Free Give The Devil His Due by H G White

end Neil's nightmare. With a bit of luck, in a few days Neil’s life would be heading towards normality and we could look forward to seeing the old Neil we knew so well. We debated whether I should leave the next day but decided there was nothing I could do till Monday, so I stayed.
     
     
    ***
     
    The coach trip back on Sunday evening was quiet. With only a handful of passengers on board, I had the luxury of three seats to myself, enough to spread out and sleep. I woke up about half an hour before my journey's end.
           The driver for Sunday had been John. Bouncing Barry had been wiped out just like Eric before him and, although I wasn’t sure if it was the same coach, the ride certainly seemed much smoother. I missed Alvin; perhaps he had taken an earlier service. If so, I hoped that Tasha had provided him with clean trousers.
           On arrival, Martin Sedgely was waiting for me at the coachstand.
           ‘Try and keep it under ninety, can you Mart? There's no rush.’
           The fact that there was no rush didn't seem to deter Martin from driving in his usual manner. He was an eccentric, with a very Bohemian lifestyle. I used to sit on the taxi rank during the day talking to Mart. He had a penchant for exotic cigarettes and maintained they were like apples.
           ‘Five a day keeps the doctor away!’
           I would often say to him, ‘Where are you visiting tonight Mart? Is it Morocco or Afghanistan?’
           Mart had a pathological hatred of the police. He'd had his pad turned over by them looking for his weed. He’d become very attached to the plants. Like a doting father talking to his kids, he’d tell them stories. He’d even given them names. Luckily for them (and for him), he’d had a tip off that the scuffers were coming and managed to find his ‘children’ a new home – just in the nick of time. But the stress the ganja had suffered due to the trauma of the move affected the crop, and what could have been an awesome smoke had turned out second rate. As far as Martin Sedgely was concerned, by having to re-home his loved ones elsewhere, he’d been denied the most basic of human rights – that of a parent to live amongst his family. The day the drug squad decided to drop in on Martin Sedgely was the day they made a lifelong enemy.
           Mart dropped me off at mum's, shaken and stirred. I was greeted by Pugs. What a friendly face! I did a cup of tea and chat, then headed home. Monday was going to be a day of organising things.
     
     
     

Chapter 7
     
    Monday 7 a.m. South Wales

I woke up early. I was a man on a mission.
           The licensing office opened at 8.30 a.m. and that would be my first port of call. If I didn't get a green light from Alan Osborne, the taxi licensing inspector, it would be contact Peachy and back to the drawing board. I decided to do a face to face (rather than over the phone).
           It was 8.40 a.m. when I went into the office. Alan was at his desk.
           ‘Can I buy you a cuppa?’ I said.
           ‘Why? What do you want?’
           ‘After all these years I can't buy you a cup of tea without there being an ulterior motive?’
           ‘I'd be very surprised if there isn't one.’
           I couldn't fool him, but he agreed to go for a brew. As licensing inspector, he didn't just cover taxis. He dealt with everything from fruit machines to fairground rides, clubs’ entertainment permits, door-personnel etc. The list went on and on. It wasn't unusual for him to get called out of the office, so eyebrows wouldn't be raised if he left his desk for half an hour. In fact he was on a pretty cushy number and as he was a natural-born slacker , the freedom to disappear while pretending to work suited him down to the ground.
           We went to a nearby cafe. I got them in and started my pitch. I left out the homeless bit because, as far as I was concerned, Neil was