Late next morning she found Max down in the kitchen, in jeans and rolled-up shirtsleeves, staring into the empty fridge. He turned his head as she wandered in, yawning, rubbing her head, wearing an old short pink silk nightshirt. Sleep had made her feel better, even if it had been patchy. She was still devastated over Jackie’s horrible death and still shaky after the trauma of it, but she felt a little stronger now.
‘Have I said this before?’ said Max. ‘You’re not very domesticated.’
Annie leaned against the kitchen table and looked at him. ‘Have I said this before? Neither are you.’
‘I’m starving.’
Jesus! Just last night he’d been clearing an old mate’s remains away, now all he could think of was his stomach!
‘There’s a deli down the road.’ Annie went to the built-in espresso coffee machine, part of a big kitchen revamp that had been done years ago. ‘Shit, I never did learn how to use this thing. Rosa knew how, I don’t.’
‘So no coffee and nothing to eat.’ Max shut the fridge door. ‘Perfect. You sleep OK?’
‘Fine.’
She hadn’t. Dreams of Jackie had haunted her, all night. Poor bloody Jackie. She’d woken up often during the night, panicking, half-vomiting with shock and dismay as it all came back to her. More than anything, she had wanted to go into the adjoining room, to climb into Max’s bed and feel his warmth, his strength, envelop her. But he was still angry, and she could see his point. She felt bad about the whole Constantine thing; how could she climb into bed with him when she’d done that, deceived him that way?
‘What?’ she asked, when he continued to stand there, staring at her.
‘Nothing.’ Max came over and stood in front of her. For a long moment he just stared at her silently. It was unnerving. Then his hand went to the front of the nightshirt and popped open a button.
Annie put up a hand in surprise. ‘Wait. Just wait. What the fuck happened to the divorce?’
‘It’s on hold,’ said Max.
‘For how long? Until you get the fact that I’m telling the truth through your thick head?’
Max wasn’t listening. ‘How long have you had this? It’s nice. Have I seen this before?’
‘Stop that. I said, what about the divorce?’
‘And I said, it’s on hold. For the moment,’ he said, and popped open another button.
‘Oh, only for the moment? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means what it says,’ said Max, slipping his hands inside the shirt, touching cool naked flesh.
Annie drew in a gasping breath, stirred by his touch yet not wanting to be. Hating him for his power to move her. ‘You’re such a bastard.’
Max stared into her eyes from inches away. ‘You do realize you’re still in the doghouse.’
‘Got that message loud and clear.’
‘I ought to kick you to the kerb, keeping secrets like that from me,’ said Max, fiddling with another button until he lost patience and tore it loose from its moorings. It rolled across the kitchen tiles and tinked against the base of a cupboard.
‘Steady,’ said Annie, but her heart was racing and her nipples were hard as rocks. He still wanted her, and oh Jesus, she still wanted him, so much.
‘Steady? Don’t give me “steady”, you cheeky mare,’ said Max, grabbing her hips and lifting her up on to the table. He unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his jeans. ‘Get the fucking thing off, hurry up.’
Annie pulled the nightshirt off and flung it to the floor. Max’s eyes went again to the bruising at her throat, and to the strapping on her rib and the bruises there, beginning to turn yellow. Annie lay back on the table with a shaky sigh.
‘Don’t worry about that, I’m all right,’ she said. After all she’d been through, all the horrors of Jackie’s death, and thinking that she could still have lost Max for good, she needed this. Yes, she was mad at him for doubting her. But she was still crazy about him. ‘Hurry,’ she gasped out, and Max did, shoving his jeans down to free his cock. Annie guided him in eagerly.
‘Christ, that’s good,’ he said, leaning over her, his hands on either side of her head, his hips thrusting in a hard fluid rhythm, fucking her over and over again until she felt almost delirious with desire.
‘Oh God – Max,’ she moaned, feeling her climax starting to build, her eyes locked with his.
‘Jesus,’ he said, and came, shuddering, just as she did, pumping into her ever more frantically, almost hurtfully, like he really did want to punish her, to make her suffer.
All too soon he pulled out, straightened his clothes, rebuckled his belt. He scooped the nightshirt off the floor and handed it to her as she sat up, dazed from the speed of what had just happened. He’d made love to her. Maybe everything was not completely lost, after all. She felt a tiny twinge of what could almost be hope.
‘Come on then,’ said Max brusquely, turning away from her. ‘Get dressed, we’ll eat out. After that, I’m going over to have a word with Gary, if he’s back.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Annie, thinking that Max’s tone of voice was telling her that she wasn’t completely forgiven, not yet. But it was a start. And if he was going to give Gary the right royal bollocking he so richly deserved, she wanted a front-row seat for that event.
‘Why not?’ asked Max.
After breakfast in a local greasy spoon, Max drove them over to the Blue Parrot, but Gary wasn’t there.
‘He is back, though. Probably with that bird of his at her place, the Palermo,’ said one of the cleaners sniffily.
‘He’s not very well loved by his workers, is he?’ commented Annie as they went back to the car.
‘Well, it ain’t a fucking popularity contest,’ said Max.
They carried on over to the Palermo, with Annie wishing that she hadn’t got herself invited along to this little shindig, because going back to the Palermo, to Dolly’s old place, was going to creep her out for sure and she was already shaken up by what had happened to Jackie.
She steeled herself as they neared the place, telling herself not to be stupid, it was just a place, and there were no ghosts, only memories. She was so busy giving herself a pep talk that she was surprised when Max spoke.
‘What the hell?’ he said.
Annie glanced at him, and then ahead. There were four police cars in front of the Palermo, headlights flashing. The red double-doors were wide open and uniformed police were moving about on the pavement, talking into radios.
Max parked the car and they got out and started walking, only to be stopped by a burly policeman whose female colleague was busy stringing up police tapes around the entrance.
‘No entry, I’m afraid, sir,’ said the man to Max.
‘I own the place, I’m Max Carter,’ he said.
The policeman turned, searching the nearby faces until he found the one he was looking for, a dour individual in plain clothes who was accompanied by a plain skinny girl taking notes.
‘Hunter,’ called out Annie.
DS Sandra Duggan turned and gave her a look that could have curdled milk. Hunter walked over, and his sidekick came too.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Max when he drew level. ‘We’re here to see Gary Tooley.’
Hunter didn’t ask who Max was. He knew. He’d spent quite a few years trying to pin Max Carter down in some misdemeanour, any misdemeanour, but Max had always eluded him. Running various protection rackets all around the East End, taking tributes from shops, restaurants, brothels and snooker halls paid well, allowing Max to set up three nightclubs that had grown over the years from cabaret halls to discos to lap-dancing hotspots.
Hunter gave them both a nod. ‘Mrs Carter, Mr Carter, I’m pleased you’re here because I would have been getting in touch with you shortly anyway, and this saves me a trip. I’m afraid there’s been a serious incident.’
‘What sort of incident?’ they both asked at the same time.
‘It’s another murder,’ said DCI Hunter.