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They made their way down a flight of stone steps worn smooth with the years and came to the low ceilinged beer cellar. A short row of aluminium barrels, coloured banded to their contents, lay on their sides. The transparent tubes of the pumping system draped across them, occasionally jerking into life as beer was drawn in the bar above.
Bob led Vincent through the narrow aisle between the connected barrels and those stood on their ends waiting to replace the empties, to another door at the far end.
This door was very old and battered, it’s green paintwork chipped and scuffed. Bob knocked politely.
“Come.” Shouted a voice from the room beyond.
Bob pushed it open waved Vincent through.
The room beyond was dark and filled with cigarette smoke. Two shaven-headed bouncers sat playing cards at a small table, bodyguards for the offices central occupant.
Dominating the centre of the room was a heavy oak desk, stained a dark, rich brown and highly polished. Behind it sat the ‘Gaffer’, as Bob had put it.
He was heavy-set and wore an expensive dark blue double-breasted suit tailored to fit his overbearing frame. Rectangular gold-rimmed spectacles perched halfway along his nose and thick, hopelessly unfashionable, sideburns crept down his face. His heavy mouth seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer. He looked at Vincent with menace, whatever his visitor had to say it had better be worth his time.
Vincent kept his eyes in full contact with the Gaffer, but was cautious enough to have the bodyguards in his peripheral vision. Any sudden moves and he’d see it.
Vincent walked across the office to the desk and fished in one of his front pockets of his dirty jeans. The bodyguards tensed but kept their seats. Vincent withdrew an object from the depths of his pocket and with care and determination placed it on the desktop with a determined click.
The Gaffer leaned forward a little to examine it. It was a small golden coin of some undetermined currency, tarnished with age.
The Gaffer sat slowly back in his voluminous leather chair and interlinked his hands across his stomach.
“Ah.” He said. “A traditionalist.”
Vincent kept his eyes fixed on the Gaffer’s.
“The world is changing, my friend.” Said the big man. “The old ways must give ground to the new. We, of all people, must adapt to the times as they change.”
Vincent shrugged. “I pay my due. Give me my right.”
The Gaffer’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be honest with you, boy. I don’t like you wild ones. As far as I’m concerned you’re a threat to our future. You're unpredictable, disorganised and stupid.
“We have a good thing going here in this town. Everyone is catered for, because we know how to work the system. Whenever one of you animals happens by you put the security of us all in jeopardy”
Vincent leaned forward, leaning both hands on the desk, bringing his penetrating stare closer to the Gaffer. The guards half-rose but the Gaffer stood them down with a wave.