word against her. So he had seen her all right, looked after her and, when the child was born, he had been amazed at the feelings that seeing the boy had awakened in him. He was his double, in every way. If you put his baby photos beside his boy’s, there was no difference. It was uncanny. He was an ugly baby, as he himself had been, but Alfie didn’t care.
For the first time in his life he understood what family meant. What blood meant. He had looked into that boy’s eyes and he had seen the future, his future, seen his name being carried on by another generation, and he had been compelled to give him his name. And give the boy’s mother a house. He had found that inside him somewhere was a nice bloke.
Alfie was aware that the boy made him vulnerable; he now had someone in his life who he cared for more than he did himself. He also found that he cared for Annette – something he had not expected. She was nineteen years old and a born mother, a great little mum, in fact. She was only interested in his boy and him. Thick as shit she might be, but she knew where her priorities lay. He respected that, and there was no way his boy would ever be outside of his orbit. Annette was
his
now, and she would never be able to walk away from him. He would see her dead first.
He was a good businessman; he could turn a profit easily, and with the minimum of fuss. If he had been born into a different class he would have been a well-heeled legitimate businessman instead of a rich criminal one. He dreamed of the day he could school his son in the intricacies of ducking and diving. People came to him when they wanted to invest money and make a profit; Alfie knew every scam that was going at any given time. He also collected money for the people who had a good scamand needed investors. It was a win–win situation for all involved. But he had a bad habit of keeping a higher percentage for himself than originally negotiated. Especially when it concerned the Northerners. He hated them – it was a gut reaction. He had a cockney disregard for anyone north of the Watford Gap and he had made his feelings plain. Those choice remarks and his jokes at their expense were coming home to roost. He had seen them as cash cows; they got a good deal, but he squeezed them, and they knew it and, because he had the edge where investments were concerned, he let them know he was squeezing them. He was a broker and, like all good brokers, he knew his own worth.
He had a new deal coming up and he was going to give it to the Baileys, just them, and he knew they would fall on it like a junkie on a needle. It was easy money, with little or no risk; all they had to do was put up the finance. It was so sweet he knew it was a winner. Consequently, Alfie was feeling very confident as he waited for them to arrive.
He was in his pub, surrounded by his cronies, and telling jokes at a shotgun pace. He had good reason to be pleased with himself. He knew he held all the cards, and because of that he could do what he liked. The Baileys might be the new kings of East London, but kings needed princes, and they needed him far fucking more than he needed them. Villainy was like a river or a sea – it moved constantly, changed with the tides, and it eventually had the power to destroy everyone who sailed on its waters. He had seen so many Faces come and go, it was like a fucking merry-go-round; one day they were the dog’s gonads the next they were banged up for the duration. That is what taking control did to people. In his opinion, you were far better off as a well-respected soldier. Who needed the aggro of being in charge of the kind of people he dealt with on a daily basis? They were scum, thieves, liars. But such good money spinners.No, he was happy as he was, in the upper echelons, but never the top dog. It was too much like hard work, watching your back twenty-four seven, wondering who you could trust – dealing with people like himself! People out for their own ends,
For the first time in his life he understood what family meant. What blood meant. He had looked into that boy’s eyes and he had seen the future, his future, seen his name being carried on by another generation, and he had been compelled to give him his name. And give the boy’s mother a house. He had found that inside him somewhere was a nice bloke.
Alfie was aware that the boy made him vulnerable; he now had someone in his life who he cared for more than he did himself. He also found that he cared for Annette – something he had not expected. She was nineteen years old and a born mother, a great little mum, in fact. She was only interested in his boy and him. Thick as shit she might be, but she knew where her priorities lay. He respected that, and there was no way his boy would ever be outside of his orbit. Annette was
his
now, and she would never be able to walk away from him. He would see her dead first.
He was a good businessman; he could turn a profit easily, and with the minimum of fuss. If he had been born into a different class he would have been a well-heeled legitimate businessman instead of a rich criminal one. He dreamed of the day he could school his son in the intricacies of ducking and diving. People came to him when they wanted to invest money and make a profit; Alfie knew every scam that was going at any given time. He also collected money for the people who had a good scamand needed investors. It was a win–win situation for all involved. But he had a bad habit of keeping a higher percentage for himself than originally negotiated. Especially when it concerned the Northerners. He hated them – it was a gut reaction. He had a cockney disregard for anyone north of the Watford Gap and he had made his feelings plain. Those choice remarks and his jokes at their expense were coming home to roost. He had seen them as cash cows; they got a good deal, but he squeezed them, and they knew it and, because he had the edge where investments were concerned, he let them know he was squeezing them. He was a broker and, like all good brokers, he knew his own worth.
He had a new deal coming up and he was going to give it to the Baileys, just them, and he knew they would fall on it like a junkie on a needle. It was easy money, with little or no risk; all they had to do was put up the finance. It was so sweet he knew it was a winner. Consequently, Alfie was feeling very confident as he waited for them to arrive.
He was in his pub, surrounded by his cronies, and telling jokes at a shotgun pace. He had good reason to be pleased with himself. He knew he held all the cards, and because of that he could do what he liked. The Baileys might be the new kings of East London, but kings needed princes, and they needed him far fucking more than he needed them. Villainy was like a river or a sea – it moved constantly, changed with the tides, and it eventually had the power to destroy everyone who sailed on its waters. He had seen so many Faces come and go, it was like a fucking merry-go-round; one day they were the dog’s gonads the next they were banged up for the duration. That is what taking control did to people. In his opinion, you were far better off as a well-respected soldier. Who needed the aggro of being in charge of the kind of people he dealt with on a daily basis? They were scum, thieves, liars. But such good money spinners.No, he was happy as he was, in the upper echelons, but never the top dog. It was too much like hard work, watching your back twenty-four seven, wondering who you could trust – dealing with people like himself! People out for their own ends,
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