The Drop

right one or the left?’
    ‘Do you even know which one’s which?’ I asked Golden Boots.
    ‘No, no, don’t.’
    ‘What are you on eh? Fifty, sixty grand a week? Got to be. Tell me, tell me now!’ ordered Finney.
    ‘Sixty,’ he managed to say without taking his eye off the massive boot that was hovering over those famous legs. Amazing, three million quid a year to a scumbag like this. If he wasn’t playing football he would be the one selling the coke. ‘How many cars have you got?’ asked Finney.
    ‘What?’
    ‘How many?’ Finney ordered him, ‘go on, tell me!’
    ‘F… Four. No five, five!’
    ‘See he can’t even remember,’ Finney went to stamp on his leg again and the bloke screamed like a nine-year-old girl. Finney stopped.
    ‘What are they then?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Tell me what you got, those five cars. Name them or I’ll break your arms too. You won’t even be able to wipe your own arse.’
    ‘A Maserati,’ he squealed, terrified now, ‘a Ferrari Enzo… a… a… ’
    Finney raised his leg again, ‘a what?’
    ‘A Lamborghini Gallardo, a BMW X5 and… and… a Bentley Continental.’
    ‘That figures,’ I said, ‘break his legs Finney, he deserves it for the Baby Bentley alone.’
    ‘No! Please!’
    Finney raised his foot once more, ‘disgusting,’ he said again and he brought his boot down as hard as he could.
    The girl squealed, the footballer screamed. Finney’s boot slammed into the wooden flooring between the bloke’s knees. The Bentley-driving tosser screamed again and hid his eyes behind his hands. When he finally realised he was unharmed he barely dared to peer out from behind them.
    Finney wasn’t through lecturing him, ‘when Bobby Robson was captain of England he didn’t even have a car! Now get out of here and take that minging slag with you.’
    ‘Tell anyone about this and we’ll make sure your piss is the most tested in the country,’ I told him, ‘and my friend here will definitely come back and break both those precious legs.’
    Finney let him get up, the WAG followed him sharpish and they both headed for the door.
    ‘Just a minute,’ hissed Finney as they reached it and they both froze, ‘come here.’ Golden Boots reluctantly walked back over to face Finney, ‘you haven’t said thank you.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘For teaching you a valuable lesson,’ the Premiership’s finest just stared at him like a frightened rabbit, ‘well go on then, say it.’
    There was a sizeable pause while he tried to find the words, ‘Thank you.’ His voice was a high pitched squeak.
    ‘What for?’
    Another pause.
    ‘For teaching me a valuable lesson.’
    Finney nodded, giving them permission to leave. As Golden Boots walked out of the door, I told him, ‘welcome to the real Premier League.’

SIXTEEN
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    W hen they were gone, Billy said, ‘Jesus lads, he was my biggest earner.’
    ‘Tough,’ I told him, ‘sit down. I want a word.’
    Finney was clearly still troubled by the footballer’s behaviour. ‘You know who that was, don’t you?’ he asked me.
    ‘Yep,’
    He shook his head like the world had gone completely mad. ‘Can you imagine Alan Shearer behaving like that?’
    ‘No,’ I said truthfully, ‘I can’t.’
    I got Finney to search Billy’s flat while we went over the story of Cartwright and the Russian one more time. It didn’t take Finney long before he came out of the bedroom carrying a large holdall. It contained around three kilos of coke.
    ‘Oh shit,’ said Billy.
    ‘No wonder you can afford this place Billy,’ I said, ‘there’s got to be fifty grand’s worth there. Now, how did you come by that?’
    Billy was evasive at first, for all of about two seconds, until Finney picked him off the ground by his neck and pressed him hard against the wall. I watched his feet kicking a few inches from the floor and let him gasp for breath for a moment before I told Finney to loosen his grip and let him drop to the ground, where he lay choking.
    ‘Now then Billy,’ I told him, ‘we know you didn’t tell me the whole truth about Cartwright so explain it all to me now or I walk out of this door and leave Finney to finish you off. I’m in too much shit to waste any more time on you. You’ve got one chance.’
    ‘I don’t know nothing about it,’ the words were strangled in his mangled throat.
    ‘I’ll leave you to it then Finney,’ I said.
    ‘Right,’ he said matter-of-factly and