Lizzie of Langley Street by Carol Rivers Page A

I’m climbing over twenty bloody crates and taking off all them tops just for you, sonny boy, then you got another think coming.’
    ‘Get your ’ands off,’ Vinnie sputtered, intending to brazen it out. He had to keep his head. But already he was struggling with his natural instinct to smash his fist into the
unpleasant face in front of him.
    ‘You’re a big mouth, you are,’ growled his assailant as he thrust Vinnie back against the wood. ‘Personally, I don’t like the look of you or your mate.’
    ‘That makes two of us.’ Vinnie tried to force down his anger. ‘How do I know the other eighteen boxes ain’t full of bricks and not booze?’
    The moment he said it, Vinnie knew he’d dropped a clanger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bert. ‘You said it was china,’ Bert mumbled in a stupid voice. ‘For them
posh shops up West.’
    Vinnie wanted to throttle Bert. Now he would look a right amateur.
    ‘Hark at it,’ laughed the little man. ‘He thinks it’s
china
!’ There was a chorus of loud laughter. Directed at him, it made Vinnie cringe. He had been made
a laughing stock and it was all Bert’s fault.
    ‘You thick ’eaded numbskull, Bert.’ Vinnie turned angrily. ‘I told you to keep that bleedin’ big gob of yours shut, you silly bastard.’
    ‘You told me it was china,’ Bert said again. His big lapdog eyes stared forlornly at his brother.
    ‘Course it’s not bloody china.’ Vinnie pulled his lapels back into shape. ‘Don’t you see I’m trying to do a deal here? Don’t you understand we’re
on to a winner? And all you can do is stand there and look at me like a—’ But Vinnie never finished his sentence because Bert was turning and walking away.
    Vinnie couldn’t believe his eyes. What was Bert doing? He gulped down his shock. Bert was leaving him. Dependable, trustworthy, thick as two planks Bert was abandoning him. But Vinnie
realized Bert wasn’t going very far. The two other men had stopped laughing and were blocking Bert’s path.
    Vinnie knew then they were trapped. They weren’t going anywhere, either of them. Something made him turn. A crowbar was poised above his head. The iron claw came down. It sank into the
fabric of his hat, missing his skull by a fraction.
    ‘Bastard!’ he screamed as he fell back, unharmed but shocked. The crowbar came down again. He dodged it. This time it lodged in the wood. Vinnie looked into the small man’s
surprised eyes. He lifted his boot and kicked hard. It was a real pleasure to see the agony; he continued the kicking, enjoying every moment of it.
    Without his muscle, the little tosser was nothing. It was he, Vinnie, who would call the tune. When he’d taught him a lesson, he’d make him open up the crates. He’d return to
Mik triumphant. Either way, booze or no booze, he’d have followed instructions and saved Mik an embarrassment.
    Then suddenly everything went black. Vinnie stared, bewildered, into the darkness. He kicked out, but his boot found only thin air. There was a lot of shuffling and Vinnie stumbled back against
the woodpile. He kicked out again, but this time in self-defence. He swung his arms violently, his knuckles grazing the wood. The darkness was pitch. He could hear his own breathing and things
going on around him. Movement. Hushed voices. And smells.
    Where was everyone? Where was Bert? His heart felt as though it was trying to get out of his chest. He felt his way along the wood, sweat dripping from his forehead. His wet palms found a wall.
Why hadn’t they come after him?
    He flattened his back to it, his eyes searching the darkness. There were outlines shapes, noises. Where the fuck was everyone?
    He soon got his answer.
    A flicker of light broke the darkness. A thin tongue of orange licked upward, caressing the wood gently. Vinnie stared at it, not understanding at first. Then a cold terror filled him. The
inside of the warehouse flickered into light.
    They had torched the place. The