lunch and maybe
we’ll all have something more to celebrate in the evening’.
Even as Martin was speaking, they could hear clearly the sound of raised voices from the upstairs room, Sol in agitation and an aggressive note from the white man, Riley. Immediately afterwards,
there was a crash against the inside wall followed by two or three thumping noises, unmistakeable to David as the sound of blows to the body. He grabbed Martin by the arm and spoke urgently.
‘Who are these guys, Martin, and what are they doing to Sol? More to the point, what are we going to do about it?
‘Please, David, just leave now. I’ll be able to handle it OK.’
He held the street door wide in invitation. His voice was tremulous but his message was clear, so David walked out and set off down Westbourne Grove, leaving Martin to duck back into the
building. David stood on the pavement for a minute or so in uncomfortable indecision before he started to move away. But he had gone only a few strides before heard the door of the Kirchoff
building slam shut again, and turning, he saw the unwelcome visitors. They were coming towards him. Riley was in the lead, Mervyn in close attendance with a small bag in his ham like fist. They
were unhurried as they approached. It seemed to David that they would simply walk on by, but Riley stopped short and fixed him with a gimlet eye. Without warning, he jabbed a short, hard blow from
his gloved left fist deep into David’s stomach. He dropped to one knee on the pavement fighting for breath. Riley bent a little from the waist and hissed into his ear,
‘Not your business. Keep it that way.’
Then he was walking on, steel capped shoes ringing in the cold evening air.
David gave himself some recovery time. It was as much the shock as the pain. Then he walked straight back into the office. Martin must have heard the door and came clattering down the spiral
stairs. Sol remained out of sight, up in the meeting room.
‘Sorry,’ said David with a wan smile, ‘but they thumped me too on the way past. So now I think I should know a bit more.’
Martin looked dishevelled and agitated.
‘Christ,’ he said, ‘let me just see to Sol.’
Whirling round, he disappeared upstairs and David sat on a typist’s chair and listened to the muted tones of conversation above him. Martin came back, looking no less disturbed. He slumped
into the chair at his desk and loosened his tie. His hands were shaking.
‘Sol needs his medication. It’s his heart you see. I’m going to get him home to Naomi who will handle it. Give me half an hour and I’ll be back. I agree that you should
know more and Sol insists on it. Can you manage here on your own?’
‘Of course I can.’
David sat and watched without comment as Martin carefully manoeuvred his father down the awkward stairs and through the main office into the street outside. Sol was ashen and trembling all over.
A taxi or hire car had pulled up outside; Martin must have summoned it. David heard the doors slam and the vehicle pull away. He got up then, closed and locked the front door and wandered around
the office while he waited. He felt numb and confused. What the hell was going on here?
He got his answer during the remainder of that evening. Martin was good to his time estimate and returned in another cab. He proposed they walk to a restaurant where he sometimes had lunch. It
was still early for evening traffic in the bistro and they had the place almost to themselves. They sat at a table in the window, ordered pasta and a bottle of Chianti.
By this point, Martin had recovered himself and was more composed. David could see that he was less nervous, but still agitated and that stemmed from embarrassment. He confirmed this in his
opening comments as they waited for their food to arrive.
‘Riley and Co. They’ve been onto us for about six months now. It’s a protection racket and they’ve targeted a good few businesses around here, including this
we’ll all have something more to celebrate in the evening’.
Even as Martin was speaking, they could hear clearly the sound of raised voices from the upstairs room, Sol in agitation and an aggressive note from the white man, Riley. Immediately afterwards,
there was a crash against the inside wall followed by two or three thumping noises, unmistakeable to David as the sound of blows to the body. He grabbed Martin by the arm and spoke urgently.
‘Who are these guys, Martin, and what are they doing to Sol? More to the point, what are we going to do about it?
‘Please, David, just leave now. I’ll be able to handle it OK.’
He held the street door wide in invitation. His voice was tremulous but his message was clear, so David walked out and set off down Westbourne Grove, leaving Martin to duck back into the
building. David stood on the pavement for a minute or so in uncomfortable indecision before he started to move away. But he had gone only a few strides before heard the door of the Kirchoff
building slam shut again, and turning, he saw the unwelcome visitors. They were coming towards him. Riley was in the lead, Mervyn in close attendance with a small bag in his ham like fist. They
were unhurried as they approached. It seemed to David that they would simply walk on by, but Riley stopped short and fixed him with a gimlet eye. Without warning, he jabbed a short, hard blow from
his gloved left fist deep into David’s stomach. He dropped to one knee on the pavement fighting for breath. Riley bent a little from the waist and hissed into his ear,
‘Not your business. Keep it that way.’
Then he was walking on, steel capped shoes ringing in the cold evening air.
David gave himself some recovery time. It was as much the shock as the pain. Then he walked straight back into the office. Martin must have heard the door and came clattering down the spiral
stairs. Sol remained out of sight, up in the meeting room.
‘Sorry,’ said David with a wan smile, ‘but they thumped me too on the way past. So now I think I should know a bit more.’
Martin looked dishevelled and agitated.
‘Christ,’ he said, ‘let me just see to Sol.’
Whirling round, he disappeared upstairs and David sat on a typist’s chair and listened to the muted tones of conversation above him. Martin came back, looking no less disturbed. He slumped
into the chair at his desk and loosened his tie. His hands were shaking.
‘Sol needs his medication. It’s his heart you see. I’m going to get him home to Naomi who will handle it. Give me half an hour and I’ll be back. I agree that you should
know more and Sol insists on it. Can you manage here on your own?’
‘Of course I can.’
David sat and watched without comment as Martin carefully manoeuvred his father down the awkward stairs and through the main office into the street outside. Sol was ashen and trembling all over.
A taxi or hire car had pulled up outside; Martin must have summoned it. David heard the doors slam and the vehicle pull away. He got up then, closed and locked the front door and wandered around
the office while he waited. He felt numb and confused. What the hell was going on here?
He got his answer during the remainder of that evening. Martin was good to his time estimate and returned in another cab. He proposed they walk to a restaurant where he sometimes had lunch. It
was still early for evening traffic in the bistro and they had the place almost to themselves. They sat at a table in the window, ordered pasta and a bottle of Chianti.
By this point, Martin had recovered himself and was more composed. David could see that he was less nervous, but still agitated and that stemmed from embarrassment. He confirmed this in his
opening comments as they waited for their food to arrive.
‘Riley and Co. They’ve been onto us for about six months now. It’s a protection racket and they’ve targeted a good few businesses around here, including this
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