Close by Martina Cole Page B

as Germolene on an amputated leg.
    The Sweeney, as they were known, were not averse to fitting someone up, that was public knowledge, and they were also loath to strike unless they had the person bang to rights in their minds, meaning the fit up was watertight. Sometimes they had a genuine capture, which was less often than they let the public and their bosses believe. Dicky knew for a fact that Freddie had been in possession of enough amphetamines to keep the whole of London up for a week and still have enough left over to do the same again in Glasgow. He should know, he had supplied them to him in the first place.
    So how was it that they were hearing that Freddie had got bail? Was it because he had been overzealous with his explanations to Old Bill? Being overly helpful with the filth was becoming more and more acceptable these days, at least that is how it looked at the moment to Dicky Williams. Especially where a dealer like Dwyer was concerned. The courts had started handing out such outrageous sentences that some of the members of their world were unwilling, or more pointedly, unable to cope with that amount of time in prison. He was convinced that Dwyer was one of those people. The dirty, filthy, two-faced fucking rat.
    In short, he now strongly suspected Dwyer had offered up some choice information in exchange for a guaranteed sentence and if that was the case, what the fuck had he said? And, even more to the point, how much of his chatter involved him and Pat? If Terry had been taken out and Jamie the Book, then Old Bill were obviously using old scores to take the onus off Freddie's grassing. The Flying Squad often used old scores to take out people they knew they had no chance of nicking.
    Freddie was a useless ponce, everyone knew that. But he was also a necessary evil where they were concerned because he made sure that any contacts he managed to secure were guaranteed earners. But, no matter what anyone said about bent filth, you had to procure them long before you finally used them with any degree of confidence, and the fact that they were tucking up their own mates and colleagues spoke volumes. With bent filth it was all about baiting the trap and making sure you grabbed the fucker painfully and with malice aforethought by their gonads, therefore ensuring their full and frank cooperation. Freddie had no filth in his pocket, he relied on Pat and the Williamses to smooth out anything that might cause him aggravation. But the amount of speed he had in his possession would have been the collar of the year to Lily Law and they would have locked him up and thrown away the key before he had even seen his brief. His sojourn in whatever nick they decided to bury him in should have been a foregone conclusion, it was too much gear to even contemplate getting any kind of result, let alone fucking bail. This was fucking freaky, there was no doubt about that.
    As Dicky Williams had pointed out to Patrick not an hour ago, if Fucking Freddie Dwyer had grassed him or anyone close to him, he was a fucking dead man. Because Terry's demise was such an affront none of them could believe it was to do with business. Who would be mad enough to take them on?
    Patrick's car pulled up outside Dicky's house in Bow and he was already in possession of a large Scotch before he had even walked inside. It was placed in his hand as he stood on the doorstep.
    Like Dicky Williams, Pat was also going over the events in his mind once more. And he had to agree with Dicky. Who would be mad enough to take them on? Pat had sighed to himself when he had heard that gem of wisdom, there was nothing like stating the bleeding obvious, but then the Williamses were not renowned for their command of the English language or their intelligence, even as a group, so Pat had overlooked the idiocy of Dicky's words and instead decided to concentrate on finding out what the fuck had gone down. Terry's death had to be avenged and he wanted that vengeance as much as they