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Pat Junior was already inside; he was actually seated behind the old desk, the desk that she had bought one su

Le

He went to the small bar and poured them drinks; he was amazed to find that his hands were shaking, visibly shaking, and he knew that the boy had the edge over him for the moment. He had received no answer to his jocular taunt and he understood, for the first time, just how precarious his position actually was. There were none of his aides in the room, no one seemed to have arrived as arranged. In fact, even Colin was absent and that in itself was a revelation because he was up for promotion. He had been earning his stripes for a while and now it seemed he was happy to retreat when the aggro arrived. Colin was not a fool, he had a decent enough shit-detector and Le

Lil had sat down on the chaise-longue kept in there in case anyone wanted forty winks or needed a breathing space if things got out of order in the club. Many a hostess had drunk a cup of tea and vented their spleen on that sofa; it was a way of diffusing a situation that could become very difficult if not handled properly. Hostesses were fighters and they loved to fight one another when the fancy took them; a slight seen where none was intended or drugs were consumed and then caused paranoia. Now though, it seemed it was to be the throne that Lil sat on as her son reclaimed his father's businesses.

Everyone was seated now and Le

Le

Le

'Come on, Lil, sort this boy out, will you?' His voice was deliberately scornful; he knew he had to make an impression and he also knew he was in big trouble. For the first time in years he was afraid, mortally afraid.

Lil didn't answer him. No one had expected her to. She got up though and, walking to her son, she kissed him on the cheek. Then she said heavily, 'You can't talk your way out of this one, Le

Her voice was his undoing; that she was there to see all this, to see him brought so low, was more than he could bear. It had finally dawned on him that no one was going to come up, that no one was going to help him. He was surrounded by his enemies and that was through choice; he had only ever made enemies.

The girl he had been with earlier had slipped into the club itself and he knew then that even she had heard a whisper about what might happen. She had covered her bases all right, but that even a slag like her was in the know, devastated him.

Young Patrick was still sitting there quietly. His deep-blue eyes were expressionless and his body taut and young. Looking at him, Le

'I ain't fucking standing for this, boy. I ain't your father, letting meself be taken like a fucking rabid dog. Looking forward to your birthday this year, son?'

Le

Patrick was unmoved by his words, was not going to be goaded into anger. He was calm and collected. Lil could see her son's demeanour and, standing up quickly, she said, 'I'll be downstairs when you want me. The girls will need a firm hand and the sooner I start, the better.'

As Lil walked towards the doorway, Le

Lil watched the blood seeping down his face; the bone was exposed and she was amazed that she didn't feel nauseous. He looked awful and it didn't bother her. She had no feelings either way about the wounds she had inflicted on him.

The shirt Le

'Fuck you, Le

He watched her and then he laughed. 'Course I didn't. Who the fuck would want you lot? Tell me that? A fucking washed-up has-been and her gaggle of kids. Your cunt's bigger than Dartford Tu

Patrick walked over to Le

Le