Disobey (2 page)

When Vaughn had picked up the call from Greg, he’d had no time for small talk, simply saying.
‘It’s Soho. We’re in trouble.’

In all his time as a face around London Vaughn had only had
the
call, once. A long time ago, when he’d temporarily settled in Spain, needing to hang low after a multi-million-pound heist, and then, like now, he’d been forced to return to Soho.

Back then it’d been the Yardies, a group of tough and ambitious Jamaicans who’d wanted to add Soho to their takeover of London. There’d been a lot of violence, a lot of claret spilt, but eventually after a few weeks, the turf war had come to an end. Soho had been reclaimed and Vaughn had gone back to Spain for a while, whilst the other faces who’d also got the call had crawled back to wherever they’d come from.

And now twenty-odd years later, the call had come through, but not because of the Yardies or any other group who thought they were tough enough to take the faces of London on. No, this time the enemy were bigger, more dangerous, more ruthless and they needed all the manpower they could get. Because, this time … this time the triads had come.

The triads were at one time the largest criminal organisation in the world with over half a million members, based mainly in Hong Kong and China with roots dating back to centuries-old secret societies. Over the years the triads had branched out and started to operate in smaller groups, though this regrouping hadn’t lessened any of their violence or criminal activities.

Groups such as the deadly Wong Shing Ho and the infamous 14k gang had exploded onto the British scene in the 1980s, bringing with them fear and intimidation, specialising in armed robbery, racketeering, smuggling, drugs trafficking and selling, as well as prostitution and gambling.

The fear that surrounded them was justified, with torture being commonplace to anyone who refused to comply or anyone foolish enough to try to stand up to them or inform the authorities. And up until now, Soho had been free from the rule of triads, with Shaftesbury Avenue serving as the invisible line dividing Chinatown from Soho. But now, everything had changed.

Vaughn tried to muster a smile for Lola but even he could feel it was crooked, a bit like the rest of the men sitting in the café. No matter how fond of her he was, the last thing he felt like doing was being drawn into any sort of conversation. All he wanted to do was decide on a plan then get the hell home.

As if reading his thoughts, Alfie Jennings piped up, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

‘Got somewhere else to go, have we mate?’

Vaughn snarled at Alfie, ‘I ain’t your mate, I thought I made that clear to you a long time ago.’

Alfie stared at Vaughn and although he didn’t show it, what Vaughn had said cut him deeply. They once had been best friends, inseparable, and with one thing or another, no thanks to his ex-missus, he’d lost everything. His money, Emmie his daughter, and most of his friends. The money hadn’t mattered; well not really, Alfie was a born wheeler and dealer, a born survivor, and he’d always known one way or another he would climb back up. The friends hadn’t really mattered, most of them had been a bunch of muppets anyway. What
had
mattered was Emmie and Vaughn. His best mate and his daughter had given him the brush-off when he’d needed them the most.

He knew they’d say the reason they’d turned their backs on him was because of things he’d done in the past; mistakes he’d made with the people he’d got involved with, compromising all their beliefs, but everyone made bad judgements, hadn’t they? Everyone got it wrong from time to time, but it seemed only ever to be him, Alfie Jennings who was punished for it.

He could forgive Emmie. She was his princess and always would be, no matter what. But Vaughn. Vaughn-fucking-yesterday’s-news-Sadler, well he was different. He was a piss take, one that he, Alfie Jennings would never forgive.

Alfie stood up, his six-foot-plus well-built frame looming towards Vaughn. ‘Oh you made it clear. Very clear,
mate.
Leaving me with fuck all while you and that bird of yours waltzed off with me daughter like you were a contestant on fucking
Strictly
.’

Vaughn, not in the least intimidated by Alfie, stood up, so that he was nose to nose with him.

‘Do yourself a service, Alf. Turn it in, and stop embarrassing yourself in front of everyone.’

‘I ain’t the embarrassment, but you’d like me to be wouldn’t you? Oh, didn’t you just love it when I was down on me friggin’ hind. But that ain’t the case now, sunshine. ’Cos Alfie is back. Alfie Jennings is back on top.’

‘Alf, you sound like a fucking muppet. For fuck’s sake do us all a turn will ya and do what Vaughn says, or at least keep it tight will ya; I don’t need me ears chewing off with all this schoolgirl shit.’ It was Del Williams who spoke. A big player in Soho as well as the Costa.

Alfie swivelled round, his face turning up into a sneer. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’

Del barked back. ‘No, son, I’m just going to give it to you. Wise up mate.’

Alfie’s contempt was palpable. ‘To quote Vaughn here, I ain’t your mate.’

Del rolled up his sleeves. ‘Which will make it all the more easy to knock yer fucking head off.’

‘Hold up! Hold up! Is that right? What’s your frigging problem, Williams? If anyone is going to pull the bollocks, it’s going to be me and it ain’t going to be Alfie’s jewels I’m holding in me hands, it’ll be yours,
mate
.’ Frankie Taylor bellowed his threat to Del. Besides being good mates with Alfie, he had no time for Del who, since being involved with the Russians, thought he was Al Ca-fucking-pone.

Del laughed aggressively. ‘I didn’t know you needed a nursemaid, Alf; I thought that was more Tommy’s style.’

‘Who you calling a pussy!’ Tommy Donaldson scraped back his chair, entering the arena of arguing men.

‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!’ Lola wasn’t laughing now, her voice was raised and her arms folded.

‘Zip it will you, darling!’ Del snapped at Lola, causing Tommy, who had always been closer to Lola than his own mum at times, to grab hold of his arm.

‘Don’t speak to her like that, otherwise you’ll have me to deal with.’

‘Oh and is that supposed to rock me fucking boat?’

Johnny Taylor, Tommy’s brother-in law, began to jump to his defence.

‘It ain’t going to rock it, Del, it’s going to …’

‘Enough!’ Vaughn Sadler stood up, banging his fists on the table, staring hard at all assembled. His voice was rough and edged with hardness as the room fell silent.

‘We ain’t here for a mothers’ meeting, but we sure as hell sound like one. I know most of you would rather be somewhere else, but until we sort out exactly how we’re going to keep Soho safe from the threat of the triads then none of us are going anywhere, unless you want to deal with me.’

Alfie’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Oooh! You’re scaring us now, Vaughn. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep in me bed tonight.’

Vaughn, about to turn on Alfie, was stopped by Lola’s soothing voice.

‘Leave it, Vaughnie. You know he’s being a wind up … ain’t you, Alf? Listen, can we all turn it in for now? This ain’t a joke and it ain’t just a threat either. There’s been attacks and there don’t seem to be anyone wanting to stop it. Folk are frightened, real frightened. Greg said the last time he’d seen business people so terrified was when the Krays ruled the East End. We don’t want to go back to that, and besides, these triads make Ronnie and Reggie look like the Flowerpot Men. And that’s why you all got the call. We need help. Soho needs help.’

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. ‘Lola’s right. They clearly want to come and take over and won’t stop at anything until they succeed. What we have to do is stop them, and quick.’

Del interjected. ‘Yeah, but why?’

Johnny looked puzzled. ‘Why what?’

‘Why now, why after living all these years with them in relative harmony do they want to come over to our patch? The triads have been coming and going long before I was around, but now all of a sudden they have a problem with us. It don’t make sense.’

Vaughn spoke matter-of-factly. ‘Maybe it does, maybe it’s just a question of things changing. New people taking over.’

Del rubbed his chin, shaking his head. ‘There’s more to it. I’m sure.’

Alfie snapped, looking slightly uncomfortable, ‘Why does there have to be more to it?’

Del 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.

2

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.’