Disobey (10 page)

Chloe-Jane wiped away the tear she felt running down her cheek. ‘Well you won’t be saying that when they catch up with you. You should’ve heard them talking.’

‘Heard who?’

‘Del and Vaughn was telling Franny all about the casinos you’ve been running behind everyone’s back. They’re blaming you for the attacks on the businesses in Soho and on that old bird’s café.’

‘Lola?’

‘Yeah, that’s her. Apparently because it’s Lola, one of your own the triads turned over they’re wanting revenge, and when they found out you were involved in it …’ Chloe-Jane stopped to pull a face, drawing her finger across her throat, gesturing it being cut. Alfie gulped.

‘Well thank you for that, Chloe, it’s made me feel a lot better.’

‘No problem.’

‘I was being sarcastic … and do you have to frigging munch those grapes like a bleeding combine harvester? It’s getting on me nerves and I need to think.’

Ignoring Alfie, Chloe-Jane continued popping the grapes into her mouth, chewing loudly in-between her continuing conversation.

‘So what are you going to do then? ’Cos how I see it, them two muppets are going to be putting you in the ground.’

Alfie looked amazed. He gestured his arms widely. ‘Have you come to wind me up?’

‘No, as I said, I’ve come to help you.’

‘And why would you do that?’

‘’Cos I like it here. I like Franny … and I guess you’re alright, but it’s as near to feeling like family as I’ve ever had. And I don’t want to lose it.’

Alfie stayed silent. Chloe-Jane had been down in London for less than a couple of weeks but she’d latched onto Franny like a baby on a tit. He supposed he could understand. Understand how it was when you had nothing and no one around you to care whether you lived or died. He’d been lucky he supposed, at least he’d had his brother, Connor, when he’d been growing up. Chloe-Jane had no one. No one apart from him and Franny.

‘Listen, I appreciate you offering help and everything but …’

‘You better start talking! And quickly. I want to know everything, and don’t try to lie, Alfie. Don’t even think about it, because you’ll wish it was only Vaughn and the others you had to run from.’

As Alfie Jennings looked at Franny Doyle standing furiously at the end of his hospital bed, waiting for him to tell her what was going on, he thought about Chloe-Jane and what she had said. Perhaps having her help wasn’t so stupid after all. But now all they needed to do was come up with a plan …

14

The girl lay quivering naked on the rusting old bed. Track marks in her arms. The heat of the room made the three onlookers undo the top buttons on their overly starched shirts. In the darkened corner, Mr Lee sat silently, watching with simmering anger, as one of his new investments looked like they were going to pass out.

Over the years his involvement in the sex trade had grown, as the internet had; becoming more lucrative than extortion money, and certainly safer than drug money. He’d started off years ago in the heroin trade, and at one time in the Nineties the business had been booming. But over time, the government clampdowns and not having the financial ability to pay off the border patrols had crushed the trade, so Lee had begun to invest more and more in prostitution.

With the explosion of the internet and the massive demand in web pornography he’d been able to make more money than he ever did with drugs. At first, most of the images were still, but now everything was live streaming. He’d dealt with all ages, then realised underage pornography was where the real trade and money was. For a while, it had been easy to cover their tracks without ever worrying being caught, but as police technology had grown, so had the likelihood of being traced, especially if dealing in very young girls.

In a way, the police were onto a losing battle. The war against the world’s online pornography was something the governments would never win, but it didn’t stop them trying, especially when it came to cracking the gangs who dealt in kiddie porn. Not wanting to be traced or caught but still wanting to earn the sort of money the online porn industry brought in, Mr Lee decided to up the age of the girls.

And although most of the girls were runaways, handpicked from the streets, or groomed from care homes, he’d recruited girls who looked like they were over the age of consent; this way the online police generally left him alone. In the unlikely event they did ever bother trying to track him down, the constant re-routing of the proxy server and complex encrypted data stream enabled him to hide his identity and tracks, bypassing the surfing restrictions. By the time they did catch up, he had already moved his streaming to another server, only for the cat and mouse chase to start all over again.

What Mr Lee enjoyed so much about the live web porn was the ability to have the girls situated in any part of the world, in any part of a street, in any part of a home, which again gave him the sense of being untouchable. If there was a raid, Lee would be nowhere to be seen and it’d be the pimps, the fathers, the friends of the girls who’d be taken into custody, leaving him free to make his main source of income from web pornography instead of extortion.

The reason why Lee was present on this live stream shoot was to do with the way they were going to film the girls. Sex and sex alone had started to become too mainstream; every other person was filming their wives or girlfriends in their back bedrooms and as a consequence, he’d begun to lose money. And one thing Mr Lee hated was to lose money.

People had become desensitised to seeing straight sex, girls on girls or even anal sex. It’d become routine. An everyday occurrence to switch on the computer and see pop-ups of websites advertising sex. What wasn’t an everyday occurrence was the corner of the market he’d newly stepped into. The reason why Lee was sitting here now.

He’d been in the business long enough to know what the clients wanted and he was going to give it to them. They wanted to see pain, hurt and ultimately fear in the girl’s eyes. They wanted violence, living vicariously through the masked men who’d inflict the pain on the girls. Wishing they were the ones doing it, but knowing they couldn’t, they were willing to pay however much it cost to watch it and in their own way be a part of it. Having a girl with some glazed expression, disconnected to the pain and the torture inflicted on them, wasn’t what they wanted, which meant they’d take their tastes elsewhere. And there was no way
he
was going to sit by and let that happen.

‘I thought I told you to only give her a small amount of diazepam, not fill her up so she looks like some crack head. It’s bad enough we have to cover up her arms from all that shit she bangs up. When you do a close-up the on-liners need to see she’s feeling it, not anesthetised.’

Lin, who’d worked for Mr Lee for the past ten years, working his way up the ranks, spoke. ‘We only gave her two tablets, but it seems to have knocked her out. It’s probably the mix of drugs.’

Chang Lee narrowed his eyes

‘I don’t care what or why it happened, just do something about it. We’re going to start the live streaming in the next half an hour, and punters won’t want to pay for a girl who can’t join in on the action. I wanted you to take the edge off so it could last longer, not mess up the whole of the streaming.’

Mr Lee watched Lin shake the naked girl, whose head lolled back as he tried to wake her up. The pimp he’d purchased her from had reassured him she was clean and worked hard. So far there seemed to be no evidence of any of that.

Chang called out, ‘Put her feet in freezing ice water, which should do it. If not you’ll have to use one of the Romanian girls. Next time, I won’t be so understanding.’

Half an hour later, the girl had been changed and Mr Lee sat back as the first of the masked men walked into the makeshift bedroom. It was a simple scene. Girl sleeps on bed as masked intruders come in. No script required. No words needed. The action and the screams would do. The directive of the men was to hurt, not kill. Cut, not disfigure. Rape, not mutilate but apart from that – apart from that there were no rules. No limitations when the word sounded.

‘Action!’

15

‘What did you say to her? Come on, what did you say?’ For the second time that week, Vaughn Sadler paced about Lola’s kitchen. ‘Well?’ Vaughn slammed his fist on the table, shaking the pots off it.

‘Bleedin’ hell, Vaughnie. Calm down, sweetheart.’

Vaughn snapped at Lola. ‘How the hell can I calm down, Lol, when Casey here is mouthing off to the whole of Soho about our relationship?’

‘Oh turn it in, Vaughn, Casey hasn’t done that.’

‘Hasn’t she? Then you tell me why Franny-flipping-Doyle was telling me I was having problems in my relationship?’ He stared at Casey, who wouldn’t look at him. Vaughn didn’t need this. Anger and hurt filled his veins, but if he were to be honest with himself, his overriding emotion was humiliation.

The idea that Franny would be insinuating there was something wrong with his relationship with Casey drove him incandescent with rage. Vaughn was a proud man. A private man when it came to relationships; but more to the point he didn’t want Alfie Jennings to think there were problems between him and Casey. And knowing women like he did, there was no way Franny would have this gem of gossip without telling Alfie.

‘Well?’ Vaughn’s handsome face shone with annoyance as he stood over Casey.

Casey sighed, her long auburn hair falling over her face. She knew there was no point in arguing. Vaughn seemed determined to push her away, he didn’t want to see reason and the attacks on Soho almost seemed insignificant compared to his determination to bring Alfie down.

‘I’m talking to you, Casey!’

‘Yeah and she’s listening. Bleedin’ hell, Vaughnie, I wouldn’t be answering you either if you were breathing down me neck like a snorting bull. Leave her alone.’ Lola poked Vaughn in his back, causing him to have to take a deep breath to prevent him from turning round and giving Lola what for. He was sick of women. Sick of them. He’d done better when he’d not bothered with them. He yearned for the days when he’d take a bird or two home, fuck them and everyone had a good time and the only thing they’d leave behind would be their Alan Whickers.

‘It’s okay Lola.’ Casey glanced towards her friend, who shrugged her shoulders and shuffled off to switch the kettle back on.

‘I didn’t tell her anything, Vaughn.’

‘Well she had a lot to say for a person who knows nothing. I don’t think you can realise how it felt. I looked a right fucking chump in front of Del …’

It was all too much for Casey. ‘Is that all you care about, Vaughn? What you looked like? What Del Williams thought about you? I thought you were better than that. Clearly I was wrong.’

‘That makes two of us then. I was wrong. Very wrong to think I could do this. Do us. I think the best thing we can do is call it a day. Before it gets nasty. I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t want to lose you as a friend.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

Vaughn’s face twitched. He knew he was being stupid, he knew that their relationship was slightly strained and had been for a few weeks due to Casey’s refusal to talk to him about what was going on with her. But that was all it was, a little strained. There was certainly no need for this course of action he was now about to take, but he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t stop his mouth moving and saying something he didn’t really mean. That was his problem, he was stubborn and hot headed. ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. It’s finished, Cass. It’s over.’

Casey held Vaughn’s stare before she found herself standing up, almost robotically. She didn’t hear Lola’s voice call her back. Didn’t see Vaughn’s expression of regret at what he’d petulantly said. All she could think about was having a drink, and she knew just where she was going to go and have it.

Franny stood at Chloe-Jane’s bedside. She needed answers and she needed them fast.

‘Chloe-Jane, just tell me what Alfie said.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uncle Alfie said nothing; only thing he gassed about was his finger.’

‘You’re lying to me. Alfie gets that same glint in his eye when he’s not telling the truth.’

‘I ain’t lying.’

‘Well if you aren’t lying, why are you all of a sudden saying that you were with Alfie the night he had his finger cut off? You and I know very well you were asleep in the guest room. Don’t let Alfie get you to do things you don’t want to. Come on Chloe, tell me what’s really going on.’

Chloe-Jane pulled a face. She was used to lying. It was easy. It was something she’d been brought up to do. Something she’d been
told
to do. All through her life there was someone who wanted her to lie for them. So lying wasn’t the problem. The problem was lying to someone she liked. Chloe-Jane had never done that in her life.

She turned her head away from Franny, looking at the prettily decorated walls which had silver and pink metallic swirls delicately painted on them. The whole of the room was lovely, filled with expensive Venetian mirrored furniture, large swathes of dusky pink silk dressing the windows and vases of lilies dotted around.

Chloe-Jane didn’t think she’d ever seen a room so beautiful in all her life, but not only was she seeing it, she was lucky enough to be in it. And if she had it her way, she’d stay in it forever. To be able to stay though she had to be able to please both Franny
and
Alfie. And that wasn’t going to be easy. On the surface it might seem like they had the same views and ideas, but they were poles apart. Alfie was like her, a chancer, a ducker and diver. Somebody who put himself first. Chloe-Jane understood him, and men like him, but Franny was different.

Although Franny had been brought up by her father, Patrick Doyle, who according to Alfie had been both a gentleman and a successful face, who’d taught Franny all the ins and outs of the business, including how to pick a pocket, break a lock, and crack a safe, Franny was a life force of her own. And Chloe-Jane liked her. To Chloe, Franny was a lady, a real proper lady, something she hoped to be one day.

‘Well? I’m waiting.’ Franny’s voice cut through Chloe-Jane’s thoughts.