Scrap 44

SCRAP 44
Scotty and Frank have returned home from their week away loaded with cash, although Frank seems to have come out of the deal much better off than his colleague, having secured £1000 to Scotty’s £600, but then it was his idea and his contact so there are no hard feelings.
‘What are you going to spend all that money on?’ asks Scotty, as they sit at the bar of the Bay Club. ‘I reckon I’ll take the family to Spain for a proper holiday. Dawn’s been nagging me for ages for a foreign holiday and I reckon this lot will about cover it. You should come too Frank, the sunshine would do you good, maybe get rid of that cough.’
Frank already has plans for his stash. ‘No thanks,’ he says, ‘you can keep your foreign holidays. You wouldn’t get me on a plane if my life depended on it.’ Scotty laughs at him, ‘fancy you being afraid of flying,’ he says. ‘I’m not afraid of flying,’ argues Frank, ‘I’m afraid of crashing. Those things don’t look safe to me.’ There is no convincing him otherwise so Scotty changes the subject. ‘Anyway at least I won’t have to do any more taxi work, not since Dawn clocked the girl who works in the office. Always was the jealous type my Dawn.’ Frank raises his eyebrows, ‘I can’t imagine why,’ he muses.
The room is quickly filling up as the time approaches for the Saturday night cabaret, which for a change is someone they have actually heard of, although he is way past his best. Shame he is a Country and Western performer but they know most of his songs and he likes the audience to sing along and that usually puts them in a better mood. Also it makes the punters thirstier, so they buy more beer.
Ginger slides in and scans the room. Seeing Frank and Scotty at the bar he makes a bee-line for them. ‘Have you heard about Ray Cohen?’ he asks. The men say they have not, and Ginger relishes passing on the news. ‘Someone rang his doorbell last night and when he answered it he got an axe right in the middle of his forehead. He went down like a felled tree, so I was told. His missus called for an ambulance and they carted him off with the axe still embedded in his skull. They reckon it’s touch and go.’
‘Crikey, who would have done such a thing?’ asks a shocked Scotty. Ginger is happy to pass on the gossip, ‘they’re all saying it was the Turk; reckon they was having a turf war over the taxis and Cohen had all his cars dosed with acid after his Mercedes was done over. And the Turk has mysteriously gone missing. Some say he’s done a bunk back to Turkey but I reckon he’s holed up with one of his cousins in London. Nasty piece of work that bloke; you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’
Frank and Scotty agree that it is best to stay away from the likes of the Turk, but they wonder why Ginger has sought them out to tell them all the news. They soon find out. ‘You don’t know who it was poured the acid on those taxis do you?’ asks Ginger. The men do not reply, just glare at him and turn away. Ginger gives a satisfied grin and walks off in the direction of the gents, where no doubt he has arranged to meet one of his policeman friends.
The pals have lost their appetite for the evening’s entertainment and Frank suggests they move on to the Chinese in town for a quiet meal. He still has plenty of credit with Mr Lee for the two tons of onions he let him have. They need somewhere more private to discuss this one.