Knocking the whiskey back in one, Charlie winced as the burn of the drink reached the back of his throat. ‘You must be doing well if you can serve this stuff, which goes back to my point really. There isn’t room for two of us. Times are hard, it’s not like it used to be, so the way I see it is, I was here first.’

Fighting his sense of alarm, Alfie tried to play it down. ‘Come off it, Charlie.’

Charlie narrowed his eyes, giving Alfie a cold stare. ‘No, you come off it. You and I go back a long way, Alf, and that means something, so I’m going to do something I wouldn’t normally do; I’m going to give you a choice. You either shut this place down … or you work for me.’

Amazed, and knowing this was the last thing he needed to deal with, Alfie cut in. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Glancing around, Charlie smiled. ‘If you let me finish, Alf, then you might understand. The fact is that even I can see it’d be a shame to see this place closed down. I mean it’s got a bit of class; you and Vaughnie have done a good job with it. So, I reckon – and this is only because I like you, Alf – that if you kept this place open and do what you gentlemen do best, then we could split the profits, say seventy-thirty to me, then everyone’s laughing. Well, I will be anyway.’

Alfie spoke bitterly through gritted teeth, his head beginning to pound. ‘You’re having a bubble. I would never give you a penny.’

Straight-faced, Charlie lowered his voice, his tone toxic. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m afraid, Alf, whether you like it or not, you’ve got a decision to make … Let me know as soon as possible what you decide. The offer won’t be on the table for long.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘You’ve known me long enough to realise that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Then without warning, Charlie purposefully dropped the empty glass he was holding onto the floor, shattering it into tiny fragments before inexplicably leaning forward to give Alfie a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you, Alf, it really is. Next time we shouldn’t leave it so long.’ And with that Charlie turned and left, and as Alfie watched, stressed and tense, his mind wandered to the anonymous letters and a shadow of fear crossed his face.

Five minutes later, Alfie was running down Frith Street, pushing past a large crowd of Chinese tourists who were busily taking photos of the outside of Ronnie Scott’s jazz club with their iPhones.

Catching up to Charlie’s leisurely stroll, Alfie breathlessly blurted out his words. ‘Charlie, hold up. Wait! I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’