Scrap 37

SCRAP 37
Saturday nights are not the same without Scotty, and Dawn has him slaving away at the minicab firm Ray Cohen has just bought.
Ray says that Scotty doesn’t need a Hackney Carriage license because his work is classed as Private Hire. He has told Scotty he is not allowed to pick up fares on the street and cannot use the official taxi ranks so he has to sit in the office and wait until a call comes in or a customer attends the office.
This suits Scotty as the work is simple and he is meeting new people. It also means that Dawn is not nagging him about spending so much time with the likes of Frank Ridley. Also if he is working he can’t be wasting money on drink.
Asif the Turk, however, is not a happy man. He has been running Hackney Carriage taxis for 15 years and does not appreciate having his toes stood on by newcomers. He has already had two wedding cancellations this week. As soon as word got round that Ray Cohen had two brand new Mercedes for hire, business has started to suffer. Some of his drivers have reported seeing Cohen’s men picking up fares illegally, depriving them of their legitimate work. They are not happy either. Not only are they losing out on fares, but they are stuck driving Asif’s ancient London Cab Company cast-offs. Not for them the glamour of a new Mercedes. They resent the fact that they have had to go through all the red tape to gain their Hackney Carriage Licences while Cohen’s men have no responsibility save for the basic drivers licences.
Ray Cohen in a shrewd businessman. He has his hands in many and varied ventures, some shadier than others. He keeps himself to himself, pays good wages to those who know how to keep their mouths shut, and is not a man to be crossed. But is it possible to push a man too far, and Ray Cohen has been upsetting too many of the locals.
The public houses are closing for the night, punters rolling out into the cold air and feeling the effects of a heavy boozing session. Ray Cohen’s men just happen to be cruising the town, supposedly picking up pre-booked fares. They know they are touting and so do the official taxi drivers, but they can’t prove it.
Scotty picks up a group of women outside the Brewery Tap. They are all in high spirits and enjoy having a joke with their driver. He takes them to their destination, dropping them off at 3 different houses on the way to the last. They have each paid their share of the fare and the last woman gives him a generous tip and asks if he will walk her to her door as it is dark and she is somewhat unsteady on her feet.
Scotty is happy to oblige. He locks the cab door and escorts the woman to her door, helps turn the key in the lock and sees her inside. ‘Stay for a coffee,’ she offers. Scotty is not so sure. He looks back at the empty street and hesitates. The woman smiles encouragingly and he decides there is no harm in accepting an innocent cup of coffee.
Forty five minutes later, a dishevelled but cheerful Scotty gets back into the cab and drives towards the office. This job seems to have unexpected perks. He whistles to himself as he drives along. As he reaches the main road, the street lights pick out some strange marks on the bonnet of the car, which he has not noticed before. He wonders what they can be.
Nine o’clock Sunday morning and Dawn is enjoying a lie-in with Scotty when there is a loud hammering on the front door. She looks out the bedroom window to see Ray Cohen standing in the front garden, a look of rage on his face. She shakes Scotty back to life and he stumbles downstairs, opens the door and peers out. Cohen grabs him by the hair and drags him to the roadside. He pushes Scotty’s face down onto the bonnet of the car and growls: ‘what the fuck has happened here?’
Scotty pulls himself clear to inspect the damage. The paintwork on the bonnet has been stripped by some kind of chemical. ‘I don’t know,’ he protests, ‘nothing to do with me.’
Cohen glares at him, furious at the sight of the damage. ‘Didn’t you see who did this?’ he screams. Scotty assures him that he saw nothing, but it is now occurring to him that the generous tip he received from his last fare of the night may not have been as innocent as it seemed.