Arthur Morgan took two calls that morning. The first was simple, requiring little in the way of response, except, “That’s good, Jimmy. Come in now, will you.”
The second came almost as soon as he put the phone down on its cradle. It proved a lot trickier.
Not a man to be trifled with, Morgan had made a fortune in property investments, coupled with an extensive p**********n business. He owned the three biggest brothels on the coast, but times were hard. The Lithuanians were one thing, but he could deal with them. What he had no control over was firstly the economic downturn and secondly, political uncertainty. Both of these developments – if they could be called that – had resulted in hordes of Brits returning home. Morgan relied on the steady flow of regular, loyal customers to keep his
