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I must have dozed off, the bottle still in my hand, and then woke suddenly as two people sat either side of me on the sofa. Beer makes for quick friends, and besides they were both very pretty. I turned to my left and clicked my bottle against hers, and the dark girl grinned and took a swig, raising her eyebrows in confirmation without saying anything.Turning to my right I discovered another smile. This one from a redhead, with a strip of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She'd tried to tie her wild hair back, but it was escaping, and the ginger mess was haloed in the light from the doorway. Bottle-clinking was repeated again, and just before I spoke, the voice on my left started."I'm Belinda." Hi." Or Billie. You can call me Billie if you like." I do like. Billie it is. Is your skin really that colour, or is it the light in here?" What light? You've been sitting here too long. It's fuckin' near black in here." I fell asleep, I think." Yeah." She smiled again. "I guess we. With a four inch barrel, that had fascinated him as a child. He loaded two bullets into the cylinder. The three men then went in search of Flapper, who was doing his rounds of pubs and barbers’ shops collecting betting slips. They met him just coming out of a newsagents, and fumbling to remove the silver foil from a packet of ten Woodbines. ‘Flapper, the Guv’ner wants another word. He sent us to fetch you back to him.’ Because he was being spoken to by a sixteen-year-old he had known all his life. Flapper gained a bit of confidence. Surely, he reasoned, the Guv’ner would not have sent him along if his two bruisers were going to work him over. The four men turned down the narrow alley between two crumbling terraces of back-to-back houses. They walked along the cobbled passage, with its central evil-smelling drainage channel, until they reached the middle. Anyone who saw the group, with its two brutal, middle-aged thugs, razor-scarred and fist-battered, turned away hastily and hurried.
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