The Grass Trail by AA Abbott

Author:AA Abbott [Abbott, AA]
Language: eng
Format: E, P, U, B
Publisher: Perfect City Press
Published: 2017-07-08T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15.

JERRY

On their return from Bruges the day before, Jerry and Scott had parked the white Transit in Jerry’s lock-up. They hadn’t bothered emptying the van, except for the crate of strong lager they split between them. The result was a Saturday morning hangover for Jerry, requiring plenty of coffee and cigarettes to restore his usual sunny nature. Once he felt human again, he, Scott and their cargo of booze headed for the Stow. It was just after eleven.

Dave, the first pub’s landlord, had told his regulars they were on the way. The bootleggers did a roaring trade, paying Dave a hundred pounds from their takings. With a third of their stock gone, they set off for the next destination.

Scott didn’t seem convinced they’d receive Bobby’s promised warm welcome. “Look at the carpark,” he grumbled, as Jerry turned the van into it. “Just a few old bangers, innit. That Volvo estate is so elderly, you wouldn’t even nick it.”

“Can I have a hubcap for my Volvo? Yep, that’s a fair swap,” Jerry mocked. “No worries, mate – whatever’s left, we can sell in Ilford.” It was his standard contingency plan, putting out the word to his network of friends and family, and sometimes a few of their fellow West Ham supporters. They achieved higher prices that way, but selling in small quantities took longer and was more of a gamble. You had to be careful who you approached. The Arsenal fans living next door were right out; one dissatisfied customer, and the Old Bill were on to you.

Leaving Scott to open the back of the van, Jerry entered the pub through its heavy swing door.

Bobby, tall and swarthy, was polishing glasses behind the bar. “We open for lunch in five minutes,” he said, before recognising Jerry. “Oh, it’s you. I’ll let my mates know you’re here.”

“Where are they?” Jerry asked.

“Over there.” Bobby gestured to a table in the farthest corner of the building. Around it were seated half a dozen or so men. Mostly young, they bore a certain physical resemblance to him; they could conceivably be his brothers or cousins.

The group’s table was empty of drinks. Jerry felt predatory stares upon him. As he turned back to Bobby, the landlord’s hand shook, dropping a glass. It smashed into several jagged pieces.

An alarming image of vampires floated into Jerry’s mind. “We’ll come back later when you’ve got a few more customers,” he said.

“It won’t be necessary,” Bobby said. “They’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

Jerry nodded non-committally, returning to the car park. He found Scott rearranging their stock. There were a couple of boxes of spirits on the tarmac, while crates of pricier lagers had been left just within the Transit; the cheap stuff was behind it.

“I don’t like this set-up,” Jerry said, still uneasy. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before Scott could say a word, he pub door swung open, and several of Bobby’s friends raced out at once. “Blimey, they’re keen,” Scott observed.

“Look again,” Jerry shouted, slamming the Transit’s rear doors shut.

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