[fishnchimps]

Synopsis: In this line of work, the last thing you need is a conscience

Part 1

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Sean Dobson loved that sound. To him, it sounded like fear. Like respect. Like 'Sean Dobson is coming for you, so start shitting yourself'. He lifted the door knocker and slammed it down again.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

He heard muffled footsteps approaching from behind the battered council flat door. He braced himself as he heard the door unlock. It swung open to reveal a skinny, weasel-faced man. The man barely had time to register his surprise before Sean launched his head into his nose, creating a spectacular crimson explosion. Weasel-Face fell backwards into his flat, his howling muffled by both his hands trying to stem the flow from his crumpled nose. Sean kicked past the door and stood over him in the hallway, kicking him a couple of times in the ribs for good measure.

“Where’s that fucking money, you little cunt?” Sean bellowed, adding a few more rib kicks for emphasis. “When Paddy Maguire lends you money, you get it back to him on time, not when you fucking feel like it!”

Weasel-Face whimpered something unintelligible. Sean crouched down closer to hear properly.

“What did you say? Speak up, you muggy little cunt, before I really lose my temper!”

“I…I’ll get it I promise. Jus’…jus’ gi’ me till Tuesday…please” squeaked Weasel-Face.

Sean stood back up, seemingly satisfied. “First thing Tuesday. If you’re not here, with the money, then I’m leaving with your fucking fingers. And just so you don’t forget …”

Sean raised his right foot and brought it down on Weasel-Face’s kneecap with a sickening crack. His wailing rose another couple of decibels. Sean opened the door.

“Tuesday. And this is me being nice”

He left, slamming the door behind him. He could still hear the screams as he walked down the stairwell. He strode across the car park, and that all too familiar adrenaline rush started to peak as he got into his car. He loved that feeling, ever since he was ten years of aage and the first time he hit his dad back. His old man used to knock the shit out of him and his mum like clockwork, until little Sean thumped him, a clean shot to the jaw. Of course, his Dad beat him half unconscious for it, but from then on, he felt different, and his Dad knew it too. Something had changed, no longer was he a victim, but someone to be feared, someone to be respected. Sean lit a cigarette as he sat in the driver’s seat, letting the electrifying buzz flow through him. When he was ready he started the engine and set off into the London morning.

He took his time driving to the pub. He watched the streets roll by, all the history that they held for him; the bookie’s office, where his debt collecting career began at the tender age of twenty five, courtesy of Paddy Maguire; the pub where his dad drank away the child benefits every night; the flat he first lived in after running away from home. Three decades worth of memories, good and bad, contained within these few square miles of what he called home. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t think of a world beyond it.

Sean parked his car, and entered the Coach & Horses pub, just off Deptford High Street. The familiarity of the place enveloped him. Sean felt safe here. He walked straight past the dead eyed regular daytime drinkers into a back room behind the bar. Inside, Paddy Maguire sat behind his desk. Derek and Andy, his two right hand men, sat on a sofa to the right of the desk. A huge stack of money lay on a table in the middle, most likely the previous day’s takings from Paddy’s bookies. Andy and Derek, silent as ever, continued counting and sorting it, while Paddy stood up and walked over to Sean, arms outstretched, a huge grin on his face.

“Sean, my boy!” Paddy enveloped him a crushing bear hug. “How are you, son? Did you go and see that friend of ours over in Cannon Street”

Sean eased himself out from Paddy’s embrace.

“Tuesday, Paddy. And after what I did to him, he’ll be paying.”

In an instant, the smile dropped off Paddy’s face. He put one arm and Sean’s shoulders.

“Come with me, son.”

Paddy lead Sean through a door out into an outside yard area. Stacks of empty beer barrels reached up into the cold grey sky. Grass pushed through cracks in the paving that they walked over. Paddy turned to Sean.

“Sean, that scraggy little cunt has owed that money for too long. Are you soft in the head or something?”

“Paddy, trust me, we’ll have it by Tuesday. You have my word on it”

Paddy stared at Sean

“You’re too easy on people, that’s your problem”

Sean stared at the ground like a scolded son. The glare in Paddy’s eyes softened.

“Ah, come on lad,” he exclaimed. “If you say Tuesday, then Tuesday it is. Come on, I’ll buy you a pint.”

Sean smiled. Paddy gave him that feeling he’d missed out on his whole life, the feeling that someone loved him unconditionally as a son. It was a feeling he didn’t want to lose.

They started walking back inside. Paddy put a protective arm around Sean's shoulder.

"I've another little job for you, son," Paddy said gently. "A nice wee afternoon's work. Nothing too tough"