Sowerbutt's Concern

“I went back to see that Irish tart, Mr Sorbay. The one who lives near where those Haganah people were holed up. I took a half-jack of gin with me and I thought she might be a bit more accommodating. She laid into the gin, but I still didn’t get anywhere,” Nero said.

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, she’s shacked up with this big Irish bloke while her old man is stuck in the Jerry PoW camp. Eamonn is his name. She said people take advantage of him, especially some of the IRA supporters in Luton. She said a few of them are violent lads. Bombs and stuff.
“After a couple of glasses, she told me that first thing this morning, he was up at Luton Hoo with some IRA bloke who she doesn’t trust. She says he’s dangerous, a real mean bastard. She is scared, doesn’t want Eamonn to be locked up like her old man.”
Sowerbutt was on his feet, grabbing his leather jacket and strapping on his shoulder holster. “Christ, Nero. An IRA attack on Luton Hoo. An attack on the army base or do they know who is staying there? Why would they want to kill our VIP? Perhaps it‘s the Haganah again, pulling the strings.”
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