Read After Hours for Free Online Page B

County game was a needle match and the whole of Southwark would be making a mass exodus to the Palace ground in Sydenham. When they spotted Tommy O’Hagan trudging along Duke Street through the pouring rain, water rolling from the brim of his trilby hat, they pulled up to offer a lift. The car, notorious for its poor road-holding, skidded to a halt.
    Tommy quickly gestured to his companion to hop in too, and the pair of them slid gratefully into the back seat. Glancing in his mirror, Rob saw that the uninvited guest was Bertie Hill, the unpopular new landlord of the O’Hagan tenement block. Tommy, keeping an eye open for the main chance as usual, had obviously thought it wise to keep well in with the man. He sniffed and shook his hat on to the floor. ‘Blimey, Rob, ain’t we glad to see you.’
    But Hill was the sort to put a dampener on the conversation with his snide remarks. He would assume familiarity where there was none, and managed to put Rob’s back up the moment he stepped on the running-board. ‘Whoa, Dobbin!’ he cried as the cab slewed sideways into the pavement. ‘Ain’t you got no control over the old girl?’
    â€˜About as much as you’ve got over your mouth, I’d say,’ Rob replied. He slapped on a grin from the outside without meaningit, before he pushed the car into gear and set off at breakneck speed. ‘Mind you, I have to admit the brakes ain’t so hot,’ he remarked, deliberately swerving wide of the giant tramcar which bore down upon them.
    Bertie Hill took a damp Woodbine out of his breast pocket, lit it and inhaled deeply. ‘Now, a Daimler,’ he said slow and easy, ‘there’s a beauty of a car, if you ask me.’
    â€˜I was in a Daimler once,’ Tommy told them. ‘She went like a bird, all the way down to Southend and back. Next thing I knew, the geezer what drove it was cooling his heels up the station at Union Street. Turns out this Lefty Harris had nicked the Daimler from Earl Somebody-or-other. Tries to lay it on me. I says I can’t even drive the bleeding thing, so how the hell can I nick it? In the end, they had to let me go.’
    Walter and Rob enjoyed the story. Tommy had a way of dissolving tension. He was always in a scrape from wheeling and dealing on the market, always one step ahead, but at the same time a strong family man who took home much of what he earned to his ma and pa. He kept just enough to socialize and get by. He had been the mainstay of the O’Hagans after Daisy’s tragic death, reckoning he’d no time for the birds or for settling down.
    â€˜Hey, Tommy, there’s just one thing wrong with that,’ Rob protested. ‘You can drive almost as good as me!’
    â€˜But the coppers don’t know that, do they? They take me out and put me behind the wheel of one of their Model Ts. I looks it all about like this, and takes hold of the handbrake. “Is this to turn the engine, or what?” I ask. And I let it go and we freewheel down the hill until the copper grabs hold of the wheel and slams the handbrake back on. “Just wait till I get my hands on that Lefty Harris!” he squeaks. He’s gone as white as a sheet. They give Lefty six months in the Scrubs, no messing.’
    â€˜And did you nick the Daimler?’ Walter leaned back to listen to Tommy’s reply. Rob had begun to edge the car into a side street not far from the ground.
    Tommy looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘You know me, Walt!’
    â€˜That’s why I’m asking, Tommy, believe me!’ Walter winked, and the subject was closed.
    Rob parked the car. The four of them pulled their hats down and joined the trudge up the street towards the turnstiles.
    Sadie stared down at the rain-sodden street. ‘Look at them poor blighters,’ she said to Hettie. Two women, shawls over their heads, pulled a sack half-full of coal along the pavement, ‘I bet