Читать книгу Disobey - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 12

The scream echoed through the building and out onto the street as if it were a gush of air, causing the late-night passers-by to stop and wonder what they’d just heard, before hurrying quickly away.

Inside one of the darkened rooms of the six-storey building Chang Lee owned in Gerrard Street, Chinatown, Mr Lee stood behind the two-way mirror. The building’s ground and first floor housed a restaurant run by some of Chang Lee’s men, with the higher floors used for late-night illegal gambling, and the basement where he was now, for moments like this.

Chang watched his second-in-command, Lin, screw the pliers into the cheek of Sarp.

‘Open up. I said, open up!’ Lin shouted loudly, his eyes dancing in excitement as he began to extract the teeth of the man whose face already poured with blood.

Mr Lee looked on calmly, not showing a hint of emotion, watching whilst a patch of urine spread further across the tormented man’s bloodstained underwear. He’d seen enough.

‘Stop!’ The one-word well-spoken order from Lee had Lin immediately breaking off from the pain they were inflicting on the man. Lin exhaled heavily, out of breath from all the physical exertion.

Mr Lee came out from behind the mirror, walking over to the man who lay crumpled on the stone floor like a heap of old sacks.

‘My men are very loyal to me. When I give an order they like to carry it out; it’s a matter of honour, you see. And when they can’t, it upsets them. In Hong Kong we have a code. A code in which we swear an oath to preserve the fellowship at all costs. To do all we can to uphold it. My men will go to any lengths to make sure my orders are carried through.’

Sarp growled out something inaudible as Mr Lee shook his head.

‘Pride can be an honourable trait, but it can also be a foolish one and cause a very nasty fall.’ Mr Lee stood up, towering over the man as he continued to talk, his tone sinister. ‘What I don’t understand is why. Why on earth you wouldn’t just pay. We could’ve protected you. Looked after your business … looked after you. But as such, you’ve lost everything. Everything gone. Burnt to the ground.’

Through the pain, Sarp mumbled his words of defiance.

‘I ain’t paying you lot nothing. Fuck all.’

Mr Lee nodded to Lin, who picked up a discarded piece of wood from the floor and played with it in his hand for a moment as Lee continued to speak.

‘That’s it right there. The pride coming before the fall – and as for you not paying us anything; how wrong you are. You’ve paid a very high price indeed.’ Lee nodded once more to Lin, who effortlessly swung the wood and smashed it into the man’s skull, splitting open his head. Blood and brain mass spilt out as the man started to convulse.

Mr Lee sighed, a note of resignation in his voice. ‘Bag him up.’

It’d just gone three in the morning as Alfie Jennings stood outside Whispers nightclub, which he’d owned for many years. It was something he was proud of, something which was close to his heart. He’d started the club in memory of his mother who’d killed herself when he was only a kid. To this day, the image of finding her covered in blood after she’d stabbed herself in the neck with a pair of garden shears still haunted Alfie.

Although it was only a business, essentially only a building, to him it was a way of keeping his mother’s memory alive and he would do anything in his power to keep it going. In fact, Alfie suspected he’d put a bullet in someone’s head to keep it going.

It was one of the reasons why he had such a problem with Vaughn. Okay, Alfie had made mistakes and got involved with people he shouldn’t have done when he’d got mixed up with a gang of sex traffickers a few years back. But he hadn’t known the full story, hadn’t known all the ins and outs of it, not really, or so he liked to tell himself. What Alfie had known was that it paid well and he had been desperate.

His decision to get involved with the gang had seen Vaughn give him an ultimatum. Pull out of the deal or cut all ties with him. But how could he have done that? Alfie had needed the money and when it looked like Whispers and everything else was about to go under, he’d begged Vaughn to help him, to lend him money – but the only thing his one-time best friend had done was turn his back on him when he’d needed him the most. For that, Alfie Jennings would never forgive him.

Alfie realised Vaughn would have a different version of events to his. There’d be accusations of how he’d mugged him over, lied to him and tried to break up the relationship he had with Casey, and maybe, just maybe Alfie hadn’t played fair, but then he’d never said he was an angel. Besides, what Vaughn had done by pulling his hand of friendship away was in Alfie’s book far worse than anything he might or might not have done.

If it wasn’t for Franny he’d be still down on his luck, but she’d come through even though there was nothing really in it for her. And he was more than grateful, which was why he needed to earn big money, and fast.

Alfie was too old to get involved in heists and robberies; besides, everything had changed; there was no such thing now as a clean robbery, which was essentially a case of going in with shooters, getting the dough before laughing all the way to the Costa.

The old school way of robbing had well and truly gone; the days when people just stuck their hands up, gave you no grief or behaved like funny cunts. Yes, they were the glory days when you could take the money and run, but now everyone wanted to be a hero, everyone wanted to be in the news for stopping a robbery – so more often than not, someone got shot, and the last thing Alfie wanted to do was spend any more of his life doing bird for some have-a-go hero.

No, what he needed to do was get enough money together and go and start a new life in Marbella with Franny. He was ready to settle down, like Vaughn had with Casey. Alfie was ready for the easy life. Jesus, he never thought he’d ever say that.

He’d always thought he’d stay in Soho all his life. Around everything he ever knew. But outlooks changed, people’s perspective altered and it was because of this need to settle down and start afresh with the woman he loved that Alfie had started up his get-money-fast plan.

He hadn’t run any of this by Franny, he thought he’d get everything sorted first. Come to her with a solid plan and enough dough to live the life he wanted and give her everything she could ever wish for. It’d crossed his mind that she might say no, but one of the things Alfie prided himself on was knowing women, and eventually, one way or another he knew he could talk Franny round. Because no matter how independent women thought they were, when it actually came down to it, all they really wanted was to be looked after by a real man, and he was certainly that, a little bit of the Jennings magic went a long way. But once again everything had changed, and now Franny saying no to a luxurious life on the Costa was the least of his worries.

His plan to have a slice of the money from the gambling dens of the triads had seemed so simple. He thought it would run so easily and work so well but it had started to go wrong. Badly wrong. All he’d ever wanted to do was have a share of the riches, not take over their empire, and the amount he’d be earning, taking from them, the likes of Mr Lee wouldn’t even feel it. But they hadn’t seen it like that. Oh no, they hadn’t seen it like that at all. And now he needed to sort it out pront-fucking-o, before anyone, especially Vaughn found out. Because if he did, Alfie knew only too well that Vaughn Sadler would make it the beginning of the end for him.

As Alfie stood in the street, continuing to mull over the scenario he’d found himself in, he watched as a blacked-out car suddenly did a U-turn in the middle of Old Compton Street. It began to speed up and head towards him. Instinct told him to get back.

Jumping into the entrance of the club, Alfie narrowly missed being hit by the car as it pulled up beside him. His heart began to race as adrenaline raced round his body. Shit. The doors of the Mercedes flew open and for a moment Alfie thought it was over. That this was it. That finally his comeuppance had caught up with him. Images flashed through his mind whilst he scrambled for his gun, knowing by the time he drew it, it would probably be too late.

With the gun in his hand and about to fire, the car, as quickly as it’d driven up to Alfie, drove away, but not before the occupants in it had thrown something out. Something wrapped up in black bin bags and bound tightly round with silver gaffer tape. It didn’t take Alfie’s life of crime to tell him what it was.

The relief Alfie felt at not getting a bullet in his head was tangible but short-lived as panic began to set in. He quickly put his gun away and looked round the deserted street to check if anyone had seen what had happened. Satisfied no one was about, Alfie charged over to where the homemade body bag lay.

Quickly he dragged the body into the club, using his feet to push open the doors before diligently locking them behind him. The last thing he needed was someone coming in.

His phone rang. It was Franny. She’d have to wait; Alfie didn’t want her knowing anything about this and if he answered she might sense there was something wrong and as much as he didn’t want to lie to her, he’d have no choice.

Turning on the lights, Alfie stood gazing down at the body-shaped parcel. There was a note taped on the bag. It was written in red. Blood. Claret. And it simply read. This is what happen when you disobey the rules.

Alfie crouched down and took a deep breath. He ripped open the taped bin liners, revealing a naked, tortured body. Burns and bruises marked the man’s white skin. Next, Alfie began to uncover the upper part of the body. The head had been bound over and over again with thick tape, making it necessary for Alfie to use his penknife.

After a few minutes, and with the bags and tape cut away, Alfie grimaced. For all his years of violence, it still sometimes made him recoil to see someone so battered. The geezer had had it bad. Alfie could see the man’s teeth had been forcibly extracted and it looked like his right eye had been gouged out with what was probably a hot poker.

Wiping away some of the man’s blood with part of the torn bin bag, Alfie paused. Shit. Shit. Shit. He knew who the geezer was. It was Sarp.

The last time Alfie had seen him was about a week ago, when he’d promised to have a word with Johnny and Frankie Taylor to keep an eye out, but he’d purposely not bothered, knowing exactly who was behind the threats.

He’d warned Sarp to pay the men until it was sorted. Then it wouldn’t have mattered that Alfie hadn’t spoken to the Taylors – but clearly the man hadn’t heeded his warning, and now he’d paid with his life. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cold sweat ran down Alfie’s face. The whole situation had become out of hand, spinning out of control and it was getting nearer and nearer to his doorstep.

He’d call his men to get rid of the body; he couldn’t afford to have the Old Bill sniffing about, but first before he did anything else he needed to make a call. Taking out his phone from his pocket, Alfie Jennings dialled a number.

‘Mr Lee, it’s Alfie. I think we need to talk.’