On the bus, Jerry sat head bobbing to his latest playlist with only one earphone in. It was his way of staying alert. Tommy told him not to fuck up and he didn’t intend to. He felt safe now that he was in his manor, especially as most faces on the street recognised him as being the newest edition to Brandon's crew. He had resisted the urge to ring Tommy and make sure he was alright. Get the stuff to the Castle. He pressed the red request button and started to make his way down the stairs, nodding at a few familiar faces. The bus passed the row of shops where his favourite chicken shop stood and his stomach rumbled.
The lads all cheered as he entered the pub. They removed his hood and started rubbing his head and patting him on the back. “Watch my ‘air!” he complained.
“Blinding job, Son.” Ned winked.
Brandon swaggered over with a beaming grin.
“Told yah, he’s a good lad,” Ned stated as Brandon took the rucksack and emptied its contents on one of the tables.
Jerry heard the doors bolt shut and Brandon placed his wide tattooed arm around him. “Come and ‘ave a drink. You’ve earned it.”