Read Online The Storytellers by Robert Mercer-Nairne - Free Book Online Page A

last!” Jack answered, enjoying his own joke. “And this is John, Max’s flatmate.”
    â€œJohn,” Ralf acknowledged. “Haven’t seen you here before.”
    â€œJohn’s a Longbridge man,” Jack explained. “Max has hauled him along for support.”
    â€œWell, as I say,” Ralph Drydon continued, as he moved a single tea bag from one mug to the next, “there won’t be much for you boys here.”
    While the mugs were being distributed – the strongest brew to Jack, the weakest to the new face: there is a hierarchy in all things – the door opened and a young woman came in holding a piece of paper.
    â€œBeen up all night, lass?”
    â€œBest time for faxes,” she answered, “when company business is light. This one looks important. It’s from the union.”
    Ralf took it from her.
    â€œThanks, love. You’d best go home and get some sleep. I’ll makesure you’re covered.”
    â€œWe’re going to win, aren’t we?” she questioned. “My man’s on the picket line and we could sure use the extra money.”
    â€œAye, lass, we’re going to win.”
    Ralf Drydon’s certainty reassured her and she left looking fulfilled. For her, and most of the wives whose husbands were ‘out’, it was about keeping ahead of inflation, not changing the world.
    â€œA communication from the top,” he announced as he read the faxed message. “From our executive officer, Alex Kitson, telling us to let essential supplies through or have the government declare a state of emergency and bring in the army.”
    Mention of the army pumped Max up like a shot of steroids. In his eyes, any week without a confrontation was a wasted one.
    â€œYou’re not going to agree to that, surely,” Jack demanded.
    â€œWe’ll see,” he answered. He knew his members were more interested in getting a good part of their 40% pay claim than in adhering to the fine print of the Marxist-Leninist rulebook.
    â€œSolidarity, brother,” Jack reminded him, but Ralf had his mind on other things and the telephone rang. Answering, he listened, looked pensive and then cupped the speaker.
    â€œThere’s trouble up at Hunters, an independent distributor near Tamworth. You boys interested?”
    â€œRight bloody right we are,” answered Max before Jack had time to assess the full, strategic implications of the situation.
    Taking that as a collective ‘yes’ he told the caller: “I’ll have some lads up with you within the half hour.” And then, turning to Jack, explained: “Hunters are trying to get their lorries out. They’re only a small outfit with five tankers, I think it is, but letting them get away with it wouldn’t sit well with my boys here. You up for it?”
    The strike at the Kingsbury depot was a big story and Jack had hoped to get himself onto the evening news. But with Max already flexing his muscles and Ralf Drydon’s men exhibiting all the disciplineof a well-trained army, making his presence redundant, he had to agree.
    â€œI’m not sure the three of us will achieve much,” he prevaricated.
    â€œI’ll send five of our lads along in the van,” Ralf countered, adding with a grin, “five of our more motivated brethren.”
    It only took him a few minutes to pull his posse from the picket line because the night shift was over and a fresh batch of men, for want of anything else to do, had already started to drift in. Jack could see that those selected were not unexercised tanker drivers, but some of the shock troops Ralf Drydon used to crack the whip and ensure that any driver foolish enough to cross the picket line remembered his mistake.
    As he and his travelling companions left Kingsbury, having expressed their fraternal solidarity, the Trot from Cowley feared he was about to be part of little more than a barroom brawl. But