A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller Read Online Free Page B

something."
    The man pushed the foaming glass across the bar.
    "What can you do?"
    "I can turn my hand to most things."
    The man in the waistcoat considered Harry's answer and looked him up and down. He gestured towards a small group of men in the far corner of the room.
    "Tell Pete that Alfie sent you over, might have something for you."
    Harry pushed off the brass foot bar.
    "Thanks."
    Royle threw the comment back over his shoulder, towards the bustling barman. This time, the small huddle of men playing cards did stop talking as Harry approached, and it was silence which greeted Royle, as he drew up close and came to a stop at eye level. He was about to speak when his trilby was thrust into his hand by the barman.
    "Pete, young man here is looking for odd jobs, seems a decent sort."
    Pete was an older man with that odd Manchester style of heavily greased back hair. He looked up and smiled exposing a large gap in his otherwise dark yellow tobacco stained teeth. The man wore an old dirty cardigan and equally dirty slacks and tie. Royle noticed that the seedy looking man had large hands and filthy nails. His voice was straight out of a Dickens novel with a dressing of nasal Mancunian added for good measure.
    "Give the man a seat, come on sit you down here and let's have a look at you. You're tall, what are you six foot?"
    "Six-two in my stocking feet."
    Pete looked at Harry carefully. The other men around the table remained respectfully silent.
    "Look like you can handle yourself too. You been a soldier, son?"
    Harry swallowed and held the man's beady gaze.
    "Was."
    The man leant toward him conspiratorially and whispered out of earshot of the others.
    "Are you a deserter, you on the run?"
    Harry knew that if he was cagey the meeting might end in a heartbeat. Without a moment's hesitation, he answered with an affirmative nod. The man relaxed and grinned in a charmless manner.
    "Lads meet?"
    "Harry Trent." Royle offered.
    "Lads meet Harry, he's an old friend."
    He offered Harry a cigarette and shook his hand firmly. The other men greeted him as though they had all known each other for a long time.
    By the time Harry Royle was back in his own room sipping, a hot cup of strong tea, he had become in the words of Pete "One of the boys." Something that Pete seemed to think important. ‘The boys' were what was known as local talent, Manchester born and bred, all apart from Harry and Welsh Eric. The work promised was not really spoken of, just mentioned as odd jobs and mostly night work. Harry had caught the unguarded words "muscle" and "heavy" used by Pete. The man had presumed Royle was out of earshot. Pete had all but clapped his hands at the idea of having Harry join his merry band. Hardly surprising, thought Harry, considering what an asset a fully trained soldier would be and on the run, so no chance of something better turning up.
    Standing up he slopped some tea onto the already stained carpet beside the bed. The hot liquid stung his fingers and he put it down hard on the battle-scarred dressing table. Snatching up his cigarettes, he lit one and dragged roughly on it, as though it had been weeks since his last smoke. Hearing voices out in the street, he crossed over to the window. Looking out beyond the faded paintwork. He just saw a couple doing the push and shove of loves young dream. He shoving her into doorways, and she pushing him off. Harry grinned to himself for just a moment, as he imagined the words, ring, finger' and ‘not before I'm wed' coming from behind the pushes. He shook his head. She'll give in, it's not all about him, she wants him too, it's just a game.
    The thoughts brought back another game, a grim game and one that wasn't innocent or funny. It was a hard, bitter thought that he was, in fact, a fully paid up member of a cheap Manchester gang and that soon he would be pulling jobs with them in order to survive.
    Mandell's face swam into view and Harry cursed it, wanted to kill the man. His whole frame