The two men were sitting at
the dining table in the Cheapside flat. Sowerbutt had insisted on
covering it with layers of newspapers, “otherwise I’m a dead man. She will kill
me if it is marked”.
Spaghetti had a pot of
heavy-duty engine grease in front of him and was slowly rubbing it into his
wooden cosh. Sowerbutt was cleaning his Smith & Wesson.“That stuff stinks, Spaghetti, why do you always use it?”
“An old boy down at the East India, guv, gave me the tip. He used to tell me stories about the fights in the old days to get jobs. His length served him all his days, he still had it when we used to chat. The ones the other dockers had, he said, would splinter on a dustbin lid or an iron bar.”
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