Sitting on the gold-leafed toilet seat, trousers around his ankles with his bloated body falling over the lavatory bowl in waves, Charlie’s thoughts were sharply interrupted by one of his men who stood in the entrance of his expensive, black-tiled bathroom. Annoyed by the intrusion, Charlie snarled.

‘Can’t a person go to the frigging carzey in peace?’

‘Sorry, Charlie, I just …’

‘Watch your manners!’ Throwing the nearest thing he could reach, which just so happened to be the toilet brush, at the man’s head, and fuming, Charlie stood up, pulling up his trousers without bothering to wipe.

‘Sorry, Mr Eton, it’s just that you asked me to let you know when I saw Alfie going into his club.’

Narrowing his grey eyes, Charlie glared. ‘Yeah, but I don’t remember that including disturbing me when I’m having a shit.’

‘Yes, boss. Sorry.’

Sighing and deciding there and then that he was going to give the man his marching orders, Charlie asked, ‘How long ago?’

‘Must have only been about ten minutes ago. He didn’t look so great to tell you the truth. He looked a bit ill.’

Stepping forward, Charlie breathed into the man’s face. The sticky aroma of unbrushed teeth wafted between them. ‘When I want a medical diagnosis, I’ll call 999, but in the meantime, just shut the hell up. You understand?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Satisfied, Charlie nodded. ‘Good, now off you trot … oh and whilst you’re at it, get your things and go.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me, go. Leave. You’re sacked. I don’t want to see you around here again. Got it?’

‘But why? I don’t understand.’

Bemused, Charlie brought back his leg, kneeing the man hard in his balls. ‘Why? Because I’m Charlie Eton, that’s why. And for your information, I don’t need a reason to sack you, and come to think of it, I don’t need a reason to kill you either. So, if I were you, I’d piss off out of my sight before I count to ten.’

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie Eton sat on the large blue leather sofa, dressed in designer jeans and a pink Ralph Lauren shirt, in the crisp white back room of his club, deep in thought and ruminating about Alfie Jennings whilst Shannon attempted to work on his limp penis.

Fed up and feeling a bit of chafing, Charlie kicked Shannon away, sending her crashing into a pile of beer crates.

Indignantly, she screamed, her big green eyes filling up with tears as she looked down at her laddered black tights, which she’d only just bought cheaply from one of the shoplifters who regularly came by the club selling their goods. Looking through the fringe of her red curly hair, Shannon’s bottom lip quivered as she wailed. ‘What did you go and do that for?’