Leaning back against the tatty leather seat, Ramiz eyed the suspicious-looking dark brown smears that were streaked down the ageing yellow paintwork of the wall in his booth.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust he moved over slightly. The light above him flickered – a mass of tangled wires poking out. Even the bulb looked ready to give up on the place.
‘Well, it’s better than the Jungle,’ Korab offered; blushing, as he saw his cousin Kush flinch at the insult.
‘Is it?’
Screwing his face up, Ramiz wasn’t convinced. Noting the strong, acidic stench of piss wafting out from the toilet at the end of the bar, the place certainly didn’t smell any better. Mind you, neither did he. He’d been in these clothes for five days. He was filthy. Desperate for a shower and a decent night’s sleep, Ramiz figured that the place would have to do for now.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Taking a sip of his drink, Ramiz grimaced as the hot liquor hit the back of his throat.
‘Brandy, my friend! If you close your eyes you can almost pretend it’s the Rakia we have back home. It’s not as sweet, but it has the same kick to it.’ Kush offered a smile, trying to appear friendly, but catching Ramiz’s sneer he could see that his intentions were wasted.
Knocking back the rest of the drink, Ramiz inhaled the cheap fumes, as the familiar satisfying warmth he was used to quickly turned to a fiery burning sensation. Scanning the pub, he eyed the only other customer in here; an elderly man, sitting propped up at the bar, his miserable face staring down into his empty pint. This place could do that to you, Ramiz guessed, make you want to drink yourself to death. Though, to do that you’d need a stomach made of iron because even the drink tasted like rat’s piss.
In fact, the pub was a bitter disappointment; so far, the same could be said about London. The place hadn’t come anywhere near to his expectations. So much for England being a free ride. The reality was that everything was overpriced and overrated.
Without money, life here was going to be a struggle. Ramiz could see that already.
The people here didn’t seem overly welcoming either.
Here, in a place full of people all races, all cultures, Ramiz had been led to believe that England was a place of opportunity – only, the reality was anything but. People here looked right through him, as if he was nothing, insignificant. Kush had explained how England was now flooded with foreigners and illegals, and how many people here held nothing but contempt for them. Ramiz had felt it first hand – hostility coming off people in waves.
He’d even witnessed the discrimination back in the quieter coastal town they’d arrived in early this morning. Desperate to flag down a car, no one had wanted to stop and help them. Instead they were ignored as cars continued to whizz past; happy to leave them stranded by the roadside in the pouring rain.
The only vehicles that had slowed down had been work vans, with men leaning out, shouting abuse. Some jeering at Lena, while others directed their abuse towards him and Korab, telling them in no uncertain terms to ‘go back to their own country’. In the end, Ramiz had forced Lena to stand with Roza while he and Korab stood further back, hiding inside the overgrown hedgerows.
His plan had worked. Within minutes of Lena standing there alone a car had finally stopped and Ramiz took no time in seizing his opportunity. Ambushing the vehicle, he threatened the male passenger with his gun.
It was funny how more compliant people could be when faced with fear.
Still, they were here now, and that was all that mattered.
‘Korab told me of your set-up here, Kush. He said that you might have work for Lena?’ Ramiz had made his intentions clear to Korab on the way here.
He had let Korab live, but the condition was that Korab now owed him. Though looking about the place now it didn’t look like the gold mine that Korab had made it out to be. Apart from the old boy slumped at the bar the place was empty. The only noises came from the muted traffic outside and the blur of the TV that Kush had playing in the background.
Ramiz was convinced that Korab had spun him another line.
‘I’d be willing to see how well she worked?’ Then, pausing to look around, Kush added. ‘Is she still tending to the child?’ He didn’t want to talk business in front of the girl. Things worked out better that way. The logistics of the way things worked around here didn’t need to concern the girls. They just needed to do as they were told.
‘She went to sort the child out. Enjoy the peace while it lasts!’ Ramiz’s voice was detached.
Lena had been in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes, taking her time to tend to Roza. He was glad of the silence. The child’s incessant whinging for the past few days had been like a constant droning inside his brain. His almighty headache had grown as much as his dislike for his daughter. He had no doubt in his mind that the kid was going to turn out to be just as difficult as her mother.
‘I think the men would like her. Young, pretty, she’d be very popular. Sometimes the girls need a bit of persuasion though?’ Kush said, raising his eyes.
Lena hadn’t spoken much since they’d arrived. Silently, she’d sat and stared with disdain at both Ramiz and Korab, stubbornly refusing Kush’s offer of food or a drink, even though she must have been hungry.
The girl would be difficult to break. He could tell.
‘Don’t you worry about that. Leave her with me.’ Ramiz nodded.
He already had a plan. He knew her Achilles’ heel.
The child.
‘Lena will do exactly as she is told.’
Ramiz would make sure of it.
‘What about rooms? Can we stay here?’
Kush shook his head.
‘The rooms are all used by the girls. I’m the only person allowed here on the premises at night. I sleep down here in one of these booths so that I can oversee that there is no trouble.’
‘We only need somewhere to stay for a couple of nights, that’s all… We will sleep on the floor down here too; we’ll be no trouble. Just until Lena has earned some money… ’ Korab was begging now, desperate for Kush to agree.
Ramiz would not take no for an answer. Not after they had come all this way, but Korab didn’t want to cause any trouble for his cousin.
Kush shook his head, adamant.
‘I’m sorry, my friends. I can get you some clean clothes and make you some food, but I’m afraid you can’t stay. Besides, this is no place for a child. A baby here would be bad for business.’
‘Two nights, max.’ Ramiz pulled back his jacket. His movement was small and subtle, but Kush instantly recognised the threat as his eyes rested on the exposed pistol tucked inside Ramiz’s jeans. ‘We are all out of options, so you best make the impossible, possible.’
Ramiz locked eyes with Kush now, the atmosphere suddenly heavy in the room. He could almost smell his cousin’s fear.
‘Two nights,’ Kush said reluctantly. He knew when he was beaten. ‘That’s all I can do.’
He couldn’t argue with a gun.
Ramiz smirked then. Leaning his head back against the booth once more, he relaxed – watching – as Kush and Korab continued speaking animatedly amongst themselves.
The two men were so alike they could have been mistaken for brothers. Both tall and gangly with crooked noses and chiselled cheekbones.
The conversation was boring, full of niceties and falseness. The usual bullshit family politics and talk of home that Ramiz didn’t care for. It was their voices that he was listening to. Their thick Albanian accents. Nostalgic suddenly, Ramiz thought of home.
No doubt Drita would have been up to the house and found it empty by now. Ransacked.
Her son’s rapid departure, with only a scribbled note left behind, would be like a knife to her heart. He knew that. Her only conciliation would be that at least she knew that he was still alive.
Pushing thoughts of his mother to the back of his mind, Ramiz homed in on the television screen as a welcome distraction. Recognising the scenery that fi
lled the screen – the giant red Jubilee clock tower set in the centre of a promenade – he sat bolt upright. They had walked past that very landmark this morning. He remembered his irritation as Lena had stopped and stared up at the tower in awe. How she had run her hand over the words Queen Victoria, and had started to cry, overwhelmed that the journey was over and that they were now officially in England.
The camera zoomed in to the view of a news reporter standing on a sandy beach, her back to the sea. Behind her, in the distance, a lifeboat trawled the waters.
‘Kush, turn it up. Quickly.’ Lurching forward in his chair, Ramiz pointed to the TV screen.
Kush did as he was told without question.
Going to the bar for the remote control, he turned up the volume and stood watching, intrigued at what had caught Ramiz’s attention. They listened as the reporter’s voice filled the bar.
‘A major search and rescue operation is underway after it is thought a boat carrying migrants into Britain from France has sunk just off the coast of Weymouth.’
Ramiz stared straight ahead at the screen, but he could feel Korab’s eyes on him now. Ignoring him, Ramiz focused his attention back to the news piece as the reporter continued.
‘The exact number of illegal migrants that were aboard the fishing vessel that, it is thought, had been heading towards the Jurassic coastline, is not yet known. Coastal guards and lifeboat crews have yet to find any survivors. So far, sixty people have been confirmed dead and it is feared the death toll will rise further. Officials say that at least a hundred migrants in total may have drowned in the incident.’
‘Weymouth? Isn’t that where you said you came in, Korab?’
‘Turn it off.’ Korab’s voice quivered as he spoke, but his eyes remained fixed on the table.
All those people.
They hadn’t made it.
He felt sick. Ramiz had insisted that the authorities would have seen the smoke, that they would have been rescued. Only they hadn’t been. Thinking of the women and children on board, how they could have saved some of them, Korab hung his head down in shame.
‘Turn it off!’ Korab shouted now, startling the other two men.
Kush did as he was told.
‘Scary huh, my friend?’ Kush said, sadly. ‘You could have been on that boat. It was this morning wasn’t it? Wasn’t that when you arrived also?’
Sensing that something wasn’t right, Kush was probing now.
Korab had paled; the tension in the room between him and Ramiz was so thick it was almost palpable.
‘What is it, Korab?’ Kush asked, concerned.
‘Leave him be. He’s just tired,’ Ramiz insisted. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go and check on Lena.’ Ramiz waved his hand dismissively. It was an order.
Kush didn’t appreciate being spoken to like that but, aware that Ramiz had a gun in his possession, he didn’t argue. Instead he hurried off, happy to get out of Ramiz’s way, and left the two men in silence.
Korab finally spoke.
‘We left them to die… ’
‘It wasn’t our fault.’
Scrutinising Korab’s face, Ramiz was agitated at the genuine emotion he saw there. Korab wasn’t stupid; he would have known the score. What did he think, that trafficking people over the seas came without risks?
‘There were children on board.’ Korab shook his head now, astonished at the coldness in Ramiz’s eyes. ‘There was room in the motor boat to take more people. We could have made several trips; we should have at least tried.’
Korab had gambled their lives away.
Ramiz had ruined everything. If he hadn’t shot the elderly man, the fire would have never started. The boat would have drifted aimlessly in the sea, but the coastguard would have found them all eventually. They could have all been brought to safety, and Korab would be back in France now with his money. Instead, he was trapped here. Forced to endure Ramiz’s company.
‘You think that they would have done the same for you?’ Ramiz sneered. ‘You saw how desperate they were. They would have ambushed the boat. We would have all drowned. If we’d stayed any longer we would be dead now too.’
Ramiz shook his head; his glare cold, hard.
‘It was every man for himself. It was them or us.’ Ramiz raised his voice. His words were final. ‘Pull yourself together, Korab! It’s done.’ Ramiz’s voice was detached; the shock of what they’d just witnessed forgotten as quickly as it had been seen.
‘Now, why don’t you go and see if that cousin of yours can sort us out some food. I’m starving.’
Not wanting to rile his friend further, Korab did as he was told. His heart heavy as he went to find his cousin.
He’d been a fool to bring Ramiz here to his cousin’s door, he knew that. Kush didn’t deserve to get tangled up in Ramiz’s web, but what could Korab do about it? Ramiz was holding both the money and all the control. They answered to him now.
He thought of his money back at the camp.
His only security – a world away from him.
He had nothing now.
He was trapped. They all were. Here, under Ramiz’s watchful eye. Korab knew without a doubt that the man was far more dangerous and unhinged than any of them had ever imagined.
17
Grinning as he leant over the balcony of the VIP area Joshua Harper scanned the club’s main floor, shaking his head in wonderment as he spotted one of his men snorting cocaine from a dancer’s pert buttocks. The party had barely even started and already his team were taking full advantage of his generosity – and why not? They’d earned it. This lot had come up trumps for him the past few months, raking him in an absolute fortune.
The celebration was long overdue. Off their faces on the best cocaine in London, his men were wasting no time in letting their hair down – or their trousers, judging by the amount of action that was going on inside some of the private booths.
Joshua grinned, glad that they were enjoying themselves.
This is what it was about. Work hard, play even harder. Men were simple creatures really. It didn’t take much to keep them happy: a slap-up meal, the finest champagne, and the mesmerising sight of half-naked dancers sashaying around the room generally did it.
Parties at Harper’s Palace were legendary. The gentleman’s club was the crème de la crème of London’s strip clubs, and Joshua wanted his men to make the most of everything that he had to offer. Look after your workforce and in return your workforce will look after you, was a mantra that had served him well over time.
The meet had gone smoothly tonight. The last of the monies had been collected up, and the next shipment organised. Joshua Harper was a charmer, and he had the knack of making every single man on his payroll believe that they were the most important, indispensable person on his team. That they were each a vital cog in Joshua’s wheel. Every man in here believed the hype. They were all desperate to be part of Joshua Harper’s world. The money, the drugs, the beautiful girls.
Joshua liked to let them think that it was a free-for-all; that everything tonight was on the house. But there was always a price, and Joshua Harper’s fee was of the highest. In return for his generosity, he wanted; no, he demanded, unfaltering loyalty.
It was the only way his business would work.
He was a good boss, and he expected his workers to return the favour.
He was no one’s mug though. Piss him off and it was a whole different ballgame. Unwilling to suffer fools; he could be a grade A cunt if the mood took him. Tonight though, was all good. Downing the dregs of his Scotch, Joshua smiled as his gaze rested on Saskia.
He smiled again, watching her performing a lap dance in one of the booths.
He’d been right to take a gamble. Misty had completely transformed the girl. She was barely recognisable. Dark smoky eyes, ruby red lips and her hair tousled loosely with ringlets sweeping down over her shoulders. Nothing like the timid girl that had sat opposite him in his office just two days ago.
; And boy, she could dance. Circling her slender hips in time to the heavy beat of the music that filled the club, she was seductively giving it all she had with one of her spectacular dance routines. Swaying in time to the beat of the music she ran her hands across her smooth skin.
Joshua laughed to himself then.
Vincent would have been the last person Saskia would have wanted to shake her arse at, especially after she found him in her house the other night. Still, give the girl her dues, if she was pissed off about the fact that she had to dance for him, she hadn’t shown it. In fact, she hadn’t batted an eyelid.
Joshua hadn’t thought she’d last five minutes here. His plan was genius really. By offering her the impossible task of working here at the club he’d given her the semblance of choice. The illusion that he was prepared to give her a chance to prove herself. He’d thought that after she saw how hard it was she’d quit. Only it appeared that Saskia Frost was doing the complete opposite.
The girl was growing on him. Not Joshua’s usual type by any standards, but he liked a girl who was up to the challenge.
If Saskia lasted the distance, he’d get his money.
If she didn’t, he’d keep the house.
Whichever way their little deal played out Joshua was onto a win-win with this one, and he intended to have a bit of fun with it all in the process.
Smug now, he sipped at his drink, enjoying her little show.
Exquisite was the standard requirement for any of his girls, but Saskia Frost was something else altogether. The girl was in a league all of her own.
Every man in here had his eyes on her.
Every man, apart from his brother, it seemed.
Joshua frowned as he watched Vincent sitting impassively, staring through Saskia as if she was invisible. He hadn’t been himself all evening; even during the meal he’d seemed off, like his head was elsewhere. Constantly checking his phone, preoccupied with fuck knows what.
It didn’t make sense. They’d worked their nuts off for the past month. Tonight they were supposed to be celebrating, yet Vincent had a face on him like a slapped arse.
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