Written by Paul Balm and best read in a Soprano type mobster accent!

I want to set the record straight. I’ve seen a lot of the paper talk that’s been flying about between Fat Dave and Danny “The Weasel” Tessier. I’ve told Fat to tone it down but you know what he’s like – his mouth runs away and his brain’s too slow to catch up. The whole situation saddens me, truly it does. It has taken Mr Phillips and me a long time to restore the family’s respect and then that no-good low-life comes along and tries to ruin everything (I’m talking about the Weasel in case you were wondering). 

People have said to me “Mike, you knew what he was like, why did you take him back?” and they’re right, I did know what he was like. The first time I became aware of The Weasel he was running with that mob from Nottingham that keep disrespecting us. He upped and left them when the word of some high rolling action on the continent came his way). I was a little wary of bringing in to the family but I knew he was the man to make the big score and he assured me that there was enough work in my neighbourhood to keep him happy.  

He had a successful year for us right up until we got rolled over in our backyard in that turf war with the Nottingham mob. The rest of the guys wanted to go looking for a little revenge the week after but none of us could find Danny. We looked in every gin joint, brothel and gambling den and there was no sign, no one had seen him. You know where he was when he should have been backing up the rest of his family? On the golf course, the golf course! I ask you what is a guy doing walking round in stupid trousers hitting a little white ball when reputations are on the line. He showed that he’d got a total lack of respect for the other guys. You just don’t do that. You make sure you’ve got your colleague’s back because you know they’ll have yours. You don’t expect one of your own to strolling down the 14th with Bob Hope. When they found out the Nottingham mob had a field day. They even ended up singing songs about it, can you believe that? Fat Dave couldn’t face the shame; he ended up going to Gulliver’s Kingdom. I guess he wanted to feel like a big man again. 

I wanted to wash my hands of the weasel there and then. I told Davie the Greek that I didn’t want his little shadow darkening my door again. If he did he was likely to get a permanent role in building the foundation of my new family home in Rotherham. Davie the Greek told me it didn’t matter. He was going to bring in Jeremy Calzone as our new hitman to play alongside “Gums” Finnerty and Jeff “The vegetable” Legue (don’t ask me where that one came from, Calzone came up with it, something to do with a French word if you can believe that). He told me everything was going to be OK, these two guys would stir things up and make sure nobody showed us any disrespect. He was wrong. 

Whilst all this was happening I heard that Danny was back on the continent trying to make the big bucks. He was running with some guys calling themselves the foxes out in Germany. A weasel running with foxes, I ask you? I also heard that he was struggling to keep up, must have been those stubby little weasel legs of his. In the back of my head an alarm started ringing, nagging at me like my wife when she wants me to take her to see her mother. I never want to take her but I know it’s only a matter of time before she gets her wish. Same happened this time. 

I was out on a building site dealing with a little business when I got Davie the Greek in my ear telling me that Jeremy Calzone ain’t working out. Big surprise! Calzone was either trying to start a fight or he was missing in action. OK he could make the big hit sometimes but not the big score. I considered telling Davie the Greek not to state waste my time with the obvious but you can never get through to some people. Davie the Greek told me it didn’t matter about Calzone because he’d found a replacement. All we had to do was remove Calzone and as soon as he was gone and forgotten the replacement could slot right back in.  

“Back in”. Two words to strike fear in a grown man’s heart. I was back in the office talking to Fat Dave. Davie the Greek had got there before me and Fat was running his mouth about how the replacement would really put the Nottingham mob’s noses out of joint. I’d had enough, I guessed I knew the answer but I wanted it out in the open. “Whom, exactly are we talking about?” I asked. Neither of them would look me in the eye. “He’ll be good for the team boss”, muttered Davie The Greek, “We got to cut those Coventry Specials down to size, if we want to be top dogs again, boss” yammered Fat Dave “the Nottingham mob still ain’t got over him doing the dirty on them”. I knew all this; they were wasting my time again. “Just give me a name now or one of you will be snuggling up to what’s left of the winner of the 4:30 at Kempton. Capice?” Davie the Greek muttered something I couldn’t hear. “You want to say a little louder or do you want to go home and fetch your water wings?”” Danny Tessier” he said again just loud enough for me to hear. And with that all hell broke loose. 

I couldn’t believe it. Were they trying to give me a heart attack? Bringing the Weasel back into the family after all that had happened before? The pair was adamant; he was the guy to turn things round. We needed the big score and there was no one better out there than Danny. In the end I relented, I knew it was going to end in trouble for us all but, Fat Dave was right, we needed to show the Nottingham mob that no-one disrespects us like that and gets away with it and the Coventry Specials had thought they were top dogs for way too long. With a heavy heart I told Davie the Greek to make the arrangements and get out my office while they still had the chance. 

It all went well for a while. The Weasel arrived; I kept out of his way and just let him get on with things. We bloodied a few mobs’ noses and sent them home with their tails between their legs. Then we got to the big one. A turf war with the Coventry Specials. It was our time, I just knew it. The Weasel had fitted back in a lot better than I thought he would. Sure there were a few rumbles of dissent from the other guys, Ashley the Ego had plenty to say about him but he usually had plenty to say about everything and none of it was worth listening to. Some of the other guys said Danny was acting like he owned the place, like he was bigger than the family. I ask you, Tessier bigger than anything? Some people. 

Anyway back to the turf war. We arranged a meet on neutral turf in Nottingham. Where was the Nottingham mob? Who cares, that’s what I say. To cut a long story short they never had a chance, we gave them a slap and sent them home to their mommas. We were top of the heap again and it felt good. I’d got the word from Mr Phillips that the guys should be given a bonus. Nothing too big, no one wanted to see them get above their station, but a little appreciation of their achievements. When I told this the guys asked for the usual things, money, girls, strong liquor, you know the score. Not Tessier though. You know what he asked for? Golf clubs, that’s right, golf clubs. Well, what Mr Phillips says goes so I sent Fat Dave out to get those clubs. You should have seen Tessier when he got the clubs, he was dancing around waving them above his head like it was all Christmases had come at once, showing off to the group of wannabes and molls that always seem to gather wherever my guys are. I swear the guy had lost it and not in a good way either, he’s not right in the head. 

OK, now we’re coming to the end of this sorry story. I was talking to Davie The Greek a few weeks back about the guys. Their moans about the Weasel came up again. A lot were saying that if he came back they would leave. I knew how they felt. I didn’t want The Weasel anywhere near my team and I told Davie the Greek as much. I guess he must have told the Weasel because we hadn’t heard anything from him until Fat Dave decided to open his mouth. Pretty soon we’re hearing about how The Weasel thinks he’s been stabbed in the back and how he’s hard done by. Well, my heart pumps purple puss for the guy it really does. He makes it sound like he never got his share of the money. Let me tell you he got more than his share and then some. Is it my fault he squandered it on that gold plated golf cart? I don’t think so.

All I know is this. The Weasel will never be back at Sheffield while I’m in charge. Are you listening Greek? Huh?


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