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581 lines
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<title>7</title>
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<h1>7</h1>
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<p>"You’re up to something <em>Muchacho</em>. I told you I can always tell. You've got mischief and mayhem written all
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over you."</p>
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<p>Uncle Sandy's eyes challenged him from across the table. Against one wall of the kitchen, crates of home brew beer
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stood one atop the other, almost to the ceiling. Sandy had been cleaning out his pigeon hut when Jack came round,
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head encased in an old biker's balaclava that covered his nose, and eyes protected from the feather dust by an
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ancient pair of bikers goggles that made him look like an old air ace. He stripped them off and put the kettle
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on. </p>
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<p>"Like what?"</p>
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<p>"If I knew I wouldn't ask."</p>
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<p>"You didn't ask. You made a statement."</p>
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<p>"Don't get smart with me."</p>
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<p>"I'm already <em>too</em> smart for you. Check." Jack's queen was dangerously close. "I hear you got the whole pigeon
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club rat-arsed. What strength is that beer?"</p>
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<p>Sandy sacrificed a knight, trying to con Jack into taking it with the queen. No sale. </p>
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<p>"About ten percent, higher if you put more sugar in. They're all developing a taste for it."</p>
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<p>"It takes dedication. Your liver must be like portland cement. Some of the club, they're about seventy. You could
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kill them."</p>
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<p>"It's probably keeping them alive. Anyway, I'm over sixty and I'm fitter than you." Jack looked at him and grinned.
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They were about the same size and build, despite the difference in years. He hoped he looked as fit when he was that
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age.</p>
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<p> "Yeah, right. How about Tim Farmer? Any sign of the money?"</p>
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<p>"Not a hide nor hair. And nobody's seen him either, daft old bugger. I heard he's in Majorca. He'll come back with a
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bad sunburn and a sore dick."</p>
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<p>"What will you do, call the cops?"</p>
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<p>"What's the point in that? <em>Check</em>. Concentrate on the game, will you? No, that would just be too much hassle.
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What we did, we got a bunch of us round to his place and took all of his birds. We'll have an auction next week and
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raise about a grand, maybe more. He's a daft thieving bastard, but a good bird man."</p>
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<p>"And then what, will he get expelled?"</p>
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<p>"Are you kidding? If he's had a month in Majorca with Meg McLaren, he's not getting away that easy. No, he can start
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at the bottom and buy back his own birds, and then he's going to have to tell us the whole story, every pant and
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grunt and heave. That should keep us going till Christmas, and me and Willie McIver should have enough stock here to
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keep us and the bowling club <em>and</em> the boat men going right through the new year. We never had it so good."
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</p>
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<p>"And you think <em>I'm</em> up to something."</p>
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<p>"I don't think, son. I <em>know.</em> You never were good at hiding it."</p>
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<p><em>I bloody better be,</em> Jack thought. </p>
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<p>It had been a couple of days since Hammond Hall had come to the door, taking Jack by surprise. He hadn't known the
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kid in the water had been diving off the big Moody yacht in the inlet, and it hadn't mattered at the time. After it
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he had just walked away barefoot, dripping water, and Kate holding tight to his hand.</p>
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<p>"I got your name from Miss Delaney," the man had. The driver had gone back to the car and Sandy had cleared a space
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at the table, shifting some of the machine parts. Hall's shirt and slacks looked like a month's wages with overtime
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thrown in, but he never seemed to notice the oil. He took a glance down at the board, gave a tight smile.</p>
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<p>"Mate in three." Jack wondered vaguely how the man had got Kate's name in the first place.</p>
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<p>"You like a beer?" Sandy broke the ice. Jack felt a little uncomfortable. What did you say on these occasions. <em>Don't
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mention it</em>? </p>
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<p>Hall took the beer, drinking from the bottle and smacked his lips. "I don't often get the chance. My wife, Jason's
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mother, she's got me on a killer diet."</p>
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<p>The man had smacked his lips and then he'd thanked Jack very much and then he'd just let it all pour out, how close
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he'd been to losing his boy.</p>
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<p>"You never told me, Jake," Sandy chided.</p>
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<p>He shrugged. He hadn't told anybody. It wasn't the done thing.</p>
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<p>Hammond took another beer and Sandy told him about the home brew and then they all had another and Hammond Hall
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seemed to relax. He rolled his sleeves up and started playing with the pieces of carburettor. Sandy hauled out the
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big demi-jon of liqueur and they started in on that and by midnight the pair of them were swapping army and navy
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stories and Sandy was telling them about some mischief he'd got up to with some NATO buddies in Italy when they were
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running trucks of red wine to Dusseldorf.</p>
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<p>It was close to one in the morning when Hall insisted that he could only have one more liqueur and no more beer.</p>
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<p>"You make this yourself?" He was more than half drunk, but still clear.</p>
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<p>"Sure. It's the best in the whole street," Sandy said. "This side of it anyway."</p>
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<p>"Good enough for me," Hall said, just slightly slurred. "She'll kill me when I get home."</p>
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<p>He turned to Jack and formally shook his hand.</p>
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<p>"From Mrs Hall and myself, we just want to say thank you for what you did for Jason. And if you ever want to come
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aboard the Valkyrie, you will be more than welcome."</p>
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<p>Jack smiled. The difference between the two <em>Valkyries</em> could not be greater.</p>
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<p>"And if there's any way we can repay you."</p>
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<p>Jack took in the expensive slacks and the designer shirt. The man wore a Rolex oyster.</p>
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<p>"There is one thing," he said.</p>
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<p>"Name it, young man."</p>
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<p>"I lost one of my shoes in the water. A good Nike trainer."</p>
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<p>"You want a new pair?"</p>
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<p>"No, but if your Jason goes diving up at Creggan again, see if he can pick it up for me. I had them just broken in
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just right."</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Michael came stumbling through the front door, face caked with dirt and blood streaming from both nostrils. One eye
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was hidden under a big soft bruise.</p>
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<p>"Holy mother of God, what's happened to you?"</p>
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<p>Alice Lorne was out of her seat, overturning a teacup and scalding Jack's bare arm. Michael had tears running down
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his face. </p>
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<p>They had grabbed him on his way home, taking a shortcut through the allotments just after he finished stacking in
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Safeway. He was walking the centre path, hands in his pockets, sun on his back when Seggs Cullen came up behind him
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and clamped a beefy arm round his neck. </p>
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<p>Michael struggled, unable to shout, but Cullen outweighed him two to one. Foley was leaning against the van. Cullen
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let go and shoved Michael forward to stumble against the other man. </p>
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<p>Foley brought him up sharp, two hands twisting his shirt tight, forcing his chin upwards. </p>
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<p>"Leave me alone," Michael managed to gasp. The knuckles under his throat made it almost impossible to draw a
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breath. </p>
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<p>"This the brainy one?"</p>
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<p>Cullen nodded, keeping the pressure on. </p>
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<p>"You go to college, arsehole?" Foley loosened the grip just a little. </p>
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<p>"What's it got to do with you?" Michael knew who they were and he was scared. </p>
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<p>"Don't give me any shite." He shoved Michael backwards. Cullen caught him and put him in a full nelson, bending his
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head right down towards the ground. Michael grunted with the pain. </p>
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<p>"You go to college?" Foley asked again. </p>
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<p>"What if I do? What's it to you?"</p>
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<p>"So you've got brains, right?"</p>
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<p>Michael tried to straighten up. </p>
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<p>"If you've got brains, then you can take a message to that brother of yours."</p>
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<p>Cullen loosened his grip and let Michael get vertical, while still keeping the lock on, forcing his arms above his
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head. </p>
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<p>"What message?"</p>
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<p>"This."</p>
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<p>Foley leaned in and drove a short, fast punch, putting his weight behind it. It took Michael just below the eye with
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a watery crunch. Little sparks fizzled and danced and for a second his knees began to buckle. Cullen let go the grip
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and Michael sank towards the ground. He could smell blood somewhere and couldn't tell if it was from his eye or
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nose. He landed on his knees, hands up, protecting his eyes. Cullen kicked him hard on the back of his thigh and the
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force of it threw Michael forward onto his face. The dirt and dust clogged his throat when he hauled for air. </p>
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<p>"Make sure he gets it," Cullen said. "He'll know who it's from."</p>
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<p>His eye was closed by the time he got home, drizzling tears through the dust on his cheek. he bruise was purpling
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fast and blood was running freely from his nose and dripping from his chin. </p>
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<p>"I fell," Michael said. </p>
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<p>"Like hell you did," Jack said. His arm would be up in a blister later, but he was totally unaware of the scald. He
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had seen many a scrap before, been in many a scrap before. Alice Lorne was getting ice from the fridge and wrapping
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the chunks in a cloth. Sheena was fussing around, gushing a litany of Holy Mothers and Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph's. </p>
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<p>Jack pulled him up. </p>
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<p>"Who did that to you?" he could feel his hands bunch into fists. "Come on Mike, spit it."</p>
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<p>"You leave the boy alone Jack Lorne," Sheena scolded. "Can't you see he's hurt?"</p>
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<p>"I'm okay," Mike protested. He wasn't crying, but near to it. The tears were from the sting in his eyes. He knew if
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he said, Jack would be out there and it was two of them to one. </p>
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<p>"I fell."</p>
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<p>Alice looked at Jack.</p>
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<p>"Is this something to do with you?" She pulled Michael in and dabbed at his eye, making him draw sharp breath, then
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forcing the cold cloth down onto the plummy bruise. Michael grunted and squirmed, trying to get away. </p>
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<p>"Fell? My arse!"</p>
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<p>"Jack, you watch your language!"</p>
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<p>"Somebody took a poke at him. Right Mike? You been scrapping?"</p>
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<p>He shook his head, trying to pull out of his mother's grip, but Alice was no stripling. </p>
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<p>"Hold still and hold your wheesht." It came out sharp, an order, but she was smoothing his hair with her other
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hand.</p>
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<p>"You bullshit me and I'll do the other eye," Jack said. </p>
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<p>"Don't you dare, you big bully." Sheena turned on him. "What a terrible thing to say."</p>
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<p>"Somebody gave him a doing and he's too scared to say." Jack pulled away and snatched his jacket from the hook. Real
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anger was clenching at his belly. </p>
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<p>"Get back here.... " The door slammed on his mother's words.</p>
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<p>They were waiting for him on the other side of the common. Jack could figure out what had happened, for if Mike was
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too scared to say it was only because he knew Jack would go and do something about it, so it couldn't have been a
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scrap with somebody his own size and weight. It was time to get this sorted out once and for all, get it over
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with. </p>
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<p>The white van's engine was still running and he recognised it in the haze of exhaust, down by the boat yard. Jack
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just followed Michael's route home. It was not difficult to figure it out. The van reversed in through the big
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wooden slat-gate. </p>
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<p>Foley kicked it shut as soon as he walked in. </p>
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<p>"Tough nut, Lorne." Cullen's scabs were healing and peeling. "Your poofy brother must have brains after all."</p>
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<p>Jack was in for it, in for a doing, but there was nothing for it if they were going to pick on his brother. This had
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to finish. Anger and apprehension wrestled inside his belly. Anger won the first round and adrenaline took
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over. </p>
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<p>He swung in fast and punched Cullen on the eye. No pause, no hesitation, and it took Seggs completely by
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surprise. </p>
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<p>"Bastard!" Cullen swung at him. Jack jinked back, still angry and wary, but taking great satisfaction in the feel of
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knuckles against cheek, then something slammed into his pelvis with such force the pain seemed to sing in a high
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clear note. He went down sideways. Foley raised the spar again and put all his weight into it, brought it down
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across his shoulders. Jack felt the leather of his bomber jacket rip as he twisted, vaguely aware that it gave him
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some protection. </p>
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<p>Cullen swung a boot and he turned away, grabbing at it, kicking out with both feet to keep Foley away while he tried
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to roll out of range. He got to a knee, twisting Cullen's foot back, then levered up, throwing the other man off
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balance. Foley came in again and swung hard, just as Jack pivoted in his foot, twisting Cullen round. Seggs took the
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two-by-two across his shoulder and bawled. Jack pulled back and Foley swung again. This time he connected and Jack
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was down in the oil and the dust and the pair of them came in with the boot, kicking and stamping, forcing him into
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a corner. Jack swivelled right and left, arms up to protect his face, taking most of it in his belly and his back,
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rolling with it as much as he could, lashing out all the time to keep the punishment to a minimum. </p>
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<p>"Kill the cunt," Foley snarled. "Kick his fucking head in."</p>
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<p>Jack was squeezed up between two old oil drums, and the rust dust was in his eyes. Blood streamed down from a cut in
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his scalp and he tried to wipe it away. Foley peeled off while Cullen kept up the kicks, missing more than he
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connected, but connecting enough to make it matter, and then Foley swiped down at him from the low sun side and Jack
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just caught the movement in time to jerk away. </p>
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<p>The metal bar hit the drum with such force it left a straight dented valley two inches deep. </p>
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<p>Jack realised he was in big trouble. </p>
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<p><em>"Hit him</em>," Cullen bawled. </p>
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<p>Jack rolled scrabbling half blind, trying to find anything to lift and use. </p>
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<p>"Do it," Cullen grated. Jack saw Foley lift and swing. </p>
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<p>The sudden gunshot blasted everything to frozen silence.</p>
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<p>Cullen visibly jerked back. Foley was half way through the swing and the noise broke his aim. The heavy bar slammed
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into the ground, missing Jack by a scant inch. </p>
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<p>For a second Jack was blinded by the rolling dust. He scrabbled backwards, heels in the dirt, until he fetched up
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against the drums. </p>
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<p>"What the fu..... ?"</p>
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<p>The big gun bucked again, a fast crack of noise that spanged and echoed off the high corrugated iron fence. </p>
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<p>"Drop it."</p>
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<p>The barrel was up against Foley's head. Jack was struggling to his feet. </p>
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<p>"Drop it or the next one's in your fucking skull."</p>
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<p>"Jesus man don't... " Foley's voice was high and tight and all the roughness gone. </p>
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<p>Cullen was frozen in the act of kicking. His eyes were fixed on the man with the gun. Foley tried to turn up to face
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him, but the barrel poked him down.</p>
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<p>"Go on, <em>amigo, </em>make my day."</p>
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<p>Foley still held the bar. </p>
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<p>"Who the fuck are you?"</p>
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<p>"I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare, fat boy."</p>
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<p>"Fuck."</p>
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<p>Jack felt a bubble hysteria try to force its way up and out over the sharp pain in his sides. His uncle's voice
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sounded rough and ragged, and he had put on a crazy Clint Eastwood accent. The balaclava almost completely hid his
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face, and the old goggles did the rest. The overalls were stained with oil and pigeon shit and the whole get-up made
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him look like a crazy Monte Carlo racing driver from the thirties. </p>
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<p>The old Italian Beretta was jammed up against the back of Foley's head, forcing the woolly hat, and the coarse nylon
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wig to slip over one eye. </p>
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<p>"Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"</p>
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<p>"Don't shoot man."</p>
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<p>Sandy grabbed his collar and jammed the barrel in under his ear. </p>
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<p>"You fuck with us, you make a big mistake."</p>
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<p>Jack almost laughed out loud. The accent had changed to something from Goodfellas. He peeled away, hustling between
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the two of them. Sandy jerked his head towards the gate and then slammed Foley forward, fast and unexpected. The man
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lurched, fell against Cullen, and they both went tumbling into the drums which scattered underneath them. Sandy
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grabbed Jack and pulled him away through the gate and slammed it shut again. </p>
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<p>"Daft bugger. Don't you ever do <em>that</em> again."</p>
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<p>The old Honda engine was running and they were on and gone before Cullen and Foley could get to their feet
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again. </p>
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<p>"Who the fuck was that?"</p>
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<p>"He scared the shite out of me," Foley said. He was searching about amongst the scattered drums for his hat and his
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wig, all the blood sapped from his face. </p>
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<p>"Don't you ever do that again," Sandy repeated. "You could get yourself killed."</p>
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<p>"They beat Michael up."</p>
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<p>"No. They hit him a punch so they could get you out, and you fell for it."</p>
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<p>"I never fell for it. I wanted to finish it. I don't need the hassle right now."</p>
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<p>"But you need your head caved in?" Sandy was angry with him, and scared for him. </p>
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<p>"So now they'll come back again."</p>
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<p>"And if they do, you wait and pick your chance. You don't go walking in somewhere with two loonies on your tail. Not
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when they can shut the door behind them and do it all out of sight. You go get your friends. Or your family."</p>
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<p>"I never wanted you in it."</p>
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<p>"We <em>are </em>in it. Listen Jake, I've been in more scraps than you've had your nookie. I saw Michael going up the
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road with one eye shut and his nose dripping red snotters. It wasn't hard to work it out, and you should have done
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the same."</p>
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<p>"I did. I thought I'd take a couple and call it quits."</p>
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<p>"You could have ended in the hospital, or worse. You take on somebody like Ferguson, you have to use your brains, if
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you have any. You never walk in and let them close a door on you. You never go in anywhere without a way out. Jesus
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boy, I should get you signed for the Paras and teach you some sense."</p>
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<p>Jack had to concede the point. The pain under his ribs was nagging like an angry wife and a dull ache moaned in his
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thighs where he had taken some damage on the big muscles, not enough to cripple, but he knew it would be worse by
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the morning. </p>
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<p>"Right okay, okay. I just got pissed when they came for Mike."</p>
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<p>Sandy was stripping off the balaclava and his white hair was sticking up in unruly corkscrews. It just made him look
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like an old tough nut. Jack recalled the sudden crack of the gun. </p>
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<p>"I thought you were going to pull the trigger."</p>
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<p>"Then we'd both have been in the shit," Sandy said, and his face suddenly creased into a big grin that made his
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two-day beard stand on end. He could have doubled for the old gold prospector in the Treasure of Sierra Madre. He
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cracked a bottle and poured one for each of them, letting the home brew froth up to the rim. Jack drank it,
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surprised at how quickly it took the dust from his throat. It tasted great. </p>
|
||
|
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<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
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|
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<p>Sandy jammed a hand into the bib pocket of his overalls and drew out the mean-looking big gun. He raised it and
|
||
pointed it straight at Jack's chest, pulled the trigger and Jack jerked back on reflex at the sudden explosion. It
|
||
made the window pane shudder and rattle. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"What... ?" His ears were ringing. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Caps," Sandy said. "You wanted a gun like my old Italian job after you went rummaging up the loft. Christ, boy, your
|
||
mother nearly ate my face off when that happened, for you could have put a hole through the wall, or through
|
||
yourself. So I got you a replica. Cost me a fortune, by the way, but she said it looked too real. I was going to
|
||
give it for your birthday when you were nine, but she kyboshed that idea. You don't fight with our Alice, not
|
||
twice."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>He grinned again and pulled the trigger five times in succession and now that he knew, Jack could hear the difference
|
||
between explosive caps and real gunfire. Down in the scrapyard it had sounded all too real. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"You old bloody con-man," he said. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Takes one to know one." Sandy raised his glass and Jack began to laugh. "But as Al Capone said, you can get more
|
||
with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone, and I wasn't in the mood for kind words."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>He jabbed a finger at Jack's chest. "Now are you going to tell me what you're up to?"</p>
|
||
<hr />
|
||
<p>The geese turned out to be a major problem. They were noisy and they were ill-tempered and they had little beady eyes
|
||
that missed nothing at all. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p> Neil stared at them through the chain link and they stared back, with that half-sneer-half-snarl that big geese seem
|
||
to be able to express while still only wearing beaks. They craned up, necks at full tilt, hissing like
|
||
rattlers. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"They're worse than dobermen," Neil said, with some conviction. He pulled back from the fence and one of the geese
|
||
stood up straight and flapped its wings so hard the air sang a set of low whoops. It honked its irritation,
|
||
eloquently conveying the need to see these intruders off. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"And they've got dogs as well," Jed said. "Once the picket went up, they hired a team of security guards."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"That's all we need." Jack took out a small notebook and wrote something down in it, before tucking it into his
|
||
inside pocket. He had a big bruise just north of his knuckles, an angry looking cleat mark that disappeared up his
|
||
sleeve. Under his chin, another one was fading quickly and his swollen nose was less inflated than it had been
|
||
yesterday. He walked stiffly, favouring the bruise-seized muscles in his thighs, but he'd managed to keep his face
|
||
from getting broken. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"What will we do about these?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"You'll have to make friends with them," Jack said. "Just pretend they're chicks at Mac's."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"He always gets a knock-back from the chicks," Jed said. "He's the last man standing at the end of the dancing."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"But he tries hard. These birds have got as much brains as the ones he goes for anyway, and with a bit of luck he'll
|
||
get a gobble."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"That's turkeys, smartarse. Geese honk."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"And so do you, pal. Anyway, get down to Ryan's pet shop and get a load of pigeon feed."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"What's that like?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"It's like sweetcorn, only hard as rock. But that's what birds eat. Stick it in a pan with some butter and you get
|
||
loads of the stuff."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Okay. And then what?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>The geese were still giving them the hostile beady eye. Hereabouts they were famous, like the big white King Geese at
|
||
Ballantines distillery, and Alistair Sproat had pinched the idea from them. They were mean and hard and missed
|
||
nothing. Bunched together in a gang they'd have a go at anything on two feet or four, and apart from the crazy noise
|
||
they set up that could be heard halfway across town, they never came off second best.</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Then you start feeding them. Every night, same time, same place. You'll have to work on them, but as long as they
|
||
get used to getting their dinner right round the corner, we have a chance. But you have to make a career out of it.
|
||
Ever heard of Pavlov's dogs?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"What, is he a breeder?" </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Jack shook his head in disbelief. Jed just looked blank. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>The dogs were another problem. Jack wrote another note in his book as Neil was asking for some money from the kitty
|
||
for the bird feed. The security men were new, not from around here. They had two big black and tan panting dogs that
|
||
hauled them around on short leads, patrolling back and forth behind the gates. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Sproat's worried they'll torch the place."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Just as long as they wait until after we're done," Jack said, "Then they can do what they like. In fact, that might
|
||
not be a bad idea at the end of the day. I'll have to think."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Neil looked at him in shock.</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Only kidding."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>He had come from the dairy with his last wages tucked in his hip and a P45 in his inside pocket and despite it all,
|
||
he felt more sorry for Andy Kerr who had done his level best. </p>
|
||
<hr />
|
||
<p>It had been a glorious morning, the best Jack could remember for years, up at four, washed and out, with the sun
|
||
hidden behind the rise of Longcrag Hill, lancing its beams upwards to touch the high haze a sweet rose pink. The
|
||
robin had been bursting its guts from its stance on the garden fork and the blackbirds gave it everything they had.
|
||
The air had that July scent that told you the sun would stay high and the air stay dry. Far-off in the sky, three
|
||
wild ducks whirred down from Loch Humphrey up in the hills to feed on the estuary. Early pigeons purred from the big
|
||
weeping ash in his mother's back garden that his grandfather had planted before Jack was born. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Michael had been snoring, curled up on himself, with that bruise like a blue hammock under his eye. The odd punch
|
||
never did a youngster any harm, but Jack still felt the clench at the thought of Cullen and his sidekick having a go
|
||
at a boy half their size. Mike was the baby of the family, the one with brains. He'd no part in any of this. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Jack wrapped his sandwiches, slung them in the haversack, and closed the door quietly on the way out. It took ten
|
||
minutes to get down to the dairy, walking in the pre-day light, smelling the scent of hawthorn and the river. Jed
|
||
Coogan was slowly backing the big tanker up against the loading bay. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Andy Kerr rolled up the shutters and gave Jack a slow wave that said a lot. It had been a while since he'd been up
|
||
with the deliverymen and the dawn, but it was Friday and Jack knew he was there to make it personal. Poor bugger,
|
||
he'd tried hard and done his best. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>It was the usual run, Drymains, Overburn, out to the east of the town and back along by the castle and finished by
|
||
six, aware of the sun rising over the crags, lancing through the pines on the crest of Drumbuie Hill and turning the
|
||
Clyde into a molten silver snake on its way up to the city. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I never meant for this to happen," Andy said. He had a bit of colour back in his face, from the exertions of the
|
||
morning, but his hair looked even greyer. Jack had been helping hose down the big tanker, shielding his eyes from
|
||
the reflected light from the stainless steel bulkhead when Andy came out onto the step and whistled through the hiss
|
||
of the hose. He beckoned a come-on and Jack turned the water off. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I know that," Jack said. "It's been hard going."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Believe that, it's been a ballbreaker." Andy fished in his desk drawer and drew out an envelope. "Holiday pay, two
|
||
weeks money, and redundo. I've done my best on that, Jack, so you're not on the minimum. You've done me good and I
|
||
appreciate that. For what it's worth, if things had worked out, you were to be off the run in a couple of months and
|
||
in here with me. If we'd been able to expand I'd have made you up. I know you're halfway through your course and I
|
||
can use somebody with a bit of savvy. It would have been good for us both."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I appreciate that," Jack said, feeling awkward, but knowing Andy wasn't just saying that to hear his own voice. He
|
||
took the envelope and stuck it in his pocket, sight unseen. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"You'll be glad to get a long lie."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I'd rather this place wasn't going down."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"You and me both," Andy said, forcing a smile. "My great grandfather started this place. I never thought I'd be the
|
||
one to see it shut, but everything came at once."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"What about Billy?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Billy is just part of it. You know the score anyway, so I might as well tell you. He pocketed the national insurance
|
||
and the tax and he had a couple of deals going with the hotels. A big discount. A big backhander to you and me. It
|
||
was all going into his back pocket and the bastard looked me straight in the eye day after day. The bank bailed me
|
||
out, but that was just robbing Peter to pay Paul."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"So what next?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I pull in my belt until my eyes pop. Sproat's given me two months and then he wants vacant possession. There's
|
||
nothing I can do unless I come up with the money, which is as likely as the Pope turning protestant. Sproat's got me
|
||
by the shorts and he knows it."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"He's a prick," Jack said, feeling the clench of anger again, anger at Sproat's arrogance.</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"That's business Jack, never forget that's what happens. You should never be in business if you can't stand with the
|
||
big boys. I could take on Scot-Milk and make a living, and I could maybe take on Sproat, but both of them and
|
||
Bastard Billy all at the same time? Six in the morning and I feel punch drunk already."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>He looked over at Jack. "I feel the way you look."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Just a couple of slaps. Boy stuff." Jack looked back. "I was talking to the Dunvegan lads. They're really screwed up
|
||
on Skye. The whole plant is closing."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Yeah, I heard."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"There's a cheese plant up there that's hit the skids. ScotMilk pulled out and left them high and dry. They've got a
|
||
dairy farm with a big surplus. Maybe it's something you should think about."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Andy rubbed his chin. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"Skye? That's a bit of a distance. No, it's a hell of a distance. The milk would be butter by the time I got down
|
||
here."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"It's a herd of jerseys, real prime, so I'm told. Five hundred head and averaging five gallons a beast every day.
|
||
You're talking top quality cream content. And it would be a good source."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I'd have to find a market, Jack, and I'm up to my eyes looking for second hand tankers. These big Freuhaufs have to
|
||
go back."</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>Andy looked as if his eyes were going to fill up. The tankers had come at almost a hundred grand a piece, state of
|
||
the art twelve wheelers that had been an extravagance maybe. No, <em>definitely</em>, but that had been before Billy
|
||
had done a runner and before ScotMilk's muscle had come in undercutting every contract. </p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"When to they go?"</p>
|
||
|
||
<p>"I'm clear to the first day of the month, then they're gone."</p>
|
||
</div>
|
||
</div>
|
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</body>
|
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|