Nasty Business

by Gillian Godden

  ‘That, Jake, my love, is our cue to leave. Let the cleaners do the rest in the morning. Come on, let’s go home.’

  ***

  The following morning brought proof of just how successful the night had been. There they all were, in the local newspapers with Julie and Ralph Gold. The headlines were saying that this new place in town was the place to be – if you wanted a great night out, go to Lambrianu’s.

  Tony and Jake read the various newspapers, all giving great reviews.

  The next night at the club was just the same, except the Golds weren’t there. But, they all had to admit, the promotion from the Golds was definitely worth its weight in gold!

  Tony noticed more leggy models came to the club, as it was the place to be. They brought their group of friends and their latest sugar daddies. Everyone knew that beautiful women attracted men, and so they would come flooding in, looking for the girl of their dreams.

  After a couple of weeks, two accountants came to see Tony and Jake. They spoke in the office and informed them both that they were in charge of the money laundering that Don Carlos had spoken about.

  These two men were to take charge of the money side of things, for the time being. They would make sure that all the money was accounted for, and that not a single pound laundered there could be traced back to them.

  Tony and Jake felt that they were way out of their league, they had never been involved in anything like it. They both knew they were taking a big risk with their new business venture, but they had no choice, this was all part of the deal.

  The accountants would have the laundered money picked up daily, by security guards. They sat in Tony’s office, going through receipts and auditing the accounts. Neither Jake or Tony knew exactly what they did; it was all very confusing.

  Two detectives came to see them. When they showed their ID badges, both Tony and Jake took a deep breath and swallowed hard, fearing their cover had been blown. They took the detectives into the office and Tony calmly asked what he could do for them. What they said caught him off guard.

  They had been sent by the detective from Scotland Yard to discuss using the club for their annual ball. This wasn’t what he’d expected, and to be fair, with everything going on at the moment, he had actually forgotten about agreeing to it.

  They told Tony and Jake the provisional date for the ball, and the numbers they were expecting. The detectives seemed relaxed and friendly. They were thanking Tony for his hospitality; he couldn’t believe his ears. For once, he was sitting in the same room as the police and he wasn’t being accused of anything!

  Once preliminary arrangements were made, they all shook hands and the detectives thanked Tony and Jake again. Of course, there had been no mention of paying for the venue, and as they were looking at a Saturday night for this forthcoming event, Tony felt sick inside.

  It was the busiest night of the week; he would lose a fortune, having a private party. The small consolation was the bar takings but, they both agreed, they would be expected to play host and provide free bottles of wine.

  Sharon’s logic came to the rescue and made them feel better. She had a way of putting things in perspective.

  ‘It’s better to be on the right side of the devil, than have him breathing down your neck and raiding the place. If the police are here, no gangs are going to turn up and customers will feel it’s a safe haven,’ she said, after the police had left.

  She had a fair point; the business and the money were a lot to lose, but in the long run, it could be to their advantage.

  They all agreed it was for the best; yet again, Sharon was right – it could make or break them.

  During the coming weeks, there were more photos in the newspapers and now word about the club was spreading to the glossy magazines. Tony enjoyed being the centre of attention; it seemed to come naturally to him. He ordered well-tailored suits, and made a point of being immaculately dressed at all times. The journalists revelled in it. What they particularly liked was writing about Tony’s love life in all the gossip columns.

  The women who visited the club seemed to flock towards Tony. He discovered power, money and authority attracted women, and he was more than prepared to take advantage of it. When Jake arrived at Tony’s apartment in the mornings, there would be the usual scene of Tony saying goodbye to some woman he had met the night before. On occasion, Jake saw the same one twice, but it was always the same routine – Tony more or less threw them out in the morning, telling them they’d had their fun, now it was time to leave.

  The hurt, disappointed looks on their faces as they left, wearing last night’s clothes, were quickly followed by a sarcastic remark.

  ***

  For the evening of the long-awaited policemen’s ball, the tables in the club were all arranged differently and half of the club was roped off for the catering. There was to be a large buffet delivered by a local restaurant.

  ‘You know,’ said Sharon, again stating the obvious, ‘if we had a restaurant area, we could have made money on the food. In fact, that’s not a bad idea, Tony. Get the customers in early. They all go out first, possibly for a meal or something, then they come here. If we provided both, they wouldn’t have to go anywhere else.’

  It was a good idea, but one to be shelved for the moment; they were still getting the hang of the club business, always being the showman, playing host and making sure everyone was having a good time. It sounded easy, but it was actually hard work, not to mention all the very late nights took their toll.

  All the detectives of the police force and their wives seemed to be having a good time. Tony had laid on complimentary champagne, and went from table to table, introducing himself. He even took the liberty of dancing with the police commissioner’s wife. Everyone was in high spirits.

  One chief superintendent went and stood by Tony at the bar, and thanked him again for his hospitality – then the real reason for him standing with Tony came out.

  ‘It’s a shame this place is just a nightclub, Mr Lambrianu. I remember the old days, when it used to have the odd “exotic dancer” here. Bit of light relief after a long day, if you know what I mean.’ He laughed at his own joke.

  Tony remembered those days only too well, days when the bossman had some back-street prostitutes hanging around the place, laying on all kinds of entertainment. He didn’t want that reputation for his club. He had tried too hard and come too far.

  ‘Sorry, sir, this isn’t that type of establishment.’ Tony tried to be as respectful as he could to the man. He was wearing his uniform and there were all kinds of special buttons and honours on it. He saw the man’s face drop. He was in his late fifties, and had obviously hoped to see some bare flesh before going home. ‘It’s not the kind of club I’m aiming for. Anyway, don’t you need a special licence for that?’ Tony tried to hide behind the legal requirements, rather than just flatly refuse to consider the idea. It was making him cringe inside.

  ‘Laws are meant to be broken, Tony, my friend,’ said the policeman; again, he laughed at his own joke.

  Tony gave him a weak smile, he could feel himself blushing, and he felt cornered. Another high-ranking officer came to join them both, and for once Tony was relieved to see a policeman – until he spoke.

  ‘He’s right, you know, Mr Lambrianu. Dare I say it, but we are all men of the world. Some of the gentlemen here still pop around to the East End pubs for some light entertainment. You’re a businessman, and a ladies man, I’ve read.’

  Now Tony felt angry. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but he felt he had to get his point across. ‘I do understand what you’re saying, gentlemen, and I also understand that the man who had this place before me had quite the knocking shop.’ Tony used that term to make his point. ‘Brothel’ didn’t seem to have the same impact. ‘I’m trying to run a respectable nightclub, and I don’t feel that’s the way forward.’ He gave his most charming smile, and made his excuses to leave, stating that he was needed elsewhere.

  He walked into hi
s office and found there was an accountant there, sitting at his desk, working out figures and having a drink with Jake. He seemed like a very professional man. His suit jacket hung over the back of the chair, his glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he was constantly tapping away at his calculator.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Tony?’ Jake saw Tony’s red, angry face, and watched him storm around the office. He was pacing and gritting his teeth.

  ‘Those bloody high-ranking detectives out there only want me to start running some back-street strip club. Bloody hell, Jake, let the perverts find their own fun.’

  ‘What, you mean all those respectable men out there want to stand toe to toe with some of the men they arrest, while ogling strippers?’ Jake found it funny, but he could see Tony didn’t.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said the accountant. He was continuing with his work, but obviously paying attention to the conversation.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tony gave him an icy glare.

  The accountant took off his glasses; he wasn’t shaken by Tony’s response. After all, his bosses were much bigger fish in larger ponds. Tony was just a beginner, and he had been put there to guide him, whether he wanted to listen or not.

  ‘What I mean, Tony,’ said the accountant, ‘is look at the Las Vegas showgirls. There’s nothing cheap or tacky about them, and yet they wear the same skimpy underwear, it’s just done with style and elegance. Anyway, your busiest nights are Thursday, Friday and Saturday; how much money are you wasting on electricity and staff wages the rest of the week? Even if you closed on those nights, it wouldn’t be profitable.’

  Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Now he really was angry. ‘Are you saying we’re running at a loss and making no money? Or is it because you keep fiddling around with the books!’ He ran his hands through his hair and loosened his tie.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that – and for the record, I don’t touch your personal accounts, only the accounts I need to adjust, if you like. You knew I would be here when you accepted the job.’

  The job? Tony felt his world was crumbling. The job? Is that all he was, some bar manager? ‘Tell you what, you can shove your job up your arse, I’m out of here. Come on, Jake.’

  Tony was about to walk out when Jake stopped him. ‘Calm down,’ he said. He tried reasoning with Tony. ‘The place is crawling with police, don’t make a scene. We both know it’s a job we’re doing for now. It gives us time to build a reputation. Nobody is saying this place isn’t yours. Come on, your name’s on the sign. Lambrianu’s – it’s your club.’ He felt Tony had got carried away with everything and had forgotten he didn’t own the place – yet.

  Tony knew Jake was right; tonight was not the night to lose his cool. There were a lot of high-ranking officers out there. He didn’t want to attract any attention or raise any suspicions.

  He sat down and Jake handed him a drink. He was breathing heavily, and clearly upset.

  ‘I didn’t mean to undermine you, Tony.’ The accountant looked apologetic. ‘We both know who owns this place and we both know who he does business with. That’s why he came to promote your club – to help you, the way you’re helping him, with me. Capisce?’

  Tony had his head in his hands. When he heard the accountant speak Italian, he looked up at him. ‘You’re Italian?’

  The accountant nodded at him and smiled. ‘As I was saying, done properly, the striptease idea isn’t a bad one. It could be done earlier in the week, and then the place could revert to use as a nightclub the latter end of the week, with certain conditions.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Jake. Even he was surprised that this man was Italian. There had been occasions he and Tony had spoken in Italian, so the other staff wouldn’t understand what they were saying. Thank God they hadn’t said anything bad about Ralph Gold or Don Carlos!

  ‘Personally, now you’re up and running, I think you should start charging people to come in. That would make the club more exclusive, and not just a “walk-in” joint. People like that, to be able to afford to come in, it makes them feel special. If you did have exotic dancers here, and it was all in good taste, again, they would have to pay to come in, they’d tip the girls, and you could pass off lower quality champagne at top prices. All these rich men want to impress the ladies.’ The accountant smiled at Tony.

  Now Tony was calming down, even he had to admit this man made sense. Paying to come in would make it more exclusive. It would seem like a treat and people would look forward to rubbing shoulders with the people who could afford it on a regular basis. Even the rich and famous liked to see pretty women taking their clothes off. Plus, if it was done exclusively for the wealthy, it wouldn’t be the dirty mac brigade walking in off the streets. He looked at Jake and then at the accountant.

  ‘How much do you think we should charge for the clubbers to come in and dance the night away, then?’ Tony really didn’t have a figure in mind. How much would people pay for a good night out? Surely, charging an entry fee would lose them custom.

  ‘Considering everything they’ve read about you in the papers and magazines, a lot of people will want to come to see the man behind the stories, and then dance the night away. You would be their number one entertainment. I would say a hundred pounds, with discounts for parties, and so on.’

  The accountant was all very nonchalant about charging a hundred pounds to enter a club, but he knew for a fact he wouldn’t pay it himself.

  Tony looked surprised. ‘Are you saying I’m like some animal at the zoo that they all come to see, or something?’ He was disgusted at the thought.

  ‘You’ve made that reputation for yourself. You always have a lady on your arm. Gossip is circulating that your bed is never empty. The models love you, because there’s no such thing as bad publicity. They have their photos taken with you, and before long their agents are ringing them with offers of a photo shoot. Let them pay for the pleasure.’

  Tony blushed; he hadn’t seen it like that. He was just having a little fun, but now he was in the public eye, he supposed everything was news. ‘Okay, you’re the accountant, let’s try it,’ he said.

  ‘Go and see to your guests, we’ll talk about this in the morning.’ The accountant put his glasses back on, hunched over again and started tapping away at his calculator. Jake stood up and opened the door, indicating to Tony that they should both leave the man in peace.

  Tony made a point of walking over to the superintendent he had spoken to earlier. ‘Excuse me, sir. If I were to consider putting dancers on during the week, what licence would I need?’ Tony showed him full respect, even though his stomach was churning.

  The superintendent broke into a large smile. ‘Don’t you worry about that, Tony, I have friends in that department.’ Tony looked at him; he didn’t doubt this man had friends in high places. Everyone wanted something. It was all a case of’ you scratch my back and I scratch yours. The police were more corrupt than the mobsters he knew.

  At the end of the night, everyone shook hands with Tony and thanked him for a wonderful evening. His hands were aching and so was his face, from keeping that famous smile of his in place. When they had all left, Tony, Jake and Sharon surveyed the room. What a mess. Food had been dropped on the floor, party poppers had been pulled and streamers were scattered everywhere. As quick as the waitresses could clear the glasses, another round of drinks had been brought to the tables.

  ‘Why don’t we all have a drink? We can let the staff go home and clean up in the morning,’ said Sharon. It had been like walking on eggshells all night. No one had dared say anything out of place. Everyone knew the police were never off duty, and having an accountant in the back office, laundering money, had set their teeth on edge.

  ‘No lady tonight, Tony?’ Sharon laughed at him; she could see he was tired. He worked hard, he was passionate about everything he did. This club was his baby. Jake had already half-told her about what the accountant had said. ‘I hope you’re not losing your touch.’ She poured them all a
drink, took her shoes off, and sat on a chair. The last of the bar staff had gone, and the bouncers were saying their goodbyes.

  Tony put his glass to hers. ‘I will never lose my touch, Sharon, but sometimes business has to come first. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it tomorrow.’ He felt better, now. He was already thinking seriously about what the accountant and Jake had said. He intended to try charging at the door, to see if it worked. The dancers, however, were a different matter.

  CELEBRITY STATUS

  It felt like a backward turn. Nevertheless, while Tony still wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of having exotic dancers in the club, he was prepared to listen to new ideas. The accountant, Jake and Sharon were all waiting in the office for him. He’d had a sleepless night, tossing and turning. Would this be a downward slope, the beginning of the end?

  When he walked in, the three of them looked up; it was obvious to him that they had started the discussion already. ‘Well, what have I missed?’ he said, sitting down and picking up the mug of coffee Sharon had made for him.

  Sharon spoke first to ease the way. ‘It could be a good idea, Tony, having dancers here at the beginning of the week. Are you concerned it would make the place seem cheap and cheerful, the way it used to be?’ She had hit the nail on the head, and they all knew it.

  ‘It won’t,’ said the accountant, ‘not if it’s handled right.’

  ‘Well, that sounds like a load of crap to me. How on earth are we going to make this a classy and interesting club, somewhere people will want to come for their hen nights and an evening out, if it gets a reputation as a strip club?’ snapped Tony, trying to make his point.

  ‘Why do people flock to Vegas, Tony? Because it’s a den of iniquity – gambling, girls, music – but still, they all go there for a good time. As I said last night, make it exclusive – a celebrity night out. Even the richest men like to look at pretty women, they just don’t want to do it with reporters around, or with some scruff off the streets standing next to them. Exclusivity – that’s where the money is,’ said the accountant, rubbing his fingers and thumb together. He’d spent some time the previous evening looking at the options and had an idea of how much he thought they could make. ‘Let the girls pay you to work here; a commission, if you like.’