I handed him his usual two ton in old notes which he secreted away in his usual nicotine brown whistle. ‘I hear you’ve come into money,’ he said through a mouthful of foamy suds.
‘Blimey, the old jungle drums have been beating.’
‘Seems like you owe me a finder’s fee, seeing as I introduced the pair of you.’
‘Leave off, Jack, he’s hardly cold in his box.’
‘More like hot considering he was cremated.’
‘Funny.’
‘Not so’s you’d notice. Chestertons isn’t it. Good firm. A hundred and fifty grand I reckon. Ten per cent should do.’
‘My girlfriend reckons a hundred.’
‘She’s behind the times my son. Property in Docklands is shooting up. You’ve probably earned a grand since you inherited. Just let me know, I don’t want to go looking.’
I held up my hands. ‘So what DO you know?’ I asked.
‘Not
