From the book -
The Cherry Pickers
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Sump and Three Rats

You could tell by the way Spotty was poring out his Guinness that he was really going to enjoy it. He slowly poured the dark black liquid down the edge of the glass, making sure not to put to much of a head on it. Then he looked at it for a moment, picked it up, put it to his lips and took a long drink.

Suddenly, much to everyone's surprise he instantly spat it out, all over Sprag, Joe and me.

" Bloody hell!!!" shouted Joe jumping up off his seat.

" What the !."

" Spottyyy."

After a quick session of cursing and wiping down with cloths borrowed from Arthur the barman, we all glared at Spotty for an explanation.

Spotty apologised but declared that the drink he had so lovingly pored out was not Guinness and he was so much looking forward to it.

Sprag ask him what he meant it was not Guinness we had seen him pour it out, it said Guinness on the bottle. Spotty did not care what it is was it was on the bottle it was not Guinness, he held it out for us to taste, Sprag slowly took a small sip.

" Ugh!!" yelled Sprag spitting into an empty glass and declaring that it was horrible and that there must be something wrong with it.

We all gingerly took a smell and very small taste of the suspect Guinness. It tasted like stagnant swamp water. Not that I am an expert on stagnant swamp water but I do know Guinness when I taste it and this was not Guinness.

Spotty called Arthur the barman. Arthur came through into our part of the bar from the other room wondering what we were making a lot of noise about. Spotty ask him what he had been doing to his Guinness as it had gone off.

Arthur told him not to talk rubbish it can't go off. Spotty ask him to taste it then handing him the glass of what was supposed to be Guinness.

Arthur sniffed then dipped his finger in it and licked his finger declaring that it was disgusting.

Arthur reached under the counter and got another bottle of Guinness out, he popped the top off and slowly poured it out into a clean class. Arthur said he could only apologise he had never come across that before it must be some sort of freak or a dirty bottle. He gave Spotty the new drink, putting the glass of Guinness down in front of Spotty.

This time Spotty did not take a big mouthful, he very gingerly put the glass to his lips and took a small, a very small sip. Spotty spat into an empty glass.

Spotty looked at Arthur asking what he had been doing to it, this one is as bad as the first, it must have been dragged up from the bottom of the canal. That is most peculiar said Arthur dipping his finger in it and then licking his finger, most odd.

Arthur got another bottle, opened it and poured it out into another glass. He pushed it towards Spotty.

Spotty did not want to be the guinea pig this time and pushed the glass towards me. I declared that they can not all be bad, picked up the glass and sniffed at it gingerly. It had a good head, did not smell funny, even so I only dipped my tongue in it slowly. " Ugh." I said spitting. " What the hill is it. It tastes like burnt rubber."

Arthur thought we were playing a joke on him because they could not all be bad as it was a fresh delivery yesterday. He grabbed the glass and took a big drink. Half choking he spat the mouthful all over the bar counter, shouting something like "Zebras stripes.", pausing only to rinse his mouth out with a mineral water.

Arthur looked at the glass wondering what the devil was the stuff it tasted like diesel oil. Spotty pointed out diesel oil did not have a frothy head. There was one thing for certain declared Arthur it was not Guinness.

If any one had entered the bar in the following hour they would have thought that we had all gone stark raving bonkers. We were all sat round the bar as bottle after bottle was opened tried spit out and rejected as rubbish. They all tested disgusting varying in taste from old dish water to engine sump old, although I personally have not tried sump oil.

Crate after crate was tried and not a single one was any good.


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" I'll have those bastards." shouted Mr Greenfield.

Mr Greenfield was the owner of the Pumpkin and Cattlegrid, the establishment we had unfortunately chosen for our quick lunchtime drink. Arthur had fetched Mr Greenfield as the extent of the Guinness problem started to become apparent. As each bottle was opened and rejected Mr Greenfields anger grew worse.

Joe offered me a sandwich I took one passing the plate to Spotty. Arthur had made a large plate of ham sandwiches because by now everyone was beginning to feel somewhat sick after tasting the bad Guinness on empty stomachs.

Mr Greenfield was pacing up and down the room shouting he would kill the people responsible, declairing they were trying to drive him out of business, it could ruin his reputation. He was furiously swishing a riding crop about in the air he had grabbed this from its usual position on a hook over the fireplace and he was swishing at anything that looked as if it would not answer back. We could only be thankful that he had not grabbed the sword that had been hanging on the wall just over the riding crop.

" Well dump it all back at them, that's what we'll do." shouted Mr Greenfield giving a stuffed Mallard a whack with the riding crop. " Demand compensation and an apology how dare they sell this rubbish, I want an explanation." Swish, crash, a sign expounding the virtues of Grants whisky went crashing to the floor behind the bar counter. " Somebody could have drunk that stuff."

" Somebody did." said Spotty. " Me."

" We'll show them won't we." said Mr Greenfield looking round at us like a general addressing his troops.

I did not quite like the way that Mr Greenfields problem had suddenly become a problem for all of us. However after a bottle of whisky had been shared around to settle stomachs, we all agreed to load the creates of rotten Guinness onto his van a help him deliver it back to his suppliers.

On the way we stopped in Eppingly by Fing to buy fish and chips, we also stopped just outside Sodburry Loon for Joe and Spotty to be sick.

" !!!*** ??? you ** robbing ??? ** !!! of ** I should ??? with you !!!!** ruddy beer you can ***:::"

I dread to think what this explosion of words sounded like in the managers office, we were all sitting in the van across the courtyard and we could hear every word. Mr Greenfield was really laying into depot manager in language I only thought sailors used.

" ### your *** with ** and I can only hope *** ??? !!!!! !!!!."

We had arrived at the supply depot and dumped the thirty or so crates of the rotten Guinness outside the main office. Mr Greenfield had gone in to see the depot manager and had been shouting at him now for fifteen minutes.

On our arrival at the depot it had been a hive of activity, people moving about, people stacking things, loading lorries and generally being busy. Now the noise emanating from the managers had focused everyones attention on the small office, everything had come to a standstill. Everybody was just looking in the direction of the office, listening to the stream of abuse and threats that was echoing round the yard from the small building.

Although I had only met Mr Greenfield a few times in the Pumpkin and Cattlegrid I had always thought of him as a very mild mannered man. I cannot imagine where he had learnt such language. A door slammed and there was the sound of breaking glass, Mr Greenfield came storming out from the managers office and towards the van.

Joe suggested we lock all the doors of the van until he had calmed dawn a bit, Spotty thought however the mood he was in he would rip the roof of the van off to get at us. Perhaps we should all jump out the other side of the van and hide I suggested and then take the bus home later. I was too late the van door opened. I feel a lot better now said Mr Greenfield getting into the van, that told him, a good shout does the system good once in a while.

Joe not being one noted for his tact ask him where he had learnt to swear like that. Four years convoy duty in the north Atlantic during the war said Mr Greenfield, giving what amounted to a succinct and complete answer to the question.

Arthur started up the van asking what we do now go home. Mr Greenfield had other ideas, as this depot was only a staging post, the actual suppliers must be some one else and Mr Greenfield wanted to know who that was.

If Mr Greenfields guess was right, the manager would come rushing out his office and get that Guinness loaded onto a lorry and take it round to who ever dumped him with it. If this sort of thing got round nobody would want to be supplied by this place.


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Sure enough a few moments later the manager came out of his office and started shouting at people, soon a large lorry was being loaded up with the crates of duff Guinness we had dumped outside his office.

We drove our van out of the yard and parked in the street opposite the main gates of supply depot.

" We will fallow them and find out where this stuff really came from." said Mr Greenfield.

" Shouldn't that be a job for the police." said Spotty rather sensibly.

" Where's your sense of adventure." said Mr Greenfield.

" Haven't you read about the Untouchable's." said Spotty. " We could be getting mixed up in some Al Capone type of gang warfare here."

There was no time Mr Greenfield to reply Spottys rather reasonable, I thought, observation, because the large lorry pulled out of the depot being driven by the depot manager.

" That's him." said Mr Greenfield. " Get after him."

Spottys untimely mention of gangsters however meant that my thoughts were now filled with pictures of the gangster car chases as I had seen in the films, cars going round corners on two wheels machine guns blazing.

Thoughts on the possible outcome of a hairy street chase by two beer lorries was quickly tempered by reality, as it quickly became apparent that the large fully loaded lorry in front of us could not do more than about forty miles an hour, and its acceleration would have disgraced even a tortoise.

We should have been able to follow the depot lorry quite easily, but Mr Greenfield had not reckoned with Arthur's driving technique. This includes little variations of the highway code, like not reading road signs, ignoring all other traffic on the road, taking short cuts across traffic islands and looking in the wrong direction when turning corners.

Even with this somewhat erratic driving we might have been able to keep up with the depot lorry if Mr Greenfields van had been anything better than a scrapyard candidate. Every time Arthur put his foot down on the accelerator there was a cloud of blue smoke which filled the van and half the street behind us. When he hit the breaks suddenly there was the sound of metal things falling off and hitting the road.

The depot lorry was gradually getting further and further away from us, it was clear we would never be able to catch up with it, especially when it got to the open road. Suddenly without warning we were right behind the it. It had been stopped by a man with a big red stop sign, some men were digging up the road.

" Bugger this." said Mr Greenfield opening the van door and making to get out.

" Where do you think you're going." said Arthur.

" We'll never keep up with them in this old heap." said Mr Greenfield. " I'm going to hide in the back of their lorry."

" Don't be stupid." said Joe. " With your gamey leg you'll fall over before you get to the lorry let alone jump up four feet up to get into it."

" I agree with Joe." said Arthur. " Forget it."

" You've got to be young and fit for that sort of job." said Joe. " I'll go." with that Joe hopped out the van and made toward the other vehicle.

" Try and keep up best you can." I said before following Joe.

I banged the door of the depot lorry shut just as it started to pull away. Through a small hole in the rear door I could see a huge bellowing cloud of blue smoke as Mr Greenfields van tried to follow.

" What are you doing here."said Joe.

" Someone has to look after you." I said.

" I don't believe you."said Joe.

" I thought it would be a dam sight safer in hear than in that van with Arthur driving." I said.

" Now that I can believe."said Joe.


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We rattled along at a fair old pace without stopping so we must have reached the open country but where we were going nether of us knew. Suddenly we went round a particularly sharp corner and over a large bump and the rear door to the van burst open. Suddenly I found my self staring straight at the tarmac road and it was racing past my eyes at forty miles an hour two inches away from my nose.

I had been leaning on the door when it burst open. With one hand holding onto the half open door and my feet in the van, I was in a somewhat precarious position. Joe grabbed the back of my coat and pulled me in. We banged the door shut. Nether of us leaned on the doors again.

The Sump and Three Rats is situated at the end of a very dark and narrow ally. It is not the sort of place one goes into voluntarily, frequented as it is by rivet spitting boiler makers, ex boxers and wheel tappers. The one eyed black cat that lives there is known to have killed at least three stray dogs who had the misfortune to wander down the ally. The last dog was rumoured to have been a five foot high wolf hound.

Of course you can not believe all the stories you hear about a place, most of them are probably not true. Well only based loosely on some quite innocent event, this could account for the some of the odd bodies that occasionally seem to be found in there. I had never been near the place let alone in it and in fact I had never given the place much thought. Which is why I found it most piacular that when I opened my left eye.

I knew straight away that I was in The Sump and Three Rats!

It might have been the dirty cobwebbed covered beams on the ceiling, or the strange grimy oil lamp hanging down from a hook on one of the beams. It could have been the one eyed black cat I could just see out of the corner of my eye, but mostly I think, it was the six fat dirty unshaven faces staring down at me. It was as if I was at some Frankenstein look a like competition. Every type of ugliness was there, one eye, broken nose, toothless, gormless. I closed my eye quickly, I decided to open the other eye on the basis that this was only a one eye nightmare.

I slowly opened the other eye. The view was the same, well almost the same it was two and a half inches to the right.

" I think he's coming round." someone said.

" Here give him this." another voice said.

A huge arm the size of a tree trunk slid under my shoulders and lifted me into a sitting position. Another hand appeared and held a glass to my lips.

" Here drink this." said a deep rough voice close to my left ear.

I took a gulp of the liquid.

A bolt of lightning shot through my head and into my stomach as the neat whisky shocked my system into full alert.

" Ouooooo griefs." I said as a thumping pain stabbed at the back of my head. I tried putting my hand up to feel my head but couldn't, my arm hurt when I tried to move it.

" Don't try to move." the deep voice said again.

" What happened." I said.

" Would you believe you fell off the back of a lorry." said a large chap with a bald head.

" Oh no." I said and slumped backward prevented from rolling back again onto the floor by the tree trunk arm. A pain shot through the back of my head.

" Come on we'd better get him into bed." said the bald man." Then we'd better get doc here."

Several pairs of large hands gently lifted me as if I were as light as a feather duster. I seemed to float up some stairs and into a ornate room. They put me down on a large bed with a red cover. That was all I remembered before the room started spinning and I blacked out.

I was dreaming about being a small boy and my mother was singing a soft Irish lullaby, I could almost here her lovely soft voice. I was being carried away on the soft rhythm of the words, then suddenly I began to wonder why my mother was singing an Irish lullaby, she was not the remotest bit Irish. I opened my eyes and the singing was still there. I was not dreaming.

I turned my head slowly towards the singing, there was a handsome looking woman sitting next to the bed, softly singing while she did some sowing on a dress she had folded on her lap. She stopped singing when she heard me move.

" Well hello." she said looking at me. " You're still in the land of the living then."


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" I..." I croaked, the back of my head started thumping again. My head felt funny, I tried to lift my arm, but that was bandaged firmly to my side. I tried the other arm, that was free, it appeared my head was bandaged.

The lady poured a glass of water and put it to my lips telling me to have a sip as she imagined my throat would be as dry as the desert, she added I was not to worry its only water this time. I took several small sips as she held the back of my head up.

I managed to croak where am I, she put my head down on the pillow. She smiled with a lovey broad grin telling me that if I must know I was in her bed. She had a lovely lilting Irish accent. I tried to ask where abouts was her bed, trying to put on a jolly voice, but it was herd to talk. She confirmed my first impression when I first came round, it was in the Swashpit and Saddle, it seemed I had been there for over a day and a half. I tried to lean up saying people would be worried. She pushed me gently down onto the bed telling me not to fret myself as my friend Joe had been round and knew where I was.

" Did I hear somebody mention my name." said Joe poking his head around the door.

" Well speak of the devil." said the lady.

" How's the wounded soldier." said Joe entering the room. " I've brought you some grapes."

" Grapes." I said. " That's not like you."

" I would have brought you a crate of beer." said Joe. " But any one who can get them selves laid up in bed over a pub doesn't need me to supply them with ale."

The lady got up as Joe came in the room saying she would leave us too to have a chat while and she went to fetch some food as I must be starving by now, she was right about that.

As Joe sat down on the chair I ask him how he knew I was here, it seemed that he saw me fall out of the speeding lorry and just before the lorry took Joe out of sight he saw four blokes pick me up and carry me towards the Swashpit and Saddle.

I told Joe I did not half ache all down my side, he said it was a wonder I had not killed myself, it appeared I had not even broken anything. Spoilt my chances of joining the royal ballet as lead dancer I pointed out. Although Joe told me not to give up hope they still want someone for the back end of the horse at christmas. I always knew I would end up in the end.

Joe had in fact found out where they were taking that counterfeit Guinness, it was the Blackstone brewery which was not far from where I was laying. The lorry had stopped at the gates and Joe had managed to nip out, as the door of the lorry was open, as well I knew, so no one had discovered that we had followed them which was one good thing.

The door of the room opened and the irish lady came back in carrying a tray overflowing with food.

" This looks like my kind of place." said Joe.

" It's not for you." said the lady. " It for the young man here."

" I don't know if I can eat anything." I said.

" Of course you can." she said putting the tray down on a side table. " Now you clear off." she said to Joe. " While he has something to eat and make sure your are back here at six o clock."

" Six." Joe got up and let the room with a salute to me.

" I'll have to help you." said the lady when Joe had gone. " You won't be able to cut your food with only your left hand, and don't be fretting I'm a trained nurse."

I ate more than I thought I would, then slept most of the afternoon only waking when the rays of the afternoon sun crept across my pillow. Everything was very quiet. I remembered the lady saying to Joe that he had to be back at six o clock and wondered why she had been so precise about the time. I did not even know what time it was as I could not see a clock any where in the room.

I sat up a little bit and had a look around, it was a very ornate room. The walls were covered with a deep red flock wallpaper with a swirl leaf pattern, there was a large wardrobe on the opposite wall, it had rosewood panels with a flower motif made out of different coloured wood inlay. Beside the wardrobe was a full length mirror in a stand that allowed it to tilt. A dressing table stood on the wall near the window, this was similar to the wardrobe and had three mirrors, a row of small draws sat at the back of the dresser top. All about the room there were examples of embroidery, little mats on the dresser, wall hangings, even the quilt on the bed looked as if it had been hand stitched.

I could only see sky out of the window, the thick red velvet curtains were half drawn. I half dozed as the light from the window began to fade.

From my half sleep I shaken into consciousness by footsteps in the passage outside the room, the door opened and a large bald headed man looked in, it was the one of the fellows I had seen in the bar the day before. As I blinked at him he simply commented that I was awake then and proceeded to open the door and bring two chairs in.

I ask him what the time was and he told me it was about six o clock, I wondered what the chairs were for as another man brought in two more. It appeared they were for a meeting. I then thought I had died in my sleep because the bald man said 'didn't Angel tell you. My look of surprise prompted him to explain that Angel was the name of the Irish girl who had been looking after me.

I ask what this was all about but was told Angel would explain when everyone arrived. There was the sound of talking and people coming down the passage, a few moments later Angel came into the room carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cups on it, Joe and Mr Greenfield followed.


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Still half asleep I ask what was happening and mr Greenfield explained that he did not think I would want to miss out on all the action in the beer wars and as I could not be moved they thought they would all come to me. I picked up on the phrase beer wars, this sounded as if things were getting a little out of hand. Mr Greenfield thought the word was interesting.

Everyone sat down as Angel poured coffee for us all. I pointed out that if Mr Greenfield called this interesting I would hate to be around during one of his disasters.

" It's just such a coincidence." said Mr Greenfield.

" What is." I said.

" That you should end up here." said Mr Greenfield.

" I fell out of the back of a lorry." I said.

" Ah, of course you don't know do you." said Mr Greenfield.

" Know what." I said.

" Well background." said Mr Greenfield. " Perhaps Joe had better take up from when you fell out the lorry."

Joe slurped some of the coffee Angel had just handed him and started to explain what had happened.

Joe had thought I had killed myself when he saw me fall out the back of the lorry and crack my head on the road. As Joe had said before, he saw four blokes pick me up and carry you into The Sump and Three Rats here. The lorry had stopped at Blackstone Brewery not far from the pub, when the lorry stopped for the main gate to be opened Joe quickly nipped out. Nobody knew he had been there. Joe then ran back here to find out what had happened to me. Joe paused while Angel handed round cups of coffee to the rest of us.

When Joe arrived the doctor was sticking me together so Joe had a much needed drink in the bar downstairs. That was when the coincidences started piling up. It seem that Queball, the bald gentleman sitting next to him, worked at the very brewery we had trailed the fake Guinness to.

Its like fate brought us here smiled Mr Greenfield. In that case I muttered I have got a bone to pick with this fate chappie.

Joe thought Queball ought to continue the story from here as there was no point him telling it second hand.

The bald man pulled his chair closer to the bed and lent forward, as if what he was about to say was in the strictest confidence. He repeated that it was most odd that we should come there. It seems he and Teashop the other chap sitting with us worked at the Blackstone Brewery until last week when they were fired, the last of the old gang.

Old gang I thought this is beginning to sound like an old Al Capone movie.

Queball explained they were not gang in that sense they were part of a work gang at the brewery.

The Blackstone brewery had been in operation for about a eighty years, they had been there for twenty, it was a good place and most of the workers had been there a long time. It was like a large family everyone helping to make the place go. The old boss was marvellous and looked after his workers. Nine months ago the old man died. It was then this fellow Wright Snike moved in and bought the place or something, it was some kind of fiddle with company shares.

The man had got the appropriate name said Queball, he really is a snike in the grass. Snike was not interested in his workers or the quality of the beer, all he wanted was as much money as he could get with as little effort as possible. All the old boys left one by one and were replaced with cronies just like himself. It was apparently one of these cronies that reckoned he could brew Guinness and sell it at a vast profit and that no one would know.

I looked at Queball telling him he must be Joking if it was as bad as the stuff we tasted no one would buy it. But apparently it was not that bad, they had been brewing it for about five months. That last batch was sabotaged by Queball and Teashop just before we finally left, they tipped five gallons of engine oil into the brew hoping someone would notice and get Snike clapped in jail.

I ask why he had not been rumbled untill now. I was Teashop who told us that there were suspicions, the Inland revenue and the police are watching, but no one can get any evidence. I ask why Queball and Teashop did not go to the police as what thy knew evidence must be evidence. Queball smiled a toothless smile saying the police would not take anything they said as being any kind of useable evidence.


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I wondered about all the complaints on this last batch of rotten Guinness but it appeared that we were early, it usually took about ten days for people to get round to using the fresh stocks. We drink allot of Guinness at our pub. Mr Greenfield wondered why we could not just let the Customs and Excise people know what was happening and when they were brewing this Guinness so they could raid the place.

Queball told us they had tried that but because the brewery also deals in real Guinness there was always some excuse and no hard evidence. Teashop thought they ought to burn the place down and was quite willing to be the one who lights the match, it did seem on the face of it like the only way they were going to get this Snike out of business.

Mr Greenfield suggested that he probably got some way out of that, he would just collect the insurance and make a fortune, you could guarantee the place will be over insured, we would probably be doing him a favour.

Angel who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room doing some sewing looked up at me and quietly said. " You know it takes a rat to fight a rat ."

" I don't see what you're getting at." said Queball scratching his bald head.

" I think I do." I said sitting up in bad. " That gives me an idea, Queball do you still have any mates down at the brewery, any one driving the lorries who you can still trust."

" Two for definite." said Queball.

" Mr Greenfield do you know all the local pub owners where this rotten beer would have been delivered."

" Most of them I think." said Mr Greenfield. " We all know each other and get on quite well, why what on your mind."

" I've got to think this out fully." I said." But for starters here's what I want you to do."

It took me just over a week to fully recover from my injuries and during that time I had people running all over town, making plans, getting things organised and collecting strange items, I felt like Napoleon. Mr Greenfield was being especially nice as he felt somewhat responsible for my injuries, I mean really nice, to the extent of having my flat decorated while I was out of it.

Joe did not like it at all but Mr Greenfield thought it was brilliant, magic was Queballs only comment. Angel liked it, she thought it had got style.

We were sitting round a large table in The Sump and Three Rats, everyone was there, me, Joe, Mr Greenfield, Queball, Angel, the Frankenstein fan club and the beer lorry drivers. This was the master briefing before the mission, it was all go or abandon the plan now. There was no point in putting the plan to any kind of vote there was not a single person in the room who did not want Snipe and his associates get their comeuppance.

" Synchronise watches." said Joe.

" Quarter past two."

" Half past four."

" Twenty to nine."

" That's close enough." I said.

" Are there any doubts." said Mr Greenfield.

Nobody spoke.

" In that case." He said. " A toast to success."

We all raised our glasses of champaigne poured especially for this occasion, we all echoed his statement. " Success."


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I felt like a right idiot, Joe told me to stop complaining after all it was my idea. We were both dressed in old suits borrowed from Mrs McKenzey who runs the local second hand shop in Persevel Street, we had also been made up by Jane Aspuerry who runs the local amateur dramatic society. I was supporting a large mustache and Joe a goatee beard, with slick down hair and dark glasses we looked a right pair of spivs, even Mr Pepperday would not have recognised us, which was of course the general idea of it all.

We were sitting in the back of a black nineteen twenties Rolls-Royce, courtesy of Major Peter Stanley, it slowly came to a halt outside the South Sea Island nightclub. It was ten o clock in the morning the place was closed, we knew however we would be observed. Me and Joe got out of the back of car very confidently and went straight up to the main door. Ignoring the, closed please ring sign, I opened the door and went straight in.

We were immediately confronted by a huge animal about the size of a blue water elk which had some how managed to squeeze into a dinner jacket. It grunted at us that they were closed, it had been eating pickled onions. Trying not to wilt under the breath of this creature I told it we had come to see Edd. The elk said he was not in but I insisted saying we were expected. The elk grunted then turned round and moved across the empty and dimly lit nightclub floor to a room at the back. The door to this room was slightly open. The elk pushed the door open and stuck his big head in shouting that there were a couple of blokes here say you were expecting them, shall I kick em out.

There was a small man with grey hair and horn rim glasses sitting behind the desk, he was busy entering columns of numbers in ledgers from papers scattered over the desk. He looked up, without saying a word he flicked the air with his pen and the animal backed away ushering us into the room. The little man looked at us for a while, I was glad the only light in the room was coming from his desk light I did not feel too confident in our disguises.

" Well." he said.

" Eddie Slockdeck." I said.

" Close the door." said Eddie.

" We're speaking for Mr Snike as you know." I said.

" I know." said Eddie.

We had contacted Slockdeck before this meeting offering a somewhat shady but profitable deal. We said we were from Snike of the brewery and that he has a small but regular surplus of Guinness and that Snike was wondering if he could perhaps supply Slockdecks group of nightclubs, at a suitable discount. I tried to sound villainous.

Eddie looked at us for long moment, I began to winder if my moustache was slipping or something, the moment dragged on. It was hard to believe that this small grey haired mild mannered gentle looking man, was in fact one of the districts most notorious underworld leaders. We had travelled sixty miles to see this man he held the key to my plan of getting one over on Snike.

The plan had seemed simple enough laying in bed at The Sump and Three Rats, it was indeed a very simple one. We had collected all the rotten Guinness and it was now sitting on the back of two lorries with our men ready to deliver. We would sell it all to Eddie telling him it had come from Snike. Eddie would find out it was all rotten and come down on Snike like a ton of bricks, putting him, we hoped, out of business. Here in Eddies office during this very long silence the plan did not seem so good.

" How suitable a discount." said Eddie at length.

" Half price." I said.

" Why should I change my suppler." said Eddie.

" Cash no invoices, ether end." I said.

" Stolen." said Eddie.

" No." I said.

" Where then." said Eddie.

" Lets just say its not seen the emerald isle." I said.

" Any good." said Eddie.

" Your customers won't be able to tell the difference." I said.

" Try it."

I produced a bottle from my pocket and put it in the table. This bottle however was genuine Guinness, not one of the fakes. Eddie picked up the bottle.

" Does Snike think I was born yesterday." said Eddie. " If this is not the genuine stuff then either he's a fool or he thinks I am."

I thought I had blown it and was beginning the plan weather we would be able to run past the creature outside the door and make our getaway.

" I know of your Snike he brews the stuff himself." Eddie paused again looking at the bottle. " How soon can you supply." he said.

" Today." I replied.

" How many crates." said Eddie.

" Two hundred." I said.

Eddie did a small calculation on a peace of paper on his desk. He then spun his chair to face a small open safe behind him, he counted out some money then turned to face us again.

He put the money in an envelope and threw it down on the table. He ask if we knew where to deliver, I nodded and picked up the envelope.

He said he would be in touch about regular supplies if it was any good, he put his head down and went back to his book keeping, indicating that it was time for us to go. I think I started to breathe again when we were about eight miles outside the town.

Within two hours we had delivered all the fake Guinness to the clubs, at each club we swapped all the existing stock of real Guinness for the fake Guinness. Within three hours the was no trace of the Famous Guinness gang, the lorries were back in the brewery and the suits were back in Mrs McKenzeys second hand shop.

The plan worked a treat, within two days word was out that Eddie Slockdeck was not a happy man. At least a dozen people took great pleasure in passing this information to Snike, who, you will not be surprised to learn, took a rather sudden holiday to South America from where he has not returned.


END



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