The Family Firm

Chapter 44

Freddie was humming to himself as he slipped inside his flat in Barking. It was a nice gaff on Highbridge Road, with a decent view of the River Roding. Of course, the river was nearly stagnant and not much to look at, but it was decent property by all means, and Fred was proud of the little home he'd made for himself.

Outside of the occasional sloshed bird he brought home, the place was normally empty, outside of a mongrel named Alfie. He was an illegal breed (at least since the passed the legislations); a Staffordshire bull terrier, short and stocky with a rather muscular build. The big black fella was resting on the sofa and perked his head up upon his master's entry, huge tongue lapping out the side of his mouth almost immediately in excitement.

'Hello, Alfie!' Fred greeted him cheerfully, grinning from the drink and his elation over the night's events. He had known about the Greeks for some time now. He always kept an ear close to the ground—if old Archy had taught him anything, it was that having eyes and ears all over the city was an important part of business. Personally, Freddie didn't really find the bubbles to be much of a threat, but the sheer fact that they even wanted in on the jobs meant he was being slagged off. If someone thought they were good enough to take over, that meant he wasn't up to the task, right? As far as he was concerned, the Greek bastards needed to be put in their places. And if he had things his way, that would be six feet underground.

But the best part of the night, by far, had been making good with Stella. Hell of a woman, she was. "High calibre" he liked to call it. She was a different breed, then again the posh ones always were. It was the little things that separated them from the rest; she was done up from head to toe, always well-maintained, manicured, and clean. He loved the cleanliness of her, the natural scent that emanated from her skin, sort of like a baby's downy head. There was just something grimy about most of the birds he was with, and they had bad teeth, too. He couldn't stand that in a woman, the untidiness of her. But Stella, she was something else. Something wonderful, and the funny part of it was that she wanted him. Him, of all people!

Footsteps on the lino alerted him, and he peered up to see his sister, Frankie, leaning on the wall of the doorway. She was wearing a silk, cream-coloured blouse, and nothing else, outside the jewellery she'd forgotten to take off. Her hair was a mess, and even pissed as he was Freddie could tell she'd been drinking, too. Then again, she always was those days.

'Well,' began Fred in good humour, looking at Alfie with an amused expression. 'What kinda guard dog you turned out to be, eh?'

Frankie sniffed and rubbed her tired face, which was slightly puffy from sleep. 'I need to talk to ya, Freddie.'

He took his time setting down his keys and hanging up his jacket before slowly approaching her near the hall, his feet sliding against the kitchen flooring with each step. When he reached her, he put his hands on her narrow waist, feeling her through the soft material of her blouse. 'You look good.'

As he kissed her lips and neck, she turned her head away from him and blinked her watery eyes at the ceiling. 'Freddie, Freddie, stop,' she said firmly, pushing at his chest. 'Please, I wanna talk.'

Pulling back, he looked at her as if she'd grown a second head before his expression softened slightly and he nodded a few times, his eyes intense as they normally were. 'All right. Talk.'

Slipping away from him, she stepped further into the kitchen and pressed her palms flat against the counter top while she thought over her words carefully. 'I'm having a really hard time, Freddie.'

He blew out a breath from between his teeth and nodded, wide-eyed, as if to say, "Well that's bloody obvious". Fortunately, she couldn't see this gesture, and took a shaky breath before continuing: