Kitabı oku: «Disobey», sayfa 2

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‘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.’