Frankie looked at the large sum of cash in the safe and was pleased. The clubs had been doing marvellously that month, as had the knock-off scams and the car jobs. In fact, in the past few years alone they'd made more money than she'd ever seen in her entire life. Ever since her brother Freddie took over things, business had been booming and they'd all reaped the rewards.
It had been a lot easier than she thought it would be, but then again Freddie was always prepared, and he'd most likely thought over the consequences a lot longer than he liked to let on. He was funny in that way, always careful until he wasn't. But in that case it had worked in their favour; Fred had been dealing with the businesses so long he already knew how they worked, the ins and outs of them, and he had worked first-hand with their employees. They trusted him, they liked him, and Archy hadn't been relevant in years. Everyone agreed Fred should have done what he did, that it was only a matter of time before Archy got topped anyway; he'd had plenty of enemies, enemies who were now Fred's companions because he'd done them all a favour.
Frankie, too, had profited from her brother's success, and not just financially. Now she had a purpose in her life, which was something she desperately needed the older her son got. Twenty-two years old now, he was, and she was nearing forty, which was something she was constantly aware of. He still lived with her, took care of her in a way, not physically but emotionally, and she knew it was only because he cared about her and didn't want her to be alone. But the older he got, the more she knew he would need to find himself a place of his own, a nice bird to settle down with, and eventually leave the nest.
But she couldn't worry about that now. These days, she took care of Fred's books—and Lord Himself knew he needed it; Archy had had significant debts and he hardly kept the book work up at all. Frankie would have bet her last two pence the reason for his alarming debt was because he never kept his books up, but fortunately Fred had single-handedly gotten them all out of the red since he took over. Business was profiting greatly and everyone was happy.
She took a few bundles of pound notes and closed the safe before sitting herself down at the large oak desk in the centre of the office. She had her own office now, in the back of the mechanic shop. But it wasn't dirty and dingy like most mechanics' were; it was a nice place, clean and bright with florescent lighting and all. She'd seen to it that everything was crisp white with hot red accents, something like mod style; she'd always had a knack for that sort of thing, an eye for it like her mum said, and enjoyed the opportunity to dress things up in the way she liked.
The shop was also the front of the car schemes, which was one of her favourite businesses. It was ingenious, really. They would steal nice, expensive cars, re-purpose them with new numbers and a fresh coat of paint, and turn them out overseas. The reason it was ingenious was because nice cars were in no short supply; in fact, people like gamblers who got heavily into debt often gave them up for nothing, simply so they could reap in the insurance money. If you were smart about it, you could do a car job in no time and have them shipped off in less than a day, which meant that everyone benefited and not on the government's pound, which everyone could agree was a good thing.
Although it had partially been her idea, Frankie didn't run the car scheme. She didn't want to, she didn't have the ambition. She handled the book work and sorted out the payments, which meant at that point she was in a good standing with every one of the boys. Of course, she would have been anyway; everyone and their cousin knew that Frankie was the most important woman in Freddie Evans' life, and so you smiled at her, said hello to her in public, and you treated her kinder than you treated your own mother. Most importantly, she was off-limits.
Fred had made sure to instil this into everyone's minds, and while she appreciated it at times, it also annoyed her. They loved each other, but fuck, they weren't married, were they? Couldn't be, of course, and Fred had never been a "one-bird man" so to speak. He was always on the pull and beyond making her incredibly jealous, it upset her on another degree, because she couldn't sleep around to get back at him. No one would touch her, she was always Freddie's sister and practically his property. Not that she really wanted any other man, but it was the fucking piss, wasn't it? Sometimes she just wanted a shag. Sometimes she just wanted to make him as upset as he made her.
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.