estates in East London and look at him now, he was a law enforcer.
He didn’t thieve or lie or attack people.
Well, he conceded, he lied sometimes. But then, didn’t everyone if they were honest? Ibbotson came back with the brandy and Rudde was gratified to see it was a double. The boy was learning at last.
‘Good lad.’
He sipped this one, savouring the taste.
‘It should all die down now and we can get back to normal. We wasted too much time on that case.’
Ibbotson nodded.
He sipped his pint daintily and this, for some reason, annoyed the life out of Rudde.
There was a lock-in at the Fox and Ferret even though it was only three in the afternoon. Nick had bought the pub a few years earlier, it was another of his little investments. Today the raucous sound of his friends cheering inside was depressing him.
One of his workmen, Danny Power, the local wag and joke merchant, shouted out: ‘Here, Nick, I heard the Catholic Church has said that kid has got to be buried thirty foot down . . . because deep down niggers are nice people!’
The laughter was long and loud until Nick’s fist connected with Danny’s chin then the place went deathly quiet in seconds.
‘Get out.’
Nick Leary’s eyes were wild with grief and anger.
Danny pulled himself from the floor in shock.
‘Here, Nick, I was only joking . . .’
Nick grabbed him by his shirt and started to drag him to the door. He was aware of all his friends watching, wondering what was wrong with him, but he didn’t care. That was too much, it was going too far.
‘Open the fucking door, Jimmy, or I’ll smash this cunt through it.’
He was more than capable of it and they all knew that. Nick could have a row. He needed to be able to protect himself in his businesses and was a legend in some quarters.
Jimmy Barr who ran the pub quickly unlocked the door and they all watched as Nick threw his long-time friend out into the car park.
‘You’re sacked. I don’t ever want to see you around here again, right?’ Nick was shaking with temper and upset.
Jimmy Barr quickly brought him inside and relocked the door. He knew Danny was better off away from Nick for the time being.
‘Calm down now, Nick, he was drunk, that’s all.’
He poked his face against his friend’s.
‘I don’t give a fuck! That boy is dead and gone. And you lot think it’s fucking funny? Well, I don’t. I don’t care what colour he was or what religion. He was a boy, a seventeen-year-old boy.’
’A seventeen-year-old boy with a gun, Nick.’
This from Anthony Sissons, one of his oldest mates. They went back to infant school together and that gave him the clout to speak his mind.
Nick stared at him for long seconds before he smiled.
’All right, Ant, but I never liked those kind of jokes at the best of times. You know that.’
The talking started up again then but the atmosphere had soured and they all knew it.
One of the men at the bar, a new workman of Nick’s, said to the man beside him: ‘What was all that about? It was only a joke.’
Joey Miles replied gently, ‘Nick’s sister Hester is married to a West Indian bloke called Dixon. Nick’s really close to her.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Joey laughed because he could hear the surprise in the other man’s voice.
‘Most people don’t, and if you want to stay in your job, you’ll keep it to yourself. Now I’m too drunk, me mouth’s running away with me. Time I went home.’
He pulled himself off the barstool with difficulty, slapped Nick on the back and left.
Verbena was inconsolable. Her eldest daughter Hettie had come all the way from Birmingham to hold her hand. Verbena didn’t want her there; she didn’t want anyone. She wanted to grieve on her own. Hettie was aware of how her mother felt.
‘Mummy, for God’s sake, eat something at least,
He didn’t thieve or lie or attack people.
Well, he conceded, he lied sometimes. But then, didn’t everyone if they were honest? Ibbotson came back with the brandy and Rudde was gratified to see it was a double. The boy was learning at last.
‘Good lad.’
He sipped this one, savouring the taste.
‘It should all die down now and we can get back to normal. We wasted too much time on that case.’
Ibbotson nodded.
He sipped his pint daintily and this, for some reason, annoyed the life out of Rudde.
There was a lock-in at the Fox and Ferret even though it was only three in the afternoon. Nick had bought the pub a few years earlier, it was another of his little investments. Today the raucous sound of his friends cheering inside was depressing him.
One of his workmen, Danny Power, the local wag and joke merchant, shouted out: ‘Here, Nick, I heard the Catholic Church has said that kid has got to be buried thirty foot down . . . because deep down niggers are nice people!’
The laughter was long and loud until Nick’s fist connected with Danny’s chin then the place went deathly quiet in seconds.
‘Get out.’
Nick Leary’s eyes were wild with grief and anger.
Danny pulled himself from the floor in shock.
‘Here, Nick, I was only joking . . .’
Nick grabbed him by his shirt and started to drag him to the door. He was aware of all his friends watching, wondering what was wrong with him, but he didn’t care. That was too much, it was going too far.
‘Open the fucking door, Jimmy, or I’ll smash this cunt through it.’
He was more than capable of it and they all knew that. Nick could have a row. He needed to be able to protect himself in his businesses and was a legend in some quarters.
Jimmy Barr who ran the pub quickly unlocked the door and they all watched as Nick threw his long-time friend out into the car park.
‘You’re sacked. I don’t ever want to see you around here again, right?’ Nick was shaking with temper and upset.
Jimmy Barr quickly brought him inside and relocked the door. He knew Danny was better off away from Nick for the time being.
‘Calm down now, Nick, he was drunk, that’s all.’
He poked his face against his friend’s.
‘I don’t give a fuck! That boy is dead and gone. And you lot think it’s fucking funny? Well, I don’t. I don’t care what colour he was or what religion. He was a boy, a seventeen-year-old boy.’
’A seventeen-year-old boy with a gun, Nick.’
This from Anthony Sissons, one of his oldest mates. They went back to infant school together and that gave him the clout to speak his mind.
Nick stared at him for long seconds before he smiled.
’All right, Ant, but I never liked those kind of jokes at the best of times. You know that.’
The talking started up again then but the atmosphere had soured and they all knew it.
One of the men at the bar, a new workman of Nick’s, said to the man beside him: ‘What was all that about? It was only a joke.’
Joey Miles replied gently, ‘Nick’s sister Hester is married to a West Indian bloke called Dixon. Nick’s really close to her.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Joey laughed because he could hear the surprise in the other man’s voice.
‘Most people don’t, and if you want to stay in your job, you’ll keep it to yourself. Now I’m too drunk, me mouth’s running away with me. Time I went home.’
He pulled himself off the barstool with difficulty, slapped Nick on the back and left.
Verbena was inconsolable. Her eldest daughter Hettie had come all the way from Birmingham to hold her hand. Verbena didn’t want her there; she didn’t want anyone. She wanted to grieve on her own. Hettie was aware of how her mother felt.
‘Mummy, for God’s sake, eat something at least,
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