Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'You're
a
very
stupid
man,
mister,'
he
said.
Over
the
old
man's
head,
Murray
saw
the
big
doorman
watching
them.
'I'm
going
to
tell
you
what
I
told
John
Merchant,'
he
said
quietly.
'You're
a
police
target
–
just
the
way
Merchant
was.
That
Underpass
deal,
the
one
you
were
boasting
about
on
television,
the
pride
of
the
city,
it
stinks.
It
could
be
your
mistake,
the
one
that
puts
you
in
jail.
And
you
mixed
my
brother
up
in
it.
He's
in
enough
trouble
now.
I
want
him
off
the
hook
with
you.
Understand?'
Heathers,
however,
was
shaking
his
head
in
a
parody
of amazement.
Any
trace
of
fear
had
disappeared.
'Police
watching
me,
is
that
right?
You're
something
else.
Who
the
hell
do
you
think
you're
talking
to?
I've
been
watched
by
experts
all
my
life,
since
before
you
were
a
tickle
in
your
father's
balls.
And
I'm
still
here.
Did
you
think
you
were
running
in
here
telling
me
something
I
didn't
know?
Nobody
watches
me
without
somebody
watching
them.
Maybe
you
could
surprise
John
–
I
didn't
tell
him
anything
he
didn't
need
to
know
–
but
there's
nothing
you
can
tell
me.'
He
held
up
his
hand
and
rubbed
the
thumb
across
the
fingers.
'I
buy
people.
I've
got
good
lawyers
-
and
I've
bought
a
policeman
or
two
in
my
time
.
There's
no
way
I'll
ever
be
in
jail.'
He
put
a
fat
little
hand
against
Murray's
chest.
'You're
the
one
that's
just
got
yourself
in
trouble.
'
It
was
time
to
leave,
but
Murray
was
stupid
and
went
back
to
the
bar.
He
watched
the
dancers,
and
for
some
reason
remembered
Eddy
Stewart
weeping
with
remorse
–
but
then
Eddy
had
a
bad
marriage
and
that
could
give
a
man
a
case
of
easy
guilt.
Sitting
there,
he
gave
off
anger
like
the
scent
of
danger
in
the jungle.
The
stool
beside
him
stayed
empty
till
it
was
taken
by
George
the
doorman.
'Do
they
let
the
help
drink
with
the
customers?'
Murray
wondered
.
'I
don't
always
do
what
I'm
told.'
The
barman
set
a
pint
glass
of beer
and
a
whisky
in
front
of
him
unasked.
'He,'
Murray
said
nodding
at
the
barman,
'thinks
you
look
like
an
idiot.'
'It's
the
same
as
a
boiler
suit,'
George
said,
patting
his
lapels.
'You
have
to
earn
your
corn.'
He
emptied
half
the
glass
of
beer
and
sighed.
'It
gave
me
a
charge
seeing
you
again,
Murray.
I've
been
standing
out
there
thinking
about
the
old
Northend.
First
night
I
went
to
the
Northend
I
met
you.
A
couple
of
kids.
We
didn't
know
what
it
was
all
about.'
He
paused
as
if
for
a
response.
Murray
said
nothing.
'There
were
some
good
fighters
came
out
of the
old
Northend.
Nearly
had
the
world
champion
–
remember
they
used
to
tell
us
that.
Nearly.'
He
grunted
amusement.
Even
seated
on
the
stool,
he
was
taller
than
most
men.
'It's
away
now.
Closed.
Did
you
know
that?
It's
away
now.
I
trained
there
when
I
was
a
pro.
Never
got
to
be
world
champion.'
'Look,'
Murray
said,
'I'm
not
in
the
mood
for
old
times.'
'Do
you
want
a
beer?
A
short?
What
are
you
drinking?'
'Lemonade.'
'Murray,'
the
big
man
said
hitching
round
comfortably,
'you're
the
kind
of
guy
who
could
cause
trouble
on
lemonade
.
You
need
the
hard
stuff
to
quieten
you
down.'
'Is
this
your
break
or
are
you
finished
for
the
night?'
The
big
man
nodded
equably
and
emptied
his
glass.
'I'm
going
back.'
He
stood
up
and
seemed
about
to
go,
then
changed
his
mind.
'Remember
the
first
couple
of
nights
we
went
to
Northend?
It
was
good
fun.
Then
the
third
night
you
paid
your
money
–
so
they
put
you
in
with
a
guy
who
gave
you
a
hiding.
That
sickened
most
of
them
off
but
the
ones
that
went
back
after
that
they
got
learned
.
You
and
me
went
back –
but
it
was
a
hell
of
a
hiding.
You
and
me
are
getting
too
old
for
that
stuff.
Beam
me
up,
Scotty!
You
know
that
joke?
They
go
all
shoogley
and
up
they
go –
no
problem.
It's
an
idea,
Murray.
Lots
of
guys
get
a
tanking
they
don't
need.
I
mean
in
this
town.'