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, not yours – never yours.

Now he was expected to arse-lick the Baileys, and so he would. Let them take the flak – he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Peter was a sensible head, Daniel was a loose cannon. He gave them six months – a year at the outside – before they imploded. Then he would work with whoever came out on top. Alfie Clarke held enough cards to hold his own in any game the Baileys might decide to play.

He slipped into the back room of his pub and looked at his son sleeping in his mother’s arms.

‘You need anything, Annette?’

She smiled happily and shook her head. ‘I’m fine, Alfie, thanks.’

‘He’s a good boy, ain’t he?’

‘’Course he is, he’s a happy little soul.’

Alfie caressed his son’s head with a tenderness which would have shocked his enemies, looking forward to the day when it would be him and his boy taking care of business, together.

He made his way back into the main room, and caught sight of Delroy Parkes, Peter Bailey’s son-in-law. He had a decent rep, and now, thanks to his marriage, a very good pedigree. He wondered what he was doing here.

Delroy nodded amiably, and Alfie sent him over a drink. He was feeling magnanimous today, and why wouldn’t he? He had the scam of scams.

When the Bailey brothers finally arrived he was full of good-humoured bonhomie, and Courvoisier brandy.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Promise me, Dan, you won’t do anything until we have heard him out.’