Levin smiled at the young lady, the started scratching down the name and address of his tobacconist on a cocktail napkin for her. Then, for the second time that evening, he froze at the sight of someone approaching.

Reggie Kray. 

Levin always kept his ear to the ground, wanting to know who was who, which gang was which. He had never met the twins personally, but he had heard plenty. Enough to make him deeply wary of the Krays, especially Ronnie. They were violent. That was to be expected in this business, true- Levin had ordered more than one man to be "put on a train to Cardiff". But Ronnie enjoyed it, far too much. And he made no attempt to hide how utterly mad he was, either. Ronnie wore that madness openly, like a suit of armor, daring anyone at all to try and cross the twins.

Levin recalled a story he had heard a couple months back. Some upstart Maltese gang had tried to crash in on the Krays' snooker hall in Bethnal Green. The fools actually tried to collect protection money from the Krays. Word was the pair had gone absolutely mental. Reggie had contented himself by stabbing the leader of the Maltese through the hand, pinning him to a snooker table. But Ronnie, of course, had rushed the lot of them with a fucking sword, of all things. He chased six men off by himself.

These were men to be feared, particularly if they ever managed to get the money and influence they craved. Chazzers, both of them. If Flowers was a small chazzer, then these men were giants, colossi in the world of chazzers.

Levin remembered himself after a brief pause, resumed writing down the name of his tobacconist. Flowers seemed to be engaged with his driver at the moment. He had seemed friendly with Reggie Kray. For a brief moment, Levin contemplated tapping Flowers on the shoulder, telling him not to touch the Krays with a ten-foot pole, not to do anything that would advance them in any way. But they were hardly friends- Flowers would probably personally underwrite a loan to the Krays out of spite if Levin said anything like that. And so the Jew kept his mouth shut and passed his note to Chasity.

Henry Adler materialized, pushing Berg aside and looming over Chasity. "Evening, Henry," Levin greeted him, sensing his dark mood. Who was he about to lash out at, he wondered- Chasity? Flowers? Levin himself, for "corrupting" his little sister? It wouldn't be the first time, but Levin always won that argument. Coolly, he stared at Henry and took a measured sip of his Gibson, waiting for the other man to make his move.