London

It’s cold here, has been since I stepped off the plane this morning, but I can’t suppress my need to amble around taking it all in. The last time I stepped off a plane, other than to get me back to Chicago, was in Columbia.

Hardly the same effect.

I tug my scarf closer and watch the traffic pile up as I cross the road. Fucking cars are never ending in this city. I’d almost forgotten how close it all is, the streets cluttering up on each other, ceaseless noise careering around. It makes me chuckle after a while, memories of my youth coming from somewhere in my mind.

Youth. It seems so long ago. It makes me glance over the women milling around, watching their hustle and bustle, children hanging off their arms as they keep going into the night. I’ve forgotten that, relegated it to a place best kept for the less criminally minded. Youth has no place in my life; neither does the imagery associated with it. Josh still lives in that world. I don’t.

I turn the corner, allowing the cold to creep into my bones and remind me of this city. These back streets are as gritty as I remember them—dirt littering corners, dilapidated buildings crumbling above the whores who patrol their territory. I smile and pull my collar up, shaking my head at another advance from one of them as I keep moving with no destination in mind.

“Come on, baby,” she calls after me. “Hundred quid, anything you want.”

Anything I want. One hundred pounds wouldn’t compensate her for the amount I want. Cheap fucking whore. I’d forgotten how easy they are on the streets. It’s not surprising in this part of town, but they should ramp it up a bit, stay in line with fucking inflation at least.

Another mob of them are hanging on the next corner, ready to pounce, so I cross away from them before I do something I shouldn’t. My dick isn’t meant for pussy that’s tainted. It only goes in high-end cunt with a clean bill of health and a mouth that stays shut after the event. It’s best that way. Safer to my business and my family. No connections. No distractions. No chance of death in the middle of it, apart from that one bitch who was after blood for the bullet hole in her father’s skull. Shame, she was attractive for a whore, enjoyable to fuck with.

My phone rings in my pocket.

“Shifty says the girl’s booked for eight-thirty,” Jonathan says, his tone quivering around the jaw I punched this morning. Cause—effect. He didn’t pick seven when the dice rolled on his desk. “She knows what it’s about.” Fucking right she does. A hundred K is a substantial about of gambling debt for one girl. It’s beyond comprehension how Shifty let her rack it up in the first place.

“She a whore?” It’s the only reason I can see for Shifty allowing it. The idiot’s always been partial to a hooker with the ability to wrap him around her fingers. It’s a trait I’ve let slide ‘til now.

“I’m not sure, Mr Cane. I believe she’s been running the debt up for some time. Clearing some, before getting deeper in. It’s been the least of my concerns lately.”

I end the call and carry on along the streets back towards the Regal, one foot in front of the other as I run numbers around my mind and draw in some of the decaying air. It feels good to be back on this ground. My hands hardly touch it anymore. They’re too busy at a computer, running Cane through accounts and systems rather than hitmen and murder. We’ve still got them. It’s necessary to have that backing, but I no longer participate in that part of the game. I employ people like Shifty for that instead. And I fucking pay them well—well enough that a hundred grand should not have been racked up. Not that I give a fuck about the amount. It’s nothing to me; it’s the principle that counts. This is how it starts. Little backhanders, people forgetting to pay and getting away with it. Lies, manipulations, women taking control with their pretty batting lashes and their deviant little grins. Trouble starts like that. The control gets lost under the mess of who owes what to whom. It’s why I’m here. A damned reminder that Quinn Cane doesn’t miss a damn thing and he doesn’t tolerate inaccuracies and fuck ups. My boys don’t fail me. If they do, they die.

“Mr Cane, Sir,” the doorman says as I walk up, holding his hand out to wave me through into the building. “Nice to see you back again. Have a good stay.”

Good is an exaggeration. Good would have meant Hannover sorting all these problems prior to my arrival—before I even got on the plane would have been better. I nod at the faceless man nonetheless and travel through the apartment building towards the elevator, hitting the button for the eighth-floor restaurant. The Cane apartment is two floors above that, somewhere I’ll be heading the moment I’ve dealt with this bitch.

The doors open and Shaun greets me, his face only remembered because of the whores he organises when I’m here. High-end. Professional. They come out of West London somewhere. Perfected and polished. All with a clean medical record, so I fuck into them bare.

“Your table’s waiting, Mr Cane.”

Of course it is. Everything is always waiting for me. Colbort wasn’t when I arrived at his home, though. He hid at first when he saw the Cane number plate turn into his family’s home. I watched the curtains twitch and smiled. Then he came out with my fucking casino keys in his hand. He begged for ten minutes as I stood in front of his house, my brain considering torching it, and then he pleaded for his family’s lives as he signed paperwork. It amused me. Still does.

“Shaun, a woman’s coming. She’ll ask for Jonathan. Have her sent through when she arrives.”

“Yes, Mr Cane.”

I walk on towards the table, now entertaining myself with the look on Mitch’s face as he came into Hannover’s office and saw me waiting for him. Four threats were all that was needed. One on his wife, one on his son, one on his daughter, and one on his entire fucking portfolio. He folded on that one, knees buckling to the fucking floor as he grovelled, the thought of money more attention-grabbing than his family. I could have fucking shot him for that insult alone, still might if the mood takes me, but at least he’s focused on getting my dirty money clean again rather than making Hannover’s life difficult.

“Sir,” the waitress says as I arrive.

I don’t answer her as she takes my coat and gloves, nor am I interested in the lips she presents. I just take my seat and stare out at the London skyline, trying to remember the last time I was here while my fingers roll my dice. A year? Two? I don’t know. I’ve not been needed for a while, but I do remember the reason. I killed three men that night. Three of London’s finest gangland wisdom makers. They were dense enough to deny us access to a particular deal. It was one Father needed to complete for a debt we owed. I was flown here within three hours of the phone call.

No one has denied Cane a thing in England since that night.

The small room only houses six tables. It’s the place I always eat when I’m here, as do the few other wealthy residents in this building. The main restaurant is behind the shutters, kept for the less well-endowed to discuss their meagre lives. We don’t mix with the masses. Why should we? We’re nothing like them. We expect higher standards. Perfection. There are no half measures. No try. They do, and they do it exceptionally or lose their jobs, if not a limb with the mood I’m in tonight.

“Boss.” Shifty arrives.

I look over my shoulder, watching as his thirty-something bulk wades through the tables, just avoiding knocking two of them over.

“Tell me about my money, Shifty.”

“Ah shit, boss.” I turn back towards the skyline, tightening my loose smile into a sneer. I know what’s coming now. Fucking distractions. He’s been fucking the woman. Shame, I like Shifty. “She’s special, you know?” No, I don’t. Nothing is special enough for that sort of cash, especially when it’s not your money to give away.

“You’re fucking with my money, Shifty.”

“Nah, boss, you’ll get it tonight. We’ve got plans.”

A waiter arrives as I’m thinking, my usual bottle of Lauquen Artes Water on his tray and a tall glass beside it. He pours, the glug of the liquid reminding me of Hannover’s gurgling throat this afternoon as I squeezed the breath out of it. Perhaps Shifty needs a reminder, too.

“What do you think of debts, Shifty?” He doesn’t answer as I reach for some nuts the waiter sets down and flick one into the air, catching it with my mouth. “They need paying, right?”

“Boss she’s coming with it. She is.” Is she hell? Whores that rack up a hundred grand don’t have a hundred grand to pay back, let alone the interest I’ve now added. I toss another nut and let the ivory dice spin in my fingers some more, wondering how best to play the night and waiting for him to come into my eyeline again. He does, his bulk slowly edging round to block my view. “She won’t let me down, boss.” I snort at him, interested in what he thinks his little bitch will do to repay her debt. “She won’t.” He looks offended, a show of affront glancing his brow.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you think she won’t let you down?” He looks as shifty as his fucking name suggests for a second or two, his feet hitching back and forth.

“We wanna get married.”

The cubes of ivory in my palm crush together, frustration making them grind into each other. I take a sip of my water then toss another nut into the air to give my teeth something to do. My boys don’t get married unless I say it’s alright. Marriage causes problems, certainly a marriage based on a foundation of fucking lies. It makes them weak and reachable, which means I become the same through their flaws.

“When she turns up, without my money, you’re going to fuck her in front of me.” He blanches as I stare past him out to the skyline and keep spinning my cubes. “The entertainment while I eat can help me decide.”

“Decide what?”

I twist the seat to aim myself back at him, taking another sip as I watch the crease in his brow turn to a scowl of annoyance. “Whether you put a bullet in her after.”

“Boss?”

“That, or we can roll these dice now. Have her pick a number when she gets here.” I flick one of them at him and watch his hands grab wildly at it before it lands, presumably hoping to delay fate. I just chuckle in response, smiling at his cacophony. That’s why marriage isn’t a beneficial concept to my world. It confuses, makes decisions harder than they need to be. “Your choice, Shifty.”

That’s it. He knows the score. He’s been inside Cane business long enough, and approaching this topic wasn’t best served with a debt looming to cloud my judgement on fucking renditions of love. Shame of it is, I probably would have let him. He’s been good up until now. Dependable, no nonsense. I would have assumed he’d pick a useful whore to bed down with, though. One who would have been loyal to our world. He’s as good a sidearm as I’ve had before. Unfortunately for him, he’s picked a cunt, one who’s coming without my money in her bag.

He paces about as I hear the waiter place my entrée on the table behind me, the smell of lemon sole diminishing the taste of nuts. So I turn and grab a napkin, indifferent to his turmoil. Whatever the fuck he chooses is fine by me. I’ve already legalised my casino today, and cleaned up my laundering racket. One hundred K has become marginally irrelevant, other than the principle that needs shoving down throats. Maybe I’ll fuck her first, work it out of myself that way, presuming she’s clean. He’s always had good taste.