Taken by Jacqui Rose

Jake’s blood, on the side and spoke angrily to his wife.
    ‘What’s the point in you having a mobile phone if you never answer it? You’re a fucking disgrace, Janine.’
    ‘Me? What about Emmie? It wasn’t me that sneaked out on heat chasing some guy.’
    ‘No, but pity the bloke if you were. Fuck me, you’re her mother! You should’ve been watching her.’
    ‘Stop it, both of you! I hate you! I hate you!’
    Emmie screamed hysterically as she ran out of the room, leaving her parents open mouthed.
    Oscar sat quietly watching this display; he’d known Alfie was married and had a kid but he’d never seen either of them until now. The daughter was pretty enough although she was evidently underweight, but the idea the handsome, womanising Alfie was married to the woman in front of him, whose right arm alone would feed the starving millions, took some believing.
    Janine Jennings was about to open her mouth and chastise Alfie for upsetting Emmie but she saw the look in his eye and decided not to say another word.
    She was furious with Emmie. Not just because her daughter had snuck off with a boy – she’d done that herself when she was the same age, and Emmie was no different to any other teenager – but she’d given her a fright, and when she got frightened she got angry; she’d always done that. The thought of something happening to her beloved daughter was unimaginable. Recently though, she’d noticed a change in Emmie; she’d become much more secretive and sullen, and Janine Jennings had a feeling there was more to it than just teenage love.
    Alfie banged his hand on the table giving Janine a fright and made her jump out of her thoughts.
    ‘I’ll get one of my men to drive you both home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, but tell Emmie she should count herself grounded.’
    It was another hour before Alfie and Oscar arrived in Redchurch Street, a scruffy road full of office blocks behind Shoreditch High Street. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Oscar properly yet, as Vaughn had insisted on having a drink with him; reminiscing about jobs
they’d done together and trying to calm the hyped-up Alfie down. Then, when Vaughn had heard they were heading towards the East End, he’d jumped in the back of Alfie’s BMW and got a lift to an illegal gambling house in King John Court, a few streets away from where they were now.
    As Alfie followed Oscar up the stairs of the empty block of offices Oscar owned, he wondered why he’d been so guarded about speaking in front of Vaughn. He’d always been open in sharing the ins and outs of his other businesses with him: the protection rackets, the counterfeit money, the stolen electrical goods and hundreds of cloned bank cards he’d kept above the club; even the copious amounts of drugs he shipped into the country each year from China: Vaughn knew about it all. But this venture, with Oscar, Alfie wanted to keep close to his chest.
    The passage along the top floor was lit with a low-watt light bulb, making it difficult, but not impossible, for Alfie to see the rubbish strewn everywhere. At the end of the hall sat a large Albanian looking man sitting on a hard chair, staring at nothing in particular. At his feet lay a large machete and an empty bottle of water.
    The man stood up, nodding an acknowledgement to Oscar as he approached, and opened a door to the side of him. Alfie trailed in silence through it and up another flight of steps. At the top, Oscar opened another door.
    Inside Alfie saw five young women, aged from around sixteen to twenty-five. They stared with wide anxious eyes and expressions of fear as he walked further into the room. Alfie briefly thought of his schooldays as the girls stood to attention, scared to make a movement.
    ‘They’re no trouble, not like the brass here. They don’t talk much English, if any, but the guy downstairs speaks their language so communication’s no problem. They’ll do anything I tell them; they’re too scared