Spick and span, Hobson's choice with crisp white sails rocked in the slight swell. In the cockpit and lounge, the latest navigation technology indicated wind speed and direction, depth of water under the keel, and position in the cockpit. His hands caressed the wheel as he pressed the engine start button. The Rolls-Royce Power System came to life vibrating the hull from stem to stern.

When a fresh easterly wind blew, they sailed and once clear of the harbour and with sails set, Davy stopped the engine. He improved his sailing skills, and Tracey learnt. On several occasions, the motion of the boat made Tracey vomit. In turn, she learnt to handle the craft in light to moderate winds.

On one of their regular jaunts and as they sat having breakfast in the club, drinking fresh orange juice, enjoying smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, the waitress arrived with the coffee and handed Davy a written message. Problems at home, I need to see you straight away, Emma. Without pausing, he paid and left. As he drove, Tracey tried to contact Emma by mobile, but the reception signal was weak. The traffic being light, in two hours they were in the club office.

They found Emma in one hell of a state sat in the office with Charlie. The eye to chin cut on her battered face shocked Davy. "Who the fuck did that? What was Charlie doing?"

Tracey put her arms around Emma.

Disturbed, David cleared his throat, "Emma, tell me everything."

He listened as Emma spoke. "The Red Mafia beat up Charlie. They want to buy this place, and when I told them to fuck off," she touched her cheek, "the bastards did this. Their offer is non-negotiable. Davy, I'm shit-scared."

"How much are they offering?" he asked.

"They offered fifty thousand pounds."

"Okay, the good days have ended."

"Why don't we fight the collectors?" said Charlie.

Davy glanced at Charlie and gave the idea much thought before speaking. "Well, I agree, we must do something. Why should these bastards take our money? I know we have to sell." After a pause, he said, "Why not snatch their collection bag?"

Charlie laughed. "You're crazy; these people are nuffing like what you've ever dealt wiv. They get rid of people, and no one asks questions.." He paused, "No worries, I'm up for it. Let's face it, in a couple of weeks I'll be looking for a new job. It's my redundancy money."

"Emma, it's up to you. When the collectors arrive, discuss the sale and haggle. If you don't, they'll get suspicious. When they have their money and leave, call me." He turned and faced Charlie. "You and I will be waiting for them to pass the alley. If you want to kick their balls, it's fine by me, but as far as I'm concerned, get your arse into gear and run. Agreed?"

Charlie nodded.

"Emma, you'd better tell the girls. Now might be a good time to leave. Have a word with Jay. She might take a few and train them as escorts. You never know."

Friday arrived too soon for Davy. He dressed in a dark tracksuit and soft running shoes. As he waited for Charlie to arrive, he reflected on how his life had changed. He was living a life of luxury with an ex-whore, and it didn't matter. Money was plentiful; he owned a nice boat, a Mercedes sports car, and could decide his own future. A knock on the door brought him back to reality. Charlie was waiting and dressed the same, but while Davy happened to be tall and slim, Charlie's beer belly bulged.

"Come on, Davy, time to hit and run."

Before he left, Davy picked up two baseball bats. They drove and parked a few streets away and walked to the alley where they waited for the collectors. Emma telephoned, letting him know the transaction was complete. He stared towards the heavens, the night sky was clear, and the stars twinkled.

As they waited, sweat formed on his forehead and ran into his eyes. He didn't want to do this; his sticky hand gripped the bat. The silence of the night ended when he heard footsteps along the street. In desperation, he hoped these were not the men, but the sight of the collection bag sealed their fate. Davy and Charlie moved, swinging their bats in unison. The men's bodies went limp and toppled to the ground. Davy grabbed the bag as a bullet ricocheted off an adjacent wall, plucking at his right sleeve. Less than a hundred yards away were two men firing guns, charging along the street towards them. "Shit! Run for it!" shouted Davy. The bodyguards had followed at a discreet distance. Davy tossed the bat over a wall, and holding the bag in his right hand, he ran.

Charlie screamed, stumbled, and collapsed on the pavement. For a moment, Davy hesitated and then ran as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. A glance back was enough. Two men pinned Charlie to the ground. One started putting the boot in. His screams echoed along the street, but not a curtain moved.

Davy ran on until his lungs and legs hurt. Not wanting to stop, he walked at a brisk pace. Under a streetlight, he stopped, allowing his racing pulse to subside, and opening the bag. His eyes bulged at the money it contained. For the moment refreshed, he ran to his car and drove straight back to Wapping. Once indoors, he shoved the bag under his bed.

***

Davy awoke with a start. "What time is it? Who the hell's hammering on the street door?"

He rubbed his eyes as Tracey sat up in bed, her breasts bare. "What's the matter?"

"Can't you hear? It's Jay," he shouted. "What on earth's she doing here?"

He jumped out of bed and walked across to the chair where his clothes lay. A pair of boxer shorts made him respectable. At the main entrance stood a distraught Jay. He helped her up the stairs, into the flat. Tracey tried to console her, but Jay was shaking with fear. He poured a good stiff measure of whisky. It took a long time before either of them could understand a word she said. Jay continued to sob and shake.

After a while, she took a deep breath and, in between sobs, managed to stutter her story. "Emma and I decided to go up west on a girls' night out. When I got close, the police had blocked the road. I asked the copper was there a problem. He told me there'd been an explosion in the old pub. I left my car and walked the back doubles. I still can't accept it." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "The club was an inferno. Three fire crews could do nothing but prevent the flames from spreading. Flames lit up the sky." She shook her head. "I almost fainted on the spot, but I staggered back to my car in a daze. A copper stopped and asked if I was okay. At that moment, a police car drew up, and a uniformed officer got out. He asked the man on duty how many casualties. Jay stopped crying. "Poor Emma and the girls."

Davy poured himself another large scotch. His thoughts turned to Emma. "She was never a saint, but nobody deserved to die in such a way."

Tracey took Jay's hand and led her into the spare bedroom. "Take these. It'll help you sleep."

In a daze, she swallowed the tablets, collapsed on the bed and sobbed.

With half a bottle of whisky drunk, Davy's mind drifted.

"You're going to have a sore head in the morning. Come on, let's get you to bed." Tracey removed the glass from his hand and guided him to the bedroom.

He fell onto the bed, and his demons returned. Every one of them mocked and tortured him. Jack and Chris were pointing and laughing. In his torment, the fires of hell wrapped themselves around him, destroying and killing.

The next morning, with a throbbing head, he understood the fire was deliberate. Distraught, he downed a bottle of whisky for breakfast.

"What are you doing?" Tracey shouted. "You being rat-arsed won't solve a thing."

"I don't give a fuck."

Whatever she said, he paid no heed. When she asked him why, his hand shook as he slurred, "I'm drinking to forget Emma. I see her everywhere. She understood, trusted and helped me get a new life. I don't know what to do."

The evening newspaper gave Davy the answer to a question.

Today police divers recovered a local man from the Thames near the old Ford factory at Dagenham. A police spokesperson stated that the body had not been in the water long. The police know the dead man, Charlie Hind. From our enquiries, it appears whoever did this bound and gagged the victim before dumping him in the water. The case is subject to further investigation.

While Davy drank, Tracey watched as day after day. He sank lower. She was unable to stop him as he staggered out to buy more. Now, she noticed, he had reached the point where it did not matter what he drank, so long as it had the desired effect: oblivion. He did nothing but drink, saw no one and tumbled further into the abyss.

She listened to his ramblings. Even when unconscious, he screamed for the destruction of the Red Mafia.

She understood the rules of the game. If they found Davy, she was dead meat. In between his ferocious drinking and blackouts, she nosed around, contacted other working girls to see what she could find out. She needed information on these creatures. By chance, an acquaintance of Tracey's had been the entertainer for a meeting of the Red Mafia leaders. For old times she identified the house where they met.

A month past and one afternoon, when Tracey returned home, she found Davy on the floor unconscious. It took doggedness to drag him into the bedroom and dump him on the bed. Wild desperation came over her.

"Enough is enough," she screamed. "It's time you fucking woke up to reality, Davy Jones." Mad, she emptied every bottle into the sink.

"Tonight, you stop," she shouted, "if you don't, God help us."

Through the night, she listened to him fighting his demons. This drunken sod was going to sober up whatever the cost. Her idea was to run for it, though she doubted if Davy would agree. Those animals had destroyed a part of him, and he needed payment in full. She decided revenge is a dish best served sober. She searched until she found the tools of the trade for special customers. He was still unconscious when she climbed into bed.

A few hours later, he rolled off the bed and thudded onto the floor. Disorientated, he screamed, "What the bloody hell's going on?"

She got out of bed, turned on the light and frowned, looking at him, naked, with his hands and feet handcuffed.

"What the fuck? Who did this? Get these things off me, or I'll kill you, bitch."

She ignored his delirious storm. "My love, it's time you came back to the real world. If you hit the booze again, I'm gone. You choose."

Tracey grabbed his hair and pulled him close. "I know who and where they are. Sober, you stand a chance, and with my help, you get your revenge. Your choice."

"Get these fucking things off."

"No. What you see in the dark is up to you."

Tracey jumped up, grabbed the duvet off the bed and threw it over him. As she left the room, a torrent of abuse followed. She closed the bedroom door and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

The demons were active for days. He found their torment worse than his own. The pink elephants scared him; on the other hand, the purple crocodiles came from hell. After a while, they returned to the dark.

Tracey watched over him, ignoring the abuse and cleaning his mess. It took four long weeks to make him human.

Day after day, she gathered snippets of information. She discovered collections took place most nights of the week. Friday, the boss arrived. They used two houses, alternating every week; both were empty and vulnerable.