Shafted

Praise for Mandasue Heller

High praise for Mandasue Heller’s brilliant novels:

‘Sexy and slick.’

‘Powerful writing.’

‘A cracking page-turner.’

‘Alarming . . . beguiling . . . exhilarating.’

‘A glamorous nightclub hides a seedy underworld that Heller knows only too well.’

‘Crammed with gangsters and glamour girls, this is a sassy take on the usual crime thriller.’

‘Mandasue has played a real blinder with this fantastic novel.’

Martina Cole on
Forget Me Not

The Front

Forget Me Not

Tainted Lives

The Game

The Charmer

The Club

First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette Livre company

Copyright © Mandasue Heller 2007

The right of Mandasue Heller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Epub ISBN 978 1 848 94304 9
Book ISBN 978 0 340 89952 6

Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
A Division of Hodder Headline
338 Euston Road
London NWI 3BH

For my wonderful children, Michael, Andrew, and Azzura. And my precious granddaughters, Marissa and Lariah.

Acknowledgements

As ever, my sincerest love and gratitude go to my family: Wingrove Ward – my partner in life
and
music (the album’s sounding great, babe; can’t wait to hear it when it’s finished!); my lovely mum, Jean Heller;my sister,Ava;Amber & Kyro, Martin, Jade, and Reece;Auntie Doreen, Pete, Lorna, Cliff, Chris & Glen; Natalie, Dan, & Toni.

Not forgetting Uncle Michael, Aunt Paulette, and the rest of our new-found Heller family, USA. And the Wards: Mavis & Joseph, Valerie, Jascinth, Donna (& Ronnie), and their respective children.

Heartfelt thanks to Betty & Ronnie Schwartz, Martina Cole, Norman Fairweather, Wayne Brookes, Faye Webber, Sarj Duggal, and the rest of our friends past & present, for being so supportive. And a big hello to the authors we were lucky enough to meet or reacquaint ourselves with on the roadshow – you were all fantastic!

As are all the Hodder guys; not least my delightfully quirky editor, Carolyn Caughey; Emma Knight; Isobel Akenhead; Ron Beard; Auriol Bishop; Lucy Hale; etc, etc . . . (Far too many to mention by name, but you’re all brilliant.)

Same to my lovely agent, Cat Ledger.

Gratitude, as ever, to Nick Austin.

And thanks to Bill Woan for the police info.

Hi! to the reps, buyers, and sellers who we had the pleasure of meeting in Gloucestershire, Manchester, and Glasgow – we had some great nights with you guys, and really appreciate your efforts for getting the books out there. (And the readers for buying them, of course.)

And, lastly, the lovely library ladies for ordering all those extra copies.

Thank you all so much!

PART ONE

1

‘
Aaaand
cut!’

‘Thank fuck for that!’ Larry Logan muttered, pulling a tissue from his pocket and wiping his handsome face. Tossing the crumpled wad onto the floor, he said, ‘I thought there was supposed to be flaming air-con in here?’

‘There is,’ the floor manager replied curtly, sick of Larry’s moaning and whining – like
he
was the only one suffering. Snapping her fingers at one of the runners now, she barked at him to dispose of the tissue properly. Then she strode out onto the studio floor, yelling, ‘Quiet in the audience, please! We’re back on air in ten minutes, so no clever ideas about nipping to the toilet or opening noisy sweets, or you’re out!’

Sticking two fingers up at her back, Larry sidestepped the make-up girl who rushed forward to repair his face and made a dash for the heavy soundproofed studio door. Yanking it open, he stepped out of the stifling heat and shivered as the contrasting iciness of the corridor bit into him.

Heading towards his dressing room, he glanced back to see if anyone was following, and groaned when he saw the assistant director barrelling out of the studio door.

‘Christ’s sakes, Gord,’ Larry complained, knowing full well that he’d come to keep an eye on him. ‘I’m only going to the fucking loo.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Gordon told him firmly. ‘You know what Jeremy said.’

‘Tell him I gave you the slip,’ Larry flipped back defiantly, walking on.

‘No can do,’ Gordon said, catching up.

‘Give me a break,’ Larry moaned. ‘I’ve got the trots, man.’

Stopping in his tracks, Gordon frowned. He’d been ordered to watch Larry like a hawk to stop him getting his hands on any booze, and that was exactly what he
had
been doing – all bloody day, despite having a heavy workload of his own to be getting on with. But there was no way he was standing outside the cubicle while Larry took a dump. That was
way
above and beyond.

Nodding, he said, ‘Okay, go on, then. But I’m waiting here. And if anyone asks, I was with you all the way.’

‘I’ll tell ’em you wiped my arse if you want,’ Larry quipped.

‘Fuck off! And hurry up. We’ve only got a few minutes.’

‘Thanks, mate. I owe you one.’

Taking off again, Larry turned the corner and ran straight past the toilets. Letting himself into his dressing room, he closed the door firmly and dragged his holdall down from the top of the cupboard. Taking out the bottle of Scotch that was stashed at the bottom of the bag he twisted the cap off and took a long drink, exhaling with pleasure and relief as the liquid seared his parched throat.

Taking another long slug, then another for the road, he put the bottle away again and gave himself an approving once-over in the mirror before heading back to the set.

Concerned that Larry wasn’t going to make it back in time, Gordon was just contemplating going to get him when he came hurtling around the corner, making an exaggerated show of zipping up his fly.

‘Sorry, Gord . . . took a bit longer than I expected. And there was no paper in my cubicle, so I had to run down the line with my kecks round my ankles. Thought I was gonna have to mop up after myself, as well. Still, better out than in, eh?’

‘Too much information,’ Gordon grunted, yanking the studio door open and waving Larry back in.‘Better hurry up,’he warned then, nodding towards the floor manager who was standing in the middle of the stage, hands on hips, tight-lipped scowl on her face.‘Looks like she’s on the warpath.’

‘Fuck her,’ Larry scoffed. Then, laughing, he nudged Gordon in the ribs and said, ‘Then again, maybe not, eh? I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’

Getting a full blast of Scotch fumes, Gordon grimaced. But it was too late to say anything, because Anne was already waving Larry over, hissing, ‘Get a move on! We’ve got exactly twenty seconds.’

‘Keep your knickers on,’ Larry called back, blithely strolling towards her – and infuriating her some more when he decided to waste a few more seconds saying hello to the pretty girls on the front row.

Biting down on her irritation, Anne held up her hand when Larry finally sauntered into position.

‘Three . . . two . . . one . . .
aaand
action!’

Back under the blistering heat of the lights, the Scotch began to kick in and Larry swayed slightly as he turned to camera six to welcome the viewers back. Burping loudly when he opened his mouth to speak, he gave the audience a mock-sheepish grin.

‘Oops! Pardon me for being rude, ’twas not me, it was my food.’

Up in the editing suite, watching the action on a high-tech bank of monitors, Frank Woods gave Jeremy Hislop an accusing look, hissing, ‘He’s pissed! I thought you said Gordon was watching him?’

‘He was.’

‘So how the fuck did it happen, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jeremy admitted, frowning as he studied Larry’s face on the monitor. Logan was definitely under the influence: cheeks flushed, eyes beginning to glaze over.

‘Idiot!’ Frank snarled, slamming his fist down on the console. ‘How could you let this happen? It’s the
Kiddie Kare Telethon
, for fuck’s sake. You knew how important it was to keep him in line. You should have handcuffed yourself to him.’

‘You wanted me up here with you. I can’t be two places at once.’

‘You won’t be
any
bloody place if he cocks this up, I can promise you that.’

‘I
warned
you this would happen,’ Jeremy argued, swivelling his chair around to face Frank now. ‘But you ignored me, so . . .’ Leaving the rest of the sentence hanging, he shrugged, his meaning quite clear without him having to spell it out.

Annoyed as much by the intimation of blame as by the knowledge that it was rightly placed, Frank said, ‘What choice did I have? It’s the first time they’ve put a game show in the line-up, and they chose ours. I’d have been crazy to turn it down.’

Crazy to agree to it, more like
, Jeremy thought scathingly, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the screens. Only a fool would let a loose cannon like Larry Logan front a live show. He might be Mr Gorgeous, with the ability to charm the knickers off any woman at fifty paces – as he seemed intent on proving, going by the number of times he’d been papped coming out of clubs with different tarts hanging off his arm. But for those who had to suffer him on the dark side of the screen, he was rude, arrogant, and completely incapable of sticking to the format. Working with him had been the longest, most stressful six months of Jeremy’s career to date.

And it didn’t help that
Star Struck
was the biggest piece of TV crap Jeremy had ever been unfortunate enough to direct. But a job was a job, and this one paid well enough for Jeremy to bury his personal opinions – for the most part.

Back on set, Larry was taking the two surviving contestants into the final head-to-head. They were both female, but while one was middle-aged and plump – and, therefore, of no interest to Larry whatsoever – the other was young and pretty, with small, pert breasts, full glossy lips, and a sleek, jet-black bob. Just how he liked them!