Chapter 9
Alfie Wilson stood on the patio draped in a thick dressing gown and drinking a cup of coffee. With the volume turned down low a radio delivered a debate behind him about the virtues of cutting down on carbon emissions,
"'Ow's that gonna 'appen? Anyone who don't stop everythin' 'armful immediately is contributin'. It's either fucked or it aint, if you're gonna stop it you've gotta stop everythin' full stop or it's pointless and fuckin' patronisin'. Twats.
Shaking his head he turned the radio off and went back to admiring his garden.
When he finally retired he'd pay it more attention, when he retired.
He chuckled to himself, retire.
As far as he was concerned he was retired. Nowadays he did very little, but then he was nearing sixty, not that he looked it, and could afford to do nothing. He just couldn't help himself.
The day to day running of things were left to other people but he still liked to be in the office in case someone needed to see him, or he had to check on a side venture.
Nowadays he was restricted to mainly financing, but he still made a few quid on the side. Couldn't help it, needed the excitement.
Despite being legitimate on paper Alfie couldn't help himself.
The son of a World War Two veteran factory worker, he'd watched his parents struggle to get by. At the age of fourteen, a thickset Alfie robbed a rent collector and never looked back. A lifetime of wheeling and dealing had ensued, the money always going up. The original wide-boy, at seventeen, he was wearing two-tone shoes and riding the classiest Vespa in town. A brief spell in borstal for selling a stolen coat had introduced him to the people that would change his life.
Alfie became a full time armed robber.
The money was good, acquittals paid for.
Lose a shotgun? That'll be five hundred quid.
Life was good.
In the summer of sixty-nine he'd met Alice while selling a few pills to hippies at a festival. They'd settled down, within five years of 'work', pubs were bought and slowly he'd turned legitimate. All he did today was finance things and organise the still highly profitable illegal fights.
At the moment he was on the brink of a big earner, but tonight there was also a bout.
It nearly felt like the old days, nearly.
These days he was an aging villain with kids.
Brad, doing well in the city, maybe he'd legitimise his cash in a big investment one day, maybe. Too straight maybe, but then, it wasn't a bad thing.
Frank his next born. Idiot, took none of the advantages he'd been thrown, look at him now, thirty-three, still at home, lying in bed at this time of day. Everything he owned came from earning from the overpaid job in Alfie's firm.
His youngest born, Charlene, sure a rocky start, but now married to one of the biggest property owners along the Thames. Repulsive as Bailey was, one day, due to development that man would be worth a fortune. Those old houses would come down, and new blocks would go up.
Two out of three wasn't bad.
"Do you want another cup of coffee?
A voice broke his thoughts.
