Disobey. Jacqui Rose
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looked puzzled before he frowned. ‘What’s your problem hey, Alf?’
‘I never said I had a problem, I just think not everything’s as deep and frigging complicated as you make it. Reckon you’ve been hanging out too much with your missus.’
A dark expression came over Del’s face. ‘And I reckon that …’
Before Del could get the rest of the sentence out, the door of the café was swung open by two masked men. One of them shouted, the distinct Chinese accent present in his voice, and it was clear to everyone they were the triads.
‘A message for disobeying the rules.’ The man threw what he was holding in his hand before rushing back out of the café. There was a loud bang, followed by a flash of light. Immediately Vaughn began to shout.
‘Get down! Get down!’ he bellowed as Alfie grabbed hold of Lola, pushing her to safety under one of the tables as the small petrol bomb the man had thrown exploded into the corner of the Bateman Street café.
A small fire broke out as the place began to fill with black smoke. Most of the men, save the ones trying to put out the fire with water, pulled out their guns, racing to the entrance.
Tommy Donaldson, getting outside first, watched as the two men sped off on a scooter turning right into Greek Street. The other men, seconds behind, piled out of the café, along with Lola, whose face was red with rage. She stared at everyone, her whole body shaking as tears of shock ran down her face. She spoke, her voice stripped of its usual warmth as they all stood and watched her beloved café burning.
‘I don’t care. I don’t bleedin’ care how you do it but as of right now, it stops; all of it. The squabbling, the petty jealousies, the blown-up egos, the whole bleedin’ works. You lot need to start working together to sort this out. Because no one, no bleeding one, not even an army of Samurai-fucking-warriors will ever get away with trying to destroy me frigging café.’ And with tears streaming down her face and her head held high, Lola Harding hit each of the men on their chest with her battered handbag before turning and walking away, leaving all those present feeling ashamed and less like London’s feared number one gangsters, and more like reprimanded schoolboys.
The Turkish restaurateur, Sarp, and his wife Anna sat across the table from Alfie Jennings. They were telling him the story of what had happened the night before last – but Sarp’s face told the tale more than his words did. The multi-coloured bruises covered most of his face, a large bandage covering the now-stitched gash.
‘I thought they were going to rape her.’
Alf’s voice was urgent. ‘They didn’t though?’
‘No, but they could’ve done. They could’ve done anything. Worst thing is they knew it and so did I. They ain’t afraid of no one. It was a game to them. They’re animals, Alf. Animals.’
Fear was imprinted in their features and Alfie could see Anna was visibly shaking as she clung onto Sarp. Alfie had known them for over ten years. They were good people and they respected him as both a friend and a face.
He’d had a call from Sarp, pleading for him to go round. It wasn’t the usual course of events. If there was a problem in Soho one of the smaller faces, the upcoming guys, usually dealt with it. Alfie had been around too long to have to deal with shit between neighbours or some of the Toms touting on corners to the disapproval of the business owners.
But this was different. And although he’d known straight away what it was about he was pleased that Sarp had come to him; for more than one reason.
‘So you see, you guys need to do something. I can’t have my wife terrified. Look at her, she’s in a right state. They ain’t like us. They’re crazy. If you don’t do anything, Alf, you’ll give me no option … I’ll have to get the Old Bill involved.’
Alfie leaned back on his chair and shook his head. ‘Come on Sarp, you know we don’t get the filth involved. We look after our own. Calling the Old Bill is dead man’s talk.’
Sarp stared at Alfie furiously. ‘Well, tell me what I’m supposed to do then. ’Cos I don’t see any of you lot giving a flying fuck what happens to Soho. It’s going to rack and fucking ruin, like the rest of the country.’
Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘There’s always Turkey.’
‘Don’t give me that, Alf. This is my country too. I’ve worked hard, like my parents did when they came over in the Fifties. Tell me something, is it really too much to ask to be able to sleep in my own bed at night without myself or my wife being dragged out by a bunch of hammer-wielding maniacs? You need to do something, Alfie and quick, otherwise I swear I’ll go down to the cop shop, and I won’t give a shit what any of you lot think.’
‘Sarp, just hear me out; don’t be doing anything rash. It ain’t just me who won’t like it. It’ll be the others. Do you really want to cross swords with the likes of Del Williams and Vaughn Sadler? Give me time to sort this out.’
‘And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, hey? Perhaps I should go and speak to the Taylors.’
Alfie pounced on Sarp’s words. ‘No!… No! Don’t do that. Leave it to me and I’ll sort it, but I’ll sort it my way … I promise.’ He stared at Sarp. There was no way he wanted him to go to the Taylors, or any other faces for that matter. Alfie needed to sort something out first or rather, he needed to go and see somebody first.
Sarp looked unsure. ‘They said they’d come back. If I didn’t have the money to pay them, they’d come back and really do something. They ain’t messing about, Alfie.’ The restaurant owner dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m not ashamed to tell you I’m scared; really scared. Those triads mean business.’
‘Okay, you might not like this suggestion, but you need to pay them …’
‘No fucking way, Alf. No way. The minute you start paying them; that’s it. It’s over. I’ll be forever in their pocket, and they’ll just keep wanting more and more until I’ve got fuck all left.’
‘If you’re six foot under you won’t need to worry about money. Pay them. Keep them sweet for now.’
‘No. I worked hard to get where I am, and there’s no way I’m going to give tea money; protection money to people. It’s crazy.’
‘I know it is, but ain’t nothing I can do at this moment. I’m not saying pay forever; of course I’m not, but it’ll keep you and your missus safe for now.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, I am. You came to me for a reason. Pay up, and I’ll have it sorted for you in a week.’
Sarp glanced at his wife, who looked anxious. Alfie went into his pocket and brought out a roll of fifty-pound notes. He pushed the money into Sarp’s hand who nodded gratefully.
‘Okay Alfie. A week, but no more.’
‘Just hold on tight. I’ll make sure everything is sorted.’
Sarp fell silent for a moment before saying, ‘They said something. Something about me speaking to you about breaking rules. What did they mean?’
Alfie looked uncomfortable. ‘I dunno. They’re just talking shit. Can’t listen to anything they say.’
Sarp looked suspicious. ‘It’s funny, they seemed so sure I should talk to you.’
Alfie said nothing, just got up to go and headed towards the door. He turned to Sarp, talking to him quietly, his voice full of reassurance. ‘Listen, forget what they said. We need to concentrate on sorting you out, mate. You did the right thing by calling me. But listen, I don’t want you mentioning we had this conversation. And I don’t want you mentioning what happened to your restaurant