around the restaurant, thinking.
“Do you have security cameras?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where do you keep the tapes?”
The manager's anxiety deepened significantly in advance of the answer to this question. An answer that seemed a dead cert to bring him the next instalment of hostility.
“We don't keep them here, sir. They're backed up electronically and downloaded to our central computer in New York.”
Leo looked up at the ceiling, a low snarl turning to a deep growl, then a howl of rage.
“FUCK!”
He grabbed the manager by the lapel, pulled him in close and stuck a business card into his shirt pocket.
“If that fucker comes back here, I want to know right away. Do you understand?”
The young man nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, I do and I will.”
Leo shook him loose and headed for the door. He stopped just short of it and turned around.
“You know I can make things a lot worse for you if you mention a word of this to anyone, don't you?”
The manager nodded.
Leo and his companions swept out of the restaurant and into the crowded street. The manager, Myles Gilmore, slumped to the floor and put his head in his hands, guts churning, nose throbbing, head spinning. A bona fide gangster just threatened him with violence and he'd probably become an accessory of some sort in the murder of one of his customers. He'd definitely experienced better starts to a day at work.
13. When Push Comes to Shove
The hives of London were emptying and the airless station swarmed with its usual rush-hour influx of drones. People impersonating sardines, eyes glazed over, desperate to escape the tin. Sweat, anxiety, claustrophobia, bad breath, fractious children and frazzled parents, business men checking watches, and pickpockets sizing up potential victims. A heaving throng of eye contact being avoided and wish-I-was-anywhere-else moroseness.
I hated having to use the Tube. A necessary evil - I always needed to psyche myself up to embark on whatever journey might be required. The way so many people accepted such things every day of their working lives totally confounded me. No salary could ever compensate for enduring this hideousness with any degree of frequency.
Tube stations are always warm but at the height of summer they are something else. You could see folks wilting as they alighted from the escalator. On this particular evening, I could swear the temperature inside was greater than that found in the bowels of Hades. In fact, it seemed entirely plausible to me that once you reached the platform, you really had stumbled into said bowels. There was no doubting it was a crap way to spend my time. Only as a train approached, and air was drawn through the tunnel, did people find relief forthcoming.
My train pulled in, the temporary draught evaporated and the mad scramble began. Incredibly, I managed to board the carriage nearest me almost straight away. But, as ever, my travails did not end there. It is, I suppose, human nature to want to get out of a bad situation as quickly as possible. However, the irony was, in jamming onto the train itself, people merely recreated the hellish discomfort of the platform they were so desperate to escape.
The guy looked about fifty and really should have known better. In a mind-boggling display of bad manners he barged onto the train with an out-sized suitcase, big enough to pack away a small planet. He shoved a pregnant woman so hard she nearly fell to the ground but he paid her no heed - or that of the protesting onlooker who tried to offer her assistance. As the doors closed, he continued to push and prod anyone unfortunate enough to be in range. Outrage surged though me like an electric shock.
That's the thing. The morale-sapping experience of Tube travel is exacerbated and magnified by the likes of that wanker. Rudeness and selfishness tipping off any scale used to measure it. Well, today, this particular ill-mannered tosser picked the wrong train.
As we hurtled between
“Do you have security cameras?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where do you keep the tapes?”
The manager's anxiety deepened significantly in advance of the answer to this question. An answer that seemed a dead cert to bring him the next instalment of hostility.
“We don't keep them here, sir. They're backed up electronically and downloaded to our central computer in New York.”
Leo looked up at the ceiling, a low snarl turning to a deep growl, then a howl of rage.
“FUCK!”
He grabbed the manager by the lapel, pulled him in close and stuck a business card into his shirt pocket.
“If that fucker comes back here, I want to know right away. Do you understand?”
The young man nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, I do and I will.”
Leo shook him loose and headed for the door. He stopped just short of it and turned around.
“You know I can make things a lot worse for you if you mention a word of this to anyone, don't you?”
The manager nodded.
Leo and his companions swept out of the restaurant and into the crowded street. The manager, Myles Gilmore, slumped to the floor and put his head in his hands, guts churning, nose throbbing, head spinning. A bona fide gangster just threatened him with violence and he'd probably become an accessory of some sort in the murder of one of his customers. He'd definitely experienced better starts to a day at work.
13. When Push Comes to Shove
The hives of London were emptying and the airless station swarmed with its usual rush-hour influx of drones. People impersonating sardines, eyes glazed over, desperate to escape the tin. Sweat, anxiety, claustrophobia, bad breath, fractious children and frazzled parents, business men checking watches, and pickpockets sizing up potential victims. A heaving throng of eye contact being avoided and wish-I-was-anywhere-else moroseness.
I hated having to use the Tube. A necessary evil - I always needed to psyche myself up to embark on whatever journey might be required. The way so many people accepted such things every day of their working lives totally confounded me. No salary could ever compensate for enduring this hideousness with any degree of frequency.
Tube stations are always warm but at the height of summer they are something else. You could see folks wilting as they alighted from the escalator. On this particular evening, I could swear the temperature inside was greater than that found in the bowels of Hades. In fact, it seemed entirely plausible to me that once you reached the platform, you really had stumbled into said bowels. There was no doubting it was a crap way to spend my time. Only as a train approached, and air was drawn through the tunnel, did people find relief forthcoming.
My train pulled in, the temporary draught evaporated and the mad scramble began. Incredibly, I managed to board the carriage nearest me almost straight away. But, as ever, my travails did not end there. It is, I suppose, human nature to want to get out of a bad situation as quickly as possible. However, the irony was, in jamming onto the train itself, people merely recreated the hellish discomfort of the platform they were so desperate to escape.
The guy looked about fifty and really should have known better. In a mind-boggling display of bad manners he barged onto the train with an out-sized suitcase, big enough to pack away a small planet. He shoved a pregnant woman so hard she nearly fell to the ground but he paid her no heed - or that of the protesting onlooker who tried to offer her assistance. As the doors closed, he continued to push and prod anyone unfortunate enough to be in range. Outrage surged though me like an electric shock.
That's the thing. The morale-sapping experience of Tube travel is exacerbated and magnified by the likes of that wanker. Rudeness and selfishness tipping off any scale used to measure it. Well, today, this particular ill-mannered tosser picked the wrong train.
As we hurtled between
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