Scrap 39

SCRAP 39
Danny has been emptying sulphuric acid from old car batteries and storing it in a huge glass container. Ray Cohen arrives to collect, safe in the knowledge that the transaction will not be recorded. ‘How are things with you?’ he asks, as Danny carefully loads the acid into a straw-lined box in the back of Cohen’s van. ‘We’re doing just great,’ smiles Danny, ‘and you never know, you may be hearing wedding bells in the not too distant future.’ Cohen has heard rumours of the impending announcement. He has quickly become acquainted with the new joint owner of the scrap yard and is keen to keep on his good side. ‘Congratulations then,’ he says, ‘Rosa is a lovely girl, and shrewd with it. You won’t find a better wife. It’s worked out well for both of you.’
Jason is lurking in the shadows and overhears this snippet of information. He seethes with hatred for the man who has so quickly taken over what his father and the rest of the family have spent so many years building. The cosier Danny has become, the more Jason feels he has been left out in the cold. There is something dangerous about the man and Jason would not trust him as far as he could throw him but he feels he is trapped until he can find a way out.
Danny has been having shady dealings with some very unsavoury men who arrive from Ireland without warning, carry out their secret business with ‘The Boss’ and disappear just as swiftly. Jason has learned not to ask questions but he is highly suspicious. Despite what his mother says, he is sure that his father had no time for the black-eyed Irishman. He cannot understand why Rosa would even consider marrying him, but then he never could understand the workings of a woman’s mind.
Cohen concludes his business and drives carefully off down the rutted road, intent on having revenge for the attack on his new Mercedes. Two can play at your game, Mister Turk.
Wednesday night in town is always quiet, so most of the taxis are parked up in Asif’s yard, giving the drivers their one night off in the week. Cohen’s men park up at the end of the road and walk briskly towards the yard, taking care to keep in the shadows as much as possible.
There is nobody about as Bob scrambles over the iron gate and helps his compatriot in. ‘Steady as you go, Sam,’ he warns, ‘don’t want to get any on our clothes.’
They silently work their way round the parked taxis, carefully dripping the acid as they go, until every one of the eight vehicles has been liberally dosed. The paintwork sizzles and bubbles as the corrosive agent gets to work. The men can’t help laughing as they imagine the look on the Turk’s face when he sees the state of his fleet in the morning.
They creep out unseen and drive to Cohen’s house to report that their mission has been accomplished. Cohen is very pleased with his boys; they will receive a hefty bonus in their wages at the end of the week.