don’t.’
With that, she walked on into the shop.
16
The Darke firm was branching out, spreading its tentacles throughout London. Charlie had some of his boys get taken on as porters at a new frozen-food depot. They turned up for the job in hats, gloves, donkey jackets, thick trousers and steel-capped boots and proceeded to rob half the stock.
It was lucrative; everyone was scrabbling on the black market because of rationing, so Charlie’s boys made a mint. If there was trouble in the workforce – and there often was – the manager called on Charlie’s mob to sort it out, so they made a profit there too. The money was rolling in.
Then one of the drivers asked if they were organized.
‘Organized?’ Charlie’s boy asked.
‘In the Union.’
They weren’t in the Union, and the management weren’t keen for them to get in the fucking Union. As it was, they could hire and fire at will, and pay as low a wage as they liked. They didn’t want the Union in like it was over at Smithfield, arsing things up. But there was a prize involved, and that was a Meat Market ticket, which meant a job for life – and access to a lot of stuff going begging.
Once it was established that over half the workforce (Charlie had been careful to get plenty of his boys in there) were coming out on strike, picket lines were formed.
The manager stuck to his guns. He didn’t want the Union in, and his boys – all four of them – were standing firm. At least they were, until Charlie and his lot got two of them in the cold store and beat the crap out of them.
And then there were two. Charlie confronted them as they left work – a joke, there was no work going on, no lorries coming through, nothing. The firm was dead, the bosses just weren’t bright enough to see it yet.
‘Hiya, boys,’ he said warmly.
They eyed him warily and drew closer together. They knew about Charlie Darke, everyone did. They looked around nervously, but it seemed he was alone.
They mumbled a hello.
‘Enjoying the job still?’ asked Charlie with a smile.
‘We don’t want no trouble,’ said one, a bald burly man with bad teeth.
‘You don’t want trouble?’ Now Charlie’s expression was puzzled.
‘No. We don’t,’ said the man’s mate, who was shorter, but still squat, still strong; the job required muscle, and these boys had it. But now, standing here in front of Charlie Darke with his bright smiling stare, they felt unsure.
‘Then why you behaving like this?’ asked Charlie.
‘We’re just doing the job we’re paid for,’ said the bald one, who was right in the manager’s pocket, right up the manager’s arse, Charlie had heard. He was so tight in with the bosses it was a wonder he wasn’t to be found hanging out the back of one of them.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Now don’t be silly,’ he said gently. ‘Pay’ll improve once the Union’s in, and we’ll see you right on other matters.’
‘We’re happy with the way things are.’
Charlie stepped forward. The two men stepped back.
‘Now listen,’ said Charlie. ‘You two cunts listen good. You’re standing in the way of progress here. Progress happens and those that don’t accept it can come to grief.’
‘You threatening us?’ asked the smaller of the two.
‘Yeah. He is,’ said Joe, appearing from the darkness and coming to stand at his brother’s shoulder.
The men were starting to get nervous. It was dark, and cold, and they were alone here with these two and they knew what they were capable of. They’d heard all about the rackets they were into, and how they used force to get what they wanted – and look what happened to Micky Tranter. A bomb had got him? Yeah, they thought. My arse.
‘You’re starting to get right up my nose,’ said Charlie. ‘Clinging on to the old ways ain’t sensible. Getting in my way ain’t sensible. I’m beginning to think you pair don’t have a fucking brain between you. And you know what? I might just decide to test
With that, she walked on into the shop.
16
The Darke firm was branching out, spreading its tentacles throughout London. Charlie had some of his boys get taken on as porters at a new frozen-food depot. They turned up for the job in hats, gloves, donkey jackets, thick trousers and steel-capped boots and proceeded to rob half the stock.
It was lucrative; everyone was scrabbling on the black market because of rationing, so Charlie’s boys made a mint. If there was trouble in the workforce – and there often was – the manager called on Charlie’s mob to sort it out, so they made a profit there too. The money was rolling in.
Then one of the drivers asked if they were organized.
‘Organized?’ Charlie’s boy asked.
‘In the Union.’
They weren’t in the Union, and the management weren’t keen for them to get in the fucking Union. As it was, they could hire and fire at will, and pay as low a wage as they liked. They didn’t want the Union in like it was over at Smithfield, arsing things up. But there was a prize involved, and that was a Meat Market ticket, which meant a job for life – and access to a lot of stuff going begging.
Once it was established that over half the workforce (Charlie had been careful to get plenty of his boys in there) were coming out on strike, picket lines were formed.
The manager stuck to his guns. He didn’t want the Union in, and his boys – all four of them – were standing firm. At least they were, until Charlie and his lot got two of them in the cold store and beat the crap out of them.
And then there were two. Charlie confronted them as they left work – a joke, there was no work going on, no lorries coming through, nothing. The firm was dead, the bosses just weren’t bright enough to see it yet.
‘Hiya, boys,’ he said warmly.
They eyed him warily and drew closer together. They knew about Charlie Darke, everyone did. They looked around nervously, but it seemed he was alone.
They mumbled a hello.
‘Enjoying the job still?’ asked Charlie with a smile.
‘We don’t want no trouble,’ said one, a bald burly man with bad teeth.
‘You don’t want trouble?’ Now Charlie’s expression was puzzled.
‘No. We don’t,’ said the man’s mate, who was shorter, but still squat, still strong; the job required muscle, and these boys had it. But now, standing here in front of Charlie Darke with his bright smiling stare, they felt unsure.
‘Then why you behaving like this?’ asked Charlie.
‘We’re just doing the job we’re paid for,’ said the bald one, who was right in the manager’s pocket, right up the manager’s arse, Charlie had heard. He was so tight in with the bosses it was a wonder he wasn’t to be found hanging out the back of one of them.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Now don’t be silly,’ he said gently. ‘Pay’ll improve once the Union’s in, and we’ll see you right on other matters.’
‘We’re happy with the way things are.’
Charlie stepped forward. The two men stepped back.
‘Now listen,’ said Charlie. ‘You two cunts listen good. You’re standing in the way of progress here. Progress happens and those that don’t accept it can come to grief.’
‘You threatening us?’ asked the smaller of the two.
‘Yeah. He is,’ said Joe, appearing from the darkness and coming to stand at his brother’s shoulder.
The men were starting to get nervous. It was dark, and cold, and they were alone here with these two and they knew what they were capable of. They’d heard all about the rackets they were into, and how they used force to get what they wanted – and look what happened to Micky Tranter. A bomb had got him? Yeah, they thought. My arse.
‘You’re starting to get right up my nose,’ said Charlie. ‘Clinging on to the old ways ain’t sensible. Getting in my way ain’t sensible. I’m beginning to think you pair don’t have a fucking brain between you. And you know what? I might just decide to test
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