Sowerbutt's Trademark

“You won’t get away with this, Sorbay, you bastard,” the hawk-faced man with a shock of black hair said. His right eye was already starting to close.

Sowerbutt nodded to One-Line, whose palm connected with the teacher‘s face with a loud smack. One-Line’s huge fist could kill a man at close range, but Sowerbutt had told his friend to be gentle.
Hardly pausing for breath, the hawk-faced man, known among the membership of the Stepney Communist Party for his long-winded speeches, spat out: “You’ve broken the truce. We’ll be after you ten-fold, we’ll sweep you Blackshirt bastards from the streets of Poplar like horse dung. Clear the place of you traitor Fascists, once and for all.”
Sowerbutt held his hand up to One-Line and leant down towards the teacher, bound securely to a chair in the blackened ruins of an East India Dock Road warehouse.
He opened his razor-sharp clasp-knife and began shaving stubble from the shaking teacher’s face. His icy voice said: “Traitors, are we? Haven’t seen you Reds do much for the war effort so far. Uncle Joe and Adolf kissing and cuddling together.
“You Reds broke the truce, sending your bully boys in to threaten my people.”
He ran the needle-sharp point of the blade gently across the teacher’s exposed throat, leaving a thin red line in its wake. It was a trademark he left on selected victims.
“Nobody touches my Family. Nobody. Especially a woman,”Sowerbutt shouted.
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