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Chapter 2 - I Don't Like Mondays

'Big' John Kildare clicked the indicator, and left the M1 at J10. He opened another scotch egg - it was a long way from North London, and that full English would never last. As he swept around the roundabout and onto the spur road, he couldn't help but glance wistfully at the field on the left. His nest egg, he called it. When the chairman developed that land, he would be set for life. In the meantime, he would have to continue pretending. Pretending that he wasn't bitter about being turfed out of the big time. Pretending he didn't miss the big stadiums and the big press following. Most of all pretending that he found the second division interesting. Small teams, small crowds, but worst of all, small press. Big John loved the press, and they loved him. But not in the second division. The season was almost over, a chance for John to recharge the batteries in sunny places with big portions. Of food, naturally. No chance of the playoffs, no chance of relegation. The fans had been on at him to blood some youngsters in the end of season games, but no way. Every postion in the league had a bonus figure attached. Finishing 10th instead of 7th would cost him. So no doughnut supporter was going to tell him what to do. See out the season, get some R&R, then get those irons out of the fire. Perhaps Wolves reserves were at home tonight he mused, cracking open a Mars milk drink.

Reading railway station is a desolate place at the best of times. Much like Reading itself. But when you're counting the seconds till your train arrives, it takes on an air of grim foreboding. Grundy ate another McNugget. Not exactly the fine food he had dreamt of once, but it was better than nothing. And nothing was all he was left with. The police and customs service had dumped Grundy as soon as the case was over. Chan was safely behind bars, but had promised Grundy from the dock that his life was forfeit. The Triads were on the hunt, and the old bill didn't want to know. Fend for yourself, Grundy. So Grundy ran. He had no money and no friends. Friends! They had long since been used and discarded.
Two minutes.
A tramp shuffled by, and collapsed by the ticket barrier, intending to sleep the night. The station staff let him be. Grundy feared that would be him soon. A member of station staff stood in front of Grundy, his back to him. The despatcher, thought Grundy. Train's nearly here. Soon be off. The train rattled into the station, Grundy stood forward ready to board.
"Excuse me sir..." said the despatcher.
Grundy went to answer, looked at the man. He was Chinese.
The train stopped, the doors opened. Two Chinese men stood in the doorwell. Grundy panicked, took a step back. He felt the bite of sharp steel on the back of his neck. In the reflection of the train window, he saw the tramp behind him. He was Chinese. Grundy sighed. I hope they make it quick, he thought.

Big John sliced open the envelope, leaving greasy thumbprints from his bacon sandwich on the paper. The letter opener had been adapted from one of Marvins boot they'd rescued from the blacksmith. He glanced at the letter. More hate mail from Devon. Don't they ever give up, he thought to himself. That Coughlan had a lot to answer for. Mitch Halford loomed into the office.
"How was training?" asked John, reaching for another envelope.
"Fine. You must come along some time." replied Mitch as Big John checked the postmark before opening. Good. A Luton postmark.
"Naagh. I fackin' know it all already" Big John retorted, collapsing into a gale of laughter at his own wit. Halford smiled like a pensioner with wind.
"These cheeky cants..." began Big John, unfolding the letter "who the fack are they calling BFJ. You know what that means dontcha Mitch. Big Fat John. Muppets. I've had it with this lot"
He threw the remaining letters in the bin.
"Fack 'em" he growled. "Got any Bosnians lined up for next season Mitch?" as he glanced at the Wolves reserves fixture list on his PC screensaver.
"One or two, Guv. We'll run them through the preseason friendlies in Scotland"
"Yeah great stuff Mitch. Who we playing Saturday?" he asked.
"Barnsley"
"Yeah great stuff Mitch. Spot of lunch?"
Halford sighed. It was 11am. "Yes Guv. Me driving again?"
Big John paused only to drain the three litre bottle of Tizer.
"Fackin' right Mitch. And bring your wallet."

Grundy sat dead still. The minders either side of him stared directly at him. If he moved an inch, they clubbed him. This had gone on for three days now. Grundy wanted to cry, but dared not. He needed a piss, but dared not ask. He was hungry for some pie, but, well, he guessed that was out of the question. His backside ached where they had shoved a cucumber yesterday. It hurt, but he actually quite liked the sensation.
The door suddenly swung open, and in swept Emma Chan, Tommy's wife. Tommy had rescued her from a brothel in the Euston Road, and took her under his wing. She had recently finished a law degree and looked every inch the powerful business woman. A real change from her offers to 'love you long time' to the punters five years ago. Grundy feared the worst.
She walked up to Grundy and kicked him on the nose. It exploded in shower of blood. He took the piss he had been holding back. The minders clubbed him for showing disrespect.
"You dead man walking", she screamed, "my Tommy do 15 year cos of you. I should kill you now"
"Please", Grundy snivelled, "don't kill me. I'll do anything"
"Of course you will" Emma screeched, "and more besides. You owe me 10 million. Tommy in clink. Columbia dead route now."
"But how will I ever get my hands on 10 million", squealed Grundy, "I have nothing"
"I don't care" said Emma benignly "you have 48 hour. If no10 million, you die. Don't try run. We watch every move"
Grundy was bundled out through a back door and dumped in a backstreet near Leicester Square. 10 million pounds. 48 hours. He would have to use all his wit and guile. Even Grundy saw the irony.
Just then, a rowdy group of revellers stumbled by. A loud mouthed prat was braying.
"...and I stand to make £25 million when the old man sells..." Derek Good drunkenly sprayed saliva into the Harpenden barmaid's ear, as she struggled to hold him upright.
It was the miracle Grundy had been looking for!
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