Sinner. Jacqui Rose

on about? I’m not taking your business. We haven’t got the same clientele, and we certainly haven’t got the same kind of girls as you. I’d say yours were rather specialised, wouldn’t you?’

      Knocking the whiskey back in one, Charlie winced as the burn of the drink reached the back of his throat. ‘You must be doing well if you can serve this stuff, which goes back to my point really. There isn’t room for two of us. Times are hard, it’s not like it used to be, so the way I see it is, I was here first.’

      Fighting his sense of alarm, Alfie tried to play it down. ‘Come off it, Charlie.’

      Charlie narrowed his eyes, giving Alfie a cold stare. ‘No, you come off it. You and I go back a long way, Alf, and that means something, so I’m going to do something I wouldn’t normally do; I’m going to give you a choice. You either shut this place down … or you work for me.’

      Amazed, and knowing this was the last thing he needed to deal with, Alfie cut in. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

      Glancing around, Charlie smiled. ‘If you let me finish, Alf, then you might understand. The fact is that even I can see it’d be a shame to see this place closed down. I mean it’s got a bit of class; you and Vaughnie have done a good job with it. So, I reckon – and this is only because I like you, Alf – that if you kept this place open and do what you gentlemen do best, then we could split the profits, say seventy-thirty to me, then everyone’s laughing. Well, I will be anyway.’

      Alfie spoke bitterly through gritted teeth, his head beginning to pound. ‘You’re having a bubble. I would never give you a penny.’

      Straight-faced, Charlie lowered his voice, his tone toxic. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m afraid, Alf, whether you like it or not, you’ve got a decision to make … Let me know as soon as possible what you decide. The offer won’t be on the table for long.’

      ‘And if I don’t?’

      ‘You’ve known me long enough to realise that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Then without warning, Charlie purposefully dropped the empty glass he was holding onto the floor, shattering it into tiny fragments before inexplicably leaning forward to give Alfie a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you, Alf, it really is. Next time we shouldn’t leave it so long.’ And with that Charlie turned and left, and as Alfie watched, stressed and tense, his mind wandered to the anonymous letters and a shadow of fear crossed his face.

      Five minutes later, Alfie was running down Frith Street, pushing past a large crowd of Chinese tourists who were busily taking photos of the outside of Ronnie Scott’s jazz club with their iPhones.

      Catching up to Charlie’s leisurely stroll, Alfie breathlessly blurted out his words. ‘Charlie, hold up. Wait! I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’

      Surrounded by his men, and looking surprised, Charlie turned around, beads of sweat pricking at his forehead, his overweight body heaving from the exertion.

      ‘I’ve already told you what the deal is, Alf, it’s non-negotiable. I’m not going to change my mind, but of course if you’ve already made a decision and you know what’s good for you, then I’m all ears.’

      Turning pale, Alfie shook his head. ‘It’s not about that.’

      Charlie shrugged his shoulders, the weight of his body making it look like a strain. ‘Then what?’

      Glancing at Charlie’s men, Alfie stepped closer in, not wanting anyone but Charlie to hear. He spoke in what was almost a whisper. ‘Have you got them? Have you got them as well?’

      Unable to fully turn his head to look at Alfie due to how close he was, Charlie, clearly curious whispered back, ‘Got what, Alf?’

      ‘You know: Have you got them?’

      There was a long pause from Charlie before he said, ‘Are you asking what I think you’re asking? You want some young, fresh meat?’

      Charlie’s words were like an electric shock to Alfie. He jumped back, staring at him in horror. ‘Jesus Christ, no! Who do you think I am? You know I’m not into that shit.’

      Chuckling, Charlie spoke leeringly as he licked his lips. ‘Things change. People change. Tastes change.’

      Wiping his face almost as if he could wipe the strain away, Alfie snapped, ‘Well not my tastes, and certainly not for that.’

      Stepping back to let a kid on a bicycle go past, Charlie laughed, though his expression showed interest. ‘Then what are you talking about?’

      ‘I just … I just …’ With his hands in his jacket pockets, Alfie stopped, nervously curling his fingers around one of the anonymous letters he’d received last week. ‘I just … well I just wanted to know if you’d got them as well. If he’d sent …’

      ‘Got what, Alf? Sent what? For God’s sake, you aren’t making any sense.’

      Retreating and feeling overwhelmed, Alfie, unable to bring himself to say what he wanted to, shook his head. ‘You know what, it doesn’t matter.’

      Charlie stared at Alfie as he backed away. ‘Are you okay? You don’t look so good. In fact, mate, you look terrible.’

      Feeling his heart race, Alfie shrugged. His voice was small. Tight. Strained. ‘I’m fine. Are you? Are you fine?’

      ‘Well I’m certainly not acting weird, if that’s what you mean.’

      Almost in tears, Alfie gave the tiniest of headshakes. ‘You know it’s not, Charlie, but you know exactly what I’m talking about. You know why I’m asking if you’re okay.’

      Again, another flicker of acknowledgement crossed Charlie’s face and again, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Then matching Alfie’s small, strained voice, Charlie mimicked, ‘No, Alf, I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if you want my advice, I’d lay off whatever it is you’re sticking up your nose. I’ll see you around … Oh, and make sure you come to that decision soon.’

      As Charlie quickly turned around, feeling a stab of anxiety, he knew exactly what Alfie Jennings had been talking about.

      At the same time as Alfie Jennings was heading back to his club, Franny was on the other side of town. Panicked, she hurried along the deserted street that ran parallel to King Henry’s Dock in Woolwich, checking behind her every few yards as she made a right turn into Ruston Road.

      As she crossed a small bit of wasteland, a loud rustling noise coming from near the derelict warehouse startled her. Her chest went tight, and her breathing became shallow as she nervously took a step back, crouching down behind a large discarded oil drum and feeling the chill of the wind coming from off the river Thames.

      Hearing the noise again, Franny tried to slow down her breathing, desperate to stop panic overwhelming her. She pushed herself further against the rusty oil drum, not moving for fear of being seen by whoever it was. She stayed crouching for a moment, listening carefully. There it was, and it seemed like it was getting nearer.

      Trembling and bracing herself, she slowly peered around the drum, still trying to keep herself as far back as she could, but suddenly she let out a long sigh of relief as a brown, mangey cat rummaged in a pile of rubbish.

      Standing up, relieved but annoyed with herself at how on edge she was, Franny felt her phone vibrate. Quickly pulling it out of the pocket of her beige suede jacket, she saw it was Alfie. She ignored it, but it rang again … And again. Deciding it was better to take the call, Franny took a deep breath, answering as casually as she could.

      ‘Hey, Alfie! You okay? How’s it going?’

      ‘How many frigging times does it take for you to answer?’

      Sensing the irritation in his voice, Franny held her own temper and kept her tone as light as possible. She trilled at him. ‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t hear it. Anyway, what’s up?’

      ‘Where