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He heard a car pull up and stopped himself from leaping out of the chair and looking out of the window. He wanted De

Vince had not forgotten, although he had forgiven. Dave had apologised profusely to him more than once and he was also on a promise to Patrick and Spider to keep De

He was aware that De

De

All their big dreams and it had come down to this. They were skint, humiliated and back where they started; on a weekly wage and having to prove themselves worthy of future advancement. His younger brothers had been cleaned out financially and he knew he should have put a stop to it long before it had got this far. Dave knew they had placed their trust in him and he was aware that they knew De

He could only put it down to madness on his part. He had no excuse for his behaviour except greed. If it was anyone else in this position he would have found it laughable; somehow he didn't find any of this amusing in the least. Especially since he could hear De

This was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Dave had ever had to do, and he had done some harsh things in his time.

De

And the worst thing of all was that, if he was really honest with himself, he had enjoyed every second of it. In a strange way, he wished that he had finished the job; it would have made his life a lot easier. His nervousness had suddenly gone and he looked at his brother with a rueful grin and said quietly, 'All right, bruv?'

Patrick was in his club, it was early evening and the girls were getting ready for the night's excitement. They were like a flock of chattering birds, their heavy make-up and skimpy clothes belying the stormy weather outside.

Patrick Brodie loved the West End when the days started to draw in. The tourists were long gone and even though the takings dropped off, he loved the feel of the real Soho. On nights like tonight he loved the clubs; when the girls were getting on with each other and not fighting over the least little thing. This club was the biggest of them all and he had bought it for a song, taking it as payment for a large gambling debt incurred by a man called Pierre Lamboutin. The French name had been an alias. Why he had chosen such a mouthful Patrick had no idea; aliases were supposed to be plain and dowdy, not something that drew attention to the person involved. But as Pierre was now as dead as a dodo and the club was his and, unofficially, the best earner in Soho, Patrick didn't give a fuck. Keeping on top of the game was no mean feat, considering all the competition that was opening up around him. But he had taken Lil's advice and as he treated the girls relatively well they were loyal brasses and he knew they made a point of not tucking anyone up on the premises.

The club was situated in Frith Street, busy enough for passing trade, but not so busy it attracted the walkabouts, otherwise known as the weekend warriors or window shoppers. Patrick only wanted clients who could spend a few quid and would not tear the arse out of one drink while they watched the strippers all night and felt up a hostess in between acts. He made the men pay a stiff membership fee on the door, guaranteed to separate the men from the boys. It also guaranteed the punters a modicum of respectability; it was a real club with real membership and their credit cards said as much, if their wives got their hands on them. Lord's Gentlemen's Club was a byword in the West End and Patrick was proud of its reputation and glamorous decor. It was about as prestigious as a girlie club could be.

As Patrick sipped a brandy at the bar he saw one of the new girls walk into the foyer. She was a stu

For the first time in years, Patrick was seeing someone on a regular basis and he knew that he was dicing with death because Lil might swallow a flier every now and then, but an actual bird would cause ructions. She would walk, he knew that. She would never allow him to disrespect her with a serious bird, a contender to her throne. Like most women, her biggest fear would be a child arriving, a son or daughter of his that would also be related to her own brood. It was unthinkable and he saw her point of view.

Every time he saw Laura Doyle he told himself it would be the last time and then he found himself making arrangements to see her again. The thing was, she had no real interest in him and he knew that; he was like a punter to her. Why he found her so fascinating he had no idea, but he did. He had even put her up in one of his better flats so he could have her whenever the fancy took him, secure in the knowledge that she would not have any other men there.

Laura was nineteen years old and she was a working girl through choice. She liked the night life, she liked the money and she had no qualms about sleeping with even the ugliest man for a fixed fee. The life suited her down to the ground and she saw Brodie as a step up, if only for a short while. He would tire of her eventually, she was sure, but until then she would milk him for everything she could get. She had a certain cachet with the other girls because of the relationship and she used it to further her own ends. For example, she made sure the head girl only gave her monied men and she also made sure that she was given her due. In fact, some of the girls had decided that she was stronging it a bit and she was not averse to letting them think that.