The taxi dropped Davy off outside Tracey's block of flats. The driver grabbed his money and with tyres squealing, roared away. Davy shook his head as he stared at the dirt covered tower block.

Not far away half a dozen yobs smoked and drank from a bottle of clear liquid.

One of them, a round faced, spotty youth, glared at Davy. The others sat on the concrete surrounds of a bin store continued to drink from the bottle.

Davy waved and showed no concern.

The spotty youth, with arms and neck covered in tattoos, ambled over. Multiple rings pierced both ears; dirty jeans and ill-fitting T-shirt branded him. "Got a fag?"

Davy observed his lank, unwashed hair and bloodshot eyes.

"Fuck off," snapped Davy.

The man lunged, managing to get an arm locked around Davy's neck. "It's you that's fucked, mate."

In one smooth action, Davy turned and smashed the rogue's face against the rough concrete wall.

A split second later one head butt broke the yobs nose. His body went limp as he fell against the wall. Skin and blood decorated the concrete.

"I said, fuck off." He glanced at the others. "Next." Not one moved. With force, he planted a size nine boot into the yob's balls.

Burnt-out cars littered the parking area; graffiti covered the walls, garbage overflowed from bins and the lift used for sex. Off the entrance hall, the caretaker's office; an empty shell. Davy wondered how people survived in such places. He climbed the stairs, his heart pumping. Tracey lived on the fifth floor. On the faded, red-painted door, a small name tally read Tracey Barnet. He pressed the bell but heard nothing so banged hard.

Tracey peeked through a spy hole and with a rattle removed the security chains. On opening the door, she smiled. "I wondered when you'd arrive."

He followed her into a small and untidy lounge. Knickers, bras and stockings hung dripping on a clothes dryer in front of an electric fire.

Guilt replaced lust, and he muttered, "Sorry, Tracey, let's forget it. It's a mistake."

She pushed him onto the sofa. "Why, are you bothered Emma might find out?"

"No, it's not that. It doesn't seem right."

"Fancy a drink? There's a bottle of whisky in the sideboard."

He helped himself. "Want one?"

"Yeah, a large one."

He filled another glass and handed it to her.

She frowned and sipped. "I know why you're here."

Before he had a chance to answer she stood and slid out of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were bare, not too large but pert and upturned. She pulled him to her. "You're different to the other men. I want you to make love to me. Afterwards it's up to you."

He closed his eyes as she nibbled his ear. Her hand moved across his flat muscular stomach and towards his rising penis.

"Fuck me you bastard."

He made no comment but lay on the settee taking pleasure in her complete lack of shame and dexterity as her mouth and tongue worked their magic.

They made love on the floor. After, he drifted into a deep sleep. For the first time in weeks, the demons failed to arrive.

He stirred and nudged her awake, kissed her and they went together for a shower. She dressed in a short black dress that stretched across the curves of her body. It was time to leave.

As he helped her into a taxi, she winked. "Wasn't too bad, was it?"

From behind them came a roar and the lout with the bloody face charged towards them, in his right hand, a knife. "I'm gonna gut you and fuck your bitch."

Davy sidestepped, grabbed the swinging arm, pulled it straight, and turned away. As if discarding a piece of rubbish he pushed the screaming yob to the floor and kicked his head.

"I told you to fuck off. Don't you ever learn?"

He slid into the rear seat of the waiting taxi.

"Did you have to do that?"

"It's the language scum understand. At least he will not, be mugging little old women for a while. Let's go."

***

The Star Health and Fitness Club opened with its appointment book over half full. Emma, dressed in a smart brown suit with a cream blouse and a bra that improved her cleavage, arrived well ahead of time. She made sure the champagne flowed non-stop for every customer.

The club's reputation grew. Emma and Jay attended every night to make sure of its success. The girls were happy with their wages, which were higher than they could earn on the street. The local police inspector visited and left them with a warning.

***

Emma sat opposite Jay in their office.

Davy entered and sat on the edge of the desk. "You said you wanted to see me."

"I believe you asked for these." Emma handed him a small package.

"What's this?"

"It's something you wanted."

He removed the wrappings to find a new passport, driver's licence, birth certificate, and National Insurance number in the name of David Jones. "How good are they?"

"The best. One little problem: they cost twenty grand. I've taken it from the club's profits. Well, the truth of the matter is, it's your cut for the next couple of months. A word of advice, forget who you were, accept what you are now."

He nodded. "First thing tomorrow, I'm going to buy a car."

When they left, the forecasted rain had begun and he was grateful of a lift from Emma.

In the shadow of a doorway opposite he noticed two men.

As the door to her house closed, he turned and held her. The softness and warmth of her body inviting, her lips were moist and his tongue had a will of its own.

"Now what do I owe you?" He lifted and carried her to his room. "I promise, tonight, you'll get paid plus a bonus."