Scissors, Paper, Stone! (2/5) By Bob Spence

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

Tommy Mulgrew was his man. Tommy was a 6ft 2 Army champion boxer. When Maxie Baer was doing demonstrations in Paris, then it was Tommy who was his partner, and by all accounts he was paid to back off. Like all local legends he had his beginnings. The Sharpie was a tough estate in Geordie land made up of one-up-one-down houses. The landlord was 'Flash' Eddie Fitsimmons, whose grandfather was a shipbuilder who made the family fortune with contracts to build the Dreadnoughts some twenty five years before.

When Fitsimmons increased the peppercorn rent on the very large property portfolio by 300% he did not reckon on Tommy Mulgrew being on leave. Tommy's father had disappeared many years before so when his mother was aggressively approached with this dramatic rent increase it was Tommy who went to explain the misunderstanding and it was a very interesting evening for all involved.

Of course no witnesses exist, but the legend served Mulgrew very well. Tommy carried an unmarked revolver and against three men he killed one, badly injured one and maimed another. His reputation was well served and Crockford took him on. Crockford owned the Miller and the boy behind the bar was Mickey, Mickey McGreevey who was fresh out of the Cleveland Children's home. Both parents dead. Crockford always had occasional tasks for his bar staff. 'Mick, do you want to earn an extra £10?' 'Of course Mr Crockford.'

He always had that way with him, Brian Crockford, that he was in the officer's mess addressing an adjutant. Many ex-officers still thought they were still at it. 'I have a lorry that is arriving at Queen Alexander Docks tonight and I will need some help, very confidential help. Are you in?'

Well £10 was a fortune. 'Yes.' The story was to help unload a lorry load of items that were being delivered to a warehouse off the Queen Vic. Of course it could only be worth £10 if it was against Johnny Law but a truckload of liqueur was hardly a crime. Yes, a truckload of liqueur.

Wednesday night was a nothing night, but who was complaining. The warehouse was off Cleveland Street. Brian Crockford was dressed in a sheepskin jacket and stood with his feet slightly apart and kept nodding his head and then looking to an expensive styled watch. Next to him was Mulgrew. It was obvious he carried a gun.

Doug Revie and Wally Fear were the bar boys from the Bold Dragoon and Wally had a sharpened bayonet that he carried against his shin and always boasted of his ability in throwing it and commitment to use it. He had tried out to be a jockey on the sands but failed the grade and carried a shoulder injury for his trouble.

McGreeveyalways felt that Wally had something to prove, mainly to himself, and didn't particularly enjoy his company. Cleveland Street had certainly seen better days and the drab Bedford lorry did not look out of place at all. 'Okay Mr Crockford?' The driver was a gypsy called Scarrot and had oil-stained overalls over an old army blouse and a spanner in the top pocket. The truck was reversed into the jetty and a thin hawk-faced man called Morris opened the Judas gate. 'Move her in Scarrot!'

Continued ...next page

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