Disobey

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.