And then there was the funeral. Baby-face Col’s mum and dad were in bits as they followed, stumbling and crying behind the hearse bearing their youngest son up the road and into the church. COLIN was spelled out in red chrysanthemums beside the coffin. Col’s older brother Beezer trailed along beside his parents, his face blank with grief.

All the time the funeral went on, Charlie wouldn’t meet Terry’s gaze. The Bill had questioned them. The coppers knew they were dodgy and that Col and Beezer always hung around with Charlie and Tel. But they both denied all knowledge, and soon it blew over. Charlie, Terry, Beezer and the rest of the Charlie Boys didn’t go housebreaking any more though. They concentrated on bigger and better stuff around the manor. There was no more arsing around fencing gear or giggling in the backs of vans. Somehow, they’d lost their taste for petty thievery.

8

With housebreaking behind them, Charlie was looking for new avenues of interest and mugging was an easy deal for his mob of heavy-set lads. Him and Terry and three others started queer-bashing; they hung around the toilets and robbed the cottagers, knowing they wouldn’t ever report the incident to the police.

Then they tried football grounds and racecourses, confident of rolling over plenty of drunken punters with cash on the hip. Word of their activities was starting to spread, and soon Charlie and his mob were offered five hundred pounds to play minder to a rich bookie who’d had a few threats made against him.

This was great – easy money. They were still doing the club doors, Charlie being very careful to have some of his lesser-known lads start a hell of fight so that, when he turned up offering protection, the club owners nearly bit his arm off in their haste to take him up on his offer. Then, of course, Charlie would shove the owners out and take over.

So Charlie and Terry and the boys were doing all right. Dressing like film stars and dining out with lots of cash in their pockets. Beezer got morose sometimes and spoke about little Col, but Charlie reasoned that he had paid for the fucking headstone, what more could he be expected to do?

Life was sweet.

And soon, it was going to get even sweeter.

‘We got the clubs now, and the snooker halls, but what about the real meat?’ said Charlie.

‘Like what?’ asked Terry. Charlie was like a runaway train. His ambitions really did know no bounds.

‘All sorts,’ said Charlie. ‘Factories. Banks. Loan-sharking, even. Coin it on the interest. All right?’

‘All right,’ said Terry.

9