by Jacqui Rose
‘Whether I am or whether I’m not, it’s a bit late now, so ease off on the pressure, okay?’
‘Alfie, lovie, listen to me.’
‘I said, ease off!’
‘Just two minutes until the starter’s orders and then it’s one mile and four furlongs to the finishing line. And they’re in the starting gates for today’s final race. Apache Flash not looking too keen to get in, they’re having to call the stewards … ’
‘That ain’t a great start, Alf.’
‘Lola, just stop, it’ll be fine … It has to be.’
‘Here we go then – and they’re off. Harlequin Rose is making the early pace before Big Man takes it on. Apache Flash is joined by Big Man and Harlequin Rose as Boo-boy, ridden by Tony McKay, is starting to make its bid now … ’
‘Alfie, listen to me, I’m worried about you. You’ve put everything, including your hope, on this race and if it doesn’t—’
‘Just stop talking, Lola. What is he doing? No, no, no, what the fuck are you doing? Come on! Come on!’ Alfie stared at the screen as Boo-boy fell back. ‘Come on, push him on, push him on, you cunt!’
‘Apache is in the lead now with Big Man making up ground and Sunny Morning looking in good shape coming up from the inside. Rising Castle is now in the lead with Hello Soldier travelling well, but there’s a huge amount of ground to make up, so too with BallyCry as Irish Rapper’s jockey pulls him up … ’
‘He’s not even making ground! Boo-boy ain’t even making ground!’ Alfie grabbed his phone and pressed speed dial to call Jack Connell. It went straight to voicemail, but as Alfie kept his eyes on the television, he snarled a message: ‘I’m coming after you, Jack. Mark my words, I’m coming after you if you fuck this up for me.’
He threw the phone to the side and grabbed his iPad, trying to get into his betting accounts as Abel, disturbed by the noise, walked into the sitting room.
‘What’s all the racket for?’
Ignoring him, Alfie continued to log into his accounts. ‘I’ve got to stop this! I’ve got to stop the money. I’ve got to get it back. I’m going to lose all the fucking money! I can’t lose it! I can’t lose it!’
Crying, Lola shook Alfie’s arm. ‘You can’t get it back, Alfie. It’s too late, you know that. Oh my Christ!’
Alice, as worried as Lola, spoke quickly to Alfie. ‘Not necessarily. If you know what you’re doing, you can go through the back door.’
Unable to process what Alice was saying, Alfie shook his head, irritated, as he continued to stare at the screen. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
Rushing her words and remembering what she’d learnt, Alice spoke passionately. ‘I’m talking about the point of entry that circumvents normal security measures, which means you can get into their system, but if you—’
Alfie cut Alice short. ‘Not now, Alice! Not now! For fuck’s sake stop rabbiting nonsense, can’t you see what’s happening?’
With her brown skin turning red, Alice stood in front of Alfie. ‘I’m only trying to help you, because I know if—’
‘I said not now!’ Alfie’s voice roared, filling the room with anger and tension as he threw the iPad against the wall.
Lola tapped Alfie on his arm. ‘Look, the race ain’t over, there’s still a chance.’
‘… Harlequin and BallyCry are in good shape, but Rising Castle is still the leader. But Apache is coming up from the outside. Apache’s pushing forward and Sunny Morning is trying to catch him. Boo-boy’s dropping further back but Apache’s still going strong making the turn for the back stretch, moving just outside the leading three. But Boo-boy’s coming back, giving them chase and off the bend … ’
‘That’s it! That’s it! Come on, come on! Come on, my son! Come on, Boo-boy!’
‘I told you, Alf, I told you it’d be fine. I told you …’ Lola suddenly trailed off as she stared in dismay at the television.
‘… But Boo-Boy drops behind again as he makes the turn along the back straight and that leaves Sunny Morning giving chase and they’re coming down to the final bend. Apache leads them towards it. He’s looking strong a couple of lengths in front followed by Miners-strike now in second place. He’s made ground from the back, but has he left it too late to catch Apache Flash who’s … ’
‘Look at that, look at the fucking horse, it’s winning, it’s fucking winning! What the fuck is he doing?’ Alfie grabbed the phone again and this time he got through.
‘Jack, what the fuck! What the fuck is your jockey doing?’
On the other end of the line, Jack Connell watched the monitor. ‘He can’t do anything else, Alf. Boo-boy’s lost ground. If my jockey were to pull Apache up now everyone would know that’s what he was doing. Apache’s bloody strong, he’s fresh, and there’s no way he can pull him back now, not unless—’
‘Shut up! Shut up! I told you! I warned you! I fucking told you that you were supposed to sort it!’
‘And I told you what could happen. These are horses, Alf, not fucking machines!’
The line went dead as Alfie stared in shock, holding his head in his hands as, mesmerised, he watched Apache Flash thunder home towards the finishing ground.
‘… And Harlequin Rose is being chased by Boo-boy, but Apache wins comfortably and look at that smile from his rider, Rod James. Jack Connell should be pleased with that performance, though the look on his face doesn’t say that … ’
Alfie turned to Lola, who stood looking at him pityingly. Traumatised, he spoke in a whisper. ‘The money. The money.’
With tears in her eyes, Lola stretched out her hand. ‘Alfie, the money’s gone! You’ve lost it! It’s over. Face it, it’s over.’
Filled with guilt, Alfie suddenly surged with anger. ‘And aren’t you pleased? Now you can say, I told you so. Go on, let’s hear it. Rub it in.’
‘Alf, I’m not going to say that, am I?’
‘Aren’t you?’ Alfie sneered, feeling the weight of pressure on his chest.
‘No, I’m not, and okay, I thought there were better ways to go about it, but—’
Alfie, red-faced, pointed at Lola, visibly shaking as he raged. ‘Shut up! Shut up! Don’t say it. Don’t say a word, you hear me? Just don’t say a fucking word. I know, all right, I get it. I get what I’ve done. But I tried. I know you think I didn’t, but I did. I just didn’t know what else I could’ve done. What other way was there? And now look what I’ve done, I’ve single-handedly killed Franny and Bree, haven’t I? I’ve basically handed them on a plate to Nico.’
‘Alfie, no! Don’t you think that, you hear me? Don’t you dare! I know you tried, lovie, no one can fault you for that.’ Lola grabbed hold of Alfie’s arm, but he threw it off and stormed out of the lounge with Lola hobbling out after him.
Abel walked across to the window in silence. Eventually, he turned to Alice, his mind clouded in thought. He studied her face, looking deeply into her large almond eyes. ‘What were you saying then to Alfie?’
Uncomfortable under Abel’s intensity, Alice shifted from one foot to the other. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You were telling him that all wasn’t lost, that if he went in through … through …’
‘The back door?’
Abel nodded, his face the colour of snow, his cheeks hollow and gaunt. He spoke softly. ‘That’s it. What did you mean by that?’
‘It’s just that if you know what you’re doing, he could’ve pulled back his bet, but it was probably too late, and he didn’t have the right stuff anyway.’
‘But if he did, what you’re saying is he could’ve done that or something similar?’
Abel walked up to Alice, listening attentively to her reply as if she were speaking in a whisper.
‘Well, yes, maybe. Not every site is easy to get into but …’ She stopped, glancing from under her curly fringe, worried she’d said too much.
Abel stared at her again. The minutes ticked by until he eventually said, ‘Alice, can I ask you a question?’
�
��Yes, of course.’
‘How do you feel about Nico now? You can tell me. I know you think you can’t but you can.’
Without a moment’s hesitation, Alice said with venom, ‘I hate him. I want to destroy him, Abel.’
At the corners of Abel’s mouth, Alice thought she saw something resembling a small smile. He nodded his head in approval. ‘Good, good, I’m glad. Maybe we have more in common than I thought … And, Alice, this stuff you’re talking about, do you know how to do it?’
Alice shook her head. ‘No, not really, not me. I just know that you can do it – well, some people can.’
It was like a light had dropped away from Abel’s eyes and he turned away without saying anything else. He opened the door to leave, but he stopped as he heard Alice say, ‘But my friend can. My friend, Isaiah Thomas, can.’
45
‘Hello, darlin’, fancy going for a drink? Oh, come on; don’t be like that. Where are you going? Come back!’ An old, scruffily dressed man, leaning on the door of one of the numerous strip clubs in the heart of Soho, cackled as he wolf-whistled and called after Alice.
Ignoring him, she hurried along the small alleyway of Walkers Court, full of sex shops and peep shows, a world away from the life she was used to.
‘Oi! I’m talking to you. Think you’re too good for me, do you? Stuck-up little cow!’
Hearing the man call after her again and starting to feel panicked, Alice began to run, the noise and the smells of the red-light district alien to her. Not looking where she was going, Alice banged into a group of tourists, sending her stumbling into a doorway, where she tripped and fell into the sticky, rubbish-strewn entrance hall underneath an arrow and a sign reading: Big, busty model and massage this way.
‘Move out of the fuckin’ way, love. Find a park bench somewhere.’ As Alice fought back her tears, a large, balding man shoved her out of the way with his foot and went up the stairs.
At the same time another man, doing up the zip of his stained trousers, came down, leering at Alice, making her feel uncomfortable.
Shivering, Alice quickly stood up and walked back out of the doorway and along another street, which was lit up by neon shop fronts complete with large blue signs advertising Viagra. Puzzled, and not knowing what it was – though she’d seen the posters everywhere – Alice wrapped her jacket round her tightly, trying to keep her head down as admiring glances turned to leering stares and the catcalls, so unfamiliar to her, created a deep unease.
A group of platinum blonde Thai girls dressed in tiny miniskirts smoked cigarettes as they stood outside a massage shop, their faces drained, mascara smudged, heavy make-up disguising their youth as they stared at Alice with hostility.
Alice’s heart pounded and she began to wish she hadn’t ventured out of the flat, but she was worried about Alfie, who hadn’t come back after he’d stormed out.
Lola hadn’t been feeling well, and Abel had refused to open his door, so that had left only her to come and find him. Not that she had any idea where he might be; she didn’t even know where to begin. But she had to at least try; to make sure he was all right, to make up for all the mistakes she had made. And even if making amends began with searching every single bar and strip club in the area, then that’s what she’d do. Somehow, she’d find Alfie.
Alfie Jennings sat like it was old times in Frankie Taylor’s Soho club watching the strippers trying to entice the punters to part with their money. However, as drunk as he was, no amount of alcohol could make him forget that it was far from old times. Everything was so well and truly fucked up.
There was no turning back. No second chances. No choices, no decisions about which woman he was supposed to choose, because with one stupid, desperate measure he had basically signed Franny and Bree’s death warrant. And what a death it would be. Slow and torturous, an agonising, brutalised end, everything that the Russos enjoyed.
Alfie squeezed his eyes shut at the images in his head before knocking back the whiskey and signalling for the bartender to fill him up again. ‘Another drink, mate, but make it a double.’
The bartender, tall and slender, Turkish in origin, nodded his head as he stood behind the gold-and-red bar, pouring a drink for Alfie. ‘That will be ten pounds, please, sir.’
Drunk and with his vision blurred, Alfie rummaged in his pocket for money as the bartender stared at him, cold and impatient, tapping his fingers on the bar as the strippers spun and gyrated around the pole in the background.
Having to hold onto the chair to stop himself falling over as he stood up, Alfie swayed on his feet. His words slurred as he patted himself down. ‘I don’t have enough; in fact, I don’t have fuck all.’
Irritated, the bartender wiped up the sticky residue of a spilt drink on the gold-coloured till. ‘Then next time don’t order the drink if you haven’t got the money. If you could leave the bar now, sir, I’d appreciate it.’
It was like a red rag to Alfie, the excuse he’d been looking for. He raised his voice, swaying precariously. ‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you cunt? Don’t you know who I am? I’m Alfie Jennings. The Alfie Jennings. You understand? Ask anyone about me. They’ll know who I am and they’ll tell you that’s the geezer who can sort anything out. Anything. That’s me, that’s who I am, the guy who’s supposed to be able to sort out anything.’
‘Sir, if you can kindly leave.’
Alfie banged his chest, seeing the barman in double vision. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said? If anyone’s leaving it’s going to be you when I pick you up from your arse and throw you fucking out of here.’
‘Sir, I’ll have to get security.’
Smashing his fist down on the bar, Alfie shouted even louder. ‘Come on then. Come on. Fuck security and fuck you. My friend owns this bar, so you’d better watch your mouth unless you want to be out of a job.’
‘Well, he’s not here now, is he?’
‘So call him, tell him it’s Alfie-fucking-Jennings.’
Then with petulant defiance, Alfie grabbed the whiskey glass, knocking it back in one.
Fuming and long weary of difficult punters, the barman leant towards Alfie. ‘That’ll be ten pounds, sir. Unless you want me to call the police.’
‘The Old Bill? You’re having a bubble, ain’t you? I told you, I ain’t got no money, fuck knows where it’s gone. If you don’t believe me, check in my pocket. I dare you. No? I thought not, you pussy.’
He turned to leave but immediately felt a strong hand grip his arm. An over-built bouncer stood towering over Alfie. ‘You heard what the barman said, ten pounds.’
With his temper charged up to the max, Alfie snarled drunkenly, ‘Get your hands off me.’
‘Ten pounds,’ the bouncer repeated.
‘Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it, mate? Fine by me!’ Alfie lunged forward, grabbing and breaking one of the empty beer bottles sitting on the bar.
‘Alfie, no! Don’t! Please don’t!’
He stopped dead in his tracks, hearing his name but unable to fully focus on where it was coming from.
‘Alfie, please, let’s just go.’ Alice Rose, relieved at finding Alfie as much as she was relieved to not have to scour any more of the Soho bars, came to his side.
A wide, drunken smile spread across Alfie’s face. ‘Alice, what you doing in here, darlin’? You should be tucked up in bed, not in this poxy fucking place with this bunch of muppets.’
Ignoring the harsh glares that the bouncer was giving her, Alice put Alfie’s arm over her shoulder, trying to support him. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
The bouncer stood in front of Alice and Alfie. ‘Not until he pays, darlin’, you ain’t taking him anywhere.’
Not having any money herself, Alice went through Alfie’s trouser pockets thoroughly before trying his jacket ones. Eventually she pulled out a ten-pound note, which Alfie snatched and waved around in the air triumphantly.
He pointed at the bouncer. ‘See, you cunt, I told you that I had t
he money, didn’t I? Now put it where the sun don’t shine.’
Alice, giving an apologetic smile, began to lead Alfie out of the club, but as they headed for the exit, Alfie swaying, Alice stopped, hearing the barman calling after them.
‘Sir, this must’ve dropped out of your pocket … Sir!’
Alfie, only just able to focus on the barman, spoke to Alice.
‘Here, Ally, what is it? I’m fucked, I can’t see straight, darlin’.’
Alice frowned as she took the photo.
‘What is it? Alice, what is it?’
‘It’s Franny. It’s just a photo of Franny.’
Alice pushed the photo into Alfie’s hand, who stared at it, his drunken state causing even more confusion, his voice desperate. ‘Where did it come from? Tell me!’
Taken aback by Alfie’s reaction, Alice tried to keep Alfie calm. ‘It’s only a photograph; it must’ve just dropped out of your pocket. It’s okay. Come on, let’s go.’
Alfie’s eyes filled with anger as he continued to stare at the picture of Franny. He raced across to the barman, grabbing hold of the barman’s shirt, the photo in his other hand. ‘Did you do this, did you do this?’
The barman looked terrified. ‘What? No! It dropped out of your pocket.’
‘It can’t have done. It can’t have done, you must have put it there. I know it was you.’
Stuttering, the barman shook his head, trying to get away from Alfie. ‘I never … I’ve never seen it before. I just picked it up from where you’d dropped it.’
Alice tugged on Alfie’s arm, but he threw her off as she pleaded with him. ‘Alfie, I know you’re upset, but nobody here has done anything. It’s not them.’
Ignoring Alice, Alfie swirled round to the bouncer, crumpling the photo up tightly in his hand as he pointed accusingly. ‘Then it was you? Is this your idea of a sick joke? Did you put this in my pocket? Trying to wind me up?’
The bouncer looked at Alfie oddly but before he was able to answer, Alfie turned to glare at the punters in the club, who looked on fearfully as he ran across to them and dragged a young man off his chair, shaking him hard. ‘Was it you?’