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“Billy’s training to box,” Drake said. “He’s really good. All those street fights are paying off.”
Billy raised his chin. “I can always swap this for ya ugly head, if ya like.”
“Nuh. I might knock out those girly teeth.”
“Fock off,” Billy said, punching away.
“He’s always brushing his fucking teeth,” Drake told me.
I had to laugh. I liked them.
Drake’s eyes darkened, and I turned to look at the boy who’d just burst in, dressed in Nike, head to toe, which made me wonder if he dealt drugs.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“That’s Bailey. He’s a fucking tosser.”
Bailey regarded us then looked over at Billy. “If it isn’t the skinny orangutang.”
“Shut the fuck up, you Tory cunt,” Billy said, punching more furiously.
My head pushed back, and I had to remind myself these boys had done prison time. They weren’t about to share a respectful conversation about some Miss Marple mystery on TV.
Drake rolled his eyes. “He’s fucking trouble. He’s just turned up, like two days ago. A rich arsehole. Thinks he owns the place.”
Although muscular, which suggested he worked out, Bailey sat on the press bench and went through the motions in a perfunctory fashion. He struck me as uncommitted. After a few repetitions, he walked over to Billy and whispered something. Billy, who was already red in the face from his fierce thumping, headbutted him.
Bailey fell onto his arse. He scrambled to his feet and pulled a fist, but Billy ducked and was about to pounce on him when Drake raced over. The blonde toff would have come off second best, I conjectured, as I watched what had gone from some friendly ribbing to a full-on fight in a matter of minutes.
“Don’t you know if you get caught again, you’re back in?” Drake berated Billy.
Billy wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Then tell that turd to fuck off. He started it.”
Bailey laughed. “He can’t help it if his mother’s a spaz.”
Billy flattened Bailey, while Drake yelled at him to stop.
Carson ran in and separated them as one would a couple of warring puppies. “Not you two again.” He let out an angry groan, then pointed into the Irish boy’s face. “You’ve already been warned.”
“He fucking started it,” Billy appealed.
Drake nodded to corroborate his mate’s appeal.
“I was watching,” I said, joining them. I pointed my chin towards Bailey. “He came in looking for trouble. I’m sure.”
Carson scratched his chin. “Just get out. Now.”
They all left. He turned to Drake. “Go with them. Watch over them.”
Drake nodded and left.
“How are you?” I asked Carson.
“I was good until I stepped in here. He’s fucking trouble, that Bailey.”
“Why don’t you throw him out?” I unscrewed my water bottle and took a swallow.
“Can’t. He’s someone’s rich son. I don’t know. Something doesn’t quite make sense, to be honest. We had him lumped on us. He hasn’t been locked up or anything. Although he should be. We were asked to turn him around or else.”
