The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

understanding. The cops understood that the Ned was full of the pride of South London thievery and “pharmaceutical distributors”, and the pub regulars understood that the Filth could do fuck all about it. The two sides were like matter and anti-matter, kept from meeting explosively by the greasing of palms and force of habit. It was far easier for the boys in blue to nick the odd knobhead for possessing a gram of Chas a few miles down the road. That’s how it had been for two years now.
    It’s how it would have stayed if Pyro Joe had listened to his brain, i.e. Johnny, and left “the skaggy slut” alone, but Joe had a bee in his bonnet about Sean Irvine. The bloke was a liberty-taker . He owed them 750 notes. Why couldn’t Johnny see that made them look weak? If the word got round that the Brothers were going soft, North London would try and move in faster than Bill Clinton could whip out his dick on new intern day. No one could be seen to owe the Brothers.
    Irvine had been a good screwsman in his day – you may have seen his handiwork on
Crimewatch
– but his cocaine addiction had messed up his head. Everybody knows that a
£
750 Charlie debt is best paid quick to people you owe, but likewise those who crave the sweet stuff develop a different set of priorities. Sean Irvine had made a monkey that morning from shifting snide Hackett jumpers and
£
500 would see him sorted for booze and Chas all weekend. Unfortunately, before he had a chance to spend it, Sean got a tug from Old Bill for a little bit of drumming. He was sitting in the boob at Maidstone police station when Joey Baker forced his way in to his flat, brutally slapped his wife Shirley to the floor and booted her hard in the belly. Sean had no idea he had just become the ex-father of his first son.
     
     
    David and Tony O’Shea, Shirley’s brothers, had been promising amateur middleweights in their day. David, the younger of the two, had fought professionally as “The Tasmanian Devil” for a few months until he realised crime paid better. The O’Sheas were semi-faces and regular drinkers in the Ned, well acquainted with the Brothers’ reputation and aware of their lowly position in the pecking order. But hearing that your “skaggy slut” sister has been hurt and has lost her baby has a tendency to make even the smallest of big brothers feel a little put-out.
    “Are you sure it was Joey?” David asked the sobbing Shirley for the third time.
    “I couldn’t mistake that ugly fucker, could I?”
    “Was JT with him?” asked Tony.
    “No, he was on his own.”
    “Where’s Sean?” said David.
    “Fuck knows. I never want to see that bastard again.”
    “We’ll deal with that cowson later,” said Tony. “Dave, we’ve got to speak to Johnny Too. That cunt has gone too far this time.”
    “Speak?” Dave snapped. “SPEAK? You’re having a fucking laugh.”
    “David,” Tony said sternly. “Do not do anything stupid. I can sort this. We do not need warfare with the Bakers. I will talk to Johnny. Nothing will bring the baby back, but we can get Joey reigned in and make sure Shirl is safe. If you wanna fight, hunt down that no good bastard, Sean, all right? Now, promise me you’ll stay away from Pyro. All right?”
    David O’Shea said nothing.
     
     
    Slobberin’ Ron Sullivan eyed Dougie The Dog suspiciously. He didn’t like the fella. He was too flash, too mouthy and too quick with his fists. He ate like a pig, too. But Doug was family to his bosses, so Slobberin’ Ron swallowed his contempt. Ron suspected Doug was the reason Leslie wasn’t at work today, but it was midweek and the Ned wasn’t busy … only about sixteen people in. Pyro Joe was sitting quietly at the bar sipping Red Bull and vodka and chopping out a fat line of cocaine when David “Tasmanian Devil” O’Shea crashed through the door, a two-foot lump of scaffolding pole in his hand, and charged right at him, bringing the tool smashing down towards Joey. The big man