Vinny led him inside and poured him a drink.
‘So, how’s it going?’ George asked, before knocking it back in one and holding out his glass for an immediate refill.
‘So-so. It’s like any other business, George. Some weeks are busy, some quiet. It’s been dead the past couple, but I suppose it would be with Christmas creeping up on us. People have no spare pennies this time of year, do they?’ Vinny said, in his most sincere voice. He wasn’t going to inform George that ever since he had started having strippers on at the weekend, the club had been packed to the rafters and he had been raking it in. George Geary loved a pound note and would most certainly want an increase on his bung if he knew that.
George eyed the furniture and décor. There were four snooker tables at the back, which wasn’t many considering the joint was meant to be a snooker club. The rest of the place was kitted out with glass tables, burgundy leather chairs and sofas to match. There was a stage, with spotlights above it and big speakers. And in the centre of the club, an expensive-looking chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling. The bar was shiny aluminium and there was every optic known to mankind behind it.
Holding out his glass for yet another refill, George smirked. He knew Vinny was lying. A colleague of his had watched the comings and goings at the club last weekend and had reported back that it was jam-packed.
Nothing escaped George’s attention, he had been biding his time like a viper waiting to strike and knew now was as good a time as any. ‘We have a big problem, Vinny. The powers above know that you’ve been illegally serving liquor in here and they now expect me to do something about it.’
Vinny felt the colour drain from his cheeks. If he couldn’t continue serving alcohol, he had no business left. ‘But I thought you said I’d be fine. What have I been fucking paying you for if you can’t square it for me?’ he demanded.
‘Hold your horses. I’ve already had a word in a couple of people’s shell-likes. It will cost you, but I can definitely get you a liquor licence.’
‘How much?’ Vinny asked.
‘Fifteen hundred quid and a drink on top for me,’ George said, even though he had already put five hundred on top of the grand he had been quoted.
‘How much! That’s fucking extortion, George. I haven’t got money like that lying around. I’ve spent virtually every penny I’ve earned so far on doing the place up.’
‘I tried to knock the price down for you, Vinny, but my contact wasn’t having none of it, I’m afraid. Surely it’s better in the long run for you to go legal? And I will drop my fee to fifty pounds a month, rather than eighty.’
‘Why have I still got to pay you if I’m properly licensed?’ Vinny asked.
‘Because you are illegal in other areas, Vinny. I know you have strippers in here and I know that people gamble. You haven’t got an entertainment or gambling licence, have you?’
Vinny leant his elbows on the bar and put his head in his hands. George had him by the short and curlies and Vinny knew it. Trouble was, there was nothing he could do about it, except cough up. ‘Come back next week and I’ll have the dough for ya.’
Albie Butler was sitting in the Blind Beggar, staring at his pint, in a stupefied trance. He was in shit, deep shit, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
‘You all right, Albie?’ shouted out Sid, who was perched on his regular barstool.
Albie didn’t even bother answering. He was anything but bloody all right. Cursing the day he had ever set eyes on Judy Preston, he sank his drink and called over to the barmaid to pour him another. Why hadn’t he used a rubber even though that lying cow had sworn she was taking that new contraceptive pill?
Taking his empty glass back to the bar, Albie returned with a full one. After Judy had informed him she was up the spout, he had spent ages begging her to get rid of it. He had even offered her a nice lump of cash which he had planned to borrow off Vinny or Roy, but the selfish bitch was intent on ruining his life.
Keeping a bit on the side secret was one thing. Keeping a fucking baby who belonged to you secret was another. Vowing to think with his brain in future rather than his pecker, Albie tried to fathom a way out of the difficult situation. Judy’s brother was a handy bastard and at his age, Albie was no match for an up-and-coming wide-boy like Johnny Preston. Vinny and Roy were though. They could more than hold their own against anybody.
Albie sighed worriedly. Judy needed the frighteners put on her to force her to get rid of the child and if admitting his sins to his two eldest sons was the only way to make that happen, then admit his sins he would. They weren’t going to be best pleased, especially Vinny, who had threatened him over his wandering eye in the past. But what choice did Albie have? None.
Finishing his pint, he stood up and nervously made his way towards the snooker club. His boys would have to help him in his hour of need, wouldn’t they? He might have fucked up big time, but he was still their bloody father.
Queenie Butler took the birthday cake out of the oven and grinned at her sister. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Ah, it’s beautiful, Queenie. Best cake I’ve seen in years,’ Vivian replied, truthfully.
‘Can I have some?’ little Brenda asked.
‘No, sweetheart. We can’t cut it up until tomorrow, otherwise Michael won’t see the beauty of it,’ Queenie replied.
‘Awww,’ Brenda whined.
Queenie stared at her offspring. Brenda was eleven now and could be an obstinate little mare at times. Unlike the boys who favoured their father with their black hair and chiselled features, Brenda looked more like her side of the family. Her hair was mousy brown, the same as Queenie’s and Viv’s natural colour, and she was a skinny little thing even though she had the appetite of a horse.
‘Please, Mum?’ Brenda tried again.
Vivian laughed. ‘You help me carry the cake to my house so our Michael don’t see it and I’ll give you a nice iced bun. Deal?’
Queenie smiled when Vivian and Brenda left the house. Family was the most important thing in the world and she loved hers with a passion. Albie was a tosspot, she knew that, but he had given her four beautiful children, for which she would always be grateful to him. She didn’t love or respect him any more. What woman could love and respect a bone-idle drunk? But he never pestered her for sex these days and even if he did, she would never leave him. He was the father of her children and for that reason alone, she would always see it as her duty to suffer him.
‘Oh, I do love being two doors away now, Queenie. It feels like we live together, don’t it?’ Vivian said, letting herself back in with her own key.
Queenie laughed. It was her Vinny who had secured Vivian the council house next door but one. It had become available a few months back when old Ada had passed away and Vinny had offered the man at the council a backhander to ensure it went to Viv. He had bragged when he had come home that the man was so petrified, he had refused to take the money, but had given Vinny the keys anyway. ‘My reputation precedes me once again, Mum,’ Vinny had chuckled.
‘Is that my little soldier I hear coming down them stairs?’ Vivian said, when she heard Lenny’s familiar flat-footed walk. He had been tired earlier, so had gone for a lie-down on Queenie’s bed.
‘Can I watch Mr Ed?’ Lenny asked excitedly. The programme featuring the talking horse was his current favourite. Before that, it had been Flipper.
‘Yep, course you can,’ Queenie replied. Both she and Vivian now had posh TVs. They had been Christmas presents last year from the boys.
‘I love Mr Ed too,’ Brenda said, following her cousin into the lounge.
Queenie locked eyes with her sister. ‘Ain’t we lucky with our little lot, eh? I know we’ve