Malcolm Foghorn was in a
foul mood. It was time for the morning walk and he had already had
some bad news from the outside.
James Nesbitt – no
relation – was an idiot!
In the narrow
corridor of the prison, everyone stayed well out of his way, guards
included.
Malcolm wasn't one to trifle with. He was a known crime
lord. In fact, he was the
crime lord. Even now that he was jailed for life about a little
divergence of opinion with one of his associate – who ended up
going for a swim, belly up, in the river Thames – he was still very
influential and had a lot of friends.
Everybody knew it and no one could do anything about it... not if
they were fond of the idea of seeing their loved ones again.
Apparently, everyone in Wandsworth
was a
family man and they all called him Sir.
Stomping
through the gallery, grudgingly, Foghorn mentally went over the last
heist he'd organised. Everything went well, to perfection, and
according to the plan. Everything! Until that scum bag of Nesbitt
got the entire gang nicked! That low-life of a gateway driver had to
use his own car! With his personalised number plate J4MES!!
When
questioned about it by laughing detectives, all he said in his
defence to the coppers was : “Well, they cost me four grand...”
Imbecile!
With
the welcome reception Foghorn was preparing for James, he was sure it
will cost that moron much more than money.
