Charlie Eton grinned again, his fat cheeks folding up in layers. ‘You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cop a feel.’ Still holding the machete in one hand, Charlie’s other hand went under the woman’s skirt and between her legs. She shuddered in disgust, tears beginning to roll down her face as Charlie’s lardy fingers pulled and grabbed at her knickers.

Sliding his fingers inside her, a lecherous smirk on his face, he groaned in pleasure.

‘Mmmmm, that’s right baby, big daddy’s here. Does that feel good, sweetheart?’

Alfie’s face screwed up in rage. ‘For God’s sake, Charlie, let her go! Whatever it is you want, I’ll give it you. Just name it.’

‘Now that is a big promise, Alfie.’

Alfie, feeling desperate but trying to sound calm, said, ‘Please, Charlie. I’m begging you, just leave her alone. Come on, mate, what do you say?’ Getting no response, Alfie brought down his voice to a warm murmur. ‘Charlie. Charlie, for me … just let her go … as a favour, to me … you know what I’m talking about.’

A tiny flicker of acknowledgement passed over Charlie’s face for the briefest moment before it disappeared again. He considered the girl for a second, sneering, then pushed her forcefully aside, sending her flying into the bar and causing her to hit her head on the sharp corner.

Ignoring the blood now pouring from the girl’s head, Charlie stared hard at Alfie. A small vein pulsated on his temples. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know that you’re getting soft and maybe that’s why you think it’s okay to run this club right underneath my nose. You know me, I don’t like anyone taking away my business, so I thought I’d come and pay you a visit. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink, Alf?’

In the silence of the club, Alfie, feeling the pressure beginning to mount and knowing he had to play the game before someone got really hurt, walked behind the bar, his eyes still on Charlie, and grabbed a whiskey bottle off one of the silver shelves.

He unscrewed the top and poured a large measure into one of the glasses before walking back across to Charlie, offering him the drink as he struggled to control his trembling hands. ‘What are you on about? I’m not taking your business. We haven’t got the same clientele, and we certainly haven’t got the same kind of girls as you. I’d say yours were rather specialised, wouldn’t you?’