Two Faced (Harry Tyler Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

tattooist, is it dirty needles? Bottomless insists the fella is pukka and all the needles are sterilised. So they say if it ain’t a dirty needle it must be poofery, he’s obviously been lifting the shirt, and he gets the right hump about that. But they keep on and on about it until finally he says, “Hang on, I give the old lady one up the back every now and then, does that count?”’
    Harry and Potman were crying with laughter, even Noodles was doubled up. Ronnie slumped back in his bed, beaming.
    As the chuckles ebbed away, he looked at the Hell’s Angels anxiously.
    ‘Thanks for helping us the other day, lads. Did you get any repercussions?’
    ‘Nah,’ said Potman. ‘They didn’t know who we are. I don’t think Southall registers on the old North London radar.’
    ‘You never did tell me what your problem was.’
    ‘We are being burglarised,’ said Noodles, indignantly. ‘Us!’
    ‘We noticed a month ago that all the nice mag wheels from the scrap motors were going missing,’ said Potman. ‘Some cunt was having us over.’
    ‘So we had CCTV camera installised and started recording everything on a Betamax video in the hut,’ Noodles went on.
    ‘Days passed and nothing on film,’ said Potman.
    ‘Nix.’
    ‘So we decided we needed to hole up in the yard ourselves overnight, and we wanted a few more bodies as back-up, ’cos as you know it’s a big yard, not like your little toy-town hovel.’
    ‘Thanks, lads,’ said Ronnie sarcastically. ‘But surely you’ve got back-up over your way?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Potman. ‘But we can’t turn to someone like the Marley brothers, ’cos odds-on they’re the stinking arse-wipes with the sticky fingers.’
    ‘The Marleys, I know it’s the Marleys,’ Noodles said grimly. ‘Of all the impertinosity.’
    ‘Well,’ said Ron. ‘I’d like to help you fellas, but as you can see I’m a little tied up.’
    He paused. ‘Harry, on the other hand, could be just the job. Take the boy! I insist! He’s got fuck all else to do, and he won’t wanna work at Valley Metals with my brother Alf running the place while I’m in here. Miserable as a rat in a tar barrel, that bastard is.’
    Potman looked at Harry. ‘What do you say, son?’
    ‘Why the fuck not?’

SCRAPHEAP CHALLENGE
    September, 1986. Potman was showing Harry Tyler around the scrapyard he ran with Noodles near Southall in Middlesex. It was similar to Valley Metals but on a much larger scale. There were mountains of scrap in all directions, old fridges, clapped-out washing machines and row after row of cars, yesterday’s dream chariots now a wretched detritus of road crashes and abandoned vehicles. There were twisted wrecks and rusting hulks with dented bonnets and shattered windscreens as far as Harry could see in every direction.
    ‘See what I mean?’ said Potman. ‘The place is too big for two people to cover.’
    It had rained overnight but the sun was shining now, leaving little puddles of gasoline rainbows, littered with discarded dog-ends.
    Harry looked up at the sun.
    ‘Quite an Indian summer,’ he said.
    Potman grunted. ‘Well, there’s enough of ’em round here.’
    The big man was dwarfed by two leaning towers of car tyres as bald as Duncan Goodhew.
    ‘Yahoo, it’s me.’ A girl’s voice rang out.
    Harry looked over to see an attractive teenager dressed like a refugee from the Isle of Wight Festival: long floral dress, silver boots, huge hooped earrings, round John Lennon specs, an abundance of beads and wrists covered in cheap bracelets. She had a funny upturned nose and her freckled face peered out through a ruffled haystack of curling auburn hair.
    ‘Eggy.’ Potman grinned. ‘Say hello to Harry Tyler, he’s one of us. H, meet the company secretary.’
    Harry went to peck her cheek and the girl kissed him full on the lips, slipping a tongue mischievously into his mouth. That surprised him.
    Harry drew back and took a better look at her. Beneath the flower-child rags,