The Horse at the Gates by D C Alden Read Free Book Online

they sign that Cairo treaty the floodgates will really open,’ Whelan complained. He drained his glass. ‘Fancy another?’
    Sully nodded. ‘Why not.’ He watched Whelan amble across to the bar, returning a minute later with two more glasses of foul lager in his fists.
    ‘Sorted.’ He sat down and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to England. What’s left of it.’
    Sully gingerly sipped his brew. ‘Cheers.’
    They lapsed into silence. Whelan shoved his glass aside and began rolling another cigarette. ‘You said your mate got you some work. Doing what?’’
    ‘Nothing much,’ Sully shrugged. He rummaged in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a scrap of paper. ‘He works for an employment agency. They don’t hire excons, but he sometimes gives me jobs off the books. I’ve only been out of nick for six weeks but he’s already sorted me out a couple of times. All cash in hand.’ Sully smoothed the paper out on the table. ‘This is it, the number of a bloke who runs a refrigeration company. Wants me to make a delivery, big fridge or something.’
    ‘Drive and drop? I used to do all that,’ boasted Whelan, lifting the glass to his lips. ‘What’s it paying?’
    ‘A grand.’
    Whelan choked on his lager, coughing foamy droplets across the table. He cuffed his wet chin. ‘For delivering a fridge?’ he rasped. ‘Jesus, that’s a nice touch. Why so much?’
    Sully shrugged. ‘No idea. My mate reckons it’s a tax dodge, but so what? A grand’s a nice chunk.’
    ‘A right result,’ agreed Whelan, clearing his throat. ‘Your mate at the agency, is he looking for anyone else? I used to drive for the civil service, important documents, that sort of stuff. I drive rigs, too. Learned in the army, ammo truck driver. Lot of responsibility.’
    Sully smiled apologetically. ‘Not really. Bit risky, being off the books an’ all that. He only does it for me because we’re old school mates. Sorry.’
    ‘No probs,’ Whelan shrugged, ‘Don’t ask, don’t get, right? I’ve got a few things on the go anyway.’
    ‘Good for you.’ Sully rose from the table. ‘Another drink?’
    ‘Sweet,’ Whelan grumbled.
    ‘Alright. I’m off for a shit first. Back in five, yeah?’

    Danny Whelan’s bitterness bubbled to the surface as he watched Sully lope towards the toilet. Another door slammed in his face. Every time an opportunity came along to make some cash it disappeared quicker than a fart in the wind. The horses didn’t help, or the dogs. They bled him dry, along with the lottery and a bit of puff. By the end of the week his welfare credits were gone, sucked back into the system that supported both him and his dad in their twelfth-floor flat near the King’s Head. It wasn’t his fault he had no money. He’d worked a bit, in the army of course, then the government job. He’d still be there if it wasn’t for that piss-up after work, followed by the breathalyzer on Chelsea Bridge Road Then there was his mouth, always getting him into trouble. No-one understood him, see? They didn’t realise what was going on around them, the Third-Worlders pouring into the country, mosques everywhere, good people arrested for protesting and speaking their minds. No-one wanted to hire a troublemaker. Fine. If he couldn’t beat the system then he’d take from it, bleed it as much as he could. But those welfare credits only went so far.
    He thought his luck would change when he joined the English Freedom Movement. It was a proud organisation, cared about the direction the country was headed. True, there were a few boneheads amongst them, but mostly the Movement was made up of decent folk, those that wanted an end to immigration and Britain’s membership of the EU, a return to traditional British values and way of life. Danny felt at home amongst its ranks, always attending the monthly meetings and helping out where he could; membership drives, leaflet campaigns, ferrying some of the older members down to the seaside