Widows

Chapter 5

Arnie Fisher was in a fury, the sort of fury that used to get him shut in a cupboard as a little boy. His hard blue eyes flickered with anger, and spittle foamed at the side of his thin lips as he paced around his enormous desk. He wore a pale gray suit, immaculate, handmade gray shoes and a silk blue-gray tie, which was now loose around his neck. He pulled out one of the desk drawers and threw it across the room.

Arnie had just had his Soho office on Berwick Street redecorated; the velvet wallpaper and plush carpet were now a matching snooker-table green. He’d also ordered new furniture: two heavy brown leather sofas, a brown mahogany bookcase and a matching cabriole-legged coffee table. The log-effect gas fire was half in, half out of its hole, waiting to be connected to the gas supply. A chandelier, yet to be fitted, balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table, and stacked on the floor next to it was a collection of sporting prints waiting to be hung on the green walls. In his efforts to be tasteful, Arnie had created a hideous, gloomy room. He’d even had an en suite bathroom fitted with a dark green bath, green wash basin and gold taps. The bidet he’d wanted had had to be abandoned because there wasn’t enough room. Arnie was moving up in the world: new office, new patch — once he’d got his hands on the Rawlins’ ledgers, there’d be no stopping him.

The en suite toilet flushed and his brother Tony came out, doing up his fly and rearranging his balls. He never washed his hands.

‘Who did you get to do this?’ Arnie asked, pointing to his desk.

‘Do what?’

Arnie slapped his hand down on the desk. ‘I said I wanted it French polished! It’s a bleedin’ antique. Some ham-fisted git’s only gone and bloody varnished it!’

Spittle shot out of his mouth and he dabbed it with a crumpled silk handkerchief. He repeatedly banged his hand on the desk, venting his fury. Then, he removed a pen from his pocket and, gripping it like a knife, scratched a deep mark across the surface.

Tony shrugged, unmoved by Arnie’s rage. ‘It only cost a ton to do up,’ he said. ‘You should be grateful!’

Arnie pulled out another drawer and flung it across the room, missing Tony’s head by inches. Tony didn’t give a toss. He never worried when Arnie threw a right old wobbler. It always blew over. The only time you needed to be worried or cautious where his brother was concerned was when he was nice to you, when he smiled that strange, thin-lipped, tight smile. Right now, his teeth were chomping up and down like a donkey’s. Tony left the room as Boxer entered.

Arnie got himself back in control, rubbing his hand gently up and down the varnished antique desk. ‘Look at this, Boxer. This desk is inlaid and that idiot gets some...’ Arnie stopped himself before he got angry again. ‘He’s got no class, my brother. No eye for beautiful things.’ Boxer was just as ignorant as Tony, of course, but at least he had the decency to look sorry. Arnie sat back in his leather-studded chair and folded his arms behind his head.

‘So, what’ve you got for me, Boxer?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot, Mr. Fisher. I told her you were willing to pay good money for Harry’s ledgers, but she didn’t even flinch. If you ask me, she doesn’t know where they are.’

‘I’m not asking you!’ Arnie snapped. Tony slipped back into the room to see if everything was all right.

‘If you give me a bit more time, Mr. Fisher, I’ll try again. She’s still very upset. It’ll be easier to talk to her when she’s calmer.’ Tony was standing very close to Boxer’s right shoulder now, practically staring down his ear as he listened to Boxer’s feeble excuses. He was dying to interrupt, to intimidate and bully this weak and pathetic man. Boxer stood with his head bent, shuffling his feet.

‘Is that it?’ Tony asked as he closed in even further on Boxer.

Arnie raised his hand — just a flick, but it was enough for Tony to keep quiet. Then he jerked his head. Tony was about to stand his ground, but he saw that tight nasty smile, thought better of it, and left the room.

Boxer shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was scared of Arnie; he hated himself for it, but the nasty little queen gave him the runs. You just never knew where you stood with him. Tony was different. A real womanizer who would screw anything if it had all its limbs, he was quick to use his fists if he felt it necessary. At times he was punch-crazy — but at least you could see it coming with Tony. Arnie’s stare was far more terrifying.

‘Time, Boxer, is something I may not have,’ said Arnie. ‘You do understand what might be in those ledgers, don’t you?’

‘I do. I do know, Mr. Fisher, and I am doing my very best for you.’

‘Your very best is shit. When exactly did you have this pointless conversation with Dolly Rawlins? I sent you there days ago.’

Boxer stuttered his way through another excuse. ‘I didn’t want to come back with nothing, Mr. Fisher. I was trying to think of another way to get her to cooperate, you see. I didn’t come up with nothin’, so I thought I’d better come round and tell it like it is. I told her straight though. I said: “Don’t you go to anyone else cos Mr. Fisher’ll be very angry.” She won’t do anything stupid, honest she won’t.’

One raised finger from Arnie and Boxer fell silent, like a terrified dog with a bullying owner.

‘You’re gettin’ your knickers in a right twist, ain’t ya, Boxer? Job too much for you, is it? Can’t you handle it? Want Tony to take over with Dolly Rawlins, do you? Eh?’

Boxer knew exactly what Tony would do if he got given the job of getting Dolly to talk. ‘No, don’t do that, Mr. Fisher. Let me speak to Dolly again. Please!’

Arnie removed his glasses and began polishing them slowly. ‘You asked for more time and I’m going to give it to you. You got two weeks, my old son, two weeks. If you don’t come up with the ledgers by then I’ll send Tony in to see to the widow, an’ you know how Tony likes the ladies, don’t you?’

The phone rang, Arnie picked it up and instantly went all coy, wriggling his body. ‘Hello, Carlos. I’m fine, darlin’, I’m fine. Hang on a sec — piss off then, Boxer, and remember this: if anyone’s named in them ledgers for sure, it’s you. You used to work for the bastard. Now get out before I set Tony on ya.’

As Boxer scurried across the office, his slow brain churned over what Arnie had just said. He was right. It would be in his interest to get those ledgers. He’d acted as a hammer man for Harry on a couple of robberies. Boxer decided that he’d go and see Dolly again that night, whether she liked it or not. He quietly closed the door to Arnie’s office and moved down the staircase into the club. It was dark and seedy in the daytime as well as at night; the strong smell of stale cigarette and cigar smoke mixed with beer clung to the red velvet curtains. It was pungent and sickening.

Tony Fisher loitered at the bottom of the stairs. He’d have a bit of fun with poor old Boxer. ‘Arthur Negus of the Antiques Roadshow calmed down, ’as he?’

Boxer started to skirt round Tony nervously. Tony stepped in front of him and put his fists up in a boxer’s stance. ‘Come on, Boxer, come on... show me your mettle!’

Boxer put his fists up half-heartedly, Tony slammed him one, hard below the waist. He buckled, holding his belly and gasping for air.

Tony leaned over him menacingly. ‘You’re losing your touch, sunshine,’ he said, and laughing his guts out, he ran back up the stairs. Boxer felt like puking his up.