8

THE SOUTH LONDON MOB

After a lot of discussion, both Tony and Jake decided it would be best to keep the reputation of the South London mob going. It would be good for business. After all, a lot of the pubs who paid them both were frightened of the idea that the South London mob would try and take over their pubs and demand they paid their protection money to them. If there was no South London mob boss, who would they fear? They needed Tony and Jake to keep the drug dealers and the trouble away from their front doors.

It seemed like a good idea, but they needed a front man, someone they could trust. They would also go and see Bennie. Jake felt Tony’s fondness for Bennie was strange considering he sold drugs. But Tony knew him differently. He’d been the local street cocaine dealer for years. All the prostitutes, including his mother, went to Bennie. But there were always the times when this man had given him a bag of chips or some money to buy food with. He was a good man all in all. Tony felt he could be trusted and wanted to pay him back for all of his kindness over the years now he was in a position to give Bennie and his associates their own patch to do their dealings on. Neither of them wanted to be associated with drugs, or the lowlifes they attracted.

There was a local pub not far from where Bennie did his dealing that they thought would be perfect. It would keep him away from the street corners and keep the other dealers and users in one place. It would be like some drug ghetto, all in one place.

One of the men that worked for Tony, and had for a while now, seemed like a safe bet to front the South London mob and act as boss. Obviously, he was an ex-con. The ex-cons had turned out to be as reliable as Tony had said they would be. Each and every one of them was glad of a second chance and someone showing some faith in them. It gave them self-respect.

Scottish Angus, or ‘Angry Angus’, as he had been known in prison, was a typical Scottish guy, with bright red hair. He was as tall as he was wide. His arms, neck and God only knew where else were covered in gruesome tattoos. Even the guys he worked with, whom he actually liked, were afraid of him. What was worse was, when he had a few whiskies too many, on his night off, they weren’t sure if his red face meant he was just drunk or if it was anger. Yes, he would be a good safe bet.

None of the men he worked on the doors with knew that he was a happily married man with a family, but the way he looked and the image he presented meant he had never been given the opportunity to be anything other than a petty thief and a fighter.