Kitabı oku: «Taken», sayfa 2
Up until five years ago Alfie’s hideaway flat had been above his foundling club, but when he’d started branching out into other business he’d decided to buy the penthouse across the road and it was now his second home. Not that the penthouse had been for sale – the owners had no intention of moving out until Alfie had sent round three of his henchmen with a stark warning and an offer. Six months later, he’d moved in.
The club had survived the nail bomb in Old Compton Street, though The Admiral Duncan, a pub a few doors along, hadn’t been so lucky, and neither had some of its punters. But Whispers Comedy Club had survived and as Alfie looked out at the club opposite, he felt a pride in his chest like the one he’d felt when he’d seen Emmie for the first time.
His thoughts were interrupted by banging on the bathroom door.
‘Alfie, let me in love. I need a wee.’
Alfie Jennings could feel his temper rising. Not only was she a mouthy brass, but she also expected to go for a piss in his expensive marbled bathroom. Swinging open the door, Alfie took in the state of the woman in front of him who an hour ago had been giving him a blow job and sticking her tongue in his arse. She stood naked, jigging about with her huge tits uncovered, pulling her face into a scowl.
‘Christ, about bleedin’ time. I’m going to burst like a dam.’
The scream from the young woman’s mouth was one of shock as Alfie picked her up and carried her through the doorway of his bedroom and out of his flat.
‘Put me down yer fucker.’
‘You want a piss? Piss here where the dogs do, it should be like home from home for you.’
Ignoring her effing and blinding, Alfie unceremoniously dumped the naked woman outside in the street before catching sight of a stunning looking woman across the other side, reading the board outside his club. He took in her curvaceous yet slim body, her long auburn hair and full red lips and for a moment he just stood there, forgetting about the tom he’d just thrown out, forgetting about the show later on that night; for one of the first times in his life, Alfie Jennings was mesmerised. He willed the woman to go into the club, but she turned away in the other direction. He contemplated going after her, turning on the Jennings charm, but he needed to get showered first and wash off the brass; it wouldn’t go down very well if he had the smell of another woman all over him. Besides, it wasn’t as if his dick would go hungry; Soho was always full of top class pieces of pussy waiting to get laid.
CHAPTER THREE
It was already six o’clock and Oscar Harding needed to get ready. He’d been trying to get ready since this morning but had found it impossible after waking up to the scene of carnage next to him. It was the second time it’d happened and although it hadn’t shocked him as much as the first time, it’d still fucked up his day.
He’d called Billy a few hours ago and had left a message but he still hadn’t arrived and that was really winding him up. He paid Billy a lot of money to be at his beck and call and on the few times he did call him, the little prick was nowhere to be seen.
It was his own fault though; his mum had always warned him about trusting coons. That thought pissed him off even more; knowing his mum had been right about anything.
‘Boss? Boss?’
Oscar watched Billy swagger into the bedroom of his large executive flat and then freeze as he took in the sight; his black skin blanching. ‘Fuck me.’
‘Are you trying to be an Anthony Blunt? I called you over three hours ago and the first thing you come in and say is fuck me. Where’s my fucking apology?’
‘Sorry Boss, it’s just a shock.’
Oscar looked at the horror on Billy’s face; he was short and stocky and his skin was black as a hole. And had a naked woman tattooed on his neck. Oscar decided that he needed to get rid of him as soon as possible. It was no good having a henchman who was shocked at the sight of a little bit of blood.
‘I need you to clear this up; I’m meeting Alfie Jennings down at the club later and the last thing I need is him moaning like a cunt because I’m late. I’m going to have a shower and I want it gone by the time I’m finished.’
Oscar stood feeling the hot water of the power shower beat down on his chest and as he opened his mouth to let the water bubble into it, the events of the night before came rushing back.
He’d spent the first few hours of the evening listening to Vaughn Sadler talk about his holiday trip to Marbella. It’d been excruciating and Oscar was sure if he was forced to listen to any more holiday anecdotes, he’d end up comatose at UCH.
He’d no interest whatsoever in travelling or in listening to Vaughn pretending to be a page out of the Lonely Planet. He’d tried to look at his watch discreetly but Vaughn had spotted him.
‘Somewhere else you’d rather be? I’m not boring you am I, Oscar?’
‘Not at all, Vaughn, it’s fascinating. I could listen to you all night.’
‘Glad to hear it. Now where was I? You’ve made me lose me train of thought.’
‘You were about to tell me about your new swimming pool.’
He’d wanted to bury an axe in Vaughn’s head to stop him talking, like he’d done to the Albanian guy last week who’d tried to rip him off, but he’d continued to smile through gritted teeth as he listened to the multiple ways of aerating the water in a pool.
Oscar doubted he’d be able to sit and listen to anyone else spouting shit like this but it was, after all, Vaughn Sadler – and even though he’d ‘retired’ and been out of the business for the last couple of years, Oscar didn’t know any sane man who would fuck with Vaughn. He hadn’t just heard about his reputation, he’d seen it first hand, and he was one man he never wanted to get on the wrong side of.
He’d known Alfie and Vaughn since their early twenties when they all hung around the clubs of Soho desperate to make a name for themselves. It was Vaughn who’d shot up the ranks first with his fearlessness; never shying away from anyone or anything. When everyone else including himself had been reluctant to go to certain places, Vaughn had gone in controlled and precise, his presence as menacing as the weapons he carried.
Vaughn had taken on the older faces, people like Mad Boy Collins and Leroy Andrews, who even by Oscar’s standards were merciless in their quest to get justice for anything they saw as disrespect or wrongdoings.
Rumour had it Mad Boy Collins had been owed less than two grand by Eddie Williams – a small time crack dealer with a big time gambling habit – but Collins had taken exception to the fact he’d had to wait for the money whilst Eddie had gone on a weekend trip to Amsterdam. Pissed off by what he saw as disrespect, Collins and his men had stormed into Eddie’s house while he was away and raped his wife and two teenage daughters, before chopping them up into tiny bits – but not before Mad Boy Collins had made himself a cup of tea and a ham sandwich.
Taking on men like Collins without fear had gained Vaughn respect and he’d earned his place amongst the top faces. He’d stayed at the top ever since.
Along the way Vaughn had earned vast amounts of money; everyone had wanted to do business deals with him, knowing they’d never be turned over by Vaughn, who had a reputation not only for being an untouchable but for having integrity; a rare and strange quality in their world.
Oscar had never done any business with Vaughn, although he’d have liked to – he’d heard whispers that Vaughn thought of him as untrustworthy. It’d fucked him off no end to think Vaughn Sadler went around thinking he was better than him, but not nearly as much as it fucked him off to have to sit and listen to him recount his tedious tales of his latest trip abroad. It was either that, though, or risk getting on the wrong side of Vaughn – and no one wanted to do that.
Finally, he’d been able to make his excuses when his phone had rung and he’d pretended it was his mother.
‘You know how it is, Vaughn, got to go and see me old mum. She’s on her own now and she hasn’t been very well.’
‘That’s what I like to see; sons looking after their mothers.’
Thankful to get out of the bar on Glasshouse Street, Oscar had thought about his mother. There was no way he ever wanted to lay eyes on her again or even speak to her; moreover, if he ever saw her lying in the street he’d cross to the other side. She was nothing more than a drunken slag and if it wasn’t for the fact he’d promised his father before he died that he’d look after her, he would’ve put her in the ground a long time ago.
Thinking about his mother always brought on one of his headaches so he’d decided to do the five-minute walk to Whispers to see what was going on. The club had been empty besides a few nervous and very bad comedians. He’d watched as they took their turns at the open spot and he’d struggled to raise even a smile. Oscar couldn’t see the point in a comedian’s existence; to him, it was a fucked-up kind of life if you needed to spend it trying to make other people laugh.
He’d heard Alfie’s stand-up routine many times and by far he was the worst comedian he’d ever seen; it verged on the embarrassing. Oscar guessed owning the club was the only way Alfie would ever have the chance to go on stage; nobody else in their right mind would let him. But however bad a comedian Alfie was, Oscar had to admit he was a savvy businessman and the club was a perfect smokescreen for their projects; especially the one they were just buying into.
As Oscar had stood eyeing up the barmaid, he’d felt one of his migraines coming on, making him doubly grateful Alfie wasn’t performing. It was one thing listening to Vaughn talk about his holidays but an entirely different one listening to Alfie Jennings on stage.
Oscar had left the club when a female comedian had come on stage talking about periods and the menopause. He’d headed back to his flat in Holborn, feeling the pain in his head travel down behind his right eye and the taste of metal on his tongue.
He’d picked up the phone when he’d got home and spoken roughly to the person at the other end.
‘Bring me one.’
‘Which one Boss?’
‘Any. I want to have some fun.’
The girl had stood looking at him nervously and Oscar had guessed she was about twenty, though it didn’t really matter how old she was; he’d no interest in knowing anything about her. She was very slim with dark hair but when she’d taken her clothes off, he’d been annoyed at the size of her tits; they were huge and it’d made him feel sick; it reminded him of his mother.
She’d lain back on his clean slate-coloured sheets, naked, and as his headache had got profoundly worse, Oscar had heard her mutter something inaudible, then she’d leant forward and started massaging his penis; first softly and then hard, using her tongue in rapid motion on his shaft.
Nearly blinded from the pain in his head, Oscar had stared down at the woman working away on his limp penis. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hard-on and the useless bitch with her colossal tits certainly wasn’t helping.
With a lunge of his arm he’d thrust his hand between her legs; she’d screamed loudly, accentuating the pain in his head. He’d punched her; hard enough to daze her but not hard enough to knock her out.
Grabbing hold of her hair, Oscar had dragged the girl further towards him; manoeuvring her underneath him, ready to show her he was a real man. He’d prised her legs wide open and attempted to enter her but he hadn’t been able to get an erection.
The humiliation and frustration he’d felt had turned into anger, and in a flash he’d started to kick out at her in a frenzy.
Oscar had looked down at the slate-coloured sheets which had turned into a pool of crimson blood and suddenly he’d felt very tired. It was then that he’d realised his headache had gone; and his pleasure at being pain-free was only slightly marred when it dawned on him he now needed to sleep on the couch, rather than in the blood-soaked bed.
Stepping out of the shower, Oscar hoped Billy had finished cleaning up. He was happy now he remembered what’d happened; all day it’d troubled him. Not what he’d done; she was only a cheap whore anyway and he doubted she’d ever be missed; it was the not remembering he hated.
Whistling, Oscar continued to get ready for his meeting. He was in a good mood and even Alfie performing his stand-up act couldn’t change that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emmie Jennings sighed as she looked in the mirror for the umpteenth time. Her room was dusky pink with cream silk wallpaper – ordered from America – bordering the bottom part of her walls. Her mother insisted on her having Ralph Lauren silk bedding at all times and her new fifty-inch flat screen TV sat on the far wall with MTV on mute.
There was a pile of clothes on the floor and a walk-in closet full of designer outfits, but nothing she’d tried on so far looked right. Her friends at school had always complimented her on her tiny figure, but no matter how many times they told her she was slim, Emmie always felt fat.
Her dad, Alfie, was up in town and her mum Janine was going up to North London to see some of her friends so it gave Emmie the perfect opportunity to go and meet Jake.
Justin Bieber was blaring out on her iPod station when her mother opened the door and walked in. Emmie had put a sign on the door last year saying No entry without knocking but neither her mum nor dad had taken the slightest bit of notice of it since it’d been there.
Emmie watched her mother eating a king size Mars Bar as she sat on the end of her white leather double bed. There was no denying how much she loved her mother but she couldn’t help feeling ashamed of her; and having those feelings made Emmie feel ashamed of herself.
She was always mortified when her mother turned up at school and it’d been especially difficult when the other kids had started teasing her.
‘Your mum’s so fat when she stepped on the scales it said to be continued. Your mum’s so fat even God can’t lift her spirits. Your mum’s so fat I thought she was a solar eclipse. Your mum’s so fat she has to wake up in different time zones.’
The hurtful jokes had continued until Emmie, not being able to take any more of the taunting, had told her dad – and after a little coercing and the bribe of a new Chloe handbag, she’d pointed out the kids to him.
Her dad had paid a visit to each of the children’s parents with a couple of dodgy looking friends and overnight the teasing stopped, but Emmie had continued to carry the guilt of her own thoughts. She loved her mum, but Emmie’s biggest fear was she’d become like her; she spent many hungry hours worrying about it, and hours after that feeling wretched for thinking such horrible things.
‘What are you going to get up to tonight, Em?’
‘Mr Lucas has given us a ton of biology homework; I swear I’ll die doing it.’
Janine Jennings smiled at her daughter; she was always so dramatic and had been since she was a toddler. She would bet her Prada handbag the homework Emmie was complaining about was probably no more than one page of revision. Even though Alfie paid over eighteen thousand a year in school fees, it was hardly a school of great academic achievement.
‘I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up, but I’m on my mobile if you need me. And eat something, Em; there’s food in the fridge. You’ll be nothing but skin and bones if you’re not careful.’
Her mother gave her a huge hug before heading out of Emmie’s bedroom, leaving the empty chocolate wrapper lying on her bed.
Emmie waited until she heard the purr of her mother’s Range Rover driving away, and as soon as she’d gone, Emmie went to the back of one of her closets and pulled out a shoe box which was well hidden under clothes. Taking the lid off, she stared down at the letters. She’d read them so many times she knew them all off by heart. She should really put them back where she’d found them but she couldn’t quite find it in her to do that yet. It had become a ritual; every time she knew she was alone, she’d open the box and just stare at the letters without taking them out. Feeling a surge of anger rising in her, Emmie put the lid back on and placed the box safely away from prying eyes.
Turning on her iMac, Emmie scanned the screen to see if she had any messages. Not that she was really expecting any; the few friends she’d had she’d pushed away when they’d started to show concern over her eating.
‘Oh my days, Emmie, you’ve lost so much weight, you look like one of those lollipop girls; head too big for their body. You’d give the skeleton in the science lab a run for its money.’
Emmie hadn’t appreciated them sticking their noses into her business; she got enough of that from her mother. So she’d slowly backed away from their friendship and eventually they’d stopped calling. She saw them at school but she didn’t sit with them in lessons or at lunch as she used to; she preferred to keep herself to herself.
And so that only left the OMG girls, or as Emmie liked to call them, the bitches. She’d always been selective with her choice of friends and had deliberately kept away from the girls with their loud mouths and cruel comments. She’d never liked being mean to people and the thought of being friends with girls who spent their time bitching about other people made her shudder. No, she was happy being on her own – though she wasn’t really on her own any more was she?
Unable to resist, Emmie logged onto her Facebook account and with a smile she changed her status from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’. That would give them something to talk about when they saw it. It would stop them calling her ‘Skelly Emmie’. It would show them that someone thought she was nice, someone thought she was pretty and someone wanted her.
Smiling and sitting back on her bed, she took out her white Swarovski crystal iPhone and dialled a familiar number.
‘She’s gone. Where shall I meet you?’
The journey into London took Emmie longer than she thought it would. The traffic was terrible as they hit Upper Street in Islington and with the cab driver playing bhangra music complete with a deep bass the journey seemed even longer.
She’d decided to wear her black leather skinny VB trousers with a pink cowl neck top from All Saints but she wondered if she should’ve just put on her new Rock and Republic jeans with a plain black t-shirt instead; she didn’t want Jake to think she was overdressed.
She hadn’t really wanted to come up to the West End but Jake had told her he was going to have to work later, so if she wanted to see him, she needed to come to him.
Emmie could feel the butterflies in her stomach; she knew she was taking a risk by going so close to her dad’s club but she was desperate to see Jake, and the thought of not being able to see him for another week was more than she could bear.
It was another twenty-five minutes until they made it to Chinatown and Emmie got out of the cab looking round nervously in case she saw her father, whose club was only a few streets away from where she was standing.
The area was packed with people; a colourful mix of tourists, revellers and Chinese residents all milling round. The sounds and smells blasted Emmie’s senses and looking at the array of roast duck, crispy pork and char-siu hanging up in the various windows of the Chinese restaurants made her feel hungry. She’d already had some soup and an apple earlier on in the day and it’d made her feel like a pig and she’d ended up sticking her fingers down her throat, desperately hoping her body wouldn’t have absorbed any of the calories, so any thought of having a Chinese meal was totally out of the question.
Outside the dim sum restaurant she saw Jake standing with a long sour expression on his face. He was twenty-two; six years older than she was, but he was one of the few people apart from her father who made her feel good about herself.
He worked part time for her dad and she’d met him when he’d delivered a package to their house in Dagenham. Her father had been out and by the time he’d arrived back home an hour later, Emmie and Jake had already swapped telephone numbers and email details.
Of course, there was no way that she could tell her father about Jake; he was so protective of her, no boy could even look at her without her father threatening to ‘put brains on walls’.
When she’d had her fourteenth birthday, her father had hired out Sugarhut nightclub in Buckhurst Hill for her and her friends. She’d invited her friend, Paul, a sixteen-year-old sixth former with wandering hands. She’d spent the evening dancing with him and thought she was in love when he’d bent down to kiss her on her neck.
Emmie didn’t see Paul for a whole week after the party but when she did eventually catch up with him, she discovered he had two broken fingers and flatly refused to speak to her. In turn, Emmie refused to speak to her father until she came home from school one day to find a gorgeous Chanel suede jacket on her bed and a note from her father saying sorry.
Emmie so far had only managed to see Jake when he dropped off the packages each week to their house, and she had thought it best if she ignored Jake on these occasions in case her mother or father suspected anything. They’d spoken on the phone every day, sometimes twice a day, and Facebooked each other – but tonight would be her first chance of being on her own with him.
‘You’re late. I’ve been standing here looking like I’m touting for fucking business. My mate’s lent me his flat and I was supposed to be picking up the keys.’
‘I’m sorry, we were stuck in traffic.’
Jake scowled and marched off not saying another word, leaving Emmie to run behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides.
Vaughn Sadler happened to be walking out of Wong Kei’s – a Chinese restaurant in the heart of Chinatown – at the same time as a lanky looking man with bad skin barged past him. Vaughn, who’d always been a stickler for manners, was about to grab hold of the ill-mannered youth and teach him a lesson in etiquette, when he saw he was being followed by a very pretty blonde-haired girl; a blonde girl he’d know anywhere. It was Emmie, his goddaughter.
He didn’t imagine for a moment Alfie knew Emmie was wandering around Chinatown semi-clad, chasing some toerag, and if he did, Alfie would have him to answer to; he took his godfathering duties very seriously. Vaughn pulled out his mobile as he followed the star-crossed lovers across Shaftesbury Avenue.
‘Alf, it’s Vaughn.’
Alfie slammed the phone down. He was just about to go on stage and do his set when he’d taken the call from Vaughn informing him that not only was Emmie in London without his permission, but she was chasing some guy like a bitch on heat.
If it’d been anyone else phoning to tell him, Alfie doubted he would’ve believed it, but Vaughn was Emmie’s godfather. If he said it was Emmie, then make no bones about it, it was Emmie.
He attempted to get through to Janine to see what the fuck she was doing letting Emmie out, but it went straight to voicemail. He was grateful his wife wasn’t standing in front of him right now, as the promise he’d made to himself to never raise a fist to her might have been sorely tested.
‘Tell Oscar to wait for me, I’ve got some personal business to attend to.’ Alfie barked the order at his cousin, who was leaning back on a chair, drinking a bottle of Becks at the back of the busy club.
As Alfie raced past the bar, situated by the entrance of the club, he caught sight of one of the new bar staff who’d been giving him the eye earlier in the week. He’d planned to take her back to his place but now instead of feeling lips round his dick, he was going to have to go and find Emmie and deal with the fool who thought it was okay to date Alfie Jennings’s daughter.
Knocking several customers into the wall by the cloakroom, Archie marched out into the cold of the Soho night, ready to put brains on walls.
‘They’re in there.’ Vaughn looked at Alfie sympathetically, thankful he’d only himself to worry about rather than an unruly daughter. He could see the beads of sweat under Alfie’s thick fringe of black hair on his forehead.
‘You want me to come with you, Alf? Maybe I could stop the situation becoming too heated. Go easy on her and him. You know what kids are like.’
Alfie just looked at Vaughn; he didn’t want to use any more energy than he had to.
The stairs leading up to the flat looked like they were never swept. Alfie could hear a baby crying from another landing and the sound of televisions coming from the various flats. It was a shithole and a perfect place to do what he was about to do.
‘It’s that one. I watched them go in.’
Vaughn pointed at the door and then proceeded to grab hold of Alfie’s arm, feeling the tension in it.
‘Alf, remember what I said. Keep your head, pal.’
Alfie didn’t bother answering or knocking; he raised his right foot and kicked hard, using the momentum of the kick to put enough force behind it to boot the door open first time.
‘What the …’ Jake bellowed as he walked into the hall, clad only in a pair of off-white boxer shorts, ready to confront the intruder, but he was met by a fist slamming into his face, knocking his front teeth out before he managed to finish his sentence.
Jake’s blood sprayed over the damp walls of the hallway as he was sent sprawling across the floor by the punch. As Alfie raised his foot above the boy’s head ready to bring it down, he recognised who it was; Jake Bellingham, one of his employees, who he’d thought he could trust, had been trying to bang his daughter. The realisation made Alfie bring his foot down hard as he ignored Jake’s pig-like squeals.
Alfie looked up quickly as he heard a scream directly in front of him. It was Emmie.
‘Daddy no! Don’t! It was my fault. Daddy, please leave him alone!’
Alfie stared at his daughter, noticing she was in her bra, though thankfully she still had her trousers on – unless of course they’d already … Alfie stopped his thoughts. It was too much to contemplate, so instead of picturing what might have happened to his precious daughter, he dug his heel deeper into Jake’s face, twisting it into his nose; shattering the bones and making it bubble with blood.
‘Go and put some clothes on, Emmie. Now.’
As she ran back to the front room to get dressed, Vaughn looked at Emmie but turned his head quickly. He didn’t like to think of her with the pitiful piece of scum squirming on the floor; she was far too good for that.
‘Take her to the club for me, Vaughn. I’ve still got a few things to do here.’
‘Leave it now Alf. You’ve made your point.’
As Vaughn led the hysterical Emmie out of the flat, he grimaced as he saw Alfie take a pair of pliers out of his pocket.
Vaughn squeezed Emmie hard to him; all this violence wasn’t good for her to see. He’d have a word in Alfie’s ear when he’d calmed down.
As much as Vaughn had been born into the arms of London gangland and he’d been good at what he’d done, his heart had never really been in it; unlike the other men he’d known over the years, he’d never lived for the violence.
His dad had been a face, as had his granddad and his father before him, and from a very early age he’d known that there was only one option, and that was to go into the family business whether he liked it or not.
He knew over the years he’d gained a fearsome reputation, but mostly that’d come from the early days when he’d been young and over the top with his fists; trying to compensate for the fact the aggression didn’t come as naturally to him as everyone presumed it would. The reputation had suited him well; it’d meant a lot of men only needed to see him walk into the room before that look of fear crossed their face and they told him what he needed to know.
He was pleased he was out of the violence, but that didn’t stop him missing the excitement of the life. He’d thought when he retired he’d step away from the people as well, but after a few months he’d gone back to his old haunts – to the old faces, to the men he’d shared drinks with and the men he’d shared fights with. It was who he was through and through; it was the core of him and there was no other place he’d rather be than the heart of Soho. And then of course there was his promise; the promise he’d made to Alfie’s brother all those years ago.
It was an easy job – or it was supposed to be: break into the old warehouse down on the Canning Town dock. Everyone who needed to be paid off had been: the onsite drivers, the night security, even the cleaners had been bunged a few grand to keep their mouths shut tight and their eyes shut tighter.
The prize in the warehouse was worth paying the hush money for; 300 kilos of the finest brown, shipped in from North Africa and stored in the old warehouse by the McKenzie brothers, a rival South London gang. The brothers had left it there thinking no one would be foolish enough to touch it, but Vaughn and Alfie’s brother Connor were impervious to the fearsome reputation of the McKenzie boys.
The brothers had hidden it at the back of the warehouse where the fish and meat traders kept their goods and went about their daily business, not realising they were in touching distance of nearly half a tonne of heroin which was like powdered gold. The people who worked in the warehouse didn’t know either; all they were aware of was that they were being paid to look the other way.
Vaughn stood up and watched Connor sitting tensely over in the corner of his front room; he was worried about him. He’d known Connor since his late teens and nearly eighteen years later he was as close to him as ever.
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