FOOD FIGHT

Emily set the next drinks down on the table. Eddie thanked her, then turned back to Danny.

“You need something, anything at all, you tell your uncle Eddie.”

“Good of you.”

“Nah, I’m not talking favours, son. I owe you big time after what you did with the pub and all. You need help, you ask.”

Eddie sipped, put his glass back on the table.

“Speaking of which, you in bother?”

Danny looked puzzled.

“No more than usual.”

Eddie took his mobile from his inside jacket pocket, fiddled and squinted as only the elderly can, scrolled.
Then he glanced back over each shoulder to make sure no one was close and held the phone forward.

Danny looked at a video clip that ran for ten or twelve seconds, then repeated.

“That who I think it is?” Eddie asked.

Danny nodded. It was Malcolm McIntosh on his one and only visit to the Bellerophon.

“We had the Bill in with a mugshot, asking about our CCTV. You in the brown stuff again?”

Danny nodded.

“Didn’t spot him at first,’ said Eddie. ‘He left his helmet by the hat stand on his way in. But I’m a persistent bugger, as you know. Recognised the guy when I went through the tape again.”

They drank, looked at each other.

“I’ve got to be honest with you, Danny. You know I’m not the Bill’s biggest fan but I’ve spent an absolute bloody fortune on this place. If they get arsey they could pull my licence.”

“You’ve been good to me, Eddie. I don’t want to get you in any bother.”

“OK, son. You just tell me you’re getting this sorted and the CCTV is wiped.”

“I’m on it, Eddie.”

“Nuff said.”

Danny had meant what he said to Eddie about sorting things but there could be no guarantees. He hated to think he might’ve lied to the old man.

“There is one thing.”

Eddie looked up, alert.