As they sat in the large back office, with crates and boxes piled at the far end of the room, Oscar grinned at Alfie. He’d heard about the showdown at the club from one of his informants and he’d been annoyed he hadn’t been around to see it; he’d had one of his headaches and had needed to sit quietly in the dark of his flat for over an hour to let it calm down. When it had, he’d taken a phone call and rushed down to Shoreditch.
‘You’ll understand why I’m not in the best of moods, Oscar; I still have to go to the dentist to get me veneer fixed, so if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to get on with our meeting.’
Oscar grinned and was rewarded by a scowl from Alfie, which made him laugh out loud as he spoke.
‘You weren’t the only one who had a bit of a problem last night, Alf. I got a call from Nesha, the Albanian guy looking after our girls down in Redchurch Street. One of them managed to open the window when she went for a piss and …’
Alfie sprang up from the chair, sending waves of pain through his face, and the suppressed anger he’d tried to contain earlier broke through.
‘What the fuck? Oscar, I thought you said you had them all under control?’
‘I did; I do. Nobody, not even me could’ve guessed the little whore would’ve jumped out of a sixth-floor window.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, silly bitch decided to jump.’
‘What, do they have rubber bones in Albania? How did she think she’d survive?’
‘She probably thought it was a better option to jump.’
‘Jesus.’
Oscar grinned, his eyes dancing with amusement.
‘I know, fucking waste of money.’
Alfie shot a stare at Oscar. ‘You haven’t got a heart have you?’
Oscar put his hand on the front of his chest, pretending to try and feel the heartbeat. ‘No, not even a pulse. You need to stop getting fucking soft on me, Alf; I didn’t think you’re the type.’
‘I’m not, and I don’t like you thinking I am, because I might have to show you what sort of heart I’ve got if you carry on taking the piss.’
Oscar looked at Alfie; pleased with the reaction. He didn’t need to do business with a pussy.
‘Of course, Nesha moved the body quickly; put her in the boot and then threw it in the canal at the Hackney end; it’ll be a while before she’s found. Obviously the car wasn’t registered, but he left it on a nearby estate so it can be burnt out by some little fucker who gets his kicks that way.’
‘What about the girls?’
‘Moved them to Bow, but it’s only temporary, it’s too small there. I thought maybe you could keep some more above the club for a while. I’m going to speak to Lola and get her to break them in.’
‘I thought you hated your ex-missus?’
‘I do, she’s a hard bitch who’d sell her own grandkids for money – so she’s exactly what we need.’
It’d been a week since Casey had walked in on Lola, and every day since, she’d regretted the fact she’d walked out on her. Yes, it’d been shocking for Casey to see Lola like that, but the most shocking part of it all was how much Casey had seen of herself in Lola – and it was for that reason that Casey had run away from the situation. It wasn’t Lola she’d seen on the bathroom floor vomiting on the cracked tiles, it was herself. The similarities between herself and Lola frightened her.
Taking a deep breath Casey opened the door of the cafe, which was jam-packed with mud-clad builders, all looking for a fry-up after their morning’s work on the building site in Manette Street. Over the steam of the cafe, Lola and Casey locked eyes. Lola broke out into a big grin.
‘Bleeding hell, what kept you? Your shift started a week ago.’
Lola threw Casey an overall and with a wink, turned back to continue taking the overly large woman’s breakfast order in the far corner.
Casey had been working the morning shift and was expecting to finish at noon, but the rush of people made it necessary for her to stay on for the afternoon shift.
‘You don’t mind do you, Casey?’
Even though Casey was exhausted she was happy she could help out; anything to try to make up for walking out like she had.
‘No problem. And Lola, I’m …’
Lola put up her hand to stop Casey saying any more.
‘There’s no need to say anything girl. It should be me saying sorry. Now we’ll hear no more about it. But Casey?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m happy you came back.’
By four o’clock, the lunchtime rush was over and Casey sat down for a cup of tea; the first she’d had all day.
‘Want me to put some whiskey in that, love?’ Lola cackled as she sat down with The Daily Star. Casey wasn’t sure if she was joking or not; there was a strong possibility she had smelt like a brewer’s daughter the day she’d discovered Lola’s cafe but since the sobriety meeting she hadn’t touched a drop, though it was killing her. She’d found a miniature bottle of whisky tucked away in one of her boots this morning and she’d sat staring at it for over twenty minutes before she’d finally poured it down the kitchen sink. Her addiction was still holding her as tightly as ever.
Sipping her tea she thought about the club. She still felt shaken by what had happened, and the women she’d seen had troubled her; they’d more than troubled her, they had frightened her; but she was doing her best to put it to the back of her mind. She didn’t want to get distracted by anything – she needed all her energy on getting well and finding her son.
She hadn’t bothered asking Vaughn about it. To a certain extent it was through fear, but mainly she wanted a simple life, without any complications; she’d had enough of those to last her a lifetime.
Vaughn had insisted on walking her home, but he hadn’t spoken much and had seemed rather distracted. When they’d been out on the street, the fear she’d had of him in the club had slightly diminished; he’d seemed so much less threatening, and even though he’d been in his own thoughts, she’d picked up something else from him: something warm, caring even; but then what would she know? She wasn’t the best judge of character by any means, and besides, it didn’t really matter what he was or wasn’t; she didn’t want to get involved.
He’d asked to meet up with her the following Saturday for a drink and she’d accepted his invitation, just to be polite, just to humour him, but now she regretted it. She was a fool; her own worst enemy.
Casey took a sip of her tea as the cafe door opened and both she and Lola looked round; two tall men walked in, bringing with them an air of confidence. Casey recognised one of them; it was Alfie. His face was swollen and shockingly bruised.
Lola
