There were a number of automobiles outside. These were not new automobiles. Nor apparently were they second-hand automobiles. These were, so the brightly coloured cards upon their windscreens informed potential purchasers, 'previously owned vehicles'.
Their prices seemed unreasonably reasonable.
Derek, still with some skips in his step, some-skipped down the incline from the side of the bridge and entered Leo's forecourt.
'Yo, Babylon,' called the ancient son of Zion. 'Come inside off of me forecourt, yo spolin' de look of de place wid yo stubbly face and yo big red bloodclart eyes.'
Derek waved towards Leo, who was lounging in the shadowed doorway. 'Morning Leo,' he said.
'Come on in den, come on in.'
Derek came on in.
It was rather dark in Leo's showroom. Two previously owned cars stood glinting vaguely. Both were Morris Minors.
'Oh good,' said Derek, sighting them. 'You have two already. Only forty-eight to go, then.'
'Babylon,' said Leo, looming at Derek. 'Babylon, yo not bin altogether honest wid I an' I.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Derek.
'Folk museum, Babylon. Dat what I an' I talkin' about.'
'How's it all coming along?' asked Derek, feigning bright and breeziness. 'Any luck with those crad barges?'
Leo held a rolled copy of the Brentford Mercury in his hand. He unrolled it slowly and showed it to Derek. 'Babylon try to get one over on Ganga Man,' said he. 'Babylon care to see if he can outrun me Rottweilers?' Leo called out to his dogs. 'Marcus,' he called, 'Marley, Yellowman.' Three big Rottweilers came a-bounding out of the darkness and took to licking Leo's hands.
'Now hold on a minute,' said Derek. 'We had a deal.'
'For de folk museum?' said Leo. 'Or was dat for de multi-million-dollar Mute Corp company?'
'I'm only doing myjob,' said Derek. And as the words came out of his mouth, he really hated himself.
'Dis ain't personal, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Well, actually it is. De white man bin shafting de black man since forever. Dis town here, dis Brentford, I never have no trouble here. People treat me like one of their own and I treat them like one of me own. Respect, Babylon. Do you understand that? Respect? No I don't tink dat you do.'
'I do,' said Derek. 'I do.'
'I an' I tell you what,' said Leo. 'You an' I an' I have a deal. We smack hands together. So I an' I be fair with you. I an' I get you everyting you want by tomorrow, how's dat?'
'Dat's, I mean that's perfect,' said Derek. 'I couldn't ask for anything more than that.'
'Good,' said Leo. 'Dat's my half of the deal. Now all you have to do is two little tings.'
'Go on,' said Derek.
'Give me all the money in your pockets,' said Leo.
'Oh,' said Derek.
'Dat's one,' said Leo, stroking the neck of Marcus.
'Now, come on,' said Derek.
'Dat's one,' said Leo. 'You show no respect. Hand it over, Babylon.' Marcus growled and so did Marley and Yellowman.
Derek dug deep into his pocket and brought out all the money.
'I tink dat's mine, ain't it?' said Leo.
Derek hung his head once more. 'It is,' said he.
Leo took the money and pressed it into the colourful trouser pocket of his colourful trousers. 'Yo get all de stuff you order,' he said. 'I an' I keep my side of the deal. I an' I show respect.'
'Thank you,' said Derek. 'And I'm sorry. All that cash. The temptation was too much.'
'I an' I understand,' said Leo. 'Business is done.'
'Thanks again,' said Derek, turning to leave.
'I an' I said dere's two tings,' said Leo.
'Oh yes,' said Derek. 'What was the second thing?'
'Yo got ten seconds' start, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Den I release me dogs.'
It's remarkable just how fast you can run at times. Even with a hangover. Derek ran like the rabbit of proverb. And if there wasn't a rabbit of proverb, Derek ran like the hare. He ran and he ran. Away from Leo's showrooms. Out of Leo's forecourt and up Brentford High Street. Derek ran all the way back to the offices of the Brentford Mercury.
And it's a fair old run, especially with a hangover.
Once inside, Derek slammed shut the outer door and leant upon it, breathing horribly.
But no bowlings or hayings of dreadful hounds •were to be heard from without.
But had Derek had the hearing of Superman, he might have been able to hear the laughter.
The laughter of Leo, back in his showrooms.
Where he still patted his dogs.
Derek took his liquid breakfast, which was now a liquid lunch, in the Shrunken Head. He didn't play the Space Invaders machine though, he just swigged at Scotch.
He was doomed, he just knew it. He was done for. The best thing he could do was shape up and ship out. Quit the borough, do a runner, before the excrement hit the rotating blades of the air-cooling apparatus. They'd kill him. The locals would string him up. Mute Corp had no idea what they were dealing with here. This wasn't like other places. This was Brentford.
Derek swigged further Scotch.
'I'm unhappy,' he said to no-one but himself. 'I'm a loser. A total prat. That's what Kelly thinks I am. And I am. I really am. I've fouled up every which way. Oh God, I don't know what to do.'
Derek did even further swiggings and returned once more to the bar counter. 'Same again,' he said.
The barman was reading the Brentford Mercury. The celebrations going on at the Swan did not seem to have extended themselves to the Shrunken Head. Different kind of clientele, perhaps. Or some other reason. Derek didn't really care.
'This is all a hoot, isn't it?' said the barman, pointing at the paper. 'This should bring a bit of trade to this establishment.'
'You think it's a good thing then?' asked Derek hopefully.
'God, yes,' said the barman. 'I'm hoping to persuade the residents' committee to give it a week before they start the tarring and feathering. But I'll probably be on my own for that one. I've heard that the lads at the Flying Swan are planning a charabanc trip to the West End.'
'Really?' said Derek. 'Why?'
'I think they're planning to blow up the Mute Corp headquarters. A people's protest, that kind of thing. From what I heard, it seems that the locals are getting well fed up with always having to fight on home territory. So this time they've decided to carry the war directly to the camp of the aggressor. It's a bit revolutionary, but after all, these are the twenty-twenties.'
'The Mute Corp headquarters?' Derek's face fell terribly. 'They can't do that, can they?'