you know. Interesting conversation, that’
‘Forget the niceties. I need to see you.’
After a brief pause, came the reply: ‘Oh, right. If it’s about Johnny, I’ve got nothing to say to you. If you haven’t got –’
‘No!’ Rosie snapped, stopping him dead in his tracks. ‘It’s not about Johnny. It’s about you. Meet me at Southend Pier at noon tomorrow.’
‘You what?’ Eddie stuttered, clearly taken aback. ‘Who you fucking talking to?’
‘Just be there, Eddie. Believe me, it’s in your best interest.’
‘It better fucking be,’ Eddie growled.
Before he could say anything else, Rosie hung up.
The call must have intrigued Eddie, because even though Rosie was 20 minutes early, he was already waiting for her. She could hardly miss the huge monster of a man standing, feet plonked wide apart, at the entrance.
Southend Pier is all right on a warm sunny day but when there’s a north-easterly wind blowing, it’s not the place to be. Rosie was pleased that she was wearing her new coat – the one Stevie had given her – to keep her warm, but the bracing wind was making her cheeks tingle. There was only one other person on the pier – a slightly portly, middle-aged man, who was looking over the waves and smoking a cigarette.
A friend of Eddie’s?
She was prepared for a barrage of cruel insults from Eddie, but his attitude completely knocked her off guard. He was playing the smiling viper, not the growling gorilla that she had expected.
‘You’re looking great, love,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek.
The sea was churning white foam, crashing against the pillars beneath them as they walked to the café at the end of the pier. The place was deserted and, as Rosie chose a table, Eddie fetched them a pot of stewed tea from the Formica-topped counter.
‘That’s better,’ he said, with a smile. Smiles always looked wrong on Eddie’s face.
Rosie watched Eddie as he arranged the china cups. His fingers, fat like sausages, struggled to fit into the dainty handles, so instead he pinched them between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Shall I be mother?’
Rosie didn’t flinch, she just looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Cut the bullshit, Eddie.’
‘Okay,’ he sneered, ‘have it your way. What the fuck do you want?’
Rosie knew that this confrontation had the potential to blow up in her face. Her life depended on the outcome, so she knew she had to sound confident, calm and precise. Drawing on all of her years of acting, she began to bargain.
‘I want out,’ she said. ‘I want the money you are supposed to give me every month,
and
I want it backdated. I want what is due to me, and due to your niece, Ruby.’
Eddie stared straight back, expressionless. Rosie took a breath and continued, her heart felt like it could give at any moment, ‘You started messing me about with the money over four years ago, Eddie – filling me with empty promises. And ever since then I’ve struggled. I’m behind with the mortgage, with Ruby’s school fees. You know I’ve left Johnny, obviously. Now, I want a divorce. I want the phone calls to stop, and I want you to call off whoever it is that Johnny has set on me.’
There was a moment of uneasy silence as Eddie finished pouring the tea. Finally, he looked up. His eyed were pitch black, like they were swallowing the light.
‘You,’ he said, slowly and deliberately, but with unmistakable rage, ‘ain’t getting fuck all, you little slag. You’re Rosie Mullins, and you will always be Rosie Mullins. You will
never
mug Johnny off.’ Eddie spooned two sugars into his cup before continuing. ‘You try to leave and I will slit your pretty, little throat. Do I make myself clear?’
Rosie’s heart stopped dead for a second before regaining its frantic rhythm. Her hands were shaking as she unzipped her bag and reached inside. Taking out the videotape, she placed it on the grubby table among the condiments and spilt sugar. She put a finger onto it and, slowly, guided it over towards Eddie.
‘What’s this?’ he said.
‘Watch this on your own,’ she replied, in no more than a whisper. ‘I have copies. If I don’t get what I’ve asked for or you try and find out how I got it, I’ll send your wife a copy, I’ll send your children’s school a copy, and I’ll send your hoity-toity golf buddies a copy.’
Eddie was unsettled. She hadn’t seen him like this since Johnny’s trial. ‘Let me get this right – are you blackmailing me, Rosie Mullins?’
‘I
am
a Mullins. You remember that,’ she said, leaning forward. ‘I suppose that everything I’ve seen and heard over the years must have rubbed off on me.’
Rosie got up, her legs threatening to give way beneath her.
‘Watch the tape, Eddie. Then ring me. I want the money I’m owed. I want to be left alone. And I want to get on with my life, minus the Mullins clan.’ She took a few steps to the door, before turning and adding, ‘If anything happens, anything at all, to me or my family, I swear to God, Eddie, the copies are all ready to be sent. I’ll speak to you later.’
As Rosie walked back along the windy pier, she fought to catch her breath. With every step she took, her confidence grew. She’d done it!
That
, she said to herself,
was an Oscar-winning performance
.
Later that evening Rosie received the call. It was short, but very sweet. By the end of the week, a brown manila envelope containing ten grand had been pushed through her letterbox.
Her bank balance was back in the black for the first time in ages, Ruby’s school fees were paid, on time, and there were no unwelcome phone calls. She even called Roberto at the club and told him she was leaving, to focus on her acting again.
‘Oh my God!’ cried Stevie, who was by now back in the States. ‘That’s fantastic news! I wish I’d been there when you had that big oaf by the short and curlies. I
told
you it would work!’