Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds 1
‘But if you see a bloke who’s pale and shaking, son,’ Bert’s father
had instructed, ‘then run like blazes, because he might flamin’
kill you.’ Bert watched with interest, hoping that he would not
have to interfere.
Without any preparation or parley, the soldier walked up to
the big man and hit him matter-of-factly on the point of the
chin. A beautiful punch, thought Bert. Perfectly placed, delivered
with just the right amount of force and exactly what was needed
to restore the peace of the Albion. Mr. Alderton was jarred off
his heels and went down with a crash.
‘Silly coot,’ someone remarked.
‘That’s our man,’ said Bert to Cec.
‘What do you want to do?’
‘I reckon that the barman is about to assist Mr. Alderton into
the street. Perhaps we can do it for him,’ said Bert.
No one commented as they shouldered through the crowd,
lifted Mr. Alderton by the heels and shoulders, and carried him
out. The barman opened the door for them.
‘What are you goin’ ter do with him?’ he asked, curiously.
‘Sell him to the white slave trade,’ grunted Bert, manoeuvring
the body down the worn front steps.
‘Well, I hope you get a good price for damaged goods,’ said
the barman. ‘Don’t bring him back, will yer?’ he added, and
closed the door.
Bert and Cec placed Mr. Alderton gently on the cobbles of the
lane next to the hotel. The man was already beginning to stir and
groan. Bert knew that he was also about to throw up. This looked
like a good place to do it in—the lane had a suitable gutter running
down the middle of it and water was available from a nearby tap.
‘We want you to answer some questions,’ he said.
‘Jus’ go away and let me die,’ groaned the patient.
‘Not yet,’ said Bert. ‘You get to die later. There might be a
quid in it,’ he hinted. One bloodshot eye peeled open.
‘How much?’
An unpleasant interlude followed. The ex-driver was in such
a bad way that Cec was forced to go into the pub and buy a hip