‘And you felt different when you saw her.’ Max took a drag on the cigar, eyeing Lenny beadily. Then he drained his glass and shook his head very slowly and started to smile.

‘What?’ asked Lenny.

‘Mate. You’re in big, big trouble,’ said Max, beckoning a hostess who brought them another drink.

‘What? Why? Sure, she’s fanciable, but . . . Christ, she’s very young.’

Max shrugged. ‘So get her to work for you. Then see how it goes. But it sounds like you’ve been hit right between the eyes. Trust me, I know what that’s like,’ said Max, and turned his head to watch as a tall dark-haired woman wove her way around the tables toward them. She smiled when she saw him there. Came over and kissed him, then stood behind his chair, arms linked around his neck.

‘Hiya, babe,’ said Max, frowning a little because she’d been over to New York again for days, doing something at her club in Times Square, and – of course, he thought sourly – catching up with Alberto Barolli. Max hated her going over there. Wondered what the fuck the pair of them got up to. Alberto was Annie’s stepson. But because his late father Constantine – the Mafia boss – had been so much older than her when they got together, there was very little age difference between Annie and Alberto. Though he tried to fight it, Max was jealous as hell of their close connection.

‘Hi, Max,’ said Annie. ‘Hi, Lenny. How you doing?’

‘Fine, fine,’ said Lenny.

‘He’s not fine at all,’ said Max. ‘Poor bastard’s in love.’

‘Well that’s good. Isn’t it?’ asked Annie Carter.

‘It’s a fucking torment, that’s what it is,’ said Max.

‘Misery,’ said Annie, and dipped down to kiss his cheek.

‘Time I was off,’ said Lenny, getting up. ‘Goodnight to the pair of you. Be good!’

‘Yeah, and you be careful,’ said Max, but Lenny was already gone. ‘Poor sod,’ said Max to Annie. ‘He’s a bit of a twat.’

Annie sat down at the table and eyed him. ‘What, Lenny? I thought he was an old pal of yours.’

Max shrugged. ‘That don’t mean I’m blind to his faults. He’s impulsive. Acts on a whim. I just hope this girl he’s so fixed on is not looking for someone dependable. That’s all.’

96

Frank had applied for parole again. Now he was very hopeful of getting it. There was a new governor, a softer one, in charge. Although he was still graded as Category C, he was no longer seen as an escape risk, no longer seen as someone who would resort to violence.

Frank got a job in the prison canteen, then a better one in the gardens. Every time he was given his F75, which was an assessment of suitability for release, he answered all the questions. He went before the parole board, and they asked him more questions.

Frank was standing there combed, washed, his clothes clean and freshly pressed, looking around at the board members. There sat the new governor, a psychiatrist, a doctor, an education officer, works instructor, welfare officer and prison officer, and the probation officer Gerry Fields, who had been putting his case forward, thinking Frank a reformed character. Frank was thinking that back in the day he could have bought the whole lot of them at one end of the street and sold them at the other. But shit happened. And his time would come again.