Ozzy's voice was heavy with anger and the man he was talking to was wondering if he was in with a chance of retribution. He looked around him, and wisely decided he wasn't.

Ozzy was impressed, though, that the young chap had actually considered trying to fight his way out of this reprimand, and this endeared the boy to him.

'Look, Ozzy, I didn't think you would be interested, mate.'

Ozzy laughed and shook his head slowly as if in the presence of the stupidest man in history. And he wondered if Carl Waters was the stupidest man in history.

He spoke loudly in his deep, serious voice, because unfortunately he had no other. 'Do not take me for a cunt. I know you run with a good crowd, but remember, son, they are out there, and you are in here. Any more cuntish behaviour and you will be on the hospital wing, see.'

Carl nodded, but he knew instinctively that Ozzy wasn't going to hold this against him. Ozzy was a realist and he would probably have tried it on just the same if he had been in his place.

'I am sorry, Ozzy. I am a mug, you are right. I just wanted a bit of dosh, that's all, and I have a little bloke who is willing to weigh me out.'

Ozzy grinned. 'You will ply your trade, son, I've no dispute with that. You will just trade in my name and give me a good drink, see. We ain't fucking that behind the times, though it seems like we are still in a feudal society to newcomers.'

It was more than the lad had expected, and he left the cell with a cheery demeanour a few minutes later.

Ozzy slipped a tablet under his tongue, and marvelled at a young man who had so much going for him, yet was happily taking the fall for a couple of complete fucking tossers. Carl had been on a robbery with two so-called Faces. The filth had jumped them on the chop, where they would change cars, clothes and if necessary divvy up the money before going their separate ways, which meant they must have been grassed up. How else would filth know where the chop was going to take place? This was a calculated fucking event, and this poor boy had been the fall guy.

So he had been caught, had kept stumm about who his accomplices were, and got himself an eighteen stretch. All his youth would be spent in this dump, while the older, wiser 'Faces' would still be on the outside plying their trades.

It was a fucking crying shame really, but the boy could be of use to him. He was young, he was willing and he could keep his trap shut.

Ozzy was ill. For a while now he had been on heart medication and he wasn't sure if he could do this any more. He needed to talk to Jimmy properly, and he decided it would be on the next visit. He was losing the urge for it all, and once that happened in their environment, you were living on borrowed time.

His sister Patricia was still trumping anything with a nice smile and a big cock, Freddie Jackson included, and he didn't entirely trust her any longer. As she was getting older she was getting less choosy about who she knocked about with, and this was becoming a worry to him.

He had serious poke and serious business to sort out, and now he was ill he had to do it. He had worked hard for his wedge and he had enjoyed the making of his money. So many people lost sight of that buzz when they made it to the big time, lost the want, and lost the respect for money that was actually a requisite for being rich. The spending of it had never been his forte, but the gathering of it was something he had lain awake at nights planning. He wanted to give his wealth to someone like him, someone who would use it wisely, someone who would understand just what it had taken to gather it in the first place.

He had to get his house in order, and he had to do it sooner rather than later.

He snapped his head around to look at his portable TV Emmerdale was just starting and he loved to see the wide open spaces it showed. He was sorry now he had never bothered with the Dales when he had been on the out. They looked lovely, stunning. So he enjoyed watching them by proxy, on Emmerdale Farm.

The birds were fit as well, so it was not a completely wasted half hour.

But he wished he could explain to the general population that even though they might go to Spain or America and travel all over the world, they did not know their own country. This annoyed him now, because he had realised over the years just what a green and pleasant land it actually was. If he had a chance to do anything different, it would be to make sure he travelled around England. People came from far and wide to live here. They saw it as a haven and as a place to make something of themselves, and it took all this time in stir for him to understand just where those people were coming from. Like the old adage, you never knew what you had till it was gone.

Well, that could be said of the people he had been dealing with all these years.

He was finally going to make his last will and testament, and he knew it would cause fucking ructions. So be it.

'Where is he, Jackie?'

She was panicking and this was annoying her husband.

'I don't know, Freddie.'

'Then you fucking well should! What the fuck are you getting my wedge for, eh? You can't even look out for little Fred. You know he is on a curfew, so where the fuck is he?'

Jackie could have skinned her son alive at this moment because his fuck-up had caused them to have a row. Freddie had put him on a curfew and, unlike every other time he had tried to rein his son in, this had been adhered to because Freddie had made a point of checking his son was at home. She was happy about this in one way, because it meant he spent more time with them, and not with his other women. But it was also nerve-wracking because Little Freddie didn't think he should be timed, thought he was too old and experienced to be treated like a child.

His father was not a man to be mugged off but although she had tried to explain this to her son many times, he wouldn't listen to her. He had never listened to her, that was the trouble.

As they stood in the front room like adversaries in a boxing match, the front door opened and Little Freddie strolled in with all the arrogance he possessed. He was enormous, and he was Freddie's double, but unlike his father, who had been a tearaway at his age, this boy was in deep trouble. It was only Freddie who could keep him in check. Jackie knew this, and she was glad someone could keep him in line, but she still could not bear to see him told off, in trouble or accused of anything.

Little Freddie stood in front of his mother and father and cleared his throat noisily. It was a calculated insult.

Freddie looked at his son and wondered for the hundredth time why he bothered with him. But he was not the usual little fuck, he was a dangerous little fuck. Well, the buck stopped here. He pointed his finger at him and said loudly, 'Where you fucking been, then?'

Jackie tried to lighten the situation by saying cheerfully, 'Here he is! I told you he would be here, didn't I?'

Freddie pushed her away from him and, looking at his son, said in a deep and angry voice, 'You telling me you can't tell the time?'

Little Freddie was staring at his father, and there was not one iota of fear in him despite his father's anger. Freddie knew this boy was out of order, that he was off the fucking scale and he was determined to bring him back to the fold, whatever it took.

The questions and answers then came thick and fast and without any kind of hesitation on either side.

'I said, where have you fucking been?'

'Out.'

'Out where?'

The boy shrugged. 'Just out with me mates.'

'What mates?'

'Just mates.'

'Do they have names?'

'Do yours?'

Freddie's fist connected with his son's chin so fast that the boy didn't have time to move away and protect himself. He was not expecting it, and he was even more surprised when his father followed through with another punch and then began beating him viciously.