JACQUI ROSE
Disobey

Copyright

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2015

Cover Design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover Photographs © Shutterstock.com

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007503650

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007503667

Version: 2019-09-25

Dedication

This book is to you, the readers who’ve come on this wonderful crazy journey with me. Thank you for your support.

‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.’

– Heraclitus

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Soho

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

At four in the morning the door of the Turkish restaurant in Greek Street was kicked open. Careering into the wall, it caused the glass to smash into tiny fragments on the tiled floor. Three men waving baseball bats charged in, smashing everything in their way.

The sound of the chairs being kicked over and the tables being thrown woke the sleeping proprietor, Sarp, who’d seen and caused enough trouble throughout his own life to not hesitate to rush downstairs, cosh in hand, to face whatever danger awaited him.

Although Sarp had just had his fifty-sixth birthday, with adrenaline racing round his body he stood tall, sounding like a man much younger than his years.

‘What the fucking hell?’ The sight of the three Chinese men standing in the middle of his vandalised restaurant made Sarp see red and unwisely, he threw his full weight behind a punch, landing it directly in the smallest of the three men’s face. The blood splattered across the room, patterning the whitewashed wall with a sea of tiny red dots.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the men easily grabbed hold of the overweight Sarp, pushing him down against the sharp metal side of the bar’s counter. He cried out as the steel ripped into his bulbous flesh. ‘What … what do you want?’

The cold stare of the men sent a chill of fear through him.

‘We’ve warned you before. We told you there were no second chances. None. This time you pay up.’

‘I ain’t got the sort of money you’re asking for. The business isn’t doing that well.’

‘I’m not interested in your problems. You’ve had long enough; I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything happening to your restaurant or want your clientele to be too afraid to come here. The money’s to make sure these things don’t happen. To keep you safe.’

Sarp snarled at the men; his lip curling up in hatred. ‘Ain’t no need for protection mate; those days are long gone. We look after ourselves round here or we look after our own. Either way, we don’t need the likes of you thinking yer China’s answer to the Krays.’

‘You’re a very foolish man. Don’t you understand we’ll get our money one way or another; either which you’ll end up paying. Don’t make it difficult for yourself.’

Sarp leaned forward, wincing at the pain in his torn flesh. ‘Ain’t no way in the world I’m giving my hard-earned money to the likes of you. You can’t just go around doing this. There are rules; laws against this kind of stuff.’

‘Really? You want to talk about rules – perhaps you should be speaking to Alfie Jennings then.’

‘What are you talking about? What’s he got to do with it?’

‘You need to ask him, but in the meantime …’ The Chinese man spoke with a sarcastic tone as a smirk began to pass across his face. He pulled a blade out of his pocket. With a quick movement, he slashed Sarp across the cheek, drawing a five-inch gash on his face. The largest of the men pushed past him, disappearing out of the main area and upstairs into the living quarters. A couple of minutes later he returned, dragging a screaming woman through by her hair. She cried out to the owner in Turkish, her eyes wide with terror.

Sarp shouted loudly, fear in his voice. ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone! She ain’t got nothing to do with this.’ He paused, seeing the look of terror in her eyes as she shook with dread. He turned to face the men directly. His voice was breathless; his words staggered.

‘Okay … okay, what do you want me to do?’

‘You have forty-eight hours and then we’ll be back. If you don’t have our money then; kiss your wife goodbye.’

Soho
1

They were all there. All of them. The faces of London coming together, putting their differences aside to sort out the problems hitting the streets of Soho. But as Alfie Jennings sat staring hard at Vaughn Sadler, who in turn was staring hard at Johnny and Frankie Taylor who sat belligerently in the corner with their backs turned on Tommy Donaldson who was refusing to converse with Del Williams, putting their differences aside looked like it was going to prove more difficult than any of them could have imagined.

‘Bleedin’ hell, anyone would think this is a flipping wake from the looks on your faces.’ Lola Harding cackled out her words as she served them chipped mugs of over-milked tea in her café in Bateman Street. She smiled an almost-toothless grin but only received deep scowls in return, which only served to make her laugh harder.

‘Come on gentlemen, it ain’t that bad. Look at you all! Frankie, you look like a wet weekend in Margate, and Del, cop on to yourself, sitting hunched up in the corner like a crack-addicted little Jack Horner.’

She exploded into another raucous laugh, making Del scowl and mutter under his breath. ‘Do me a favour.’

Lola – who was now on a roll and enjoying every moment – continued, not being put off by anyone’s lack of enthusiasm towards her. She shuffled over to another of the London faces, poking him playfully in the chest. ‘Then you, Vaughn; Christ darling, you look like you’re about to shit out an elephant. Come on sweetheart, I expected better of you. What’s there to be glum about? Okay, okay, I know there’s a little bit of trouble bubbling about but nothing you can’t handle. Vaughn! Come on doll. Where you’ve got breath you’ve got a smile. Vaughnie baby, give old Lola a smile.’

Vaughn glared at Lola. He could feel his face turning red as he tried to keep down his temper. Although Lola’s antics hadn’t brought him out in a smile, it’d certainly brought the others out in one, or rather, it’d brought them out in smirks. And it pissed him off no end – especially as the person who was grinning the most was Alfie Jennings, who was sitting opposite him in the dingy café.

Being anywhere near Alfie pissed him off. They had history. Too much history. Alfie’s daughter, Emmie – Vaughn’s goddaughter – had come to live with him and his partner, Casey a while back, and for a short time life had been peaceful; he’d even go so far as saying it’d been idyllic, something he’d never experienced nor could have ever imagined before, but then this had happened. This shit which had hit Soho, smashing his peace like a big brass fucking band.

Vaughn sighed, rubbing his head as his hair flopped over his handsome sun-kissed face, giving him the appearance of a man twenty years his junior. Jesus, he wished he was back in his place in Surrey, tending his roses, making love to Casey or even listening to Emmie’s teenage strops. Anything. Anything, would be better than fucking this.

He’d left Soho life and all it entailed a long time ago, really only coming up for social gatherings and to catch up with old acquaintances and that had suited him well. It was on his terms. Vaughn had spent too many years looking over his shoulder with his life revolving around money and violence, and finally he thought it was over. But then he’d had the call. The code of honour call from another face. The call which meant no matter how much he didn’t want to be here, he really had no choice.

The call had come from Greg Bradley, an old face who still lived in Soho after seventy-eight years. Although Greg had retired a long time ago and now chose an early night and a drink of Ovaltine over any form of ructions, all his faculties were still intact and he was the ears and eyes of the place.

When Vaughn had picked up the call from Greg, he’d had no time for small talk, simply saying. ‘It’s Soho. We’re in trouble.’

In all his time as a face around London Vaughn had only had the call, once. A long time ago, when he’d temporarily settled in Spain, needing to hang low after a multi-million-pound heist, and then, like now, he’d been forced to return to Soho.

Back then it’d been the Yardies, a group of tough and ambitious Jamaicans who’d wanted to add Soho to their takeover of London. There’d been a lot of violence, a lot of claret spilt, but eventually after a few weeks, the turf war had come to an end. Soho had been reclaimed and Vaughn had gone back to Spain for a while, whilst the other faces who’d also got the call had crawled back to wherever they’d come from.

And now twenty-odd years later, the call had come through, but not because of the Yardies or any other group who thought they were tough enough to take the faces of London on. No, this time the enemy were bigger, more dangerous, more ruthless and they needed all the manpower they could get. Because, this time … this time the triads had come.

The triads were at one time the largest criminal organisation in the world with over half a million members, based mainly in Hong Kong and China with roots dating back to centuries-old secret societies. Over the years the triads had branched out and started to operate in smaller groups, though this regrouping hadn’t lessened any of their violence or criminal activities.

Groups such as the deadly Wong Shing Ho and the infamous 14k gang had exploded onto the British scene in the 1980s, bringing with them fear and intimidation, specialising in armed robbery, racketeering, smuggling, drugs trafficking and selling, as well as prostitution and gambling.

The fear that surrounded them was justified, with torture being commonplace to anyone who refused to comply or anyone foolish enough to try to stand up to them or inform the authorities. And up until now, Soho had been free from the rule of triads, with Shaftesbury Avenue serving as the invisible line dividing Chinatown from Soho. But now, everything had changed.

Vaughn tried to muster a smile for Lola but even he could feel it was crooked, a bit like the rest of the men sitting in the café. No matter how fond of her he was, the last thing he felt like doing was being drawn into any sort of conversation. All he wanted to do was decide on a plan then get the hell home.

As if reading his thoughts, Alfie Jennings piped up, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

‘Got somewhere else to go, have we mate?’

Vaughn snarled at Alfie, ‘I ain’t your mate, I thought I made that clear to you a long time ago.’

Alfie stared at Vaughn and although he didn’t show it, what Vaughn had said cut him deeply. They once had been best friends, inseparable, and with one thing or another, no thanks to his ex-missus, he’d lost everything. His money, Emmie his daughter, and most of his friends. The money hadn’t mattered; well not really, Alfie was a born wheeler and dealer, a born survivor, and he’d always known one way or another he would climb back up. The friends hadn’t really mattered, most of them had been a bunch of muppets anyway. What had mattered was Emmie and Vaughn. His best mate and his daughter had given him the brush-off when he’d needed them the most.

He knew they’d say the reason they’d turned their backs on him was because of things he’d done in the past; mistakes he’d made with the people he’d got involved with, compromising all their beliefs, but everyone made bad judgements, hadn’t they? Everyone got it wrong from time to time, but it seemed only ever to be him, Alfie Jennings who was punished for it.

He could forgive Emmie. She was his princess and always would be, no matter what. But Vaughn. Vaughn-fucking-yesterday’s-news-Sadler, well he was different. He was a piss take, one that he, Alfie Jennings would never forgive.

Alfie stood up, his six-foot-plus well-built frame looming towards Vaughn. ‘Oh you made it clear. Very clear, mate. Leaving me with fuck all while you and that bird of yours waltzed off with me daughter like you were a contestant on fucking Strictly.’

Vaughn, not in the least intimidated by Alfie, stood up, so that he was nose to nose with him.

‘Do yourself a service, Alf. Turn it in, and stop embarrassing yourself in front of everyone.’

‘I ain’t the embarrassment, but you’d like me to be wouldn’t you? Oh, didn’t you just love it when I was down on me friggin’ hind. But that ain’t the case now, sunshine. ’Cos Alfie is back. Alfie Jennings is back on top.’

‘Alf, you sound like a fucking muppet. For fuck’s sake do us all a turn will ya and do what Vaughn says, or at least keep it tight will ya; I don’t need me ears chewing off with all this schoolgirl shit.’ It was Del Williams who spoke. A big player in Soho as well as the Costa.

Alfie swivelled round, his face turning up into a sneer. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’

Del barked back. ‘No, son, I’m just going to give it to you. Wise up mate.’

Alfie’s contempt was palpable. ‘To quote Vaughn here, I ain’t your mate.’

Del rolled up his sleeves. ‘Which will make it all the more easy to knock yer fucking head off.’

‘Hold up! Hold up! Is that right? What’s your frigging problem, Williams? If anyone is going to pull the bollocks, it’s going to be me and it ain’t going to be Alfie’s jewels I’m holding in me hands, it’ll be yours, mate.’ Frankie Taylor bellowed his threat to Del. Besides being good mates with Alfie, he had no time for Del who, since being involved with the Russians, thought he was Al Ca-fucking-pone.

Del laughed aggressively. ‘I didn’t know you needed a nursemaid, Alf; I thought that was more Tommy’s style.’

‘Who you calling a pussy!’ Tommy Donaldson scraped back his chair, entering the arena of arguing men.

‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!’ Lola wasn’t laughing now, her voice was raised and her arms folded.

‘Zip it will you, darling!’ Del snapped at Lola, causing Tommy, who had always been closer to Lola than his own mum at times, to grab hold of his arm.

‘Don’t speak to her like that, otherwise you’ll have me to deal with.’

‘Oh and is that supposed to rock me fucking boat?’

Johnny Taylor, Tommy’s brother-in law, began to jump to his defence.

‘It ain’t going to rock it, Del, it’s going to …’

‘Enough!’ Vaughn Sadler stood up, banging his fists on the table, staring hard at all assembled. His voice was rough and edged with hardness as the room fell silent.

‘We ain’t here for a mothers’ meeting, but we sure as hell sound like one. I know most of you would rather be somewhere else, but until we sort out exactly how we’re going to keep Soho safe from the threat of the triads then none of us are going anywhere, unless you want to deal with me.’

Alfie’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Oooh! You’re scaring us now, Vaughn. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep in me bed tonight.’

Vaughn, about to turn on Alfie, was stopped by Lola’s soothing voice.

‘Leave it, Vaughnie. You know he’s being a wind up … ain’t you, Alf? Listen, can we all turn it in for now? This ain’t a joke and it ain’t just a threat either. There’s been attacks and there don’t seem to be anyone wanting to stop it. Folk are frightened, real frightened. Greg said the last time he’d seen business people so terrified was when the Krays ruled the East End. We don’t want to go back to that, and besides, these triads make Ronnie and Reggie look like the Flowerpot Men. And that’s why you all got the call. We need help. Soho needs help.’

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. ‘Lola’s right. They clearly want to come and take over and won’t stop at anything until they succeed. What we have to do is stop them, and quick.’

Del interjected. ‘Yeah, but why?’

Johnny looked puzzled. ‘Why what?’

‘Why now, why after living all these years with them in relative harmony do they want to come over to our patch? The triads have been coming and going long before I was around, but now all of a sudden they have a problem with us. It don’t make sense.’

Vaughn spoke matter-of-factly. ‘Maybe it does, maybe it’s just a question of things changing. New people taking over.’

Del rubbed his chin, shaking his head. ‘There’s more to it. I’m sure.’

Alfie snapped, looking slightly uncomfortable, ‘Why does there have to be more to it?’

Del looked puzzled before he frowned. ‘What’s your problem hey, Alf?’

‘I never said I had a problem, I just think not everything’s as deep and frigging complicated as you make it. Reckon you’ve been hanging out too much with your missus.’

A dark expression came over Del’s face. ‘And I reckon that …’

Before Del could get the rest of the sentence out, the door of the café was swung open by two masked men. One of them shouted, the distinct Chinese accent present in his voice, and it was clear to everyone they were the triads.

‘A message for disobeying the rules.’ The man threw what he was holding in his hand before rushing back out of the café. There was a loud bang, followed by a flash of light. Immediately Vaughn began to shout.

‘Get down! Get down!’ he bellowed as Alfie grabbed hold of Lola, pushing her to safety under one of the tables as the small petrol bomb the man had thrown exploded into the corner of the Bateman Street café.

A small fire broke out as the place began to fill with black smoke. Most of the men, save the ones trying to put out the fire with water, pulled out their guns, racing to the entrance.

Tommy Donaldson, getting outside first, watched as the two men sped off on a scooter turning right into Greek Street. The other men, seconds behind, piled out of the café, along with Lola, whose face was red with rage. She stared at everyone, her whole body shaking as tears of shock ran down her face. She spoke, her voice stripped of its usual warmth as they all stood and watched her beloved café burning.

‘I don’t care. I don’t bleedin’ care how you do it but as of right now, it stops; all of it. The squabbling, the petty jealousies, the blown-up egos, the whole bleedin’ works. You lot need to start working together to sort this out. Because no one, no bleeding one, not even an army of Samurai-fucking-warriors will ever get away with trying to destroy me frigging café.’ And with tears streaming down her face and her head held high, Lola Harding hit each of the men on their chest with her battered handbag before turning and walking away, leaving all those present feeling ashamed and less like London’s feared number one gangsters, and more like reprimanded schoolboys.

2

The Turkish restaurateur, Sarp, and his wife Anna sat across the table from Alfie Jennings. They were telling him the story of what had happened the night before last – but Sarp’s face told the tale more than his words did. The multi-coloured bruises covered most of his face, a large bandage covering the now-stitched gash.

‘I thought they were going to rape her.’

Alf’s voice was urgent. ‘They didn’t though?’

‘No, but they could’ve done. They could’ve done anything. Worst thing is they knew it and so did I. They ain’t afraid of no one. It was a game to them. They’re animals, Alf. Animals.’

Fear was imprinted in their features and Alfie could see Anna was visibly shaking as she clung onto Sarp. Alfie had known them for over ten years. They were good people and they respected him as both a friend and a face.

He’d had a call from Sarp, pleading for him to go round. It wasn’t the usual course of events. If there was a problem in Soho one of the smaller faces, the upcoming guys, usually dealt with it. Alfie had been around too long to have to deal with shit between neighbours or some of the Toms touting on corners to the disapproval of the business owners.

But this was different. And although he’d known straight away what it was about he was pleased that Sarp had come to him; for more than one reason.

‘So you see, you guys need to do something. I can’t have my wife terrified. Look at her, she’s in a right state. They ain’t like us. They’re crazy. If you don’t do anything, Alf, you’ll give me no option … I’ll have to get the Old Bill involved.’

Alfie leaned back on his chair and shook his head. ‘Come on Sarp, you know we don’t get the filth involved. We look after our own. Calling the Old Bill is dead man’s talk.’

Sarp stared at Alfie furiously. ‘Well, tell me what I’m supposed to do then. ’Cos I don’t see any of you lot giving a flying fuck what happens to Soho. It’s going to rack and fucking ruin, like the rest of the country.’

Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘There’s always Turkey.’

‘Don’t give me that, Alf. This is my country too. I’ve worked hard, like my parents did when they came over in the Fifties. Tell me something, is it really too much to ask to be able to sleep in my own bed at night without myself or my wife being dragged out by a bunch of hammer-wielding maniacs? You need to do something, Alfie and quick, otherwise I swear I’ll go down to the cop shop, and I won’t give a shit what any of you lot think.’

‘Sarp, just hear me out; don’t be doing anything rash. It ain’t just me who won’t like it. It’ll be the others. Do you really want to cross swords with the likes of Del Williams and Vaughn Sadler? Give me time to sort this out.’

‘And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, hey? Perhaps I should go and speak to the Taylors.’

Alfie pounced on Sarp’s words. ‘No!… No! Don’t do that. Leave it to me and I’ll sort it, but I’ll sort it my way … I promise.’ He stared at Sarp. There was no way he wanted him to go to the Taylors, or any other faces for that matter. Alfie needed to sort something out first or rather, he needed to go and see somebody first.

Sarp looked unsure. ‘They said they’d come back. If I didn’t have the money to pay them, they’d come back and really do something. They ain’t messing about, Alfie.’ The restaurant owner dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m not ashamed to tell you I’m scared; really scared. Those triads mean business.’

‘Okay, you might not like this suggestion, but you need to pay them …’

‘No fucking way, Alf. No way. The minute you start paying them; that’s it. It’s over. I’ll be forever in their pocket, and they’ll just keep wanting more and more until I’ve got fuck all left.’

‘If you’re six foot under you won’t need to worry about money. Pay them. Keep them sweet for now.’

‘No. I worked hard to get where I am, and there’s no way I’m going to give tea money; protection money to people. It’s crazy.’

‘I know it is, but ain’t nothing I can do at this moment. I’m not saying pay forever; of course I’m not, but it’ll keep you and your missus safe for now.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Well, I am. You came to me for a reason. Pay up, and I’ll have it sorted for you in a week.’

Sarp glanced at his wife, who looked anxious. Alfie went into his pocket and brought out a roll of fifty-pound notes. He pushed the money into Sarp’s hand who nodded gratefully.

‘Okay Alfie. A week, but no more.’

‘Just hold on tight. I’ll make sure everything is sorted.’

Sarp fell silent for a moment before saying, ‘They said something. Something about me speaking to you about breaking rules. What did they mean?’

Alfie looked uncomfortable. ‘I dunno. They’re just talking shit. Can’t listen to anything they say.’

Sarp looked suspicious. ‘It’s funny, they seemed so sure I should talk to you.’

Alfie said nothing, just got up to go and headed towards the door. He turned to Sarp, talking to him quietly, his voice full of reassurance. ‘Listen, forget what they said. We need to concentrate on sorting you out, mate. You did the right thing by calling me. But listen, I don’t want you mentioning we had this conversation. And I don’t want you mentioning what happened to your restaurant to anybody. Do you understand?’

‘I dunno, it seems odd.’

Alfie looked exasperated. ‘It ain’t odd. The less people know the better. I don’t want word to get out we’re on their case. I’ll speak to the Taylors. You know Johnny and Frankie.’

‘Yeah, they’re good people.’

‘Well I’ll see what they think about it all. I’ll make sure they keep an eye on things as well. Just trust me. Everything is going to be fine.’ Alfie smiled at Sarp, patting him on his back as he went.

He opened the restaurant door, walking out into the bright light. He wasn’t quite certain of what he was going to do but one thing Alfie Jennings did know was that there was no way he’d be talking to the Taylors. This was something he needed to sort out by himself.

3

‘I’m impressed, Lin. You did well. The fire was only a warning, but one they’ll take seriously. It’s only a shame I couldn’t have been there to see their reaction.’ Mr Lee, a small unassuming-looking gentleman who’d just celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday, smiled darkly at his second-in-command. His accent, a surprise to those who met him and far removed from the obvious assumption of a heavy South-East Asian one, was Etonian in sound, and certainly not representative of his rural upbringing.

Chang Lee had been born to impoverished but hardworking parents in the poor, yet beautiful town of Zhouzhuang in the Jiangsu Province of China, which had a rich 900-year history. It was a place surrounded by water, often dubbed by the Europeans as the Oriental Venice.

Growing up in Zhouzhuang, the young Chang Lee had despised the poverty and hardship which seemed to determine and limit his family. With the harsh and controlling idealistic socialist regime of the people’s republic of China, led by Mao Zedong, Chang saw the widespread famine and perishing of families due to Mao’s land reforms which formed the basis of the infamous and disastrous Great Leap Forward campaign.

The Great Leap Forward had been an economic and social campaign that was supposed to change China from an agrarian economy into a leading, modern society to rival and compete with other industrialised countries in the world within a five-year time period.

From the beginning it had been a disaster, with the Maoist regime forcing millions of Chinese citizens to move and work in communes on farms or in manufacturing. Private farming was prohibited, and those who did it were assumed to be counter-revolutionaries and were either tortured or executed for it.

As a consequence of the Chinese people being forced off the land and into the factories to try to produce steel, the crops were neglected and along with the compounding effects of the floods of 1959, within the three-to four-year period during which the campaign ran, the estimated death toll was between twenty to thirty million.

When the campaign was brought to an early halt, Mao Zedong was forced to resign from his position as Head of State, but the damage had been done.

All around him Chang saw the devastating effects of abject poverty, hating, yet strangely admiring, Mao Zedong. He’d looked with disdain at his parents who had nothing and were certain to die that way, and then he’d looked at the tyranny of power and fear Mao had implemented in a once-great nation. Although Chang could see that Mao’s campaign had desolated the country, it was Mao whom he admired and wanted to emulate.

The chance of following his dreams of a better life and escaping the picture-postcard town of Zhouzhuang, with its numerous arched bridges, murmuring brooks, narrow waterways and quiet simplicity, came when Chang had been just fourteen. An uncle of his had had permission from the government to travel down to Lo Wu, on the border of Hong Kong.

Travelling throughout the country in the Sixties was mostly a foreign concept to the people of China, risking death or imprison-ment if caught doing so without permission, therefore Chang saw his uncle being allowed to take the refined bars of iron ore down to Lo Wu as probably his only opportunity to make the seven-hundred-and-fifty-mile journey to where China bordered British-ruled Hong Kong, the place he’d set his heart on being.

He’d sneaked into the back of his uncle’s lorry, without thought or goodbye to his parents, and had lain crammed amongst the metal rungs for over a week, with barely any water and certainly no food for the whole of the journey.

When Chang had arrived in Lo Wu, he’d slept rough, hiding out in the backstreets. During the day he’d tried to glean information about how to cross the border to Hong Kong. It’d taken over a month for Chang to find out what he needed, during which time he’d stolen food from shops and broken into houses to steal money. It all came naturally to him; even though crime had previously been absent in his life it now seemed second nature, and although he was fending for himself at only fourteen, Chang was the happiest he’d ever felt.

A man Chang had met when he’d been getting something to eat had told him about the yellow waters of the Sham Chun River which flowed unceasingly under the Lo Wu bridge; the only link between China and Hong Kong.

He’d told Chang about the town of Sham Chun which stood on the river, a few miles down from Lo Wu, telling Chang about the people who’d risked their lives by swimming the river to the British side to escape communist China.

But Chang hadn’t seen it as a risk as he’d listened to the tales of those that’d made it and those that’d perished by drowning or from the bullets of the soldiers who stood in the chain of sentry boxes along the shore. No, Chang had seen it as his bid to freedom.

At its widest point the river was less than a quarter of a mile across; an easy crossing to a strong swimmer like Chang. What wasn’t so easy to avoid was the manned twenty-four hours a day armed guards searching the river banks for any would-be escapees hiding out until the darkness of night.

Over the next few weeks, Chang took daily trips to Sham Chun to survey the river, taking in the position of the sentry boxes and the patrolling guard’s schedule, then on the 3rd July 1965 Chang hid amongst the rushes of the river, waiting for his chance to make the journey across.

Chang knew from hearing the nightly echoing of bullets across the river that the sentries would fire at the slightest noise and the waters would be aglow and riddled with bullets, but neither this nor the stories of failed escape attempts could deter Chang from lowering himself quietly into the cold blackness of the river.

The swim across had been almost uneventful until he’d seen a family of six a few metres behind him. The youngest child had begun to cry, and had immediately brought attention to the escapees.

Without a moment’s hesitation on hearing the child’s noise, the guards had opened fire, killing all those present and wounding Chang in his leg. The wound had been deep and the blood had poured out into the river but Chang had continued to swim through his pain and haziness, making it across to the other side, onto the safety of British-ruled soil.

He’d blacked out on the river bank and had woken up in the back of an old van, after a kindly man had driven past and seen him lying there. The man had taken Chang to his home, a tiny, squalid apartment within Kowloon Walled City; once thought to be the most densely populated place on Earth, with 50,000 people crammed into only a few blocks,

From the Fifties the walled city had been run by the triads and this was the place Chang Lee had learnt his trade; prostitution, gambling, drug dealing, along with implementing fear and torture.

Chang had lived within the walls of the city until the government destroyed it in 1994, forcibly evicting everyone; but by this time, Chang had become one of the most feared triads – powerful and ruthless, still basing his ethos on Chairman Mao.

Chang hadn’t minded leaving Kowloon Walled City, the place had become too small for him, and he too big for the place, and now he’d set his eyes on something more international; London.

In 1997, Chang found himself on a boat to England, and although the government’s demolishment of Kowloon had ultimately put paid to Chang’s livelihood, leaving him with no money, it hadn’t mattered to him. He knew it was only a matter of time before he built himself up again, along with his reputation; but this time it would be in London.

During the next twelve years Chang had gone to elocution lessons, involved himself in the heroin business, mainly in south-west London, making money and contacts; but then the bottom had dropped out of it, and he’d turned to gambling dens amongst other things. It was then he’d decided to move to Chinatown.

Through violence and manipulation, he’d secured the monopoly in illegal gambling, and no one had dared to challenge his position – that was, until now. Until Alfie Jennings had decided to open his own casino in Soho, breaking the rules of the pact which saw the triads run all casinos and the faces of London deal with whatever it was they dealt with. And now they were going to pay. Now, the rules had changed. Now, Chang was going to take over everything, and Soho was just the beginning of their takeover of London.

Lin nodded at Chang Lee as he drew an ace in the poker game he was playing with Mr Lee’s other men. ‘I would’ve liked to have done more, show them all what fear really is.’

Mr Lee stood up from the card table. He was already ten thousand down but he liked to occasionally lose to his inferiors; winning all the time was only something a fool would want, it made you lazy. ‘Slowly, Lin; slowly slowly catchy monkey. We want to do it properly. We want to force them out of Soho, like rats on a sinking boat. Soho will be ours, but patience is our path.’

Before Lin could answer, the buzzer rang. He looked on the monitors, immediately recognising the caller. It was Alfie Jennings.

Chang Lee gave a tight smile as he headed for the door. ‘I think I’ll leave the pleasure of a meeting with Mr Jennings to you, Lin.’ He paused, adding, ‘Oh and Lin, don’t forget to send the flowers.’ With that, Mr Lee left the room.

Alfie Jennings looked at his watch and quickly glanced around. He took a deep breath before again pressing the door buzzer of the unmarked basement office. They were taking the piss, he knew for a fact someone would be there. No doubt they’d be watching him on the CCTV cameras, thinking it was funny to make him wait. Well he’d show them. Oh yes, he was going to tell them just what he thought of their warnings and intimidation. No one, but no one was going to rip the piss out of the Jennings, especially not a bunch of noodle-eating triads.

Why should the triads have the monopoly on it all? Alfie hadn’t signed a fucking agreement saying they had the stakehold on casinos. There was enough money to go around and he not only wanted some of it, he was going to get it.

When Alfie had had the idea of opening a casino, he’d got one of his business associates to introduce him to Mr Lee, the head of the triads. He’d been polite, and asked them if he could open a casino, something he usually would never have done. He’d expected the man to say yes, but he’d just laughed in his face and given a point blank no. He’d asked three times more but he’d been warned off, something which had angered him no end, but had given him the nudge he needed; making him decide he didn’t need anyone’s permission to open a late-night illegal gambling den in his own club, Whispers.

It was a fucking muppet contract and of course, whoever had agreed to it had been a mug or a pussy, or both. No one would tell him what to do, and once he’d spoken to Mr Lee everything would get sorted and he, Alfie would carry on with his get-money-fast plan.

Of course he hadn’t told anyone what he was doing, but he’d spent his life playing by the rules of Soho and now it was time for Alfie to start to think about himself. And setting up this gambling club was doing exactly that. By the time word did get out to the other faces that he’d opened a casino behind everyone’s back, he’d be hopefully lying on the Costa del Sol with Franny, because that’s what it was all about. Having enough money behind him to wave goodbye to Soho and spend the rest of his days with Franny Doyle.

‘Ah, Mr Jennings, Lin is downstairs waiting for you.’ One of Mr Lee’s men opened the door to the basement office in Gerrard Street, Soho. He bowed courteously to Alfie, who scowled and growled at the man.

‘I ain’t here to see the monkey, I’m here to see the organ grinder. I want to see Mr Lee. Where is he?’

The man didn’t react, simply saying, ‘As I said, Lin is downstairs. He’d be delighted if you joined him for tea.’

Having no choice, Alfie followed the man along the dimly lit corridors to a white door which was opened by a smiling Lin.

‘Mr Jennings, a pleasure.’

‘Ain’t no pleasure for me mate, where’s your boss?’

‘I’m afraid Mr Lee doesn’t see visitors without an appointment.’

‘What is he, a fucking doctor? I ain’t here to get me cholesterol checked, I’m here to give him a piece of me mind, and get this sorted out.’

Lin smiled, looking amused. ‘A piece of your mind; what a strange expression, Mr Jennings, a curiosity quite how that would be achieved, unless of course someone puts an axe in your head.’

Alfie’s face darkened. He hated dealing with foreigners, especially smarmy ones, and the Chinese were the worst for that. To Alfie they had an air about them that made him feel they were looking down at him; that they thought themselves superior to him in some way.

‘Look, keep the chat to yourself, Lin, I want to make this short. Tell Lee to back off Soho.’

Lin roared with laughter, causing Alfie to seethe with even more anger.

‘And why would he do that?’

‘Well if he knows what’s good for him he will.’

Lin, a tall muscular man with dark eyes and poker-straight hair tied in a ponytail, was deadpan in his response. ‘Mr Jennings, aren’t they the same words we gave you when you came to ask us before about opening a casino? We told you not to, if you knew what was good for you, yet here you are demanding that we back off. Too late, Mr Jennings; the dove no longer carries the olive branch.’

Alfie stepped forward towards Lin. ‘Listen pal, I like straight talk, you can save all that spiel for the fortune cookies. I’m telling you, back off Soho.’

‘You broke the rules, Mr Jennings, you should’ve thought about that before. All these attacks on Soho are your making. If you had let things be, left the casinos to us, then everything would have been fine.’

‘That’s bullshit, you would’ve come sooner or later. We both know that.’

Lin contemplated Alfie’s words. ‘Perhaps you’re right, but you’ll never know now the rules have been broken.’

Frustrated, Alfie shouted, ‘There ain’t no fucking rules, and your name’s not Hasbro, you don’t have the monopoly on casinos. There’s enough punters to go around for us all to have a share.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. There are rules, ones which you have disobeyed, and it would be in your best interest to stop with your casino now before it’s too late.’

Alfie looked curious. ‘And if I did, that would make you back off Soho?’

‘Oh no, like I say, Mr Jennings, it’s all gone too far, but it would keep you safe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be.’

Lin walked away but stopped, turning back round to face Alfie. ‘Oh, and if it’s straight talk you want, then how about this, Mr Jennings … Don’t fuck with us or you’re a dead man.’

‘I don’t get it. Why now? Why fucking make a ruck after all these years?’ Vaughn Sadler shook his head as he paced about in Bateman Street, speaking to Lola. He watched as his men boarded up her café; it was the least he could do. Lola didn’t have the means or probably the insurance to get the place up and running again and besides it being her livelihood, Vaughn also knew how much it meant to her.

The café gave her a purpose, kept her as part of the community within the only life she’d ever known. Years ago Lola had been a Tom, working street corners and living with various pimps, and although she had been harder, tougher and not a woman to mess with, she’d still been Lola. Ferociously loyal; someone who would do anything for anybody.

‘Watch what yer bleeding doing! When I want a bunch of frigging muppets fixing me caff, I’ll call Disney.’ Lola shouted at the men, making Vaughn smile. The fire was only superficial and it clearly was only a warning; nothing that a little work and a fresh coat of paint and a few builders couldn’t fix. But the one thing Vaughn knew they couldn’t fix was how he felt.

Last night was a wake-up call for him. Until then, he’d seen the summons to come back to Soho as an inconvenience. But that was then and this was now, and now had just got personal.

The attacks on businesses in Soho over the last few weeks had been troubling, but nothing that had kept him awake at night. He didn’t really know the owners of these places and in consequence he’d been able to keep a distance from it all, but Lola? An attack on Lola Harding, who’d been there through so many hard times with him; that was different. And if the triads wanted an all-out war, then that’s exactly what they were going to get.

Lighting a cigar, something which was a relatively new habit, Vaughn continued to mull things over. He didn’t get it. He just didn’t get why the triads would make a move now. They’d lived in relative harmony for all these years, with Shaftesbury Avenue acting not only as a road dividing Soho and Chinatown but also acting as the separation of the two turfs.

They had an understanding, an unwritten rule about trespassing into each other’s territories or challenging each other’s businesses and so far it’d worked; since as far back as Vaughn could remember. So what had changed? What had gone wrong to warrant these unprovoked attacks? He honestly had no clue, but he certainly was going to find out, and when he did, whoever was behind it, he was going to stop. Once and for fucking all. And that was certainly worth coming out of retirement for.

‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Lola Harding?’ A man walked round the corner.

Vaughn eyed him suspiciously. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘These are for her.’ The man held a large bunch of lilies in his hand.

Hearing they were for her, Lola ran up to the man, snatching the flowers off him as her eyes twinkled in delight. ‘Bleedin’ hell, look at that. Ain’t they beautiful Vaughnie? I wonder who they’re from. I bet they’re from Franny or Casey. Ain’t that sweet, they knew how upset I was.’ She grabbed the card inside them and began to read it but her face drained of colour.

Vaughn looked concerned. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s from them.’

Lola shoved the card at Vaughn, who read it out loud.

‘To Mrs Harding, with deepest condolences. Next time you won’t be so fortunate.’

Another person who was mulling things over was Alfie Jennings. He hadn’t slept well. Even the presence of the beautiful Franny Doyle lying in his bed next to him hadn’t given him any comfort. She was so different from any woman he’d ever been with. Fiercely independent, successful, and sharper than a fucking scalpel in surgery. And he’d done the thing he’d scorned Vaughn for and vowed he’d never do. Ever. He’d fallen in love. And what a frigging chump he felt.

Everything had turned upside down and it drove Alfie crazy. Rather than having some dolly bird or fucking some Tom, all he wanted to do was spend time with Franny, the daughter of one of his old acquaintances, Patrick Doyle. When he’d first met Franny, he’d been blown away by her beauty. Piercing blue eyes and a mane of long silky hair. But she had hated him, or so she said, though he still reckoned it was more a question of how she wanted him but just couldn’t have him.

He’d thought she was a stuck-up spoilt cow, but had been cordial because of the respect he had for her father. But like everything else, things had happened, people’s outlooks changed and they’d got together and been inseparable ever since, or so he liked to tell himself.

Franny did his nut in. Most birds had always wanted to chew his ear off about him not spending enough time with them. His ex-wife, Janine Jennings, had nagged him so much about having family time with her that he’d ended up buying a mansion in Essex and dumping the fat greedy bitch there whilst he played, lived and worked in Soho. But now it seemed he was having a taste of his own medicine. Because now he wanted to spend his time with a woman; all his time if he had his way, but now the woman he’d fallen for, Franny, who was as stubborn as a mule on smack, wanted to keep her independence both financially and personally. And he, Alfie Jennings hadn’t heard such a crock of shit since ‘The Chicken Song’.

Still, he had other things to worry about at this moment. The conversation with Sarp had bothered him, especially as his name was now being mentioned; plus the attacks on Soho were beginning to get closer to home, and the meeting with Lin hadn’t gone to plan. Though perhaps once he spoke to Mr Lee, not Lin, things might be able to get worked out, or at least Alfie hoped they would.

When the attacks had first started he’d originally thought they might be a one-off and nothing to worry about, a warning shot from the triads, but after Lola’s café and Sarp’s restaurant it was clear that he’d been wrong. And one thing Alfie never liked to be was wrong.

It was beginning to get out of hand, especially now Sarp was on his case and threatening to call the Old Bill and make a noise; a sure way to make matters worse. Sarp paying them off for now would give Alfie time to sort it. But like he’d said to Sarp, he was going to do it his way – and his way was certainly not going to involve Vaughn Sadler. There was no way Alfie could let him know he’d set up a casino behind his and the other faces’ backs and that the attacks on Soho were a consequence of his actions.

About to pick up the phone to try to speak to Mr Lee, the doorbell of Alfie’s flat rang. Looking at the monitor of the CCTV screen, he saw some woman; young, brassy, standing at the door. He sighed, that was one of the bad things about having a past like his. He’d fucked that many Toms and escorts, wives and girlfriends, it was inevitable on occasion the odd one would turn up wanting to get another taste of the Jennings.

Pulling his Ralph Lauren pink jumper over his shirt, a present from Franny, Alfie headed down the plush cream thick-carpeted stairs. The bell rang again.

‘Fucking hell, hold up, this ain’t Aintree you know. I’m coming!’ Alfie yelled out to the unknown caller as he began to unbolt the door.

‘Yes?’ Alfie peered at the female caller, his good looks scrunched up in the April sunshine as he scanned his memory to recall where he knew her from.

‘It’s me.’ The woman stood chewing gum. Alfie thought she couldn’t have been older than about twenty, if she was that. She was certainly a looker though; high cheekbones, button nose, big red lips and the largest of green eyes staring out at him. She was slim yet curvaceous, and her large breasts were further emphasised in the tight red top she wore with matching mini-skirt. Alfie sniffed, she was definitely a brass. A cheap one at that. Even though she was pretty he knew he must’ve been well cut for him to go anywhere near someone who looked that young. Jail bait certainly wasn’t his thing.

‘Well?’ The girl pouted, then spat out her gum. Alfie shook his head. Once upon a time he remembered when women were women, whether they were an old brass or not they still didn’t go round acting like geezers.

‘Well what?’ Alfie answered coldly.

‘Ain’t you going to say anything to me?’

If she wanted money, well she’d come to the wrong door and if she was looking for more of the same, well maybe once but certainly not now he was with Franny. This was the first time in his life Alfie had been monogamous, and strangely enough it felt good.

‘Like what?’

‘Like hello?’

‘Like piss off.’

The girl rolled her eyes at Alfie. ‘That’s bleedin’ charming ain’t it? You can’t remember me, can you?’

‘Listen darling, do yourself a favour and go and knock on someone else’s door will ya. I’m pleased to say my days of rodding are well and truly over; besides your lot are ten a penny and if I was in the market for it, I certainly wouldn’t be barking up your skirt, I’ve never liked mouthy birds and especially not ones that look like they’ve still got their homework books in their bag. Now do one.’

The girl crossed her arms, scowling from under her long blonde hair, cheeks flushed with anger. ‘My lot? And what is “my lot”? What’s that supposed to mean?’

Alfie smirked, ‘You want me to spell it out to you?’

The girl put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it before she continued to speak. She narrowed her eyes as the smoke wafted into them and began to walk away, throwing her small tattered rucksack over her shoulder. ‘You know what, don’t bother, me mum always said you were a wanker.’

Alfie looked stunned. Her mum? What was she talking about?

The girl turned around, sticking two fingers up at Alfie. ‘See you around, Uncle Alfie, it’s been a pleasure.’

Uncle Alfie? What?… Wait. Shit. It couldn’t be. Alfie shouted out to the girl as she disappeared into the crowd of milling tourists in Old Compton Street.

‘Chloe?… Chloe-Jane? Wait!… Wait!’ Out of breath, Alfie caught up to the girl and grabbed her arm, recognition mixed with puzzlement written over his face.

‘Chloe? Fuck me girl, you’ve changed. The last time …’

‘I know, I know, the last time you saw me I looked a flipping geek.’

Alfie’s voice was warm, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment. ‘I wasn’t going to say that … you’ve just, well, grown up, that’s all.’

Chloe-Jane beamed a smile. ‘Oh you mean these. I had them done last year, cost five bleeding grand.’ She pointed to her large breasts, proudly sticking out her chest even further which caught the leering attention of a male passer-by, who quickly averted his eyes once he saw the steely glare of Alfie.

Alfie pulled her towards him before taking his jumper off.

‘No, I didn’t mean them.’

Chloe-Jane giggled as Alfie handed her his top. ‘Oh Uncle Alfie, you’re so old-fashioned.’

Alfie’s voice was firm. ‘Just put it on.’

Chloe-Jane decided it was best to do as her Uncle Alfie said. She pouted, taking the jumper begrudgingly. She liked showing off her body. Liked men looking at her. It made a change.

For so long she’d been the geeky kid in school, with second-hand clothes and second-hand care. Her mother hadn’t given a shit about her. She was either boozed-up or cracked-up.

She’d lost count of the amount of times she’d gone into short-term foster homes which were a relief from the chaos of life with her mother. If it had been her choice she would’ve stayed with any one of the foster carers she’d been to, apart from the last ones. Chloe shuddered, remembering.

As foster carers went they’d been okay, well at first anyway. The woman, a doctor, had been harmless, though it’d been clear to Chloe that she disapproved of her. Her husband had been a lawyer and Chloe had thought he was kind. He’d taken her places, bought her things, told her she was pretty and treated her like a father would treat a daughter. Not that she knew what that was like, she never even knew who her dad was and neither did her mum. All Chloe had ever known was a procession of her mum’s violent boyfriends.

The man had even bought her a puppy whom she’d named Timmy, a cute white poodle. Then on her sixteenth birthday he’d given her the best present ever. He’d offered to buy her a boob job, and of course she’d jumped at the chance.

The operation had gone well and she’d gone up to a double EE. At only sixteen, the girls at school had been riddled with jealousy as suddenly overnight Chloe was now the most popular one with the boys. It’d been the happiest time of her life – and then it’d happened. Something she should’ve seen coming.

She’d been asleep when her foster father had woken her up. His hands and his mouth groping at her, pulling at her body and breasts as she tried to push him off. But he’d been too strong for her and after putting up a fight, Chloe finally was overpowered and the man had forced his erect penis into her. That was the night Chloe-Jane Jennings had lost her virginity.

The next day, Chloe had packed her things and gone to sit in the offices of social services, but as she had turned sixteen, no one had wanted to listen to her – she was too old. She’d gone back to her mother’s but had only lasted a further eight months before her mother’s behaviour had become too much for her.

She’d slept on friends’ floors for another eight months before deciding to come up to London and leave Essex behind once and for all. And it was only when she’d arrived in London she’d remembered her Uncle Alfie. Her mother’s half-brother. She’d only ever seen him twice in her life. But both times she remembered vividly because of his kindness. So where better to come and stay but with him? After all, he was family.

‘I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this, it’s just I ain’t got anywhere else to go. But I reckoned you wouldn’t mind me staying with you.’

Alfie stared at her. He hadn’t seen this coming, and even if he had there was just no way it was happening.

‘When you say stay, what exactly do you mean?’

‘Like stay. Crash out at yours. It’d be only for a couple of nights.’

Alfie began to shake his head. ‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea.’

Chloe-Jane looked at Alfie. She had to play this delicately. She glanced at Alfie slyly. Lying came second nature to her, after all, she was her mother’s daughter. Chloe chose her words very carefully.

‘Well that’s what my mum said, but I said you weren’t like that. I said you were the sort of bloke who wouldn’t mind me just turning up out of the blue.’

Alfie silently nodded. It was true. He was a generous, welcoming guy. He listened on as Chloe continued.

‘I don’t know why Emmie thinks you’re ’orrible. She don’t know how lucky she is. If I had a dad like you, I’d …’

Alfie smarted at hearing the name of his daughter. The idea that Emmie thought he was horrible killed him.

‘When did Emmie say that?’

Chloe shrugged her shoulders, knowing it wasn’t true. In fact she hadn’t spoken to her cousin in years. She’d heard her mum speak to Janine – Alfie’s ex and Emmie’s mother – on the phone and retell all the ins and outs of what happened, but besides that she really didn’t know anything about Emmie.

‘Anyhow, I best be getting on, Uncle Alfie. I gotta find meself somewhere else to stay. Sorry for troubling you.’

‘No! Wait! Did your mum really call me a wanker?’

Chloe shook her head and a look of relief passed over Alfie’s face, though it was only short-lived. ‘No, she actually called you a cunt.’

Alfie’s face reddened.

‘Anyway Uncle Alfie, I really got to go.’

‘Maybe … maybe it’d be alright for a couple of nights.’

‘Really?’

It was Alfie’s turn to shrug. ‘I guess … but I mean a couple.’

Chloe squealed with delight as Alfie led her back to his flat. Well what could he do? After all, she was family. And family stuck together, no what matter what. The only problem was, Chloe was trouble. Alfie could smell it a mile away.

4

The scream echoed through the building and out onto the street as if it were a gush of air, causing the late-night passers-by to stop and wonder what they’d just heard, before hurrying quickly away.

Inside one of the darkened rooms of the six-storey building Chang Lee owned in Gerrard Street, Chinatown, Mr Lee stood behind the two-way mirror. The building’s ground and first floor housed a restaurant run by some of Chang Lee’s men, with the higher floors used for late-night illegal gambling, and the basement where he was now, for moments like this.

Chang watched his second-in-command, Lin, screw the pliers into the cheek of Sarp.

‘Open up. I said, open up!’ Lin shouted loudly, his eyes dancing in excitement as he began to extract the teeth of the man whose face already poured with blood.

Mr Lee looked on calmly, not showing a hint of emotion, watching whilst a patch of urine spread further across the tormented man’s bloodstained underwear. He’d seen enough.

‘Stop!’ The one-word well-spoken order from Lee had Lin immediately breaking off from the pain they were inflicting on the man. Lin exhaled heavily, out of breath from all the physical exertion.

Mr Lee came out from behind the mirror, walking over to the man who lay crumpled on the stone floor like a heap of old sacks.

‘My men are very loyal to me. When I give an order they like to carry it out; it’s a matter of honour, you see. And when they can’t, it upsets them. In Hong Kong we have a code. A code in which we swear an oath to preserve the fellowship at all costs. To do all we can to uphold it. My men will go to any lengths to make sure my orders are carried through.’

Sarp growled out something inaudible as Mr Lee shook his head.

‘Pride can be an honourable trait, but it can also be a foolish one and cause a very nasty fall.’ Mr Lee stood up, towering over the man as he continued to talk, his tone sinister. ‘What I don’t understand is why. Why on earth you wouldn’t just pay. We could’ve protected you. Looked after your business … looked after you. But as such, you’ve lost everything. Everything gone. Burnt to the ground.’

Through the pain, Sarp mumbled his words of defiance.

‘I ain’t paying you lot nothing. Fuck all.’

Mr Lee nodded to Lin, who picked up a discarded piece of wood from the floor and played with it in his hand for a moment as Lee continued to speak.

‘That’s it right there. The pride coming before the fall – and as for you not paying us anything; how wrong you are. You’ve paid a very high price indeed.’ Lee nodded once more to Lin, who effortlessly swung the wood and smashed it into the man’s skull, splitting open his head. Blood and brain mass spilt out as the man started to convulse.

Mr Lee sighed, a note of resignation in his voice. ‘Bag him up.’

It’d just gone three in the morning as Alfie Jennings stood outside Whispers nightclub, which he’d owned for many years. It was something he was proud of, something which was close to his heart. He’d started the club in memory of his mother who’d killed herself when he was only a kid. To this day, the image of finding her covered in blood after she’d stabbed herself in the neck with a pair of garden shears still haunted Alfie.

Although it was only a business, essentially only a building, to him it was a way of keeping his mother’s memory alive and he would do anything in his power to keep it going. In fact, Alfie suspected he’d put a bullet in someone’s head to keep it going.

It was one of the reasons why he had such a problem with Vaughn. Okay, Alfie had made mistakes and got involved with people he shouldn’t have done when he’d got mixed up with a gang of sex traffickers a few years back. But he hadn’t known the full story, hadn’t known all the ins and outs of it, not really, or so he liked to tell himself. What Alfie had known was that it paid well and he had been desperate.

His decision to get involved with the gang had seen Vaughn give him an ultimatum. Pull out of the deal or cut all ties with him. But how could he have done that? Alfie had needed the money and when it looked like Whispers and everything else was about to go under, he’d begged Vaughn to help him, to lend him money – but the only thing his one-time best friend had done was turn his back on him when he’d needed him the most. For that, Alfie Jennings would never forgive him.

Alfie realised Vaughn would have a different version of events to his. There’d be accusations of how he’d mugged him over, lied to him and tried to break up the relationship he had with Casey, and maybe, just maybe Alfie hadn’t played fair, but then he’d never said he was an angel. Besides, what Vaughn had done by pulling his hand of friendship away was in Alfie’s book far worse than anything he might or might not have done.

If it wasn’t for Franny he’d be still down on his luck, but she’d come through even though there was nothing really in it for her. And he was more than grateful, which was why he needed to earn big money, and fast.

Alfie was too old to get involved in heists and robberies; besides, everything had changed; there was no such thing now as a clean robbery, which was essentially a case of going in with shooters, getting the dough before laughing all the way to the Costa.

The old school way of robbing had well and truly gone; the days when people just stuck their hands up, gave you no grief or behaved like funny cunts. Yes, they were the glory days when you could take the money and run, but now everyone wanted to be a hero, everyone wanted to be in the news for stopping a robbery – so more often than not, someone got shot, and the last thing Alfie wanted to do was spend any more of his life doing bird for some have-a-go hero.

No, what he needed to do was get enough money together and go and start a new life in Marbella with Franny. He was ready to settle down, like Vaughn had with Casey. Alfie was ready for the easy life. Jesus, he never thought he’d ever say that.

He’d always thought he’d stay in Soho all his life. Around everything he ever knew. But outlooks changed, people’s perspective altered and it was because of this need to settle down and start afresh with the woman he loved that Alfie had started up his get-money-fast plan.

He hadn’t run any of this by Franny, he thought he’d get everything sorted first. Come to her with a solid plan and enough dough to live the life he wanted and give her everything she could ever wish for. It’d crossed his mind that she might say no, but one of the things Alfie prided himself on was knowing women, and eventually, one way or another he knew he could talk Franny round. Because no matter how independent women thought they were, when it actually came down to it, all they really wanted was to be looked after by a real man, and he was certainly that, a little bit of the Jennings magic went a long way. But once again everything had changed, and now Franny saying no to a luxurious life on the Costa was the least of his worries.

His plan to have a slice of the money from the gambling dens of the triads had seemed so simple. He thought it would run so easily and work so well but it had started to go wrong. Badly wrong. All he’d ever wanted to do was have a share of the riches, not take over their empire, and the amount he’d be earning, taking from them, the likes of Mr Lee wouldn’t even feel it. But they hadn’t seen it like that. Oh no, they hadn’t seen it like that at all. And now he needed to sort it out pront-fucking-o, before anyone, especially Vaughn found out. Because if he did, Alfie knew only too well that Vaughn Sadler would make it the beginning of the end for him.

As Alfie stood in the street, continuing to mull over the scenario he’d found himself in, he watched as a blacked-out car suddenly did a U-turn in the middle of Old Compton Street. It began to speed up and head towards him. Instinct told him to get back.

Jumping into the entrance of the club, Alfie narrowly missed being hit by the car as it pulled up beside him. His heart began to race as adrenaline raced round his body. Shit. The doors of the Mercedes flew open and for a moment Alfie thought it was over. That this was it. That finally his comeuppance had caught up with him. Images flashed through his mind whilst he scrambled for his gun, knowing by the time he drew it, it would probably be too late.

With the gun in his hand and about to fire, the car, as quickly as it’d driven up to Alfie, drove away, but not before the occupants in it had thrown something out. Something wrapped up in black bin bags and bound tightly round with silver gaffer tape. It didn’t take Alfie’s life of crime to tell him what it was.

The relief Alfie felt at not getting a bullet in his head was tangible but short-lived as panic began to set in. He quickly put his gun away and looked round the deserted street to check if anyone had seen what had happened. Satisfied no one was about, Alfie charged over to where the homemade body bag lay.

Quickly he dragged the body into the club, using his feet to push open the doors before diligently locking them behind him. The last thing he needed was someone coming in.

His phone rang. It was Franny. She’d have to wait; Alfie didn’t want her knowing anything about this and if he answered she might sense there was something wrong and as much as he didn’t want to lie to her, he’d have no choice.

Turning on the lights, Alfie stood gazing down at the body-shaped parcel. There was a note taped on the bag. It was written in red. Blood. Claret. And it simply read. This is what happen when you disobey the rules.

Alfie crouched down and took a deep breath. He ripped open the taped bin liners, revealing a naked, tortured body. Burns and bruises marked the man’s white skin. Next, Alfie began to uncover the upper part of the body. The head had been bound over and over again with thick tape, making it necessary for Alfie to use his penknife.

After a few minutes, and with the bags and tape cut away, Alfie grimaced. For all his years of violence, it still sometimes made him recoil to see someone so battered. The geezer had had it bad. Alfie could see the man’s teeth had been forcibly extracted and it looked like his right eye had been gouged out with what was probably a hot poker.

Wiping away some of the man’s blood with part of the torn bin bag, Alfie paused. Shit. Shit. Shit. He knew who the geezer was. It was Sarp.

The last time Alfie had seen him was about a week ago, when he’d promised to have a word with Johnny and Frankie Taylor to keep an eye out, but he’d purposely not bothered, knowing exactly who was behind the threats.

He’d warned Sarp to pay the men until it was sorted. Then it wouldn’t have mattered that Alfie hadn’t spoken to the Taylors – but clearly the man hadn’t heeded his warning, and now he’d paid with his life. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cold sweat ran down Alfie’s face. The whole situation had become out of hand, spinning out of control and it was getting nearer and nearer to his doorstep.

He’d call his men to get rid of the body; he couldn’t afford to have the Old Bill sniffing about, but first before he did anything else he needed to make a call. Taking out his phone from his pocket, Alfie Jennings dialled a number.

‘Mr Lee, it’s Alfie. I think we need to talk.’

5

‘Are you sure he said that?’ Franny Doyle looked at Chloe-Jane incredulously as she laid the few clothes she did have out on the spare bed.

‘Yep. He said as long as it was alright with you, I could stay for as long as I liked.’

Franny gave a small smile. ‘It’s not really my decision.’

Chloe chewed her gum noisily. When Alfie had brought her to the flat, no one else had been in and he’d only just managed to have time to show her to the spare room before rushing out to his club which was almost opposite the flat.

Chloe remembered he’d said something about Franny, but she hadn’t really listened. She wasn’t the least bit interested in any of Alfie’s girlfriends. But then Franny had come in, and they’d both given each other a fright as they’d bumped into each other in the darkened hallway.

That had been two hours ago and for some reason this woman wanted to know all about her, asking her questions about her life. Chloe-Jane wanted not to like her but for some reason she couldn’t help warming to Franny.

Chloe’s eyes glinted slyly. ‘But it is to do with you. Uncle Alfie said if you didn’t mind then I could stay longer … So is it alright? Can I stay?’

Franny wasn’t sure what to say. She could see Chloe was desperate. Behind the front was a vulnerable young woman who was essentially still a child. Her body was that of a woman though, albeit a glamour model. Huge breasts, almost cartoonish in look, disproportionally formed the contours of her tiny body. Huge eyes and full lips gave her sensuality older than her seventeen years which Franny was certain would attract the wrong kind of attention.

It wasn’t Chloe’s fault but it slightly niggled her that Alfie hadn’t bothered to tell her his niece was coming to stay or even ring her for that matter. She knew she was being silly, especially as things like this never usually troubled her. Maybe it had something to do with her finally deciding she was going to tell Alfie that she’d move in with him. Perhaps it was selfish, but the idea of having someone else in the flat whilst she adjusted to giving up her independence hadn’t been what Franny had imagined.

But then what was she supposed to do? Chloe was Alfie’s family and he didn’t have much of that, and if she was going to be with Alfie long term, well that made Chloe her family too. And reading between the lines, it was clear Chloe had had a difficult time of it.

Franny could tell Chloe was proud, just like Alfie, but she hoped the girl would eventually open up to her. She knew through experience what could happen if problems and secrets went unresolved. She also knew what it felt like to be lost.

Franny smiled at Chloe, suppressing a sense of foreboding. ‘Yes Chloe, of course you can stay as long as you want.’

Chloe couldn’t contain the sound of excitement in her voice. Franny was clearly an easy touch. Before she knew it she’d have her eating out of her hand. Things were beginning to look up. ‘I’ll pay my way.’

Franny looked sceptical. ‘Don’t be silly, you haven’t got any money. Besides, Alfie wouldn’t expect that. You’re family.’

‘I will though, then there’ll be no problem.’

‘There’ll be no problem anyway.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure, it’ll be lovely and I’m sure Alfie will feel the same.’

‘No way. No fucking way. Do I look like I’ve got baby-fucking-sitter written all over me boat?’ Alfie Jennings did not need this at all.

‘But I’ve told her now, Alf.’

‘Well un-fucking tell her, Fran. I ain’t got time for this shit now. And who’s going to fork out for her? Muggins here. I don’t even know her and I’m supposed to cop the bill for her? It’s bad enough having to fork out for me ex and me daughter who I never see but who still wants to spend me money, let alone some waif from me half-sister.’

‘You can be really horrible sometimes, Alfie.’

‘So you like to keep on telling me, but I like to see it as being real. I ain’t having someone leeching off me, family or not. So you can tell her she ain’t staying here.’ Christ, this was the last thing Alfie needed. What happened to Sarp had really shaken him up, and he didn’t want to have to worry about anything else. He had to think about what to do, and having Chloe here wasn’t going to help one little bit.

‘Alfie, come on!’

‘Franny, listen, I’ve got a lot going on right now, babe, so when I say no, I mean no. I can’t deal with it at the moment. So just get rid, will ya.’

Chloe-Jane listened at the door as Franny and Alfie argued. Her heart was sinking. She’d hoped against hope that unlike the majority of people in her life, her uncle might actually want her around. But clearly she was wrong.

‘I’m not going to do that. If you want to, you tell her. I’m not going to do your dirty work for you, Alf.’

‘Fine then, I will.’ Alfie headed for the door but Franny grabbed his arm, holding him back.

‘Alfie, no! Wait!… You can’t.’

‘Firstly, I can and I’m going to, but secondly, how come you’re bothered; what’s it to you?’

Franny frowned, annoyed. This was the part of Alfie which irritated her and sometimes made her doubt the relationship. He could be so compassionate at times, but then there were times when he was like this. Ignorant. ‘What do you mean, what’s it to me? She’s your niece and she’s just a kid, plus it’s obvious she’s got nowhere to go.’

Alfie snorted.

‘I hate it when you do that, Alf.’

Alfie looked surprised. ‘Do what?’

‘Snort when you know I’m right.’

Alfie’s roar of laughter made Chloe jump but she continued to listen, her resentment towards her uncle growing greater.

‘You ain’t right, babe. She’s a player.’

‘She’s a seventeen-year-old kid, Alf.’

‘Yeah, a seventeen-year-old kid who wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of Playboy.’

Everything about this moment made Franny want to walk out and go back to her own flat. She hadn’t yet told Alfie about her plans to move in with him and the way the conversation was going she didn’t know if she ever would.

‘Why do you have to be like this, Alfie?’

‘Like what?’

‘Don’t play the innocent!’

Alfie shrugged, he hated it when Franny became difficult. He was used to birds giving him grief; usually when they did he’d just leave them to it and go and find some Tom to fuck or play a few games of poker to get his mind off it. But with Franny he couldn’t do either. Knowing that he, Alfie Jennings, was locked down by a woman pissed him off and fascinated him all at the same time, which in turn made Franny even more attractive to him.

‘Play the innocent! I’d say if anyone had then it’s Chloe. Don’t you see Fran, she’s properly played you. I said to her she could stay for two nights only.’

Franny shook her head, picking up her coat and bag. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, she wanted to go home to her own bed. She didn’t feel like being around Alfie tonight. ‘I’m not stupid, Alf. Of course I know she’s playing me. But don’t you see she’s got nowhere else?’

‘Well she ain’t staying here.’

Franny stood opposite Alfie. She studied his handsome face and gave him a sad smile.

‘Then that makes two of us then.’

Alfie raised his voice in annoyance. ‘You what?’

‘You heard me, there’s no way I’m going to stay here if you throw her out.’

Alfie’s old school instinct kicked in and he growled at Franny, a sneer coming over his face. Love was one thing, but this was another. He was basically being blackmailed by Franny and he didn’t like it. Not one fucking little iota.

‘Sorry darlin’, you may be the woman who’s grabbed me heart but I ain’t letting you grab me balls. No one but fucking no one tells Alfie Jennings what to do.’

Franny stepped in towards Alfie. Her voice was calm but cool. ‘Alfie, I’m not telling you what to do, quite the opposite in fact. I’m telling you what I’m doing. Give me a ring when you’ve stopped being such a prick.’

Franny swung open the living room door, coming face to face with Chloe who had heard every word of the conversation.

‘Get your stuff, Chloe, you can come and stay with me.’

The surprise on Chloe-Jane’s face mirrored that of Alfie’s. Chloe looked first to her uncle, then to Franny and back again. ‘You mean it?’

‘Of course.’

‘No she don’t. This is about me.’ Alfie’s voice was loud and although she ignored it, Franny could sense some hurt in his voice. She swivelled round to look at Alfie.

‘I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Alfie, but the world does not revolve around you. Contrary to what you think, this isn’t about you. This is about Chloe, your niece. Remember?’

Alfie began to panic, this was the last thing he’d expected. ‘You walk out of here and you won’t be walking back in. You hear me?’ The moment the words came tumbling out, Alfie immediately regretted them, especially saying them to someone as fiery and stubborn as Franny Doyle.

Although Franny knew that Alfie didn’t really mean what he’d just said, her eyes flashed with anger. He was behaving like a spoilt child. ‘Is that what you really want, Alfie?’

It was the question Alfie Jennings hoped that Franny wouldn’t ask. Either way, the answer would make him look like a cunt. If he answered it with the truth – which was, of course he didn’t want her not to come back, in fact he didn’t want her to go – he’d look a soft cunt and he’d be open to any sort of female manipulation in the future. The other way he could answer it was with a lie, which would be to tell Fran that, yes he meant it and she could piss off out of his face. If he told her that he’d not only look a cunt, for the first time in his life he knew his heart would break, so instead, Alfie Jennings did what he’d done whenever he got nicked. He stayed silent. After all, it was his right.

Franny glared at him. ‘Fine, well if you haven’t got anything to say, Alf, Chloe and I will get off. You know where we are when and if you decide to wind your neck in.’ And with that Franny marched out of the room, with an excited-looking Chloe next to her.

The front door banged and Alfie rushed across to the window, watching as they walked down the street. He wondered if Franny could feel him watching. There was a huge part of him that wanted to call her back, but his stubbornness and male pride wouldn’t allow it.

He’d been right about Chloe, she was trouble, and now the thought began to creep in that Franny was too. But then show him a woman that wasn’t trouble, and he’d show them a man. Alfie sighed. Maybe it was better like this. Yes, he’d make Franny sweat for a couple of days, bring her back to her senses and have her scratching down the door to come back. It’d also give him time to concentrate and sort out all this mess with the triads.

As Alfie continued to gaze out of the window, he caught a glimpse of someone looking up. He couldn’t make out who it was but he was certain of one thing. Like everything else in his life at the moment, it probably meant only one thing. Trouble.

6

‘Uncle Alfie! Uncle Alfie! Open the bleedin’ door will ya!’ Chloe-Jane banged hard on the side entrance of Whispers nightclub. Two days had passed since the last time she’d seen her uncle. And although no doubt he’d been in a huff, getting his bollocks in a twist, as arguments went, it was nothing. She was used to having stand-up rows, followed by fisticuffs. Broken bottles and drunken slurs thrown about by her mother and her boyfriends; that had been Chloe-Jane’s life, so a few choice words were no reason to harbour a grudge. As well as this, she wanted something from Alfie.

About to bang on the door again, it was swung open by a startled-looking Alfie, something which didn’t go unnoticed by Chloe-Jane.

‘Alright mate!’ She grinned, trying to peer over Alfie’s shoulder. ‘Up to no good, are ya?’

Alfie scowled. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got too much chat? Anyway what are you doing here? I thought you’d be somewhere else causing trouble.’

‘Ain’t me causing trouble. What’s going on in there, ’cos whatever it is I bet Franny don’t know nothing about it?’

Alfie stepped out into the alleyway, making sure the side door of the club was closed behind him. He shoved her gently on her shoulder. ‘Piss off, will you. I don’t need you buzzing around here like a fly on a pig’s arse. So do one.’

Chloe-Jane looked nonplussed. ‘Can’t understand what Franny sees in you.’

‘Well it’s a good job it ain’t nothing to do with you, ain’t it?… What is it you want anyway? Oh don’t tell me, money …’ Alfie went in his pocket and took out a roll of twenty-pound notes. ‘Go on then, how much do you want? How much will it cost me for you to go on your merry way?’

Chloe-Jane looked affronted. ‘I don’t want yer money!’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

Chloe-Jane folded her arms, reminding Alfie of his ex. ‘I want a job.’

Alfie roared with laughter. ‘A job, in my club?’

‘Yeah, what’s wrong with that?’

‘Now I know you’re taking the piss. For a start, my club is a classy joint and the way you dress it’d make it look like it was a knocking shop for misfits and secondly, giving you a job would mean I’d have to trust you and I don’t, not one tiny bit.’

Having developed a thick skin over the years to survive, Chloe-Jane was not put off. ‘Oh please Uncle Alfie, I won’t let you down, I promise. I’ll work really hard, just give me a chance.’

‘I gave you a chance and what have I got to show for it? I’ll tell you. Me missus up and left, and now I’m in the dog house and you’re like the cat that’s got the cream.’

‘Look, all I want to do is pay my way.’

‘And there’s me thinking you’re a freeloader.’

‘I ain’t, and I know Franny said I didn’t have to pay, but people get fed up don’t they?’

‘That’s the first sensible thing that’s come out of your mouth. Ain’t nothing for nothing in this world, you need to learn that, Chloe-Jane.’

Chloe’s tone was laced with a bitterness far surpassing her age. ‘You think I don’t know that? From the time I was thirteen I was having to pay my way at home, and if I didn’t, me mum would chuck me out or call social services to come and get me.’

A flash of shame briefly crossed Alfie’s face, thinking about Chloe-Jane’s life. He’d half suspected his sister had neglected her but he’d done nothing about it. But then, it wasn’t his fault was it? He’d had his own problems and there was no point in beating himself up about it now.

‘So that’s why I want a job, ’cos I reckon if I pay Franny, she can’t say anything and won’t get rid of me.’

Alfie leant forward. ‘And that’s why I ain’t giving you a job. Because the sooner Franny comes to her senses the better, and we can all get back to normal. So like I said, do one, ’cos you’re not going to make me feel bad about it because it ain’t my fault you’ve got nowhere to go.’

Never one to be able to keep her mouth shut, no matter how hard she tried, Chloe-Jane retaliated, sticking her two fingers up as she turned away. ‘And it ain’t my fault you’re a prick.’

Alfie watched the ball on the roulette table go round and round. The place was packed and all thoughts of Franny and the annoying Chloe-Jane began to fade. He had been supposed to meet Mr Lee, to sort things out, but he’d cancelled so until Alfie heard from him, why not keep pushing ahead with his venture? The damage had been done anyway, so what harm would a few more quid in his pocket make?

The room was packed with illegal gamblers and there was an air of excitement about the place as wealthy businessmen from all over laid thousands of pounds on the table, losing it in a turn of a card or a spin of the wheel.

‘Hey! Alfie!’ The voice sounded from behind him and before Alfie had a chance to turn round properly, he felt a punch land at the back of his neck, complete with knuckledusters. He leapt back as his men ran forward, swinging with his fists at the suited men. The other punters in the club ran over to the exit but it was blocked by a large group of Chinese men who’d somehow got in through the double-locked doors.

Immediately the men started attacking the terrified punters. Nunchucks and coshes, chains and knives were bandied round. Alfie caught sight of a rich American banker being stamped on by three of the perpetrators. Blood poured from the man’s face as he screamed at them to stop.

Alfie ran over to the far side, but was grabbed by a Chinese man with an ability to fight far superior to Alfie’s. The man roundhouse-kicked Alfie’s face, splitting open his lip and loosening one of his back teeth in the mix.

The next blow to Alfie, apart from to his pride was to his nose. A grinding of cartilage sounded as Alfie saw all around him his men being overwhelmed by the triads.

The side lunge to Alfie’s knees brought him down to the ground and he yelled out in pain as his head hit the sharp side of the corner of the bar. He felt the warmth of his blood trickling down his neck. It was all beginning to get blurred now and the room began to spin around. The people’s outlines began to fade in and out. Double vision halted any attempt for Alfie Jennings to fight back. Another pain hit him, this time in the stomach. The blow winded him and he struggled to breathe as he reached out to the wall to try and drag himself up. The boot to the back of his head saw Alfie sprawling on the floor. The next moment, he blacked out.

7

‘Will you just sit down, Vaughn!’ Casey Edwards sat at the kitchen table in Lola’s flat watching her soon-to-be husband pacing up and down. He’d been pacing for the last hour and a half, ever since he’d got the phone call from one of his men, and it was now playing on her nerves. ‘Vaughn, please! Can’t you go and pace somewhere else?’

‘I’m thinking.’

‘Well can’t you think in the car, I thought you wanted to get back home?’

Vaughn swung round to look at Casey. She was so beautiful and he was a lucky man, but she needed to understand things had changed. Everything had changed. And he wasn’t going anywhere, not until this was all over.

He’d just got a call from one of his men, letting him know there’d been some trouble at Alfie’s club, and also that Sarp, the Turkish restaurant owner from Greek Street, had gone missing. As for Alfie’s club, he didn’t know what was going on there but apparently something about a casino had been mentioned.

Vaughn shook his head as he thought about it. There was no way Alfie could really be so stupid, so fucking muppet-like as to open a casino right under the noses of the triads. No, he might be a lot of things and do a lot of things, but that? To bring the devil to the door, knowing it wouldn’t be just him who would be in the firing line. No, surely not.

Alfie had sat there and seen the state Lola was in when the triads had thrown a warning fire bomb in the café. He’d been as angry as the others to think the triads were coming on their territory. There was no way it was an act. Vaughn’s men must have got it wrong about the casino. Or they better have got it wrong. Because if they hadn’t, this stunt of Alfie’s would certainly be his last.

‘You go, Cass. I’m going to stay in Soho.’

Casey looked amazed. One of the things she loved about Vaughn was that he’d put all his old life behind him. He hadn’t seemed to miss his old life like so many of the other retired gangsters; he’d been satisfied to take it easy.

Casey had played hostess many times at the lavish dinner parties she and Vaughn had at his sprawling Kent mansion, listening to the retired faces who could no longer cut it or who no longer had the edge to stay; all dissatisfied and unable to take to civilian life. But Vaughn had been different; he’d found peace outside the world of violence and multi-million-pound deals. But since the attack on Lola’s café last week he’d become obsessed with catching up with the people who’d done it. Almost overnight, the Vaughn Casey had known changed into a hard ruthless man, set on revenge.

‘Vaughn, this isn’t a one-man crusade. What about the others, they can help sort it out as well. There’s Del, Johnny, Alf …’ The moment Casey began to say Alfie’s name she immediately regretted it, as she saw the look in Vaughn’s eye. His voice was cold and agitated.

‘Alfie? Are you fucking serious? That man’s caused enough grief, wouldn’t you say, Cass?’

Casey decided to remain silent. Vaughn and Alfie’s history went way back. At one time, at the height of Vaughn and Alfie’s friendship breakdown, Alfie had told Vaughn he’d slept with her. And although Alfie Jennings had eventually admitted nothing had happened between him and Casey, it was still a sore spot for Vaughn when she talked about Alfie with any form of affection or positivity.

‘Well, Cass?’ Vaughn stood in front of Casey. She could see he was pushing for a fight, which would be his excuse to stay in London without having to discuss it with her. Well she wasn’t going to be goaded. If he wanted to stay in Soho then she wasn’t going to let him put it on her. She remained silent, staring at Vaughn.

Eventually Lola, having finished consuming a runny egg sandwich, broke the silence.

‘Listen Casey, Vaughnie is just doing what he knows best. He’s old school. Them triads need to be stopped and put in their place. This is Soho. Our Soho. Me and Vaughn’s. All of us have been round here as long as me memory will take me back. It’s where we belong. It’s all some of us know; all some of us want. You’re not from round here, love, so it’s different for you, harder for you to understand. But this is our home and we’ll do anything to protect it. So let Vaughnie do what needs to be done.’

Casey shook her head. ‘Lola, you know I love you like my own mum, and you’re right I’m not from round here, but neither is Vaughn, not anymore. He’s moved on. I’m not asking him to turn his back on you or Soho, I’d never do that, but he needs to leave it to the others, take a step back.’

Lola shook her head, her warm smile cutting through her craggy wrinkled skin. ‘Cass, it’s in him. Soho is in his blood. No matter what, that will always be the case and no matter how much he loves you, Soho will always come first.’

Casey was about to object but as she watched Vaughn walk out of the room without saying a word, something told her Lola might just be right.

The AA meeting in Greek Street was empty, save for an old man and a twenty-something skinny woman whose eyes gave away her hard life. But it wasn’t the people Casey had come to see, it was the sense of support she felt when she walked into the hidden meetings which could be found in every town. These sobriety meetings had saved her life. Stopped her from destroying herself when nothing else could reach her.

But as she’d got better, she’d relaxed, hadn’t bothered attending so many meetings, and that had been fine, but one morning last month she’d woken up and from nowhere the cravings had returned. That overwhelming sense of needing a drink. No matter what. No matter how much it hurt her or anyone else, the need to feel the burn of the alcohol hit the back of her throat had become overwhelming.

The cravings which in the past would’ve led to her putting herself in compromising situations with men and drugs were the demons which had brought her to Soho in the first place. Casey had come searching to put the past right, and whilst doing so had put herself right. Her life had gone from unmanageable to downright good. Life had come together. Her life finally had a purpose, and of course then there was Vaughn. She loved him and that love wouldn’t have been possible if she was still a drunk. A lush. He was again part of the reason she needed to stay sober because if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be a question of if she might lose Vaughn, it would just be a question of when.

But how could Casey tell him that their life and her sobriety were in danger of collapsing because of a craving? An urge so strong that in the past, when she’d been married to her first husband, she’d found herself sleeping with strangers just to get a drink.

Even at the time Vaughn had never really understood, although he’d tried. Although he’d seen Casey battle to stay sober, he couldn’t really get his head round the fact that booze came before most things, including him at times.

So here she was, sitting in a darkened basement, desperate to keep clean. But it was hard, so hard; if it wasn’t for the relationship with Vaughn she wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to go another day without having a drink.

8

Casey and Franny sat in Lola’s newly refurbished café in Bateman Street.

‘Well, what do you think, ladies?’ Lola sat down by the two women, admiring her new set up. She’d been proud of it before, but this, she thought, this was the dog’s bollocks.

Casey, who’d worked in Lola’s café before she’d met Vaughn, smiled at the flamboyance of the tiny workman’s café. Gold and black chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Bright red tables and chairs had replaced the old wooden ones, the work counters were now a loud zebra print and the walls were painted lime green, with large silver-framed photos of Soho in the Sixties.

‘Well, it’s different.’

Lola grinned proudly. ‘It ain’t quite finished yet, but then I blame Vaughn. Can’t get hold of him. He promised he’d get one of those moose heads for me. I think it’d look lovely over there near the door. What do you think?’

Casey raised her eyebrows, her full red lips twitching with a smile. ‘Tell me you’re kidding.’

Lola looked shocked. ‘Kidding? Why would I do that?’

‘It’s just that … well, don’t you think it might be a bit OTT?’

Lola stood up, clearing the empty tea cups. She shook her head in dismay. ‘You’ve never had any taste, Casey. It’s all the rage; latest thing.’

‘A moose head?’

‘Oh yeah, I saw it in a magazine; they had photos of Hampton Court.’

Casey’s eyes widened. ‘They had a moose head in Hampton Court?’

‘Well it weren’t a moose head exactly; it was a deer’s head. But I’ve never liked them things; their eyes are too close together. Gives me the heebie-jeebies. Anyway, moose, deer; they’re all a bit classy ain’t they? And if Henry the eighth can have one on his palace wall then so can Lola’s café.’ And with that, Lola shuffled off, delighted at the admiration on Franny’s and Casey’s face.

Casey watched Lola for a moment before turning to Franny, her smile not reaching her eyes. ‘How’s your new lodger?’

‘Chloe-Jane?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Messy! I’m sure I was never that bad when I was her age, but then I’m not really surprised; by all accounts she’s hardly had an easy life, she’s had to fend for herself most of it. But she’s sweet. I like her.’

‘How long’s she staying?’

Franny grinned. ‘I dunno, she’s talking about giving me money for her upkeep, I think she’s worried I’m going to kick her out any day soon, poor kid.’

The women fell silent, then, making sure Lola was out of earshot, Franny whispered, ‘What’s going on, Cass?’

Casey looked down at the table. ‘Oh, nothing much. Usual stuff. Vaughn’s got a bee in his bonnet.’

‘About Alfie?’

‘About him and other stuff. Things aren’t so good.’

‘With Vaughn?’

Casey hesitated.

‘Cass, you can trust me. We’re friends. Whatever it is, I won’t say anything. I promise. I know what it’s like when you’ve got no one to talk to.’

‘Thanks Fran, it’s just … I know I can trust you, but it’s difficult. Apart from you I haven’t got anyone else. I can’t talk to Lola because it wouldn’t be fair, you know with her being close to both of us, and I obviously can’t talk to Vaughn …’ Casey trailed off.

‘Then tell me.’

Casey’s eyes filled with tears as Franny reached across the table. ‘Cass, please. I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. Tell me what’s going on.’

Everything in Casey wanted to tell Franny about how the urge to drink was making her feel. But her shame stopped her. Franny wasn’t like her. She seemed so sorted; she’d gone through so much, yet she’d done it all without a crutch and had only needed the support of her friends. Yet here Casey was, still fighting the booze and her demons. Still waking up with the overwhelming urge to go out and get drunk.

‘Is it Vaughn, Cass, and all this stuff in Soho? I know you want to be loyal to him, but what are friends for if you can’t lean on them? I won’t say anything.’

Casey looked up at Franny. It was easier to agree with her friend than tell her the truth, though it wasn’t a complete lie. Things were strained with Vaughn, but it was difficult to know how much was actually him, and how much was Casey. Vaughn had been pushing her away, but then she’d been doing the same with him. He couldn’t find out what was going on. He just couldn’t.

Feigning a smile, Casey spoke to her friend. ‘Yeah, that’s right. It’s Vaughn. All this stuff with Soho has got right under his skin. He’s like a different man.’

‘Try not to worry, Cass, Alfie’s no better. He’s roaming around like he’s got a rod stuck up his arse … It’ll be okay; if it’s any comfort, I know Vaughn loves you. But if I can give you any advice, Cass, it’d be this; talk to him. That’s what gets me and Alfie through the tough times. We talk to each other, and above all we don’t have any secrets.’

9

Mr Lee stood by the window, wondering quite why the English were so foolish. There seemed to be a common thread which ran through them, a thread of misplaced pride – or as he liked to call it, stupidity.

He’d warned them. Warned them that the trouble wasn’t necessary, and could have so easily been avoided. All they’d had to do was abide by the rules. How easy. How simple; yet as Mr Lee stared in contempt at the bloodied and battered Alfie Jennings lying on the floor, it was clear to him, simple was something the English didn’t like.

Sitting down on the large purple velvet chair, Mr Lee crossed his legs, making him look smaller and more diminutive than he usually did.

‘It’s a shame we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. I was very much looking forward to our discussion later on in the week, but as Robert Burns said, the best laid schemes of mice and men.’ Mr Lee paused, flicking off a stray piece of ash from the large cigar he was smoking. ‘When my men told me you’d decided to continue with your little venture, I thought it best to cut my trip short and have that chat sooner rather than later. I’m sure you understand. And I can only imagine you’ve got a good reason for disobeying my rules.’

Through his swollen, bruised eyes, Alfie glared at Mr Lee. ‘Ain’t no one going to tell me what I can and can’t do, especially from a fucking kitchen sink.’

Mr Lee looked puzzled. ‘Kitchen sink?’

Alfie sneered defiantly. ‘Chink.’

Chang Lee’s face expression hardened. He leaned forward and addressed Alfie, speaking quietly. ‘You see, Mr Jennings, it’s comments like those that I can’t ignore. It never ceases to amaze me how foolish people are.’ Mr Lee nodded his head to Lin and another of his men who walked across to Alfie. They yanked hold of his arms, pulling at his hands as Mr Lee stood up. ‘You leave me no choice, Alfie, and to think all of this could have been avoided.’

Mr Lee nodded again, watching as Lin brought down the machete on Alfie’s forcibly spread fingers. Blood splattered out everywhere along with Alfie’s scream as his little finger was cleanly cut off. His body jerked in shock as what looked like a river of blood streamed out from the mutilated hand.

Mr Lee bent over and picking up the severed finger, walked over to Alfie.

‘Hopefully now you’ll get the message, Mr Jennings and if you haven’t, there’s always the other nine.’ He went to walk away but stopped short of the door. Turning round, he threw the finger at Alfie with a grin. ‘I think you might have more need of that than me.’

10

‘Here you are. I got this for you.’ Chloe-Jane handed Franny eighty pounds.

Franny looked curious. ‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s for you. For me board and lodgings.’

‘I told you, there’s no need. Really Chloe, I’m happy for you to stay.’

Chloe-Jane shrugged her shoulders. ‘I just want you to take it.’ She pushed the money into Franny’s hand. ‘Please.’

‘Where did you get it from?’

‘I ain’t robbed it, if that’s what you think.’

‘I don’t think that.’

‘It’s me money I saved to come here. I told you I was going to give you some.’

Franny shook her head, going across to the other side of the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She opened a packet of dark chocolate biscuits, offering one to Chloe-Jane who proceeded to take several, much to Franny’s amusement.

‘Listen, Chloe, why don’t you keep the money? You’ll need it when you move on.’

Chloe-Jane bristled. She wanted to yell at Franny that that was the point. She didn’t want to move on. She wanted to stay, because aside from the fact she liked it with Franny, she had nowhere else to go. With a sad smile, Chloe replied, ‘Well until then; take it, it’ll make me feel better.’

Franny looked doubtful. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am!’

‘Okay, what I’ll do is, I’ll put it up here in this tin, and for any reason you want it back just take it. No questions asked. Deal?’

‘Deal, and I’ll give you eighty pound a week from now on. I don’t want to leech off anyone.’

‘Well I appreciate that, Chloe. Thank you.’

‘It’s no problem. No problem at all.’

It was getting dark as Chloe-Jane walked along Brewer Street, watching as the passing men ogled at her and the women gave her a look of scorn. She wore a low-cut pink top with nothing underneath, erect nipples obvious under the clinging material. Her tiny white miniskirt skimmed the bottom of her buttocks, and her high patent yellow shoes gave a swagger to her walk.

‘Fancy a drink, darlin’?’ A large, sweaty passing workman hollered out to her from his van.

‘Not with you, mate, I’d rather stick me head down the khazi and drink from there!’

The van sped off beeping its horn, leaving Chloe to cross the road at the junction of Brewer and Glasshouse Street.

Hanging out on the corner, a car pulled up. A man in his late fifties rolled down the window. His voice was low and Chloe could hear a Northern accent.

‘You doing business, love?’

Chloe nodded, quickly looking around before getting in.

11

‘Just fucking sew it back on. I don’t care how you fucking do it, but there ain’t no way I’m ending up like frigging Anne Boleyn.’ Alfie grimaced at the hospital doctor as he clutched his wrapped bloody hand to his body.

‘She had eleven fingers, not nine, and it was her head that was cut off, not her hand.’ Chloe-Jane smirked at her uncle as she chewed on the constantly present piece of gum.

‘I’ll chop your bleedin’ head off if you don’t shut it,’ Alfie growled at his niece. Why the hell Franny had brought her along, fuck only knew and it pissed him off no end.

‘Alfie, there’s no need for that.’ Franny spoke, not unkindly.

‘Me hand’s fucking been chopped off and she wants to give me a fucking history lesson, do me a favour!’

‘One finger isn’t exactly your whole hand, Alf.’

‘No? Well it fucking feels like it, you should try it someday. And look at the state of me boat, do I look like a person who’s just sat watching telly all day?’

Franny stared at Alfie, taking in his cut and bruised face. When she’d got his phone call asking her to come and see him, she’d been surprised and secretly pleased, thinking his male pride would have made it difficult for him to phone so soon. She’d been about to tease him about it but there’d been something in his voice which had stopped her. So instead she’d just listened, hearing the edge of urgency and panic in his voice. When he’d told her he was in the hospital, her stomach had tightened and she’d rushed to see him, bringing a complaining Chloe-Jane, who’d been very mysterious as to where she’d been, with her.

When Franny had opened the blue faded hospital curtain, she’d been shocked at the sight of his battered appearance.

She’d arrived in casualty full of sympathy but when she’d asked him questions about what had happened, Alfie had been rude and evasive, and Franny’s warmth had turned to what Alfie always called her bitch stance.

‘Perhaps a bit of sympathy would be nice. Ain’t too much to ask for.’

‘Well when you start behaving decently and answer my questions, maybe I’ll give you some.’

‘Has anybody told you you’ve missed your vocation? You should’ve been the Old Bill, do you go around giving everyone the third degree?’

‘No, only you when you’re being childish.’

Even through the pain, Alfie managed to stare at Franny incredulously, not quite believing what he was hearing. He’d called her assuming she’d be distraught with worry and concern, he’d even half suspected that she’d come to her senses, apologise and stop the stupid point she was trying to prove with Chloe-Jane. Sympathy. A little bit of TLC. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask for? A man wanting a bit of care from his woman. It should be a given; man provides for woman. In return, woman cares for the man and tends to his every need. That’s the way it was. Should be. And that’d been the case since the beginning of time and it would always be – unless the woman on your arm went by the name of Franny flipping Doyle. It was just his luck. Just Alfie’s fucking luck to fall in love with an independent, man-hating, beautiful, fiery woman. On top of which, he now had only fucking nine fingers to his name.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to sew it back on?’ It was Franny who spoke to the doctor, voice full of concern, which only added to Alfie’s annoyance. She was able to air her concern and flicker her eyelashes at the handsome casualty doctor, but not for him.

‘I’m not sure, it really depends on the replantation team.’

‘Fucking hell, what am I? A frigging hydrangea? This ain’t Gardener’s World you know, mate.’

‘Ignore him, he often gets like this when he doesn’t get his own way.’ Franny smiled as she talked to the doctor who gave Franny a sympathetic look in return, making Alfie seethe even more.

Alfie decided he wouldn’t stand for this anymore and sprang up from the hospital trolley, ignoring the pain which was only slightly helped by the injection of painkillers he’d been given earlier. He grabbed the man by his good hand, pushing past Chloe-Jane who stood back trying to make eyes at the doctor, who was by now too busy trying to stop Alfie attacking him to notice.

‘Alfie! Alfie, get off him!’ Franny’s voice was pitched high as she shouted at Alf, pulling on the back of his bloodstained sweater.

‘Maybe I can help.’ A deep voice sounded from behind. Franny turned round, expecting to see a hospital security guard, but instead she came face to face with Vaughn Sadler followed by Del Williams.

Vaughn pushed past Franny, grabbing hold of Alfie by the scruff of his neck. ‘You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.’

It took Alfie only a second for his brain to realise what was happening and another second for his face to blanch momentarily, before he leapt into action.

He twisted his body, ignoring the pain of his injuries from the triad attack. Using his shoulder, he slammed into Vaughn who staggered backwards, surprised at the strength of the injured Alfie Jennings. As Vaughn fell into the hospital sluice trolley, propelling the steel surgical instruments to the floor, Del Williams stepped forward to help, lunging angrily towards Alfie, but a sudden pain stopped him, sending shockwaves through Del’s body. He held onto his head.

‘Fucking hell!’ Del shouted out in pain as Chloe-Jane stood with a metal tray in her hand.

Del turned to stare at Chloe, seeing the security guards rushing over to see what the commotion was. He snarled at her. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

Chloe-Jane shrugged, looking first at Alfie, then at Del who’d she’d struck hard across the head. ‘He’s family. And family stick together.’

An hour later, Franny sat in the waiting room drinking what she suspected was the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had. Either that, or it was the bitter taste in her mouth she’d suddenly developed as she listened to Vaughn and Del tell her their suspicions about Alfie, who lay oblivious under anaesthetic in theatre.

‘It ain’t even bang out of order, Fran, what he’s done is worse. Much worse. He’s got involved with them triads, or at least he’s been part of the reason they’ve launched their attacks on Soho. He went against the rules, Fran, opening up a casino behind our backs. Everyone knows that’s off limits.’

Franny bristled. ‘If it’s true.’

Vaughn and Del glanced at each other.

‘Don’t look like that, guys, we don’t know it’s true.’

Frustrated, Vaughn stood up, gesturing widely with his hands. ‘Oh come off it, Fran, you know what a fucking muppet he is, this has got Alfie Jennings written all over it. Anything that goes wrong and there’s even a sniff of Alfie’s name, you know he’ll be right in the centre of things. Ain’t no smoke without fire, or in this case, ain’t no smoke without Alfie. It’s always been the same. You know that.’

Franny’s face flushed with anger. She spat out her words, surprising herself at how protective of Alfie she felt. ‘This isn’t about what’s happening in Soho, Vaughn, this is about you. Everyone knows you’ve got a problem with Alfie, and this is your way of getting back at him.’

‘Don’t be such a stupid cow, Fran, didn’t you see what shit he got your father into? I don’t know how you can bear to let him near you.’

Franny’s slap to Vaughn’s face shocked everyone, apart from Chloe-Jane who had seen it coming. The only other person Chloe had known do that had been her mother, just before she’d drunkenly laid into her, often leaving her too bruised to go to school the next day.

Chloe-Jane stepped behind Franny, showing her solidarity to her newfound friend as well as her uncle. He wasn’t her favourite person by any length but it was one thing for Chloe-Jane to think Alfie was a god almighty prick, but it was an entirely other thing for someone else to.

Vaughn’s fury showed in his eyes. Who the hell did Franny think she was? This was men’s business, not women’s. He’d had a lot of respect for her at one point, the way she’d handled herself when the shit had hit the fan with her father, Patrick. She’d also been a good friend to Casey which of course he’d appreciated, but now? Now he was losing respect for her and if she wasn’t careful, Franny would lose the respect of the other London and Soho faces she’d known since she was a child.

Franny’s voice was steely.

‘Don’t you dare speak about Patrick.’

‘Why not, truth hurts.’

Franny stepped forward, closing the space between them. Franny stared at Vaughn, wondering how he’d changed from the sweet perfect gentleman to a hardened embittered man. When Casey had called her in tears, worried about the way Vaughn was acting, she’d reassured her friend it was probably nothing and had convinced Casey just to put it down to Vaughn having a bad day. But as Franny stood in front of him, it was clear this was far from a bad day.

‘The only truth here, Vaughn, is whatever vendetta you’re riding on, you better get off it and real quick. You don’t run Soho – those days are well and truly over, whether you like it or not. Go up against Alfie and you’ll go up against me.’

Vaughn laughed scornfully. ‘Oh and that’s supposed to frighten me how?’

‘I don’t expect it to frighten you, Vaughn, you’re too stupid for that. What I do expect is for you to back off from Alfie until you know the truth, because if you don’t you’ll regret it.’

‘You two deserve to be together. At first I couldn’t quite see how you and him could work, but now I see it, Christ do I just.’

‘Maybe instead of worrying about Alfie and me, perhaps you should be worrying about your own relationship.’

It was the first time Franny saw Vaughn bristle. His eyes darkened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Franny began to walk away. ‘You tell me.’

‘I said, what’s that supposed to mean?’

Ignoring Vaughn, Franny opened the waiting room door but felt her arm being held. She stared down at Vaughn’s grip before staring up into his face. ‘Get your hands off me.’

‘Not till you tell me what you meant.’

‘You heard her, get the fuck off her.’ Chloe-Jane stood with a chair in her hand a few feet away from Vaughn.

‘Get your dog to back off, Fran.’

Franny, who’d just been about to tell Chloe-Jane to put the chair down, angrily reacted to Vaughn’s comment. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, Vaughn, speaking to her like that, she’s just a kid? What’s happened to you?’

Chloe-Jane continued to hold the chair in a threatening manner, trying to decide whether or not to feel affronted by Franny calling her just a kid, or to be touched by Franny sticking up for her, a rare occurrence in her life. Deciding on the latter, and without a moment’s more hesitation, Chloe-Jane swung the chair at Vaughn, screaming at him hysterically.

‘She said get off her! Fucking bastard! Get off!’

Seeing Vaughn’s head begin to bleed and sensing Chloe-Jane was about to hit Vaughn again, Del intervened, grappling the chair off her. He pulled it from her hands with a strong tug, managing to release it from her grip in one go. But like a wild feral cat about to lose its prey, Chloe-Jane pounced on both Del and Vaughn. Fingernails scratched at skin, teeth bit into flesh as she yelled a stream of profanities.

Franny moved forward, dragging Chloe-Jane off the men. She wrapped her arms round her as she pulled her away, battling as Chloe tried to break out of her hold and back to the men.

Franny shouted loudly. ‘Chloe! Chloe-Jane! Stop! Stop! Just calm down.’

Chloe-Jane turned to Franny, her face expressing hurt and frustration. ‘Did you hear him though? Did you hear what he said?’

Franny nodded. ‘I did and he was wrong, but you’ve got to calm down. You can’t go round hitting people as and when you feel like it.’

‘But he grabbed hold of you. He wouldn’t let go. He can’t do that, can he?’

‘No. No, he can’t.’

Del spoke up. ‘He can if you’re taking the piss. What do you want him to do, Fran? Let you talk shit about him and Casey?’

Franny’s eyes flashed with anger at Del.

‘Has it come to you having to fight Vaughn’s battles for him now, Del?’

Del scowled. He didn’t need this shit, he’d rather be back home in the Costa with his family, but he, like everyone else, had received the call to come and help. So now he was here, Del wanted to resolve it all as soon as possible, which didn’t mean having to argue the toss or get clouted across the head by some bird. He’d had enough of that being married to his ex-wife, Edith.

‘Turn it in Fran, Vaughn’s right, you’re acting like a silly cow. What you need is a reality check and what missy here needs is a hard spank on the arse.’

It was like a flame to a petrol can and Chloe-Jane exploded. ‘Is that fucking right, mate? And what? You think you’re the one to do it do you? Fucking perv, get off on the thought of young girls having their behinds tanned do you? Go on, frigging try it and see what you get.’

Del sighed. Even though he was furious with Alfie for what he’d brought onto Soho, a part of him couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. This girl was trouble. Trouble and loud-mouthed, and if Franny wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t be just Alfie who’d bring down her world, it’d be Chloe-Jane.

‘Listen sweetheart, think whatever you like, it ain’t going to make an iota of difference to me, but I’m telling you if you carry on like this, you’ll make lots of enemies. And the kind of enemies you’ll make around here, I wouldn’t wish on even you.’

Franny turned her attention from Vaughn to Del, speaking in a low hushed tone. ‘Is that a threat, Del? Because if it is, you better take that back right now.’

Del shook his head. ‘You know how it is, Fran. What you playing at? She ain’t even your family, but you’re happy for her to destroy the relationships around you with the likes of me and Vaughn.’

It was Franny’s turn to shake her head. ‘If my relationship with you is so easily broken, maybe I’m better off without it. And as for her not being family; you’re wrong. She’s Alfie’s family, which makes her mine. So if you’ve got a problem with her, you’ve got a problem with me.’

Chloe-Jane once again couldn’t help feeling delighted with what Franny had just said, but this time she didn’t try to hide it. Standing in the tiny hospital waiting room, she grinned as Del and Vaughn looked on. For the first time in her life she felt wanted, and no one but no one was going to take that away from her. If anyone tried, Chloe-Jane was going to make them wish they hadn’t. Oh yes, she would make certain of that.

12

Franny sat in Lola’s kitchen. She looked around at the tired orange paisley wallpaper and brown tiles and although it certainly was in need of redecoration, there was something comforting about the familiarity of the place. Days gone past of happy times with her father, memories of late-night chats with friends, and crying through difficult times over cups of tea. It was all here, here in this room.

‘Do you think it’s true, Lola? Do you think Alfie is the reason why the triads attacked Soho?’

Lola Harding, dressed in a cheap designer knock-off dress, plonked a cup of steaming hot tea in front of Franny. Her expression was sympathetic.

‘Listen Fran, I love Alf, we all do, even Vaughnie does in his own way, but both you and I know he’s a chancer. Old school he is, always ducking and diving like the rest of us, but unlike the rest of it, he takes it too far. He gets greedy. No, don’t look like that Fran, you know I’m telling the truth. Ain’t got no reason to lie to you. You and I go as far back as when you were a baby, and I’ve never told you an untruth and I ain’t going to start now. See sense darlin’. Alfie needs to stop what he’s started; he’s making enemies everywhere, those triads will kill him if he’s not careful, and I don’t want to see something happen to him.’

Franny bit her lip. She didn’t want to argue with Lola, especially as she was still upset from the attack on her café, even if it now looked a hundred times better than it ever did. Casey had told her that Lola had called Vaughn up several times demanding high-spec fittings and fixtures for the café which certainly wasn’t reminiscent of the cheap and grimy décor it’d had previous to the attack.

‘What is it all of a sudden about everyone wanting to be enemies? We’ve all been friends for years and now all that’s changing. The Soho I used to know is disappearing, Lola. All the good times we had aren’t there anymore. Do you remember how we always got together on Sundays? Me and my dad and my Uncle Cab, Del, Vaughn, Alfie and the Taylors. And then there was you and …’

‘Any bastard I’d fallen for that week.’ Lola cackled, reaching out to take Franny’s hands into hers over the kitchen table.

‘The picture’s changing, Lola and I can’t help feeling sad; it’s like we’re all being written out of a story and it’s time to go our separate ways.’

‘Fucking hell girl, remind me to invite you round again won’t you when I need cheering up? Christ, you make a funeral march sound cheery.’

Franny laughed, tears of mixed emotions brimming up in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Lola.’

Lola looked surprised. ‘For what?’

‘For making me laugh, for being here … for being you.’

Lola blushed, then winked at Franny. ‘You soft cow, you certainly take after your father. The gift of the gab he had, or as I like to call it; bullshit.’

The two women burst into laughter. The evening light faded as they both hung onto the memories of the past, both uncertain of the future.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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