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Chapter Nine

'What are you doing, boy?'

Pat Junior grinned as he poured the tea out and he basked in his mother's pretend annoyance. He loved it when she acted like he was still too young to do things for himself or for the others.

'Making the breakfast, Mum. Sit down and have a rest.'

Lil laughed happily. 'Have a rest, I only just got up!'

Since his birthday invitations had gone out and his cake had been ordered, Patrick Junior had been like a dog with six lampposts. He was a good kid anyway; he would go to the ends of the earth for her or his sisters and brother but, since the party had been organised and authenticated with hand written invitations, he had been like something from a Hollywood film. He could not do enough for her. Her contretemps with his father had, as always, blown over. She blamed herself for it because she should have had the sense to keep her trap shut and her opinions to herself. She knew that her husband had more temptation before him than most men, and she knew that now and again, he was going to succumb. What he didn't need was her giving him the green light by nagging him out of the door.

She was sipping her tea and nibbling on the toast her son had made her, when she saw Lance's face. It was bruised and scratched. 'What's wrong with your face, mate?'

Lance shrugged. His deep-blue eyes were, as always, devoid of any real emotion; at least that was how they looked to her. She hated herself for thinking it.

Pat stood behind his chair and she realised that his eyes were exactly the same as his brother's, except that she enjoyed looking into her older son's eyes.

'He had a fight at school, Mum.'

Lil sighed. Her frustration at her youngest son's bored demeanour was putting her on edge.

'What are you, Pat? His fucking parrot? Let him answer for himself. He ain't deaf, is he?'

She was sorry for her words and her anger immediately; Pat Junior was crushed by what she had said and the way she had said it. He had always been the buffer between her and his brother and she loved that about him. She felt the usual pang of guilt about her reactions to her younger son and prayed once more that she might find it in her heart to love him like she did all the others. She played the part of the doting mother so well that she believed it herself at times. But seeing Lance bruised and scratched made her feel guiltier than ever because she had not noticed it the night before.

Pat Junior stood behind his brother with one hand on his shoulder, and the other hand shielding eyes that were filled with tears. His head sank on to his chest and Lil knew he was trying not to break down in front of his siblings. She pulled him into her arms.

'I'm sorry, darling. You know I ain't myself lately. You are such a good boy, Pat, and I depend on you, which is wrong.' He hugged her tightly and she felt the solidness of his body; he was becoming a young man. Although Lance was bigger and heavier, he didn't have the tight muscles of Patrick Junior. Lance looked like the older brother but he didn't have Pat's sense or intellect.

'Now, Lance, come here.'

Lil held out her free arm to her second son and felt his hesitation before he moved towards her. She hugged them both to her tightly and Lance squeezed her back as if his life depended on it.

'So, who hurt you, Lance? Tell me.'

He stepped back from her and shrugged like he always did when questioned about anything he was the cause of.

'It wasn't his fault, Mum. It was the bigger lads; they pick on him because of his size.'

Lil held up her hand to silence Pat Junior. He was always trying to keep the peace but she knew that Lance was the one causing fights; it was in his nature and the school had just about had enough of him. Lance was on his last warning, and he knew it.

'Who were you fighting, Lance? Tell me and I'll let it go. But if you lie to me, I'll be angry. Now, answer me truthfully. Were you fighting again?'

He nodded and she sighed. It was pointless going on about it; he never listened to her anyway.

'Have I got to go to the school?'

Patrick Junior shook his head. 'It was outside of school, Mum, on our way home. Honest, it's all sorted, really.'

Lil nodded and lit another cigarette. As long as she wasn't going to be dragged up to the school she didn't really care.

Pat Junior was subdued now and she wished she had left it. After all, Pat had always looked out for his brother and that was never going to change. She worried that Lance's big mouth and knack of picking fights would one day land his older brother in trouble that he couldn't handle. So far he had bailed him out regularly and with the minimum of fuss, but she knew that as they got older it would not be so easy for him. Patrick could call on a lot of friends if he needed to, but Lance didn't make friends; he only had Patrick. She instinctively knew that in the years to come, Pat Junior would still be clearing up after his little brother. Lance depended on him too much and she blamed herself for that.

She smiled at the boys then, to show she was over it all, and they smiled back.

It occurred to Pat that his mother had not attempted to dress his brother's wounds like other mothers would have done and, as always, he felt the burden of Lance falling on to his shoulders.

Dave was sitting in his mother's house waiting for Bernie to bring Dennis back from the hospital. He was still bad, by all accounts, but he was better than anyone had expected him to be. Dave had left him there for three weeks without once going to see him. At first he had left it because he was so upset. Then he had left it too long to go without having to explain his absence. Now though, he had to face him and sort this thing out once and for all. Bernie would be here with him any minute and he had made sure that they would be alone.

He was nervous, but he didn't regret what he had done any more. It had been on the cards, the pressure had got to them all and he had blown, simple as that. Dennis was such a handful he could start a fight in a monastery. It had been inevitable they would come head to head at some point.

Dave glanced around his mother's lounge: the Yorkstone fireplace and shagpile carpet were stained and dilapidated and he was once more reminded of the money they had spunked up without a second's thought. As Pat had once pointed out, he had helped them make it and he was not obliged to tell them how to spend it. But he had tried. He had warned Dave about the way he was spending, had told him that until you line your pockets properly, keep your money in your pockets. Never let anyone know what you've got, had been another one of his favourite sayings; once people were aware that they knew too much about you, they wouldn't be comfortable with you ever again.

How true those words had been, and how Dave wished he could turn back the clock. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. That was another of Brodie's sayings that he wished he had listened to.

Pat had more or less told him that he was still on the firm but not in the capacity he had been before. Now he was on the payroll, on a wage, and he knew he had to swallow that. The fact he had even contemplated trying to force his way into Patrick's and Spider's business arrangement was enough to see him six-feet under so he was more than aware that he had been given a second chance.

He was not going to blow that. At least he had learned that valuable lesson and he had learned it well. Now he had to talk his brother down, and he was not relishing that at all.

Dave lit a cigarette and pulled on it for long moments, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs. The shaking of his hands was evident, even to him, and he willed himself to relax, but he had no idea what Dennis was going to be like when he walked through the door. With Dennis, the unexpected was the norm.

He heard a car pull up and stopped himself from leaping out of the chair and looking out of the window. He wanted Dennis to see him calm and controlled; it was important that he took the lead in the conversation and tried to salvage not only his brother's love and friendship, but also his position as head of the family. Dennis was strong enough to take that from him and he knew that better than anyone.

Vince had not forgotten, although he had forgiven. Dave had apologised profusely to him more than once and he was also on a promise to Patrick and Spider to keep Dennis on the straight and narrow for the foreseeable future. This first meeting was important inasmuch as he had to make Dennis understand that he was living on borrowed time until he could prove that he was not going to try to muscle in on anyone else's business.

He was aware that Dennis had not spoken to the police, who had questioned him in a perfunctory manner. Like him, they felt he had got his comeuppance at last and they would have known exactly what had gone down. They would have visited him because they had to, not because they wanted to solve any kind of crime. Dennis was hated by everyone in his orbit in one way or another.

Dennis had been the driving force behind every failed deal they had invested in, he had been the instigator, the front man, and he had been the one who had blamed everyone else around him when it had all gone tits up. Everyone, that is, except himself. He had been the same all his life; everything was always someone else's fault and he had always got away with it.

All their big dreams and it had come down to this. They were skint, humiliated and back where they started; on a weekly wage and having to prove themselves worthy of future advancement. His younger brothers had been cleaned out financially and he knew he should have put a stop to it long before it had got this far. Dave knew they had placed their trust in him and he was aware that they knew Dennis had been allowed to call the shots and that he had more or less taken over the family business and finances. And he had allowed it all to happen. He had listened to his brother's big talk and believed him when he insisted that they were shrewd enough and respected enough to overlook Brodie's and Spider's involvement in the drugs trade.

He could only put it down to madness on his part. He had no excuse for his behaviour except greed. If it was anyone else in this position he would have found it laughable; somehow he didn't find any of this amusing in the least. Especially since he could hear Dennis cursing and shouting as he got out of the car and limped slowly up the gravel path.

This was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Dave had ever had to do, and he had done some harsh things in his time.

Dennis came into the room and, even though he had lost weight in the hospital, he was still larger than the average Williams brother. His face was harder than Dave remembered and his shaved head showed the scars where the scalp had been sewn back together. Dennis looked like someone who had been in a plane crash and Dave had to remind himself that he had inflicted all the damage: the deep head wounds and the swollen bruises around his eyes and face.

And the worst thing of all was that, if he was really honest with himself, he had enjoyed every second of it. In a strange way, he wished that he had finished the job; it would have made his life a lot easier. His nervousness had suddenly gone and he looked at his brother with a rueful grin and said quietly, 'All right, bruv?'

Patrick was in his club, it was early evening and the girls were getting ready for the night's excitement. They were like a flock of chattering birds, their heavy make-up and skimpy clothes belying the stormy weather outside.

Patrick Brodie loved the West End when the days started to draw in. The tourists were long gone and even though the takings dropped off, he loved the feel of the real Soho. On nights like tonight he loved the clubs; when the girls were getting on with each other and not fighting over the least little thing. This club was the biggest of them all and he had bought it for a song, taking it as payment for a large gambling debt incurred by a man called Pierre Lamboutin. The French name had been an alias. Why he had chosen such a mouthful Patrick had no idea; aliases were supposed to be plain and dowdy, not something that drew attention to the person involved. But as Pierre was now as dead as a dodo and the club was his and, unofficially, the best earner in Soho, Patrick didn't give a fuck. Keeping on top of the game was no mean feat, considering all the competition that was opening up around him. But he had taken Lil's advice and as he treated the girls relatively well they were loyal brasses and he knew they made a point of not tucking anyone up on the premises.

The club was situated in Frith Street, busy enough for passing trade, but not so busy it attracted the walkabouts, otherwise known as the weekend warriors or window shoppers. Patrick only wanted clients who could spend a few quid and would not tear the arse out of one drink while they watched the strippers all night and felt up a hostess in between acts. He made the men pay a stiff membership fee on the door, guaranteed to separate the men from the boys. It also guaranteed the punters a modicum of respectability; it was a real club with real membership and their credit cards said as much, if their wives got their hands on them. Lord's Gentlemen's Club was a byword in the West End and Patrick was proud of its reputation and glamorous decor. It was about as prestigious as a girlie club could be.

As Patrick sipped a brandy at the bar he saw one of the new girls walk into the foyer. She was a stunner: tall and slim with long shapely legs. But it was her hair that set her apart from the other girls. It was a deep, natural auburn and, hanging down her back, it was thick and glossy like something from a shampoo advert on TV She smiled at him and he frowned. The only flaw was her teeth; they were crooked at the front and even though they were white, it marred the illusion of perfection. She had pale-blue eyes and heavily arched eyebrows that made her look like a film star. Patrick also happened to know that she could drink like a sailor and fuck like a train.

For the first time in years, Patrick was seeing someone on a regular basis and he knew that he was dicing with death because Lil might swallow a flier every now and then, but an actual bird would cause ructions. She would walk, he knew that. She would never allow him to disrespect her with a serious bird, a contender to her throne. Like most women, her biggest fear would be a child arriving, a son or daughter of his that would also be related to her own brood. It was unthinkable and he saw her point of view.

Every time he saw Laura Doyle he told himself it would be the last time and then he found himself making arrangements to see her again. The thing was, she had no real interest in him and he knew that; he was like a punter to her. Why he found her so fascinating he had no idea, but he did. He had even put her up in one of his better flats so he could have her whenever the fancy took him, secure in the knowledge that she would not have any other men there.

Laura was nineteen years old and she was a working girl through choice. She liked the night life, she liked the money and she had no qualms about sleeping with even the ugliest man for a fixed fee. The life suited her down to the ground and she saw Brodie as a step up, if only for a short while. He would tire of her eventually, she was sure, but until then she would milk him for everything she could get. She had a certain cachet with the other girls because of the relationship and she used it to further her own ends. For example, she made sure the head girl only gave her monied men and she also made sure that she was given her due. In fact, some of the girls had decided that she was stronging it a bit and she was not averse to letting them think that.

Patrick Brodie could be her passport to riches if she used her loaf and she was quite happy to use him for her own ends. If she could keep him interested, she could keep herself on the top rung and that was important to her.

For some reason she interested him and she had a feeling it was her complete lack of interest in him as anything other than a fuck. Her coolness intrigued him and she was glad about that. She did enjoy the sex with him; he was expert at it and she was an expert in making men feel like they were King of the Kip.

He passed her a small package and she smiled again. He always slipped her a wrap of speed, knowing that it was the staple for the girls who worked the clubs. It was always good gear, better than she could ever score on the street.

As they chatted he saw Spider and Cain going up to his office and he followed them a few minutes later, telling Laura that he would see her later that night. This was Patrick's way of telling her not to go case with any of her punters. He didn't mind that she slept with other men, it was her job after all. He was not about to be her second dick of the night though. He liked his fanny neat, tidy, tight and clean as a whistle. The latter being the main criterion as far as he was concerned.

He watched her as she sashayed to the meat seats and then he slipped upstairs to his meeting. His face was grim now and his demeanour that of a man expecting big trouble, and expecting it sooner rather than later.

Trevor Renton was a gambler, and he was one of a very rare breed; he made a good living from it. Whether it was cards, the horses or the dogs, he made a decent living for himself. He lost of course: horses were unpredictable and cards were dealt at random; you could only play the hand that was given to you. Trevor Renton could bluff though. He had once taken a massive pot on a pair of twos, unnerving his opponent by raising him larger and larger amounts and with his quiet confidence in what was, in effect, a crap hand. Lessons had been learned and he had made his reputation overnight. When he sat at a table for a game he was treated like visiting royalty and, if he lost, he lost with good grace and paid up what he owed without a murmur.

Tonight he was in a big game and he was very excited although his face betrayed nothing of his emotions. He had already had a couple of wins on the horses that afternoon and he was in the mood for a nice long night of poker. He loved the game, loved the feel of beating the odds and he loved the company of like-minded men. He also got a kick out of hearing the stories of other big games, even though he had heard them a hundred times before, and was often a character in the stories himself.

As Trevor settled himself into a chair, he took out his cigars, his car keys and his wallet; he had a marker in there for fifty grand owed him by the evening's hosts. Placing them all by his drink, he then removed his jacket, placed it carefully on a nearby sofa, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He knew that as a regular winner he had to make sure that no one could ever accuse him of cheating, whether that was to his face or, worse, behind his back.

Some people were bad losers, especially when they bet with money they didn't really have. He could get credit anywhere; he was known for paying off his debts within hours of incurring them. Other men were not so sensible and tried to win back money they didn't have any more. They tried to recoup one loss by gambling on with borrowed money, money that would be repaid no matter what the circumstances. He watched them sweating with fear, drinking to calm their nerves, the alcohol that was supplied free of charge making their judgement worthless so that they started signing IOUs all over the place; trying to win back their lives and their family's lives. Then, at the end of the night, he saw their faces as the realisation finally dawned on them that they had just lost everything they possessed. Everything they had worked for gone in a few hours.

Somewhere, a wife and children were unaware that life as they knew it was over, that they would soon be caught up in a world of debt collectors and midnight visitors. A nightmare of such enormity that the reverberations would be felt for years. People were not aware that gambling debts did not, by law, have to be paid. They were a gentlemen's agreement, like a handshake. That was why the collection was usually guaranteed only with the help of violence and intimidation. The men who gambled away their lives were in fact putting themselves in a situation they could never escape from. The debts would be paid, it was as simple as that. The money was given with a smile and recouped with a baseball bat.

Trevor had seen it so many times and it depressed him that these men didn't have any self-control or any self-respect. At forty-eight years old he had been around the tables for over thirty years and he was still unscathed. There was not a scar on him and he had never been in a fight over cards or bets. Trevor was a gentleman and he knew his name was enough to get him into any game he wanted. He also knew that the younger men sought him out to play against him, hoping to get themselves a reputation as having beaten him. If that happened, and it was very rare, he shook their hands and gave them pointers and advice, making them friends for life. He had no problem with winners, it was a game of chance after all. Anyone could win and that's what made every night so exciting for him. As he sat nursing his ginger ale and waiting for the other players to arrive and get settled in, he was more than ready for the night's play.

'He is already causing fucking ructions and he's only been out of the hospital for a few days.'

Cain's voice was heavy with malice and Patrick listened quietly as he always did. He had found many years before that if you kept very quiet people filled in the silences themselves, offering more information than they had originally intended to give. It was a habit now and one he was glad he had cultivated.

'What has he done this time?'

While in hospital Dennis had attacked a doctor who was on his rounds and a porter who had not brought him the Scotch he had ordered. He had been as obnoxious as he always was and now he was out and about and determined to cause a ruckus. Dennis was making sure that people remembered just what he was capable of. Even though he was a laughing stock in some quarters, Brodie knew it would still be a brave man who had the nerve to laugh in his face.

'He has been round and collected rents that were already ours. It seems that Dave hasn't explained the new scheme of things to him and he still seems to think that he has some kind of fucking stranglehold over us lot. I have told my boys to go and request the money nicely If he tips them bollocks then they are to slice him and dice him as they see fit.'

Spider's voice was cold and brooked no argument. Well, he certainly wasn't going to get one from him. Dennis had been shouting his mouth off as usual; Patrick had been advised as to what Dennis had said about him, and it had not been what he would call complimentary. It was only a matter of time before someone shut him up permanently, so Patrick had decided to sit back and let someone else do any dirty work that was required. He knew that, in reality, Spider and Cain wanted his permission to out Dennis Williams and he was happy to oblige.

'Fair enough, what can I say? He is a cunt to himself.'

Spider and Cain relaxed at Brodie's answer, it was what they had been hoping to hear. They knew that Dave was still part of Brodie's firm and that was fair enough, unless it encroached on them of course.

Patrick sipped at his drink and when the atmosphere was warmer, he said jovially, 'Don't forget my boy's party. Bring the kids and everyone is welcome.'

'Fucking hell, Pat. Ten, don't the time go fast?'

Patrick nodded sagely. 'Wish I was ten again and knew what I know now, don't you?'

Spider laughed, his huge head going back on to his shoulders and reminding Patrick just how strong he was in all ways.

'When I was ten I had just started nicking fucking motors with me cousin Delroy. You remember him, Pat, he was shot in Kingston about three years ago. He finally went back to Jamaica and got wasted over a fucking bird.'

Spider shook his head in abject disbelief. 'A fucking bird. Only Del could die over a bit of pussy.'

He looked at Cain and said with pride and amusement in his voice, 'He could sniff out pussy like a fucking bloodhound and it was always sweet, at least that was what he said anyway.'

'He never got shot. He wore his cock out, Spider, and died of exhaustion. He got a hard-on looking at Fanny Craddock; he would trump anything. We used to have to hide our grannies if he was coming round.'

Cain and Spider were roaring with laughter, the earlier atmosphere was gone now, and they were all boys together once more.

Cain took a large gulp of his drink and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said craftily, 'You can talk, Pat. What is this I hear about you and a certain flat-chested redhead? Love is it?'

Patrick Brodie paled in front of the two men's eyes and the shock on his face was almost comical.

Cain realised immediately that he had said the wrong thing. Spider was looking at him with undisguised anger and Patrick was, for the first time ever, lost for words. Cain had just made himself look like a gossiping old woman, had alerted Brodie to the fact that he was being talked about and his name was being coupled with this girl, whoever she was. Brodie was a family man and very protective of his wife and his children, everyone knew that.

Spider replenished their glasses while Patrick busied himself lighting a cigarette and gathering his thoughts.

Cain spread his arms out in supplication. 'I was only joking, Pat. I didn't mean to cause offence.'

Cain was remembering the stories he had heard about this man: the torture of people who tried to thwart him and the torture machinery he kept in a warehouse in Silvertown. Spider had said that he'd seen Patrick electrocute naked men, hard men, without blinking an eye. He'd heard them begging him as they smelt their own skin burning and he had watched as the current had marauded through their bodies and caused them to be thrown a foot in the air, their screams eventually muffled by the quick-setting cement Patrick had forced into their throats once he had heard enough to satisfy his curiosity. No one ever crossed him twice. That was why Dave was so terrified about Dennis and his loose-cannon status and this was why Cain wished he had kept his big mouth shut.

Patrick was an anomaly; he was quiet, he was devious and no one ever knew what he was thinking or what he would do next. He went to Mass with his children, he took Communion every week and he had never had a rep as a womaniser; womanisers always ended up shitting on their own doorsteps, that was a phrase Patrick Brodie had used over and over again. He was right as well, Cain and Spider knew that. In the end, womanisers destroyed their families, had to look for a new home, had to deal with the resentment from children and relatives, and ended up in the same position they had been in at the beginning. Another, younger, wife and kids the same age as their grandchildren, and when the novelty wore off they were always out on the prowl once more. Patrick Brodie had no time for those men and the devastation they wreaked because they had no family loyalty, no respect for their wives, the mothers of their children, or the children they had created with those wives.

The stories about him were whispered, all rumour and innuendo; no one could ever place him at the scene of any crime and no one ever would.

It was that simple.

Now Cain had opened his mouth and given Patrick Brodie something to think about; the girl was a liability and Cain had pointed that out to him.

'Relax, son, you just did me a favour. Is it big talk or just rumours at the moment? More to the point, who told you?'

Spider could hear the underlying threat in Patrick's voice and he wanted to launch his brother into outer space for his careless talk.

This was Patrick all over; he was fastidious in his ways and he was almost a prude where his sex life was concerned. But Spider knew that his biggest fear was one of the blokes in their employ telling his wife or girlfriend about the redhead and the news then echoing back to Lil. She was everything to him and he would rather die a thousand deaths than have her hurt in any way, shape or form.

The fact that he was being talked about because of Laura was a worry, but he was also aware that Dennis's mother was a friend of Annie's and Annie would give ten years of her life for a piece of information like this.

'Look, Pat, it was me who opened me trap. I saw you with the girl a few times and it's not like you, is it? You are usually beyond reproach and Cain just got carried away, that's all. You know, joking about Delroy, it was just guys together. We would never talk about it outside this room.'

Patrick grinned then and Cain saw the coldness in his eyes that until then he had only heard about. He finally saw the Patrick Brodie he had only ever heard about and Cain was aware that he would never, ever like to incur the wrath of the man sitting so relaxed and quiet in the chair before him.

'I understand that, Spider. I am a cunt. I just need to know if it is common knowledge, that's all. If anyone else is talking about me, about my fucking private life.'

The sentence ended on a shout and Patrick was out of the chair and across the room in seconds. Cain instinctively put his hands up to cover his face, expecting to be attacked.

Instead, Patrick was at the drinks cabinet and his whole demeanour changed in seconds as he laughed jovially, saying, 'Fuck me, son. Relax and we can sort this out sooner rather than later.'

Spider was staring at his brother and Patrick was staring at him as well and for a few moments, Cain wasn't sure which one of them he was more wary of.

Laura let herself into the flat in Bloomsbury at about two-fifteen; she had been chauffeured there by a guy called Clinton, who was Patrick's driver on occasion. She was being her usual imperious self and Clinton had been told to stop and get her some cigarettes, which he had paid for and she had then insisted that he drive slowly because she was spilling the drink she had brought with her from the club.

Clinton had followed her into the block of flats and she could hear his quiet breathing from behind her as she tried to get her head around what she was seeing. She was wired, speeding out of her nut, but she was still sober enough to realise that there was something radically wrong, even though it was a few seconds before what exactly that was sunk in properly.

The flat was empty, not a piece of furniture or even a curtain remaining. It had been stripped bare of everything except for two cases and a woman's overnight bag, which were placed in the centre of the lounge.

Laura was still standing there, trying to get her bearings, when Clinton picked the bags up and walked back down the stairs with them.

'What the fuck is going on?' She was screaming at the retreating Clinton like a banshee because she was suddenly aware that her life in London was over. If Patrick Brodie wanted her gone, then she would have to go and that was that.

Laura was racking her brain for what she could have done wrong, what she might have done inadvertently to offend him and she could think of nothing. So she had thrown her weight about a bit, that was not something he would care about, surely? The tears were hot and salty on her creamy skin and she heard the sound of someone coming up the steps; she assumed it was Clinton coming back to remove her from the premises.

The place was devoid of anything to say she had ever been there and she wondered if this was the end of the line for her, was he going to make sure she disappeared? Was someone going to kill her? Terror rose up inside her like a wave and she felt the full force of her lifestyle as she understood what it could finally bring to her doorstep.

Clinton turned off the light and snapped, 'Come on, we ain't got all fucking night.'

Laura faced him, her tear-stained and terrified face making no impression on him at all.

'Please don't hurt me…' She sank down on to her knees, the fear making her legs weak and her heart beat so loud she could hear it in her ears like a drum.

Clinton was a small man; he had a face like an angel, as his mother was always pointing out, but he was slight in his build. He was just a driver and a gofer and that suited him down to the ground. Now though, he was finally understanding the buzz that fear could give to you. He was enjoying Laura's fear, enjoying seeing her brought down a peg or two. She was a whore with big expectations and Patrick had given him his orders and he would carry them out to the letter.

He stared at the girl for long moments as she sobbed and begged for her life.

'Please, Clinton, don't hurt me.'

Laura was imploring him with every ounce of strength she had left, the snot was running from her nose and she could feel it hanging in long strands as she scrambled across the floor to him, begging him, her lovely blue eyes wide with terror, not to harm her.

'Get up, you stupid bitch. You've got a long journey ahead of you tonight. You're the new suck and fuck girl for a friend of Patrick's in Manchester.'

Then he unzipped his trousers and said, with a northern accent, 'Get your laughing gear round that, lass.'

As Laura looked at him she saw the rest of her life in stunning detail and she realised just what she had let herself in for. The illusion of independence she had harboured all this time was just that, an illusion. She would be dependent on men like this for her daily bread until she was reduced to the streets and alleyways as age crept up on her, and her body gave out.

Clinton was choking her with his cock and she knew he was enjoying seeing her debased like this, was paying her back for all the slights, the sarcastic comments and the rudeness he had been forced to endure because she was fucking Patrick Brodie. His nails were digging into her scalp and he used her head for momentum, grabbing at the lovely hair that had always been her crowning glory. As he was coming in her mouth she heaved with the sudden taste of his salty, red-hot sperm.

Clinton left her lying on the floor, her tears silent now and he tidied himself up in seconds. Her bright-red lipstick was smothered all over his penis and his belly. He had enjoyed it so much that he could do it again and he decided that he would do it again. On the way to Manchester he would have her on her knees in the car park of a transport cafe. He was going to make the most of the opportunity he had been presented with. He knew she was out of his league and he wouldn't pay for it even if he had the money. So this was too good an opportunity to miss.

'But why? What have I done for Pat to do this to me?' Laura's voice was low, she was broken and he knew it. More to the point, she knew it.

'You've outlived your usefulness, darling, and now you have to go.'

He was laughing as he dragged her up off the floor by her hair and pushed her towards the front door, making her stumble with the force he used.

He locked up with her set of keys and placed them in his pocket. Then he walked her to the car, and, pushing her none too gently into the back, he slammed the door with a finality that told her she was off the radar, she was already yesterday's news.