Tony the Throat was a small-time hoodlum turned big-time London gangster. At least, that’s the way he thought of himself. No doubt others had a rather different opinion of him, but he was magnanimous enough to believe everyone was entitled to their own opinion.
He’d been doing well for himself until he’d got on the wrong side of some rather more powerful gangsters. Discretion being the better part of valour, he’d decided to make himself scarce until the fuss died down and a few misunderstandings were sorted out.
In retrospect, he might have been better off somewhere that wasn’t Cardiff.
Cowering among the dustbins in a back alley, he watched the monster advancing on him, teeth bared in a snarl. He was trapped, there was no way out unless he could get past the creature, and that seemed unlikely.
Just as death seemed inevitable, a big black SUV screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alley and several people leaped out brandishing weapons. They moved quickly and efficiently, spraying the monster in the face then throwing a hood over its head and tying it up. In a matter of minutes they had it stowed in the SUV’s boot.
Two men remained in the alley, one in a vintage coat, the other wearing a stylish suit easily matching Tony’s in quality.
The suited man approached him.
“Are you alright, sir?” he enquired calmly, then frowned. “Wait a minute, I know you.” He turned to the guy in the coat. “Better call in Detective Swanson, there’s a warrant out for this one. Tony Selby, self-styled gangster. Pulled a huge heist a few weeks ago.”
“What did he steal?”
Suit guy smirked.
“It was supposed to be high-end electronics, but this genius stole the wrong truck and got inflatable bananas instead.”