He grinned once more as he said, with conviction, 'Up yours, cunts.'

There was no respect in his voice and no fear. His attitude was becoming a regular occurrence lately and it hurt. Dave knew they were not going to get anything from this bloke without some serious threats and some serious violence. But Colin was a football fighter, he spent his Saturdays looking for aggro on the terraces. As a Boleyn boy, born and bred, he saw the North Bank as his stomping ground. Upton Park was his excuse to hurt people and gambling was his excuse to relax and take stock between games.

The Williams boys held no real threat as far as he was concerned, he knew they were yesterday's news and even when they had been on top, he had not felt any real kind of fear where they were concerned. He paid out for Brodie, no one else, and that had always been just before a serious reminder of his debt had been called for. This time though, he owed the money to Cain and Spider. People he had less time for than even Dave and his brothers.

When he was betting with Patrick he was a prompt payer, never more than a few days over his deadline, and even then, a smile and a cheery wave as he settled his debt. Not any more. Now, it seemed, he owed a grand to someone he saw as nothing more than a greedy black bastard; like he was going to put himself out to serve that ponce up with anything other than a fucking good hiding. Brodie should be ashamed of passing the betting monies over to the blacks.

If he didn't have such an important job on the terraces, sorting out the men from the boys, he would have been in the army. And now he had the added insult of being accosted by a couple of has-beens collecting his hard-earned poke for the blackies. What a fucking liberty.

It was outrageous and he decided to be offended. 'Tell the coons I ain't giving them nothing, all right?'

Dave saw the futility of his new role and his younger brother, Tommy, was looking at him with an expression that said he was getting towards the end of his tether; that he was looking for some kind of guidance from him. Dave wished that he had brought Ricky along. Although he was the baby, he was far more game and wouldn't expect him to guide his every move.

He had nothing left to give him. He knew that Colin Parker was a nut job and he also knew that if he didn't bring the money back to Cain there would be ambulances arriving and that they wouldn't be for Parker, they would be for them. His confidence was shot and he was a bundle of nerves; his life was like a fucking soap opera these days. All aggro and excess alcohol, it was all he could do these days to climb out of his pit in the morning. He knew that Colin Parker was just fronting, no more and no less, but he also knew that Colin Parker had already sussed out that his tactic had worked. He walked out of the flat in Leytonstone with his heart beating loud in his head and his stomach ready to vacate its contents at any moment.

He took deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for his brother to follow behind him. 'Are you having a tin bath or what, Dave?' Tommy spoke quietly, aware that they would be listened to by anyone within earshot.

Dave shook his handsome head and said in a whisper, 'It's all shit ain't it? It is all fucking, poxy shit. And me and you are the fucking fall guys, thanks to that cunt we called a brother…'

Tommy was fed up with Dave and his girly whining. His anger was phenomenal and his temper was at its height. He was not a man to be fucked with any more. Something had to be said and he was the person to say it. His disgust was evident, even to himself, and also to the brother he had always looked up to. But times were hard and they were changing by the minute, as Dave would soon find out.

'Look at you. Call yourself a man, a Williams? Will you fucking give it a fucking rest? We have to collect this poke or we are fucked. I am just about fed up with it all. Right? So can you just for once, once, concentrate on the job in hand. I don't want a fucking postmortem on our lives and I don't want a fucking post-mortem on our cunt of a brother and his mistakes. I just want the money, that's all. And I want it now, Dave.'

Dave nodded with complete understanding, but without any kind of belief or any kind of energy. He was finished and he knew it but, more to the point, Tommy knew it.

'I know. Course I know that. But you saw Colin, he is a lairy little fucker. What are we supposed to do? I don't want to take him on. I don't want to do this any more.'

And he didn't. Dave had lost the nerve that was needed to iron out enemies. He'd lost the want and the enjoyment that a good fight could bring. Dave was like a fucking no-neck; he was like the people they collared off. Dave had made the ultimate mistake; he had become the person they depended on for their livelihood.

Tommy closed his eyes and sighed, forcing himself to be calm enough to talk rationally.

'What we going to do, mate? How are we going to sort this out, eh? Please, Dave. Pull yourself together and we'll beat this fucker to a pulp and get on with our lives.'

Tommy was irritated and Dave could see that.

'I don't know what to do, Tom. We need to get that money, iron him out as we would usually, but Colin is a mad cunt.'

Tommy sighed heavily. He could hear and feel the fear in his older brother's voice, could feel the indecision and the nervousness inside him. On one level he understood his brother's careful consideration for the family, on another level his brother was getting on his tits. He'd had just about enough. He stared around him for a few moments, breathing in the evening air and calming himself down so he wouldn't lose it completely.

They were on the balcony that fronted the flats, the air stank of chip fat and stale cigarettes. All around them was the bustle of a council estate during the early evening. The young girls were dressed in their finery and hanging around waiting for the young men who would be their downfall. Dealers were out for their first foray of the night and old dears were on their way to bingo, knitted gloves and knitted hats the order of the day. Kids as young as three were still playing out the front, their clothes filthy and their faces already hardened by the act of bringing themselves up.

It was a reminder of their own upbringing and Tommy was on the verge of tears, tears of anger and the humiliation they were on the receiving end of. Tommy was a lump as the local people would say. He was big and he could have a row and he was at the age when he was willing to make his mark, even though his older brothers were happy to sit back and become no-necks, nothings. He couldn't believe they would let the work of a lifetime go, just because they were wary of Brodie. Well, fuck Brodie and fuck the rest of them. He was determined to make his mark, no matter what, and he was going to fight for his right to earn in the highest echelons of their chosen profession once more.

'What the fuck are we going to do then?'

It was a statement and Dave could hear the challenge as well as the anger in his brother's voice. He knew he was finished in his brother's eyes. He only wished he could explain properly just how much trouble they were now in.

'Are you going to answer me, Dave? For fuck's sake, we were asked to collect and I am going to collect, with or without you.'

Dave shook his head in distress. 'No matter what we do, Tom, we won't get any real thanks for it. All we will get is grief from Colin Parker and his cronies.'

Tommy stared into his brother's face and swallowed down the urge to lamp him one.

'It's a fucking grand, that's all. It's peanuts to this wanker and we are hardly asking for the national debt, are we? And if we don't spank for this one we're on the skids; who the fuck will use us in the future? Why would they? We have to make some kind of fucking stand now, or we will be scratching in the dirt for ever.'