Sowerbutt's Body

“I owe you a pint, One-Line. That was close,” Panda said. “We’d better barrow the body down to The River first. Mr Sorbay doesn’t like loose ends left lying around.”

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Sowerbutt's Bullet

One-Line pushed Panda violently to one side, catching a glimpse of a revolver pointing round the side of a building. The first bullet hit the ex-docker squarely in the head, the second in his chest. Blood spattered across the ground as he fell backwards. The sound of running footsteps could be heard from the alleyway.

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Sowerbutt's Vengeance

A roaring giant filled the alleyway, arms flailing. One of the ex-dockers went down for the count with a single blow. The ginger-haired man became a rag-doll in One-Line’s hands and was thrown, shouting and kicking, through the window of a derelict building.
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Sowerbutt's Armour

The fist came out of nowhere, landing on Panda’s chest, its impact blunted by the shotgun hidden under his leather coat. “Dear God,” the ginger-haired man shouted, wringing his hand. “What have you got under there, you bastard? A suit of armour.”

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Sowerbutt's Convention

Bracken said: “You will recall, sir, that the leadership of the Chartists was arrested in 1848 and the protests petered out. A network of police spies had done its work. We can go one better – we have one of the leaders of the People’s Convention in our pocket."
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Sowerbutt's Friend

"Your brothel-keeper friend, Brendan, was a Blackshirt. I like him, he gets things done unlike half of our commonplace Cabinet,” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Mob

“A mob baying for blood on the streets of London, you say Brendan,” Churchill growled as he paced the Cabinet Room, clouds of cigar smoke following in his wake. “We are trying to win a world war, not deal with an insurrection on the home front."
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