New to town, is you? Lookin' for some kind of ungainly employment, so to speak? Want a piece of the fraction? Don't worry, my lad, we've got plenty for you to do. My name's Cartwright. Harold to me nearest and dearest, and I'm what's known as a face in this shithole. I answer to nobody, but meself, unless the Crisp Twins tell me to, that is. 'Cause in London, them Crisp Twins chew the roost. They are the biggest of the big boys. They control this manor, hook, line and sinker, and if you so much as want a Barclay's on your jack jones, you get them on the dog 'n' bone, and clear it with 'em. Otherwise, well, let's just say Archie's pigs didn't get that fat on bloody swill, did they? And Albert, well Albert's very partial to a little bit of slap 'n' tickle with your kind, and he ain't none to particular whether he tickles, or whether he slaps. Understood?