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