Rock ’n’ Roll -

Record on jukebox is stuck. BJ not dancing.

Eddie Dunford is pointing shotgun at BJ’s chest.

Eddie asks: ‘Why me?’

BJ say: ‘You came so highly recommended.’

He drops shotgun and turns and walks down Strafford stairs and Eddie’s gone -

Eddie’s gone but BJ still here -

Here:

Strafford, Wakefield -

Now:

Tuesday 24 December 1974.

Think, think, think -

Heart racing and gasping for breath, eyes wide and looking about:

Grace behind bar screaming and shaking, Old Cunt over by window in fucking shock not moving or anything, hands still up in air -

Craven stood there in centre of room, shit running out of his ear, his mate Dougie crawling towards bog in his own blood -

Paul on his back, eyes opening and closing, dying -

Boss man Derek Box already there -

Dead.

‘Fuck,’ BJ say, thinking -

Think, think fucking fast:

Over to Derek and open his jacket and take out his wallet, have his watch and rings for good measure -

Paul still whistling air, BJ take his money and his watch -

‘Cunt,’ he hisses.

‘Shoosh,’ BJ spit back -

Then sirens, BJ can hear sirens -

Fuck -

BJ leave him pennies and BJ say to Grace: ‘We got to get out of here, love.’

But she’s still all shock and screams, blood on her blouse and blood in hair -

‘Come on!’ BJ yell. ‘They’re going to be here any fucking second.’

She doesn’t move.

‘You don’t want to be here.’

Behind bar to give her a shake but it’s no fucking use so BJ grab night’s takings from till, shouting in her face: ‘They’ll kill us all!’

Nothing -

BJ slap her -

Tyres and brakes and car doors outside -