Sowerbutt's Inquiry

    

One-Line, a giant of a man, held the skinny youth by the neck at arm’s length, his legs kicking in the air. “You’re strangling me, mister, I can’t breathe,” gasped the 17-year-old. “I haven’t done nothing wrong, I was just passing by.”

“Check the suitcase, Nero,” Sowerbutt snapped. “Let’s see what wonder boy is selling.”

the battered brown suitcase.

Unsnapping the locks of the battered suitcase., Nero grinned: “Petrol coupons, guv. Hundreds of them. And a few cards of knicker elastic.”

Sowerbutt walked over to the skinny youth, dangling from One-Line’s powerful arm. The 17-year-old’s face was pasty white.

“You would be one of the Scribe’s runners or you were. He told me the other day he was losing a few petrol coupons. No wonder you had a crowd around you, worth a few bob, aren’t they?”

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