Page 8 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Eight

Mickey

The house is quiet when I enter, but I can smell something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Heading that way, I find Mrs Howe.

“Afternoon, Mrs Howe. Something smells good. Dad around?”

She startles and curses, “God damn it, Mickey.” Swivelling her head, she looks over her shoulder at me. “He’s in his office.”

Freshly baked cookies are laid out on a cooling rack, and I snag one as I pass. “Thanks.”

“Watch out, Mickey, he’s not in a good mood,” she warns as I exit down the hall toward my father’s office.

“Fucking wonderful,” I mutter, taking a bite of the still warm chocolate cookie. I’ve devoured the whole thing by the time I reach his office and knock on the door before pushing inside.

He’s on the phone when I enter, and he frowns then holds up a finger for me to hold on a minute.

Plopping myself down in the chair across from him, I wait while he finishes his call.

Slamming the phone down, he looks up at me. “Didn’t expect to see you today. What happened?”

I resent the accusation, but he’s not wrong. “Anyone living in the second apartment in Mayfair?”

He frowns and narrows his eyes at me. “I’m not letting one of your prick friends use it as a bachelor pad, Mickey,” he snaps.

I can play this one of two ways; tell him the absolute truth and admit I fucked up, or I can blag it and make it seem like I meant to lose my fucking home to spy on Roni.

“It’s not for one of them. It’s for me,” I tell him and before he can ask why, I continue, “Roni Hart is living there…temporarily. I thought it would be a good way to spy on her. Maybe we can figure out what her piece of shit father is up to.” I go with the second option.

It’s a version of the truth, but not what I had hoped to be sitting here telling him.

“And you thought letting her live in your apartment was a good way to do that?”

I nod. “Sure. Not like I keep anything important there,” I say nonchalantly, shrugging.

“And how did this convenient little arrangement come about exactly?”

I look him dead in the eye. “I lost a poker game.” It’s always best to stick to the truth as much as possible, and I can’t risk Priest or Fletch dropping me in it around my father. Fletch especially has a track record for that shit.

My father laughs, leaning back in his chair.

“Poker, huh?” I nod, maintaining eye contact, knowing if I look away, he’ll catch me in my lie.

He pauses a moment longer, keeping me on fucking edge.

No doubt waiting for me to crack under his scrutiny.

But I’m my father’s son. “Fine. Lucky for you it’s empty.

” He reaches forward, pulling a drawer open and pulls out a set of keys before tossing them to me.

I catch them, nodding a thanks, and get up to leave.

“Mickey, remember who she is. She might look fuckable and sweet, but she’s Franklin’s spawn. Don’t let your dick lead you down a path with no happy outcome…for anyone.”

“I don’t need to fuck the Ice Queen, Dad. I’ve got more than enough pussy to keep me and my dick happy.” I leave, passing through the kitchen again so I can filch a couple more of Mrs Howe’s cookies.

“Hands off, Mickey,” she yells, but not before I grab a handful.

Mrs Howe has been living with us for as long as I can remember, and her cooking is truly spectacular. Despite neither me nor my sister Simone living at home anymore, she still bakes. I’m a regular visitor, but Simone not so much.

After Mum and Dad split, she moved out with Mum.

She’ll argue that it’s because she didn’t want to leave Mum on her own and hated how Dad had treated Mum, cheating on her many times over the years, but I know it’s because Dad disapproved of her boyfriend Mitch.

She must have lost her damn mind if she thought Dad was ever going to be happy to see her dating a cop—not unless he could pay him under the table.

But from what I’ve seen of Mitch, he’s a straight cop and plans to work his way up the ranks.

Simone has never liked our family’s less than legal business, so this is a perfect way for her to distance herself from it. I’m not looking forward to the day Dad finds out she’s changed her name to Mum’s maiden name. That’s a day I don’t want to be here for.

I call Fletch on the way back to Mayfair and tell him to get his arse there with my stuff.

He’s already there when I arrive and busy arguing with a traffic warden.

“Why don’t you go fucking annoy someone else.” I hear him say as I get out the car.

“You can’t park he—”

“Read the sign. Loading and unloading only. See this?” He points to the truck loaded with my stuff. “I’m…unloading,” he says slowly like she’s too stupid to understand.

“Fletch, knock it off.” I toss the apartment keys at him. “Start unloading,” I say as I approach the traffic warden.

He throws her an aggravated glare before moving to the back of the truck.

“Sorry about that,” I appease, laying on the charm. “We won’t be long. I promise.”

She scowls at me, completely unimpressed and still livid at Fletch’s attitude.

“I don’t care who you are, or how long you’re going to be, you can’t park here.

” She tears the ticket from her pad and strides to the front of Fletch’s truck, then purposely looking at me, she slaps it to the window screen.

“Have a good day,” she says before walking away.

“Fu—ooph” I elbow Fletch in the ribs cutting off his insult.

“Shut up. Let’s just get this shit back inside.”

It takes us over an hour to unload my shit and carry it up the stairs thanks to there being no lift this side. I’m placing the last box to the ground and shutting the back doors of the truck when Roni exits the front door of my actual apartment.

“Roniiiii, looking sexy, but I much prefer you without your clothes,” Fletch says as she slowly turns around.

She saunters over, and you wouldn’t know that just a few hours ago I was fucking her against the wall. She’s still dressed in the grey knitted dress with her coat thrown over her arm.

“Well, I hope you locked that image down tight in the spank bank because it was a one-time opportunity.” She looks me up and down. “Mickey,” she says, then turns and walks away.

I watch her leave, striding down the street and ignoring the wolf whistles from a group of guys across the street. I pin a glare on them as they pass, catching the eye of one of them.

“Soho is that way,” I shout over, pointing in the general direction, which is opposite to the way they are going. “Think you took a wrong turn, mate,” I add with a thread of warning.

“Just offering the rich pussy an alternative to you jumped up pricks,” he fires back, flipping me the finger.

I take a step forward ready to show this wanker what us jumped up pricks can do, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Not worth it, Mick. Let someone else give him a night to remember. Come on, I’m starving.”

“You buying?” I ask, taking a final look in the direction Roni walked, but she’s gone. I trail after Fletch.

“Not if you’ve got a hankering for anything from Sasha’s. That place is overpriced.”

I shove him in the back, and he trips up the final step.

“Fucking prick!” he curses, then pulls his phone free and calls Priest.