'Why don't you get home, Lance, and let me worry about the big man, eh?'

The sarcasm was evident, as was his complete disregard for anyone or anything he saw as interfering with his equilibrium.

Lance knew that Lenny had something over him with Pat's release from prison and that he would use his recent disloyalty against him without a second's thought.

As he walked out of the warehouse, Lance pushed over a pile of boxes, knocking them to the floor with such force that the bottles of wine they housed shattered on impact. The wine bled out from the cardboard boxes quickly, snaking across the concrete floor and picking up dirt and grime in its wake before finally disappearing down the drains.

Lenny stood there for a few moments watching the liquid as it slowly ran its course and then he turned back to the job in hand and finished his inventory. Lance had pulled a few stunts that were not exactly kosher and he had been well paid for them, so Lenny was secure in the knowledge that Lance, for all his bravado, would not want these little indiscretions coming to light. But then neither would he, come to that. Which is why he had brought Lance in on them in the first place.

But Lenny Brewster knew that he might have to welcome home the prodigal son with open arms because, by the sound of it, that was what everyone else was going to do.

Lil was in the club and she wasn't happy at all. For the last few weeks she had gradually been getting more and more irritated with the way the girls she worked with were carrying on.

This was a straight hostess club, no more and no less; she had opened the club with her old man, for fuck's sakes, and now she was having to deal with people who acted like she was an incompetent. Lenny's treatment of her meant that they thought she wasn't worth their respect any more. It was hard for her to keep any kind of order and to make the girls work the way they were supposed to without her resorting to threats and intimidation. She was aware that the girls had heard the whispers about her. Within days of her offering them a job, the insolence would be on their painted faces. Lenny's attitude would be common knowledge, making her job all the harder. But the hostess had not been born who would get the better of her and they eventually found that out the hard way.

Since Patrick had come home from prison she couldn't help being reminded that she had once owned the bloody club and that now she was reduced to running it. To add insult to injury, the new crop of hostesses were under the mistaken impression that they knew it all. A few months on the game and they were convinced they had some kind of fucking second sight. They thought they knew everything that they needed to know about the life and were now experienced enough to lecture her on the correct way to get them earning.

The main culprit was a new girl called Ivana. She was probably thirty though she swore she was twenty-two and she seemed to have a negative opinion about almost everything around her. She had ambitions for herself and Lenny, that much was evident in the way she spoke to Lil and the way she smiled as if she had some kind of authority over her and the club itself.

Lil was not in the mood for her tonight and whereas she usually listened politely to the girls' petty grumbles and let them get them off their chests, tonight she couldn't be bothered. In fact, she was feeling positively aggressive. As Ivana walked purposefully towards her she knew it was going to be another twenty minutes of pointless griping; insinuations that Lil didn't know what she was doing and if she would just listen to what she was being told she would learn something of merit. The girl was a brass and, when all was said and done, that was the sum of her life experience. She had the hard eyes and the blank look of a woman who had slept with too many men in too short a time. Lil wasn't in the least bit interested in entering into any kind of dialogue with her.

'What is wrong with you now, Ivana? Is the floor too near your fat arse? The punters not tall enough? What?' Lil was blunt to the point of rudeness, as she had intended to be.

Ivana opened her arms in a gesture of futility; her slim body was encased in a cream boob tube and a black leather miniskirt. Her long, blond hair was styled to perfection and her make-up was flawless.

Lil was generous enough to admit that the girl was absolutely lovely; far too good for this club. She should really have been on someone's books earning a fortune and flying all over the world meeting rich Arabs, secure in the knowledge that they would pay her exorbitant amounts for her body and her discretion. That way she would have at least had the opportunity to marry someone with a few quid. A lot of older men were willing to buy the girls with marriage and make them respectable in the eyes of the world, if not in the eyes of their Soho counterparts. Instead, the silly bitch was here and arguing the toss every night like some kind of fucking shop steward. Lil knew there was a hidden agenda, there always was. Girls like Ivana saw everyone as a mark eventually; they used everyone in their orbit through sheer force of habit.

'Look, Lil, I am only trying to make this a better place to work in; we could earn a lot more money, you included.'

Loud music then filled the club as a stripper walked on to the small dance floor. She was a Soho veteran, in her thirties, and she had her act off pat. Three minutes of pure semi-naked pleasure and for the last ten seconds, total nudity. Of course it seemed much longer to the audience. Like everything in Soho, it was an elaborate charade. It promised the earth while actually delivering next to nothing. The stripper would go from club to club throughout the night, with her music tape and her costumes. She would earn a set amount for each strip and still be able to have an Equity card and class herself as an exotic dancer.

Lil knew Soho like the back of her hand and to have someone like this girl standing in front of her, hands on hips and a face like thunder, trying to educate her, was beyond belief. She grinned at the utter stupidity of the Ivanas of the world and, pushing her face close, she said loudly and with menace, 'Look, sweetheart, you are a brass, right, pure and simple. I know you have a high opinion of yourself and what you think you can do but this is a hostess club. Therefore, I can't earn off you girls unless I have favourites, and they would then be obliged to give me money and this would be to make sure I seat them with the best punters, wouldn't it? But what about the other girls, the ones who are not as fresh as they once were; how will they react, do you think? Well, I'll tell you, shall I? They will murder you without a second's thought, darling. Now, I know you feel you are being exploited and that is probably because you are. So shut the fuck up, go back to the meat seats and let me get on with my job, eh?'

Lil was loud enough for anyone who was interested to hear what had been said. She was angry enough to make the girl think twice about arguing any more. Ivana looked as if she was about to cry. Instead, she walked back to her seat and Lil rolled her eyes at the ceiling, making the older girls laugh. They knew Lil could have a row if necessary and that Ivana could find herself on the receiving end of a well-aimed punch. Like Lil, they had seen better days and understood the value of youth in their chosen occupation.

Going up to her office, Lil poured herself another drink, and as she felt the vodka taking hold she closed her eyes tightly. She had seven children ranging in age from twenty to eight and she was no better off now than she had been ten years ago. She had no money, no real job and her son was just out of prison and already hiding guns in her house. One of her twin daughters was unable to talk to her about what was bothering her and something was definitely bothering her, she knew. Her youngest children had basically been abandoned by their father, who would not even take any of her calls. The worst thing of all was that she had a terrible feeling she was pregnant again. She had drunk more than was good for her and slept with an old friend, more for the companionship and to ease her loneliness than anything else. Now she was like a young girl; terrified she had been caught out.