The Family Firm

Chapter 20

That's where Tommy came into play. Tommy McCrory, a handsome little Irish lad like the lot of them. He worked at the shop, had been for a few years now and he was a good earner. Dumb as a bag of bricks but they always were, weren't they. It's what made him a good little worker. He kept his head down, did as he was told, and that was enough for Fred to keep him around.

They had a little game between the two of them, Franks and Tommy. She flirted with him as much as she could, dropped innuendos like she was giving them away for free, and tried to see how long he could hold out, face flush-red, without flirting back. It entertained her thus far but at this point she was looking for the pay-out, she wanted a shag and she was going to see to it that she got one.

Of course, there was no way it was going to end well for poor Tommy. But like everything in Frankie's world, this was about Freddie, and she didn't care if the world went to shit around them as long as they were the last two standing.

She was sorting out bundles of pound notes, calculating percentages with an electronic calculator, writing it all down, and putting the correct amounts of quid into envelopes marked with various workers' names as she heard the familiar sound of creeper wheels rolling against the ground, signalling that Tommy was getting up from underneath the vehicle he was working on out front. She took this as her golden opportunity, just as she was typing out a few things onto the number pad.

'Tommy,' she called casually, not bothering to look up from her work.

The lad, diligent as always, appeared in the doorway a moment or two later, face streaked with the usual motor mechanic grime and a crooked smile. He was only a few years older than Junior, which should have bothered her but didn't; his youth was refreshing. Annoying at times, because the poor bloke didn't know when to shut his gob, but endearing when she was in a good mood.

'Yes, Frankie?' She could tell the word still felt alien to him. He had only been calling her by her first name for the past week or so after she'd insisted on it.

Clearing her throat, she finally looked at him. 'Get me the bottle of claret, would you? I've had a long day, need summink to sort me out.'

She was a heavy wine drinker those days. A heavy everything, really. Fred had gotten her into the amphetamines, which helped her do her work diligently and effectively. She was buzzed on speed right then but she usually needed a glass or two of wine to smooth out the edges and make her less jittery.

Tommy obeyed, already knowing exactly where to locate the bottle; she had a cabinet in her office well-stocked with liquor of all sorts and she broke into it every night without fail. Of course, she could have gotten the wine herself, but where was the fun in that? Tommy, bless him, was too dumb to catch on and so he'd simply fetched a glass and took his time opening up the bottle and pouring her the burgundy drink.

She watched him do all of this, in fact she hadn't touched the money the entire time he'd been fixing up her glass. It was only after he'd handed it off to her that she'd spoken up again, speaking over the rim of the glass. 'Why don't you join me, Tommy? Certainly you've worked your jacksie off, the same as I. You deserve a moment off your plates.'

'Well,' he began meekly. 'I probably shouldn't, I still have some work to do and...'

Frankie leant back in her chair and crossed one shapely leg over the other. She knew the cut of her skirt allowed her to show them off, and she also knew Tommy was looking. 'I'm not asking. And if me brother found out you made me unhappy, well...'

That sorted him out real quick. Of course it was her brother whom he was afraid of in the first place, but he didn't have to be told twice. He filled a glass for himself a bit more nervously and stood ahead of her, awkwardly, neglecting to drink from it.

Frankie, on the other hand, drained half the glass in one go and then instructed him, 'Drink.' Tommy, again, didn't need to be told twice and each of their glasses were depleted in less than ten minutes.

Frankie wasn't even a little drunk, she mellowed out on wine; it was only when she was into the heavy stuff that she got pissed. Tommy, on the other hand, was young, he hadn't nearly the drinking experience she had and so a glass already had him more than buzzed. Of course, she wasn't going to let him stop there; she needed him really liquored up if she wanted him to forget his inhibitions and do what she wanted without the terrifying thought of her brother's inevitable revenge looming over him like a storm cloud.

'Have another glass,' she told him, already pouring.

They drank and chatted, and the more they drank, the more chatty they got. Frankie had laid it on thick and by the time he'd actually had her up against the desk, she wished she'd had a few more glasses. The poor fucker couldn't have lasted more than a minute, and he was so drunk he could barely pull up his pants before falling asleep in her chair.

She didn't care. She certainly didn't care if someone found him like that, either. Annoyed and unsatisfied, she fixed her suit skirt and made herself presentable before putting away the rest of the money in the safe, taking the envelopes in a holdall, and heading out the door.

Well, it was a start, anyway.