Nasty Business

by Gillian Godden

  It was Jake who knocked on the solicitor’s door. They had already passed by the very efficient secretary, who was expecting them. She had telephoned through to the solicitor and informed him they had arrived.

  The door opened and the solicitor welcomed Tony and Jake and shook hands with them both. He showed them to seats in front of his desk and offered them a drink. Tony shook his head; he thought this was a test from Don Carlos, who had told him never to drink alcohol when doing business.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, we all know why we’re here, so to save you any more waiting, I’ll get straight to the point.’

  Mr Mathews walked over to a safe in the wall, dialled in the combination and opened it up. He took out an envelope. Tony recognised it as the one he and Don Carlos had signed.

  Tony swallowed hard and ran his hands through his hair. He could hardly speak, his throat was so dry. He really could have done with a drink.

  The solicitor seemed to wave the envelope in front of their faces, teasing them, then he said, ‘Here you are, then, Antonias.’ He handed the envelope to Tony. ‘You know your own signature, yes? Can confirm this is the same envelope you signed when you were at your grandmother’s vineyard?’

  Tony nodded and Mr Mathews sat watching him, a smug expression on his face. Tony and Jake weren’t sure whether he was familiar with the contents, but they both thought he probably was.

  With his heart in his mouth, Tony started opening the envelope. He looked at Jake, then back at the envelope, as he tore it open. The letter inside confused him. His brows furrowed; again he looked at Jake and then at the solicitor, who nodded and smiled at him. The silence was deafening.

  Tony handed the letter over to Jake to read.

  ‘What does it say, Jake?’ Tony wanted Jake to confirm what he had read, just in case he had missed anything. His heart was pounding, and his breathing seemed to get faster. He wiped the sweat from his brow and waited for Jake, whose face paled as he read it.

  ‘It says Ralph Gold is willing to sell the club to you for one pound, provided you make one million pounds while acting as manager. Also, he would like to come to some kind of arrangement to allow the money laundering to continue, with you on a commission,’ said Jake. He handed the letter back over to Tony.

  Inside the envelope were the deeds to the club, all in Tony’s name. There was a sharp intake of breath, then he looked at the solicitor and said, ‘Is this for real? Does he only want a pound for the club?’

  ‘Well, let’s be honest, Antonias, when you took it over, it was only the land that was worth anything,’ said Mr Mathews. ‘The club itself wasn’t worth a pound, was it? You have to prove you’ve made the million, though. Can you?’

  Tony showed the solicitor the bank statements that he had taken with him. It showed he had more than was required.

  The solicitor shook hands with Tony, then with Jake. ’Well, gentlemen, it seems you own a club, lock, stock and barrel. Congratulations.’

  Tony and Jake were still stunned. It felt like they were glued to their chairs, they didn’t know what to do next. ‘This money laundering, what about it?’ asked Tony.

  ‘If you decide to proceed with that, speak to the accountant. He’ll sort it out.’

  Tony looked down at the letter again. He felt as though at any moment someone might jump out of the cupboard and tell them it was all a joke. He stood up.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, gentlemen?’ The solicitor raised an eyebrow and looked at them. Tony and Jake looked at each other; they weren’t sure what he meant.

  The solicitor beckoned to them. ‘You owe Mr Gold a pound.’

  Tony nodded; of course, that was the price he was asking. Tony reached into his pocket, took out a pound coin and put it on the desk. ‘What happens now?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, first, I give you a receipt for your payment, then I hand the money over to Mr Gold, like any business arrangement. The deeds are already in your name, so there’s no need for me to draw up any paperwork, and you carry on just as you are. Good luck.’

  That was it; in less than an hour, it was all over and done with, how crazy was that?

  Tony wanted to leave as quickly as possible, just in case there was another condition or something he had missed in the letter. He thanked the solicitor and almost yanked Jake out of the office.

  ***

  Even when they were standing in the street outside of the solicitor’s office, neither of them spoke; they were dumbfounded. They had saved every penny, and been seriously stressed out about today’s meeting. They’d even tried to gauge what the price of the club would be, based on the cost of other properties in the area. They had been tested, Tony knew that. Were they serious businessmen or not? They had proved themselves, and that was the main thing.

  Tony felt a little disappointed that Ralph Gold hadn’t been there. He would like to meet him in a professional manner, even do business with him, but for Ralph Gold, the time was obviously not yet right.

  It had been months since Tony and Jake had met Ralph and his wife Julie, when they had come to the opening of the club. Since then, they had heard nothing. What would it take to get an appointment with Ralph Gold and his business associates? Still, if Tony carried on laundering the money and earned a commission, too, that would be a start.

  Tony and Jake got into the back of their chauffeur-driven Jaguar. ‘For God’s sake, Tony, say something,’ said Jake. He was waiting, even though his own brain was spinning.

  ‘I don’t really know what to say, Jake, really I don’t. The club is actually ours, can you believe that? We own the club, it’s ours, it’s all bloody ours!’ For the first time since the meeting Tony burst into laughter and his face beamed. He grabbed hold of Jake and hugged him. He felt like crying. There was a lump in his throat as he hugged Jake even tighter.

  When they got back, it seemed to Tony the club looked different; suddenly, it all seemed different. This was his club, for real, and that seemed to make it take on a whole new aspect. Sitting in his office with Jake, explaining to Sharon everything that had happened, Tony at last felt like lord of the manor.

  He had come a long way since sleeping out on the dark, cold streets of London. Suddenly, he felt charitable. One of the first things he was going to do was fulfil the crazy idea that Jake had had, a long time ago.

  The two of them had needed to get cleaned up and Tony had taken Jake to the twenty-four-hour toilets he and his mother had once used. They were a place where a lot of the homeless went to wash – or even sleep, when the weather was bad. He was going to have them refurbished. He’d have new basins put in, and new toilets, and properly tiled walls, to get rid of all the mould and the cockroaches. Yes, that would be a good place to begin.

  Then he would set up some kind of fund for the soup kitchens that provided a meal for the homeless. It was all self-funded, with donations from anyone who wished to contribute. With a regular donation from Tony, they would be able to stay open and continue their work.

  Of course, once he’d contacted the local council to ask their permission to refurbish the toilets at his own expense, the story soon got into the newspapers. Although he was still the well-known and feared gangland boss and club owner, he was now also a charitable man with a heart. This made even the most sceptical of decent people have at least one good word to say about him.

  Tony and Jake both agreed that this was the kind of good publicity they needed. Again, this was a far cry from the seedy underworld they usually operated in. This was decent businessmen doing charitable acts. Tony always had fond memories of listening to the Salvation Army when he was a child, and of the caravans they used to set up around Christmastime, for the homeless. Their brass brand would play Christmas carols and it would seem like time had stopped and only the moment mattered.

  As a result of this fond childhood memory, Tony gave money to the Salvation Army so they could carry on with their good works. Again, this got into the newspapers. As much as it must have stuck in the throats of
the journalists who had to report good deeds done by this feared gangland boss, rather than details of his outlandish lifestyle, they had no option but to do so.

  It was the accountant that pointed out they could claim some form of tax relief on charitable gifts, and so not only were they attracting the right publicity and encouraging respectable people to enjoy their club, it was also a major tax benefit.

  The striptease acts Sharon organized were very well thought out. All the women who worked there felt it was a privilege to do so, and gladly paid their commission fees. It worked both ways, because the wages they received for being exclusive to the club were more than they would have ever earnt, working in the local pubs. They also knew much they were going to earn, which gave them security.

  A WINK OF AN EYE

  The years rolled on and the money rolled in. Tony and Jake were now in their early thirties, and known as the ‘kings of the underworld’. It seemed as though, as time had passed, they had taken over everything. The club, which was now run by Sharon almost entirely, was known as the most famous nightclub in the West End of London. The weekly striptease revues were known as very stylish and classy.

  Sharon thought it was quite funny, in a way, because some of the businessmen who came regularly to see the strippers and chat them up and buy them cheap champagne at top prices were also the same respectable men that would come on the weekend club nights, with their wives or girlfriends, and pretend not to know her.

  Discretion was everything; under no circumstances were the bar staff to be familiar in any way to these men, or act as though they knew them. Everything was dealt with in a professional manner. Famous male celebrities would make a point of coming in, and felt safe in the knowledge that everyone there was under the strict code of silence. They could be at their ease and have some fun, bringing their mistresses one week and their wives or girlfriends the next.

  The private VIP booths seemed to have developed their own rules, although there was a grey area no one knew quite what to do about. Everyone knew the booths had CCTV cameras in them. The girls who were providing this more intimate striptease on a one-to-one basis would stand on a small stage and dance more provocatively. Although the golden rule was that there were to be no sexual exchanges between the stripper and the customer, Sharon couldn’t dispute that there were times when the customer would be touching himself! When she spoke to Tony and Jake about it, none of them were sure how to handle it.

  The girls were not breaking the rules and neither were the men – they were masturbating themselves. It was a very grey area, but Tony felt that since they knew they were on CCTV, they obviously trusted him. On the other hand, he also felt that they had been fairly warned about the cameras by the notices on the doors and so their behaviour might just represent a golden opportunity. Some of these men were high-ranking police inspectors and MPs, and one day he might need a favour in exchange for the recording they would so badly want to destroy. Blackmail, Tony felt, was an ugly word; it would be more an exchange of gifts. They would each have something that the other wanted, and there was no better way to get around that than to sit, discuss and exchange.

  Tony couldn’t believe how time had passed so quickly. He had paid Miriam back every penny she had given him. In recent years, he had been a regular visitor to Italy and the vineyard. It felt like a good place to relax and be himself. There were no reporters there.

  They had all moved on. Sharon and Jake had put their adoption plans on hold, claiming that life was too hectic at the moment. Their life was so busy, they wouldn’t be able to give a child the time it would need. Their working schedule was changing on a weekly basis. There were late nights involved, and sometimes running the club meant working seven nights a week, especially around Christmas and New Year, with all the festive parties they had to deal with.

  Jake felt a little disappointed about this, as he had looked forward to having a child, but Sharon was adamant; it wouldn’t be fair on the child. She was going to wait till things calmed down before committing herself. Poor Elle yearned for grandchildren, but she knew there was nothing on the horizon, especially if Tony had anything to do with it.

  Tony had girlfriend after girlfriend – and sometimes more than one. Then there were the private parties he held in his apartment with a few of the more well-known models he had become acquainted with. There were many and yet there were none. As the years had passed, he had met just one woman anyone might say was Tony’s girlfriend.

  They were both cut from the same cloth, it seemed. Roxy was a well-known model who was now hoping to start a television acting career. She had sugar daddies coming out of her ears and they all adored her. You could see that, by all the expensive diamonds and furs she wore.

  They had met at the club, and Roxy had invited Tony to a photo shoot she was doing for a magazine. He had gone along out of curiosity, not expecting much, but when the photographer realised who Tony was, he instantly started taking photos of him.

  The photographer said Tony had ‘natural beauty’, and seemed more engrossed with taking photos of Tony. In the end, Tony and Roxy were in the photos together. They made a very handsome couple. Roxy was just over six foot tall, with very long legs. Her blonde hair hung all the way down her back, the ends touching her backside. She, like a lot of models, had had a boob job, making her waist look even slimmer. She loved life, she loved the nightlife.

  She enjoyed going to the club, sitting on a bar stool at the end of the bar near where Tony stood. She liked this glamorous lifestyle. She drank champagne, and waited for Tony to ask her to dance or make conversation, in between his business deals.

  Sometimes it seemed she had waited in vain and wasted her time, because there were nights when some other woman caught Tony’s eye and flirted with him, and it would be this other woman Tony would stand and drink champagne with, and then take more bottles up to his apartment with.

  Roxy would leave with her girlfriends, feeling disheartened and hurt, but Tony had never made any promises, nor had he ever called her his girlfriend.

  Roxy would then play her own game and take one of her many sugar daddies or would-be television producers to the club. Sharon would raise one eyebrow at Jake and smile. She thought it was quite funny that Roxy was playing the jealousy game.

  Roxy would laugh loudly and flirt with the man on her arm, hoping that Tony would notice or, even better, care about it. He never did. He liked the fact that their relationship, if you could call it that, was more of a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement. He told her he liked her because she wasn’t clingy or needy, and wasn’t after commitment; just having a good time was all she cared about.

  Sharon and Jake both knew that wasn’t the case. They both saw the way Roxy hung on Tony’s every word. She was trying to play the waiting game, and lived in hope that he would wake up one day and suddenly realise he loved her. Roxy had hated the fact that, on occasion, Tony slept with some of her friends. She had felt humiliated by this and even started an argument with Tony about it.

  Roxy stormed into the office, full of anger, ready to give Tony a piece of her mind and possibly an ultimatum. Sharon and Jake had been listening down the corridor and heard it all.

  Tony had just sat at his desk and listened to her complaints, then leaned back in his chair and let her have his very calm response.

  ‘Who I sleep with, Roxy, and who is my flavour of the month, has nothing to do with you. We have fun, and we’re good in bed together, but I’m not exclusive. Do I complain when some television producer comes in here on the pretence of you doing some audition for him on his casting couch? You were a famous model when I met you and you’re even more famous now, because you hang around here and with me. I have made you famous, Roxy, you’ve had your money’s worth. No; either accept it or move on. I don’t care either way, my diary’s full.’

  Tony had been very cold to her, heartless, even, but he had firmly put her in her place. There was nothing else for her to do but leave in tears; it seemed all h
er dreams had come to an abrupt halt.

  Then, a week or so later, she came in one evening and, at the end of the night, went up to Tony’s apartment. It was as though nothing had changed, although everyone knew it had. Roxy was the one making a fool of herself, because Tony had made it abundantly clear they were not an item, yet she was still prepared to go to the club, drink with him and sleep with him. She had no cause for complaint, because it was now her choice.

  Tony had never tried to hide the fact that he dated other women, he didn’t feel the need to. He was a single man, women liked him, and he liked women. As far as he was concerned, that was it. He didn’t force them to have sex with him, nor did he force them to participate in the little orgies that he had in his apartment. It seemed his heart was made of stone.

  ‘One day,’ Sharon used to joke with Tony, ‘Miss Right will come along, and that will knock you off your high horse.’ She used to laugh about it with Jake, but they both agreed it would have to be one hell of a woman to maintain Tony’s interest. Did she even exist?

  Tony never let his private life interfere with business, however many women had stayed over the night before. He always seemed to be showered and ready to get to work first thing in the morning. He’d had a good night’s entertainment, but now it was over, it was back to business.

  Tony would discard the women as quickly as possible, and try his hardest to get them to leave. He would hand over some money for a taxi or get his driver to drop them off at home. If they were especially stubborn, he would more or less throw them out of the door. Already, while waving them off, he would have Jake in the kitchen, talking about the day’s business.

  It did make Jake laugh to himself, because sometimes these women were hardly given the chance to dress. One even left in Tony’s dressing gown. Sharon used to shrug her shoulders when Jake told her. ‘They know what he is, Jake, they’re adults, and if they’re prepared to come back for more and be thrown out in the morning, well, that’s their problem.’