Crooks - A London Gangsters Tale | COMPLETED

Chapter Twenty

David Carter got back to his apartment to find Felicia passed out naked on the sofa. A vodka bottle lay on its side, spilling its guts across the carpet. David ignored this embarrassing spectacle and went into his office. It was getting on for three in the morning, but there was still work to be done.

But no sooner had he sat down at his desk than the doorbell rang. Whoever it was must have been hot on his heels as he made his way up. Surprising that he hadn't spotted them. Almost as if they did not want to be seen.

David got to his feet again, the back of his neck prickling with alarm. He reached into his pocket for a key and unlocked the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk. It squealed as he eased it open – this drawer was very seldom used. Staring up at him from the bottom of the drawer was a 9mm pistol. David grasped it and tucked it into the back of his waistband. Then he tiptoed back out towards the door, past the slumbering Felicia. He leaned forward and pressed his eye to the peephole in the door.

"Fucking hell," he said aloud.

He threw open the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"And here I thought you'd be pleased to see me," said George McMinn.

The two men sat in luxury leather armchairs, face-to-face for the first time in years. Felicia was still sleeping – still naked – face down on the sofa, but neither man so much as cast an eye in her direction.

"You're looking good," said George. "Better than I thought you'd look. Those fucking webcams only tell half the story, don't they?"

"True enough. But you haven't told me what you're doing here."

"Do you really need to ask? I've come for my money."

David sighed. "That's a bit of a tricky one, George."

"I thought you might say something like that. So I'd better tell you that I'm just the first. The rest of the partners will be coming to London tomorrow. It'll be a reunion. Won't that be fun?"

"The partners? Coming here?"

"Hard of hearing, are you? Never thought you'd turn into one of them deaf cunts in your old age. The fact is, David, things can't go on the way they've been going on. We've given you our money, and you lost it. We're waiting for you to repay the debts you owe. But in the meantime, you're still fucking things up with the club. And all because of this petty pissing contest with the Russians. It's embarrassing. It makes everyone look bad."

David surveyed George McMinn coldly. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's time for a clean sweep."

There was a heavy silence. "Clean sweep," David repeated. "That's one of Max's sayings. Have you been talking to Max?"

"Maybe I have. But I'm a fair man. I wanted to talk to you as well. I wanted to hear both sides of the story."

"You know Max is so fucking desperate for my job that he killed his entire family and still hasn't managed to get it?"

"You think he was behind what happened? Interesting. He thinks you're behind it. Quite a fucking mystery."

"Well..." said David, getting slowly to his feet, "I suppose it becomes a question of who exactly you believe."

"Tell you the truth, I couldn't give a shit. What I care about is my money."

"And you think Max Linley would get your money back? He's got no fucking backbone. He's a nobody and he'll always be a nobody."

"Much as I hate to admit it," George said, "I agree with you. Max Linley will never be man enough to take over Mile End. He hasn't got the balls for it."