Jacqui Rose - Sinner

Turning to Alfie, Franny shook her head. ‘Alfie, don’t. He ain’t worth it. He’s got a problem with me because of what I did. I get that, but it’s stupid to fight among ourselves.’

‘How noble of you.’

Ignoring Vaughn, Franny continued to speak to Alfie. ‘I’m sorry I took so long – I wasn’t feeling so great – but I’m here now and I’m all ears.’

As Alfie went to sit down, Franny followed but was held back by Vaughn grabbing her arm. He whispered in her ear, ‘You and I both know you weren’t at home, and I’ll find out what you’re up to, Franny Doyle, and then I’m going to bring you down and watch you burn like a towering fucking inferno.’

Half an hour later, Alfie, agitated, having explained what had happened with Charlie said, ‘So that’s the bottom line, Fran, it’s a fucking mess. The last thing we want to do is fork out money to him, but at the same time, no one wants a war. This is already going to have a knock-on effect with the punters. Who’s going to want to come to a club when there’s a possibility of some fucker coming through the door with a machete?’

Taking a sip of her lemonade, Franny, not looking the best herself and having listened intently to what Alfie had been saying asked, ‘But can’t you talk to him, Alf? You’ve known him since you were kids. You two used to hang out together.’

Fighting being distracted by what Vaughn had said about her, Alfie shrugged, hating the fact that jealousy and doubt were beginning to creep over him. Everything seemed like it was out of control, and he didn’t like that feeling one little bit. ‘When we were little, and that don’t hold any weight anymore – not really. This is Charlie we’re talking about. Once he’s made up his mind, that’s it. It proper feels like we’ve been snookered. Have an all-out war with the geezer or …’

Vaughn interrupted, his gaze firmly on Franny as it had been for the last half an hour, wanting to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible. ‘You’re not thinking about actually paying him, are you? Cos that ain’t ever going to happen on my watch, Alf. This is my business as well, and I’m not handing my money over to some nonce.’

With the stress beginning to weigh heavy, Alfie slammed his fist on the bar in front of him. ‘Do I look fucking stupid? We just have to work out another agreement with him, cos he ain’t going away. If we can bring down how much he wants …’

Vaughn snapped, ‘I already told you, that’s not going to happen. Look, I think the best thing we can do is get some kip. We’ll talk tomorrow when we’re all thinking straight … Oh and, Franny, don’t forget I want to go over those accounts with you.’

Back in Soho Square, in the large, cream and gold decorated bedroom of Alfie and Franny’s townhouse, Alfie lay on the king-size bed, smiling at Franny as she got undressed. He’d decided he wasn’t going to tell her what Vaughn had been saying about her. It was stupid for him to even get wound up by it. No doubt the cocaine, useless as it was, had played a part in his paranoia. In all that was happening. The letters. The club. Franny was his constant. Beautiful and loyal, but more importantly, Franny was his, all his, and no one was going to try to tell him otherwise. But as Alfie watched Franny climb onto the bed, a sudden unease crossed over him as his gaze wandered down to her feet and he noticed her unpolished toenails.

It was just past 6am and Alfie couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept. Though it was less about the cocaine that ran around his veins and more about the feelings that rushed around his body.

He’d stayed awake all night watching Franny sleep fretfully, tossing and turning, and it’d taken all his willpower not to wake her up and ask her a thousand questions about the truth of where she’d actually been. More to the point, who she’d been with. Shit. Shit … He hated feeling like this. Jealousy was not something he wanted to deal with; the last time he was jealous, he’d done someone a serious injury.

He didn’t have the headspace to cope with it, not on top of everything else. Jesus, this was the last thing he needed, and part of him was pissed off with Vaughn for making him feel like this. The man hadn’t had any solid evidence about anything, yet he’d just piled a whole heap of doubt in his head.

Annoyed, Alfie got up and pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper. He needed to get some fresh air. Lying in bed thinking was only making everything worse – a lot worse – and the last thing he wanted to do was have a blowout row with Franny.

After striding outside, Alfie stood, leaning against the wall, taking long, deep drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the wall of Barclays bank, situated on the corner of Greek Street. He felt the chill of the early morning air as he watched a dustcart speed down the road, seeing it scrape against the wing mirror of a badly parked black cab, but it was good to get out.

Turning away and immediately lighting another cigarette, Alfie crossed the street, heading for one of the cafés in Rathbone Place to get himself a coffee.

He couldn’t think straight. Maybe he should get away. As much as it was good to be back in Soho, especially this particular part of it – the small square a hideaway from the bustle of the West End – it hadn’t brought him the peace of mind he’d hoped for. Everything was becoming a mess. The letters. The tension between Vaughn and Franny. And now Charlie had his dog in the fight, it was becoming one big fucking nightmare. And as much as he hated to admit it, he just wanted to run.

Maybe it was best if he threw in the towel at the club, or maybe like Franny had suggested, he should go and speak to Charlie on his own. There was a lot of history between Charlie and him. There was even a time when he’d helped Charlie out and he’d never asked anything in return. So maybe – though it would rile him to have to – if he went and really pulled the favour card, then maybe Charlie might think again … Fuck, he didn’t know what he … A sound broke into his thoughts. He spun around. The street was now deserted but he waited for a moment, trying not to let his jumpiness overwhelm him.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, steadying his breathing before continuing to walk, but then he stopped again, listening intently … There it was, and it was coming from over there. He stared at the trees in the near corner of Soho Square Gardens. He could see someone hiding there.

His heart thumped and prickles of sweat beaded on his forehead as he walked towards the black gates of the gardens, which were still locked, but he knew another way in. Alfie walked around to the south side, climbing up on the bench, which gave him easy access to vault over the railings.

Cautiously, he walked towards the middle of the square, creeping around the back of the mock-Tudor, black and white timber building in the centre of the gardens. Feeling the cosh in his pocket, Alfie brought it out as he slunk along.

He listened again for the sound, and making sure nobody was behind him, he followed the noise, creeping past the trees and shrubs to crouch down behind the old oak in the corner of the square as the mist of the early morning lifted.

Still gripping the cosh tightly, Alfie craned around the corner of the large and gnarled tree trunk. Taken aback he stared, placing the club back into his pocket. ‘Jesus, are you all right?’

Shannon Mulligan stared at the man, dried blood and crusty mucus caked onto her face. She squinted through her swollen black eye as she shivered with cold, her words slightly muffled as her torn lip made it difficult for her to speak. ‘I’m fine.’