Scrap 40

SCRAP 40
Frank has decided not to do any more car ringing because too many people are copying and cramping his style. Anyway, he gets bored with a project once it ceases to amuse him. He has cleared out the lock-up at the farm and is wondering whether or not to keep it on. He is concerned about his friend, Scotty, who seems to have got caught up in some very unsavoury dealings with Ray Cohen and his mob. He has tried warning him off but Scotty has always been a sucker for making easy money and will not listen. Trouble is, his love of easy money has landed him in prison before and it looks like he is heading back there.
Olav Merck has greased back on the scene, appearing at the club on Saturday nights and always with an entourage. Everyone knows he is a drugs dealer but because he is always splashing the cash he has become popular with the regulars and the local constabulary, who are said to be in his pocket. Frank doubts that all the cops are as crooked as the ones he has had dealings with but he has no intention of getting involved with any of it.
Scotty has given the cab driving a miss for tonight, and meets Frank and a few of the regulars at the bar. Merck and his men are sitting at a table by the ‘stage’ and Scotty raises his glass and nods towards them. Frank frowns at him. ‘They’re a bad lot,’ he warns, ‘if you’ve got any sense left in that head of yours you will steer well clear.’
Scotty downs his pint and orders another round. ‘Nothing for you to worry about Frank,’ he smiles, ‘just a bit of business.’ They turn their attention to the floor show, drinking in silence as some old bird belts out her version of some ‘Sixties Favourites,’ accompanied by a greasy looking bloke on an elaborate electronic organ.
The talent take a bow and disappear to a round of lukewarm applause. Frank is for once not in a chatty mood. Scotty tries to interest him in the latest scheme, which involves driving to Holland for a load of tomatoes and collecting special deliveries for Mr Merck. ‘There’s a grand in it for me,’ enthuses Scotty, ‘I can take the family on holiday to Marbella for a fortnight on that.’
Frank is not impressed. ‘You could also get six years in Her Majesty’s nick,’ he says. Scotty is rattled by Frank’s reluctance to join in with the venture. ‘What’s the matter with you lately?’ he asks. ‘You seem to have a downer on everyone these days.’
Frank has been assessing his life of late. He will be 30 years old in a few weeks and he doesn’t have much to show for his time on this Earth. Rosa has made it clear she can’t see him again, mostly because of his illegal activities, and his other amours have found more steady company. He is feeling decidedly jaded.
‘How did you get on with that other problem?’ asks Frank, diverting his eyes downwards. Scotty laughs, ‘I had a lucky break with that one. Two of the kids got nits at school so she blamed it on that.’ Frank shakes his head, ‘you’re a jammy so and so,’ he grins. Scotty may be a nutcase but he is a constant source of amusement. ‘I heard that The Turk’s taxis got done over. Don’t know anything about that do you?’ asks Ginger, who has been earwigging on the conversation. ‘I wouldn’t tell you if I did,’ says Scotty. ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with either of us.’
Ginger raises a warning finger, ‘your mate wants to tread carefully with that one,’ he says, ‘he has some very nasty acquaintances.’
‘Haven’t we all,’ says Frank. He orders another round, pointedly excluding Ginger, who slides away to speak with his policemen friends.