Sowerbutt's Partner

“He’s retiring to Spain when the fighting is finished or so he says. Wants to end his days in the sunshine,” Sowerbutt shook his head and poured out three glasses of Old Bushmills. “Making money hand over fist. Medical exemptions by the dozen, petrol coupons, ration books, ID cards, even passports for the Jewish lads. You name it, the Scribe is raking it in.”

He put cubes of ice into the drinks and handed glasses to Spaghetti and Tipper. “I was wondering about going into partnership with him at one stage, but he doesn’t need us now. Says he’s working six days a week, nights too on well-paid rush jobs.”
Tipper sipped his whiskey. “He’s training up a couple of lads, I hear, guv. Perhaps we could pinch one of them.”
“Good point, Tipper, we’ll keep an eye on that,” Sowerbutt said.
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