Posted on Friday, 2 May 2008

Walter Elliot, owner of the Kellynch Club, was a man who, for his own amusement, had once opened the telephone book, selected a name at random and ordered the man to be shot. That, at least, was the rumour on the streets. It was also rumoured that federal agents had been trying to pin the man down for years. Yet, “Sir”, as he was called, always slipped through their fingers and the agents invariably turned up dead in some river or other. Tales of his daring escapes were whispered reverentially among the lesser beings of the underworld.

Sir was the head of one of the big families whose business reached far. If someone incurred his displeasure, Sir had him tracked down, no matter where he was, and put to death. A couple of years ago, his wrath had even killed someone as far away as Singapore. Everybody knew that Walter Elliot was not a man to be crossed.

It was also common knowledge that Sir had three daughters. Elizabeth, at 29 the eldest of the three, was a beauty. She sang in the Kellynch every other night and usually to a full house. Men loved her and she loved the power she had over them. Some said that she was a black widow, leaving the corpses of her ex-lovers in her wake, but nothing had ever been proven.

The youngest of Sir’s daughters had married some years ago. She and her husband were tending to the Musgrove branch of the family business. Mary, it was said, had inherited her father’s disposition and could have someone shot simply because she didn’t feel well or was bored.

Anne was Elizabeth’s junior by two years. She tended to the bar in the Kellynch and to her father’s business. No one ever flattered her – tales of the few who had tried were enough to keep every man strictly professional with her. She was an ice queen who ruled her father’s domain with an iron fist.

Thus it was Anne to whom Sharky Russell went with the news.

“There’s a new governor in town,” the hit woman said while sliding into a chair. Anne raised an eyebrow. Sharky continued, “It’s Croft.”

“The old Admiral. Ain’t that interesting?” drawled the other woman. “Do you know what he wants?”

“Settling.”

“Not in my town,” she stated coldly. “Take a few boys and show him what we think of that idea.”

Sharky grinned the smile that had earned her her nickname. “With pleasure. Me and the boys, we’ll give him a proper welcome.”

“I’d rather you’d give him a proper goodbye.”

The welcome committee didn’t even remotely amuse the Admiral.

“It’s about time someone came to clean this pigsty of a town,” he said to his wife. “That was Sharky Russell, I’m sure, and that means the Elliot family knows what we’re about.”

Mrs Croft, to an elusive circle know as the Cat, looked him over. “The bullets missed you. No need to be so cranky. Let’s get down to business.”

The Admiral nodded and unrolled a few maps. “That’s the plans of the house. Club’s in the cellar. The second eldest lives above the club and it stands to reason that the business stuff is kept further upstairs.”

“Access?”

“Via the roof of the neighbouring house.”

The Cat nodded once. “I’ll go tonight. Maybe I can surprise them. When’s Fred arriving?”

“In a few hours. He’s coming with the late train.”

It was in the early hours of the morning. The club was in full swing. Elizabeth was singing on the stage and the men were drooling at her feet.

Mary’s husband had sent his younger brother to the club with some business that needed taking care of. The young man though seemed to be riveted on Elizabeth. He couldn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“Henry, my lad,” said Anne to him. “Don’t break your heart over her. That gal’s poison.”

Startled, Henry turned to her. Apprehension clouded his face. “Miss Anne! I didn’t ... I haven’t ...”

Anne waved his stammered words aside. “Consider it free advice because you’re new to the business, because you’re family and because I like you. Don’t angle for my sister. She eats boys like you for breakfast.”

Henry nodded mutely. Anne wiped her hand across her face tiredly. “Don’t you have some nice girl? What happened to that barmaid over in Winthrop? What's her name? Charlie Hayter. I thought you two got along well.”

“Anne,” said a voice. Sharky stood next to her and her mien spelled trouble. Anne sent her upstairs with a nod. To Henry she said, “Have an eye on the bar, will you?”

Sharky was pacing the floor in Anne’s office and swearing.

“What is it?” asked Anne while seating herself in her leather chair.

“Problems. Major problems. Guess who’s just come into town with the last train.” Anne merely looked at Sharky. “It’s Wentworth. He’s back.”

“So what?”

“That’s not all. The Admiral fetched him at the station. Anne, he’s working for them.”

“Then shoot him with the others. That is if you manage it. The Admiral, I’d like to point out, is still breathing.”

Sharky looked at her closely. “You sure you can deal with it?” The cold look in Anne’s eyes made her shudder.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s past.”

“You know it was for your own best. Back then.”

“Still is.”

When she was alone, Anne stared a few moments out of the window. So, he’d come back. Just as promised. She’d hoped he would’ve died in the line of his work but had known that he would not. He’d promised her something eight years ago and he’d keep the promise.

Frederick Wentworth was back and he was going to destroy her.

After Anne had closed the door behind the last customers, she told Elizabeth to pack her things.

“You’re going out of town. The Admiral and Wentworth are pulling on the same string. I don’t trust them.”

“Shall I join Sir?” asked Elizabeth languidly.

“Too risky. Go somewhere else. Lie low for a while.”

“Well done, Sophy.”

“Had you any doubts?” asked the Cat.

“In your abilities?” The Admiral grinned. “Never.”

Fred ignored the two and bent over the papers she had brought him. Occasionally, he scribbled a number on the note pad next to him. Once Frederick Wentworth, governmental tax accountant, began his work, there was no stopping him.

Anne noticed almost at once that her books were gone. How they had managed to break into her office and steal them, she didn’t know. This was serious. She called the Musgroves. All business communication between the Kellynch and the Uppercross, the club where the Musgroves had their seat of operation, had to cease at once.

“Aren’t you a bit over-concerned?” asked Charles, Mary’s husband.

Anne said calmly, “Better safe than sorry. The Admiral was behind the shipment debacle last year. He’s a shrewd one.”

“And that Wentworth,” she heard Mary add in the background, “is waging some kind of war on all families. I heard he almost got all the families killed in Chicago. He’s a dangerous one.”

“Shrewd and dangerous ... Shall we close the Uppercross for a while, too?”

“Nobody knows that we’re using that club. You should be safe.”

Charles acquiesced. “Alright. But you come and hide with us for a while if it’s getting too hot over there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then she burned certain business papers in the stove and ordered Sharky to her.

“How many of our men are currently in town?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Call them off. Whatever they’re doing. They’re to leave town immediately.”

“Anne, we can’t do that. You can’t close business down. Sir will not like that when he hears of it.”

“Sir isn’t here. I am.”

Sharky nodded. She might not like the idea but as long as Sir wasn’t there, Anne’s word was law.

Anne watched the woman go. She made herself comfortable in a big armchair and waited. A gun lay on the table next to her.

He would come. Maybe not tonight. Or tomorrow night. But eventually he would come. She was sure of that.

“She’s clean.” Frederick looked up from his calculations incredulously. “According to these books, she’s clean.”

“Impossible,” stated the Admiral.

“I’ve gone over it thrice. The books must be fakes that she has planted.”

“And I fell for it like a beginner,” moaned the Cat.

The Admiral looked at the – to him – meaningless columns of numbers despondently. “Shall Sophy go back and get the real books?”

Frederick shook his head. “She will be prepared now. We’ve lost our advantage.”

The Admiral swore like a sailor.

Frederick decided that he’d solve the problem. Her way.

“You could’ve used the front door. I left it open for you.”

Frederick paused for a moment but then climbed quickly all the way in through the window. He straightened and, for the first time in eight years, looked at Anne Elliot.

“You’ve changed. Not for the better,” he stated.

She coldly looked him up and down. “You’re still the same.”

He self-consciously smoothed the brown plaid suit and righted the dark-framed glasses on his nose.

“What’re you hoping to achieve coming here all alone? Aren’t you afraid I’ll off you?” she asked with derision.

His hand convulsed around something in his pocket. For a moment, they both tensed. Then he relaxed.

“I’ve just come to say hello and to tell you that I’m the new kid in town, so to speak.” He took off his glasses and leaned very close to her. How, she did not know, but Anne managed not to scoot backwards at his nearness. He smiled dangerously as if he knew exactly what went on in her head. “Let’s say it’s a friendly call from your neighbour. And we want to be friends here, don’t we?”

She stared at him wide-eyed and watched as he calmly went out of the room. She didn’t exhale until she heard the front door click into the lock.

Dammit, she should’ve shot him!

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” she asked.

Frederick looked up startled. “How did you get in?”

Anne laughed mirthlessly. “If you don’t want night-time visitors, you should lock your doors.”

When he didn’t say anything, she repeated her question. “You’d never have come unless you wanted to kill me. You’d be stupid to come to me unarmed anyway and you’re not stupid. So that begs the question, why didn’t you shoot me?”

He shrugged, “I could ask the same of you.”

They looked at each other.

“I’ve got a business proposition,” she said. “Work for me. I need a good accountant who knows how to best dilute certain matters in the books.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got a well-paid job already. What makes you think that I’d take you up on that offer?”

“Because I made a few phone calls. You’re not going to have that well-paid job of yours for much longer.”

“How dare you!” he hissed.

She leaned forward until she was nose to nose with him. “Because you’d never come back otherwise. I know you. I know how you tick. If you had come back and still been the same accountant as eight years ago, you’d have shot me. But you didn’t. That means you’re ready to stop being on the wrong side of the law.”

“I’m on the right side of the law.”

“Not from where I stand.”

Frederick sat in his office above the Kellynch composing a letter.

I can keep book no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You upset my accounts. I am half credit, half debit.

When Anne came to speak to him later, he grabbed her and kissed her.

All accounts balanced, Anne and Frederick married and led a happy life, taking over the family business and evading taxes every year.

“You’ve married an accountant? Why?” Sir looked mildly disgusted. To him accountants were only marginally above snails on the ladder of evolution.

“Not any accountant, father. I’ve married Wentworth. He’s the best of men.”

“But he’s an accountant!”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

The End