‘The Delaneys were always aware that you did business with my family, covered the doors on our clubs in the West End,’ said Alberto. ‘They hated the Carters. And any of them that are left, I bet they still do.’
‘Yeah, they won’t be laying out the welcome mat,’ said Max.
‘With Dickon missing, this O’Connor could be expecting a visit,’ said Steve.
‘He’s right to expect a visit, because he’s fucking well going to get one,’ said Max. ‘They’ll probably turn the muscle away. Even Jackie.’ Max flashed Jackie Tulliver a conciliatory grin. Jackie might not be muscle, but he was brainy, and he was quick. Then Max’s eyes went to Alberto. ‘Might let you and me in, just us.’
‘And me,’ said Annie.
‘You what?’
‘I’m coming in too,’ said Annie.
‘The fuck you are.’
‘The fuck I am. They were coming after me, remember. Me. And Layla. No way are you shutting me out of this.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s… all right then. But you keep out of the way, let me do the talking. For a change.’
Annie gave him a smile of blinding sweetness. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Now I remember why I divorced you. You drive me bloody crazy.’
Annie said nothing.
Max fixed his attention on Alberto. ‘How does that grab you, Golden Boy?’
‘Max!’ Annie objected.
Alberto shrugged, turned his hands up. It was a very Italian – no, Sicilian – gesture. His eyes didn’t blink as they rested on Max. ‘You got a plan?’ he asked Max. His expression hadn’t changed. It was patient, faintly amused.
‘Maybe,’ said Max.
‘OK,’ said Alberto, and stood up. ‘Shall we…?’
The following night at the door to the strip club – neon-lit and boasting the name Debbie’s – a pot-bellied bouncer was trying to collar punters to go inside and drink the overpriced plonk the hostesses were passing off as vintage champagne. When he spotted them coming at him across the pavement, he disappeared inside the club.
The Carter and Barolli contingent moved inside. They handed their coats to the female cloakroom attendant. Two large men joined the pot-bellied bouncer and the three of them stood barring the way into the main body of the club. Music boomed out from within, Spandau Ballet were singing ‘Gold’. There weren’t many customers passing through. The place had a dead, seedy feel to it.
‘You got a problem?’ asked Max, all innocence. ‘We’re only here for a word with Benny O’Connor.’
One of the heavies sneered. ‘We heard about you having conversations with people.’
‘Yeah, and we’re not happy about it,’ added the bouncer.
‘We’re not looking for trouble,’ said Max. ‘We just want to talk. Me and my wife…’