Sowerbutt's Friend

Pop grinned: “Been to see Darby Sabini.” “Whoa,” exclaimed Jack, “That’s one naughty boy. Bad temper by all accounts.” “Down to Brighton?” Bernie said. “That’s where he is these days, isn’t it. That punch-up down at Lewes racecourse a few years back.” “Place called Huyton near Liverpool, trains took forever,” Pop said. “An internment camp. He’s as English as you are, Jack, born at Saffron Hill. Set up by the stoppers with his Eyetie name, but he’s got his fancy lawyer working on it.”

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Sowerbutt's Cargo

“Another thing, Mr Sorbay,” Nero said. “A Mexican ship has tied up in the West India. She ran the crossing by herself, but was untouched. Their flag is the same as the Eyetie one. She is carrying timber and chemicals but her captain – nice bloke called Reybell – has brought some stuff to trade on the side. He was telling me the ship used to be Jerry but the Mexicans took it over. Funny name, Oaxaca. Pineapples, dried fruit, sacks of soy flour and he’s got tins of beef from some Yank company. They’ve got a big factory in Mexico land.”

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Sowerbutt's Progress

Sipping his beef broth, Harry Hopkins said: “I have witnessed the tide turn in North Africa, Winston, with the fall of Tobruk to your brave men. Mussolini, the prize fool, is a worried man, running off to Berchtesgaden for orders. The progress in East Africa will also give comfort to the millions around the world who believe in freedom."
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Sowerbutt's Devil

The Brigadier sipped his whiskey. “Nasty piece of work, Vershinin. Blood on his hands. When we have used him for our own ends, we could leave him be – better the devil you know. Or shoot him, motor car accident, that sort of thing. I’m rather inclined to let him be and have a case against him up our sleeve.”

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Sowerbutt's Hut

In a drafty army hut in Norfolk, Sergeant Sneed was sitting with a blanket over his legs at a walnut inlay desk that he had borrowed from the officers’ mess “for repairs”. Under the provisions of the Emergency Regulations, the hut was off-limits to everyone at the Camp, including the commanding officer.
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Sowerbutt's Haul

“Job well done, lads. Mr Sorbay will be pleased,” Spaghetti said. “Some interesting stuff. Couple of crates of Thompson machine-guns, machine parts, tools, copper wire, bales of rubber, boxes of wireless valves, ball-bearings, medical supplies, couple of boxes of silk underwear and some boots. Two hundred pounds and a few American dollars in Shapiro’s bag.”

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Sowerbutt's Evidence

The only evidence of the raid was a red-faced man, grunting and struggling to get loose from his chair. In their rush to flee, the workers had forgotten, deliberately or otherwise, their unpopular boss.

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Sowerbutt's Threat

"You can’t touch me, I’ve got powerful friends. Official friends.” The slap resounded around the office, Shapiro’s head jerking sideways with the mark of Spaghetti’s hand across his cheek. “You know what your friends can do, granddad. The cash-bag or I’ll cut you.”

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Sowerbutt's Dance

Running into Shapiro’s office, Spaghetti burst out laughing. Amid the swirls of smoke from a grenade, Shapiro, who was the spitting-image of Hercule Poirot from Agatha Christie’s mystery books, was doing a knees-up on his desk as Panda’s bike chain snaked after him. “Fun’s over, rope him and gag him.” 
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Sowerbutt's Fight

Spaghetti leapt down from the back of the Bedford MW lorry as it backed towards the dock inside Shapiro’s warehouse. Racing up the steps to the delivery office, he caught out of the corner of his eye Spano frog-marching a bewildered worker out of the warehouse. A single punch from One-Line floored another man who was swinging a crowbar. 
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Sowerbutt's Hurry

Bracken said. “We haven’t got much time, Sorbay. The sooner the Russkies get hold of the letter, the sooner they’ll entangle themselves with Jerry and the bombers will fly east. The Old Man is very worried about the effect of the Blitz on our war economy – and the British people, of course.”

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Sowerbutt's Bait

Bracken poured himself a flute of champagne. “The Brigadier tells me you have completed your odyssey across East Anglia raising the banner of Blackshirt resistance and you’ve seen Oswald Mosley, our Fuhrer-in-waiting.  Your Jerry friend has established his credentials, he is perfect bait."
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Sowerbutt's Memories

"I remember you at Cable Street, Sorbay, getting stuck into the Reds; the Met was a damned disgrace that day. Simon, the Home Secretary, didn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

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Sowerbutt's Gin

“You are a life-saver, Sorbay," Sir Oswald Mosley said. "As you can imagine Holloway doesn’t approve of alcohol; the women have a still around somewhere making some dreadful stuff. I was offered a bottle of potato gin or some such at a price."
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Sowerbutt's Cash

“What about Shapiro, guv?” Missionary asked. “Tie him up, don’t want him running off to the nearest telephone box. Smack him if you want to. Keep a lookout for his bag – follow his eyes. He keeps cash in it.”

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Sowerbutt's Weapons

“Some of us will carry shooters but only as a last resort. Bullets always attract the stoppers. Coshes, knuckles, knives and your chain, Panda."

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Sowerbutt's Bounty

"Load up as quickly as you can and scarper. The driver stays in the lorry at all times, engine running. High value stuff, you know what to grab."
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Sowerbutt's Blood

Nearby were a trestle table with a dark stain of dried blood on the top and a chair with cut lengths of rope attached to it. Spaghetti sniffed. “Whoever was sitting there pissed himself. Looks like Piper or perhaps Vershinin has been having some fun."
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Sowerbutt's Rats

A sudden rustling had both men crouching, their revolvers drawn. “Rats,” murmured Panda, peering at two fat specimens scurrying along a wall. Spaghetti whispered: “We’ll check out the ground floor and unbolt the side door and slip out if we can pick the lock. They’ll think it’s local lads on the scrounge if they notice.”

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Sowerbutt's Light

The only light was from the occasional flashes where the Luftwaffe bombers dropped their loads – tonight it was the turn of communities further east to suffer, Dagenham, Barking or Ilford.
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