Ellie had washed her hands of her. She had one friend dead and the other not giving a fuck. Not that she blamed Ellie. Ex-tarts were always of the nervous variety, she knew that. They’d seen the rough end of life and when they escaped from the game they didn’t want anything except normality, the comfy old fire and slippers routine. How could you blame them for that? Annie knew she’d be exactly the same, in those circumstances. A bike shot past and then a long dark car swerved into the pavement with a screech of brakes. Horns hooted, taxi drivers hollered out of their windows and waved their fists. Annie kept walking, thinking about Dolly. She paused in front of the car to cross the street; Jackie had said he’d meet her in the next road. And then suddenly there were two big men standing on either side of her and one of them was shoving something that felt like a knife into her side. She winced and shouted: ‘What the fuck?’ in surprise and pain, and the knife dug deeper.
