Chapter 23
Vellacott
ALISTAIR
The tourists in Soho spill out of the steakhouses on Old Compton Street.
There’s a queue at the falafel place that doesn't move, a man in a sandwich board handing out flyers for a comedy club nobody will go to.
Neon reflecting wet on the pavement. Someone is smoking weed in a doorway.
The smell of cigarettes and fried onions and whatever the restaurants are letting out into the air.
We park around the corner and walk the last hundred yards. Christopher is quiet. Henderson clocks the exits without appearing to look at anything.
The door is black with no sign, just the number above it, tucked between a Thai place and a boarded-up shop front that hasn't been a shop front for a long time.
The bouncer is tall and Black, impeccably dressed in a cut-black suit, his hands folded in front of him like a ma?tre d' at somewhere far more expensive.
He sees Christopher and nods. London accent, polished edges.
“Evening, gentlemen. In you come.”
Christopher nods back. The bouncer scans us and clocks the weapons under our jackets without changing expression.
“You know how it works. Cloakroom on your left. Weapons stay there, you'll get them back on the way out.”
I hand mine over. So does Henderson. Christopher was carrying too, which surprised me.
The music is the first thing I notice. It’s low and heavy, something with bass I can feel in my sternum.
Then the light, red and thick and set low in the ceiling.
The bar is long and black, and the bartender is a woman in a backless dress.
There are dancers on three small stages, women working the room in various states of undress, and alcoves along the back wall with heavy velvet curtains that are partially drawn.
I don't look at any of it for longer than I need to.
Christopher leads as he knows the layout. We pass the bar. Women look at me, but I gaze past them. Henderson is a half-step behind.
The corridor off the main room is narrower, darker, quieter. Another door at the end, with another man in front of it, smaller but harder.
“Chris.”
“Gav.”
“Mm.” He looks at me and Henderson, then back at Christopher. Shakes his head once.
“No.”
“Gav.”
“You know the rules. Members and guests on the list. You ain't brought guests.”
“Mate. Please. Just radio it through.” Christopher is not charming his way through this, not performing. He is asking.
There is a pause. The bouncer looks at me properly for the first time, weighs something, finds it heavier than he expected. He puts the radio to his ear, turns slightly, speaks low. He waits for a reply, then comes back and opens the door.
The room is quiet after the club. It’s smoky. Small and circular, a round table in the middle, five men playing cards. A single low lamp lights the table. The walls are green silk and the rest of the room is in shadow.
They stop when we walk in, except the one at the head of the table, who finishes his hand, lays it down, takes a long pull on his cigar, and looks at us through the smoke. He must be Vellcottt.
Heavy-set and bearded, with rings on every finger and both thumbs, tattoos climbing out of the collar of his shirt. One in particular at the base of his throat which is a dark shape I can't quite read. He is quiet, but his personality still seems to fill the room.
He ignores Christopher, sizing me up. “Lads,” he says to the table, without looking away, “have a breather. Go and see Nina at the bar, tell her to make you something nice.”
The other men push back their chairs, gather their chips, and go. No complaints. Two of them look at me on the way past, but neither of them meet my eyes. The bouncer closes the door behind them, and I hear the lock turn. My heart beats a fraction faster.
Henderson's shoulders don’t move, but I know he has heard it too.
Vellcottt sits back and rests one hand casually on his thigh. The other is under the edge of the table. He shifts slightly, and his jacket falls open just enough to show me the shoulder holster and the weight of what's in it, then gestures at the chairs opposite him.
When we don’t sit, he gets right into it. “So.” His accent is East London, pulled through a cigar. “You must be the older brother.”
“Yes.”
“You know what your brother did, don't you?”
His patronizing tone grates me. “He accumulated a debt.”
Vellcottt taps his cigar into the crystal tray and lets the silence sit for a moment before he speaks.
“See, the thing about my business, and I run a very particular kind of business, Mr Ravenscroft, you know that, that's why you're here.
The thing about my business is it runs on one thing.
Respect. That's it. That's the currency.
People come through my door, they play, they enjoy themselves, they settle up on time.
Everybody eats. Everybody's happy. My girls get paid.
My boys get paid. The people above me, they get their piece.
Everybody's looked after.” He slows his speech to emphasize his last line.
“And it works because everyone respects the arrangement.”
Vellcottt takes another pull on the cigar.
“But your brother here—and I'll say this for Chris, I've always liked him, he's good company, he tips the girls properly, which you'd be surprised how many of you lot don’t.
Your brother has been taking the piss. Six weeks.
Six weeks I've been waiting. Polite reminders, polite conversations, polite, polite, polite. And what have I had back? Nothing. Not a pound. Not a word. Silence.”
I don’t budge. He spends a moment picking his teeth, which I see match his hand jewelry.
“Now, in my experience, silence is a form of disrespect. A very particular one. Because what silence says to me is that you don't think I'm serious. You don't think I'm going to come for it. You think you can wait me out.”
He leans forward slightly. “I'm not a man who gets waited out, Mr Ravenscroft.
Ask anyone. Cash flow. I suppose you won't know about this, you're a different kind of businessman, but cash flow in my world is the whole game.
I've got overheads. I've got staff. I've got suppliers who don't take late as an option.
And your brother, lovely boy that he is, has been sitting on what belongs to me.
Which is disrespect to me, it's disrespect to my boys, and honestly?”
He looks at me properly for the first time.
“Honestly, I expected better from a family like yours.”
I keep my face still. Beside me, I hear Christopher swallow. I take the ledger out of my inside pocket and hold it up.
“I'm here to clear the debt,” I say. “With my sincere apologies. I’ll send the code when we're out of the building.”
He looks at the ledger. Looks at me. Nods.
“Put it on the table.”
I set it down in front of him. He doesn't pick it up.
“If it doesn't cover what he owes,” he says, “you can expect a visit from my boys.”
“Understood.”
“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Vellcottt holds my eyes a moment longer, then his face breaks into a cold smile.
“There’ll be no need for that,” I reply.
“I'd say it was a pleasure doing business, Mr Ravenscroft, but we'd both know I was lying.
So I'll say this instead. I appreciate you coming in and doing the right thing.
A lot of men in your position wouldn't have. Most would have sent someone. You came yourself.” He taps the ash off again.
“That says something about you. I'll remember it.”
I turn to go, and Henderson is already moving. Christopher is half a beat behind.
The way he says I'll remember it is not a small thing. Not quite a compliment. Not quite a threat. It lodges in my chest and I don’t like it one bit.