Borstal Slags
“I shit ’em!’ Gene gunned the engine of the Cortina as he powered it through the grey streets of Manchester.
‘You behaved disgracefully back there, Guv,’ sulked Sam. ‘Sometimes, I’m genuinely ashamed to be seen in public with you.’ ‘Yeah, yeah. But that lanky one with the specs! I thought he were about to literally shit ’imself!’ ‘Those porters showed themselves to be real men, Gene, not like you!’ ‘Real men? Two roly-polies and a four-eyed beanpole?’ ‘Yes, Guv. Because they stood up to you and did the right thing. They were scared, but that didn’t stop ’em. They proved themselves, Guv, while all you do was act like a bully.’ ‘Oh put a sock in it, Deidre, you’re making my lug’oles ache.’ Gene flung the wheel and stamped on the gas.
‘Still, it weren’t a completely wasted trip,’ said Sam. ‘Derek Coren was pretty convinced that McClintock orchestrated his brother’s death on purpose.’ ‘Mmm.
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