‘Don’t be an arsehole; get out of my way, shit-for-brains, otherwise your missus will have something else sliced up in her egg and bacon sarnie in the morning.’
Oscar had been wrong. When he’d left his flat he was certain nothing could’ve wiped away his good mood. Billy had done a good job cleaning up the bedroom, leaving it spotless and without any trace of the night before, and he’d been looking forward to the meeting to discuss the new business venture he and Alfie had branched into – but that had all changed after he’d been kept waiting. The only thing he felt like doing now was putting a knife in somebody’s head; preferably Alfie’s.
He’d been waiting nearly two hours, and as his good mood had been drained away by the passing of time and the countless comedians rehashing old jokes and expecting applause, Oscar’s head had started hurting and he’d been forced to take one of the migraine tablets he’d been given by one of his associates who dealt in pharmaceuticals.
The only part of the two-hour wait Oscar had enjoyed were the abusive heckles he’d shouted at the comedians. When Alfie went on stage, the audience were always pre-warned not to heckle. If anyone did, one of Alfie’s heavies would have a quiet word in their ear. Oscar remembered with a smile a man who thought he’d play tough guy and ignore the warnings; he was found later on in the evening outside Ronnie Scott’s with severe concussion and ‘funny cunt’ written on his forehead in black marker pen.
Oscar was about to get up and leave when he saw Vaughn walking into the club accompanied by an anorexic looking teenager and a woman who would put Ten Ton Bertha to shame. He quickly stooped down in his seat, not wanting to be spotted by Vaughn and having to engage in any more talk about fucking holidays.
Janine hadn’t ever been inside her husband’s club and she was impressed by what she saw. In the back of the large room was a stage, lit up by four huge disco balls with a dance floor in front of it. A DJ was on the stage playing a mix of classic soul tunes. Thick purple velvet curtains, which matched the velvet sofas and chairs placed round the room, hung down from the high ceiling framing the stage. There were different-shaped mirrors everywhere, and the long bar on the side wall was heaving with punters waiting to be served. It had everything. There were high-tech private booths at the back of the massive room complete with their own television and music players, and it looked to Janine as if business was doing very well. With that in mind, she continued to follow Vaughn into the back, making a mental note to ask her husband for a larger monthly allowance.
Half an hour later, Alfie walked into the back room, still wound up from the events of the night. He stopped dead in his tracks – causing Oscar to bang into the back of him – when he saw Janine sitting there eating her way through a large bag of crisps. He placed the pair of pliers, still stained with Jake’s blood, on the side and spoke angrily to his wife.
‘What’s the point in you having a mobile phone if you never answer it? You’re a fucking disgrace, Janine.’
‘Me? What about Emmie? It wasn’t me that sneaked out on heat chasing some guy.’
‘No, but pity the bloke if you were. Fuck me, you’re her mother! You should’ve been watching her.’
‘Stop it, both of you! I hate you! I hate you!’
Emmie screamed hysterically as she ran out of the room, leaving her parents open mouthed.
Oscar sat quietly watching this display; he’d known Alfie was married and had a kid but he’d never seen either of them until now. The daughter was pretty enough although she was evidently underweight, but the idea the handsome, womanising Alfie was married to the woman in front of him, whose right arm alone would feed the starving millions, took some believing.
Janine Jennings was about to open her mouth and chastise Alfie for upsetting Emmie but she saw the look in his eye and decided not to say another word.
She was furious with Emmie. Not just because her daughter had snuck off with a boy – she’d done that herself when she was the same age, and Emmie was no different to any other teenager – but she’d given her a fright, and when she got frightened she got angry; she’d always done that. The thought of something happening to her beloved daughter was unimaginable. Recently though, she’d noticed a change in Emmie; she’d become much more secretive and sullen, and Janine Jennings had a feeling there was more to it than just teenage love.
Alfie banged his hand on the table giving Janine a fright and made her jump out of her thoughts.
‘I’ll get one of my men to drive you both home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, but tell Emmie she should count herself grounded.’
It was another hour before Alfie and Oscar arrived in Redchurch Street, a scruffy road full of office blocks behind Shoreditch High Street. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Oscar properly yet, as Vaughn had insisted on having a drink with him; reminiscing about jobs they’d done together and trying to calm the hyped-up Alfie down. Then, when Vaughn had heard they were heading towards the East End, he’d jumped in the back of Alfie’s BMW and got a lift to an illegal gambling house in King John Court, a few streets away from where they were now.
As Alfie followed Oscar up the stairs of the empty block of offices Oscar owned, he wondered why he’d been so guarded about speaking in front of Vaughn. He’d always been open in sharing the ins and outs of his other businesses with him: the protection rackets, the counterfeit money, the stolen electrical goods and hundreds of cloned bank cards he’d kept above the club; even the copious amounts of drugs he shipped into the country each year from China: Vaughn knew about it all. But this venture, with Oscar, Alfie wanted to keep close to his chest.
The passage along the top floor was lit with a low-watt light bulb, making it difficult, but not impossible, for Alfie to see the rubbish strewn everywhere. At the end of the hall sat a large Albanian looking man sitting on a hard chair, staring at nothing in particular. At his feet lay a large machete and an empty bottle of water.
The man stood up, nodding an acknowledgement to Oscar as he approached, and opened a door to the side of him. Alfie trailed in silence through it and up another flight of steps. At the top, Oscar opened another door.
Inside Alfie saw five young women, aged from around sixteen to twenty-five. They stared with wide anxious eyes and expressions of fear as he walked further into the room. Alfie briefly thought of his schooldays as the girls stood to attention, scared to make a movement.
‘They’re no trouble, not like the brass here. They don’t talk much English, if any, but the guy downstairs speaks their language so communication’s no problem. They’ll do anything I tell them; they’re too scared to say no.’
Oscar grinned at Alfie then leered at the smallest and youngest looking woman, who quickly put her head down.
‘Want to test the goods, Alf? We need to start breaking them in, so you might as well start now.’
Alfie shook his head, feeling strangely uncomfortable. At the back of his mind he realised this discomfort was probably the reason he hadn’t confided in his long-term friend. Over the years he and Vaughn had owned brothels, but the brasses had come and gone as they pleased. This was different; this was trafficking, and even people like him had a conscience.
‘What’s up, Alfie, getting cold feet? Are you going soft on me in your old age?’
One thing Alfie Jennings prized highly was his reputation. He hated anybody thinking that he was weak, and looking at Oscar with that mocking glint in his eye pissed him off. What was he thinking? Business was business; there was no room for sentiment. Storming out, Alfie put the haunted faces of the girls in the back of his mind.
‘So are we going to keep them there?’
‘It’s not ideal. We could maybe move a couple above your club tomorrow morning.’
‘How many have we got?’
‘Ten;