'We will be as gentle as we can,' he said gravely. The sprog scribbled furiously, more for something to do than because he could not remember such a short sentence.
The magistrate's order specified nine o'clock. It was two minutes past nine. Hanley nodded to the chief housing officer.
'Proceed,' he said.
The council officer approached the door of the house and knocked loudly. There was no answer.
'Are you there, Mr Larkin?' he called. No answer. The official looked back at Hanley. Hanley nodded. Clearing his throat, the official read out the eviction order in a voice loud enough to be heard inside the house. There was no answer. He stepped back to the group in the road.
'Will we give him five minutes?' he asked.
'Very well,' said Hanley. Behind the crush barrier a murmur started among the growing crowd of former dwellers in the Gloucester Diamond. Finally one at the back became bolder.
'Leave him alone,' called the voice. 'Poor old man.'
Hanley strolled leisurely over to the barrier. Without haste he walked down the line of faces, staring into the eyes of each. Most looked away; all fell silent.
'Is it sympathy you'd be giving him?' asked Hanley softly. 'Was it sympathy that broke all his windows last winter and himself freezing in there? Was it sympathy that had him pelted with stones and muck?' There was a long silence. 'Hold your hour,' said Hanley and walked back to the group by the front door. There was silence behind the barrier. Hanley nodded to the two bailiffs who were staring at him.
'On you go,' he said.
Both men had crowbars. One walked round the side of the house, between the chain-link fence and the corner of the brickwork. With skilled ease, he prised loose three of the fence planks and entered the back yard. He walked to the back door and rapped at it with his bar. When his colleague at the front heard the sound, he rapped at the front. There was no reply to either. The man at the front inserted the tip of the crowbar between the door and side post and had it open in a trice. The door yielded 3 inches and stopped. There was furniture behind it. The bailiff shook his head sadly and, turning to the other edge of the door, whisked off both hinges. Then he picked up the door and laid it in the front garden. Piece by piece, he removed the pile of chairs and tables in the hallway until the space was clear. Finally he entered the lobby calling, 'Mr Larkin?' From the back there was a splintering sound as his friend entered through the kitchen.
There was silence in the street while the men searched the ground floor. At the upper bedroom window a pale face appeared. The crowd spotted it.
'There he is,' yelled three or four voices from the crowd, like hunt followers spotting the fox before the riders. Just trying to be helpful. One of the bailiffs popped his head round the front doorpost. Hanley nodded upwards towards the bedroom window; the two men clumped up the narrow stairs. The face disappeared. There was no scuffle. In a minute they were coming down, the leader cradling the frail old man in his arms. He emerged into the drizzle and stood undecided. The relief worker hurried forward with a dry blanket. The bailiff set the old man down on his feet and the blanket was wrapped round him. He looked underfed and slightly dazed, but most of all very frightened. Hanley made up his mind. He turned towards his car and beckoned the driver forward. The council could have him later for the old folks home, but first a damn good breakfast and a hot cup of tea was called for.
'Put him in the back,' he told the bailiff. When the old man was settled in the warm rear seat of the car, Hanley climbed in beside him.
'Let's get out of here,' said Hanley to his driver. 'There's a transport cafe half a mile down here and second left. We'll go there.'
As the car moved back through the barrier and past the staring crowd, Hanley gave a glance at his unusual guest. The old man was dressed in grubby slacks and a thin jacket over an unbuttoned shirt. Word had it he had not looked aft
er himself properly for years, and his face was pinched and sallow. He stared silently at the back of the car seat in front of him, not returning Hanley's gaze.
'It had to come sooner or later,' said Hanley gently. 'You knew that all along.'
Despite his size and the capacity, when he wished to use it, to cause hard villains from the dockland to wet their knickers when he faced them, Big Bill Hanley was a much kinder man than his meaty face and twice-broken nose would give reason to think. The old man turned slowly and stared at him, but he said nothing.
'Moving house, I mean,' said Hanley. 'They'll fix you up in a nice place, warm in winter, and decent food. You'll see.'
The car drew up at the cafe. Hanley descended and turned to his driver.
'Bring him in,' he said.
Inside the warm and steamy cafe Hanley nodded to a vacant corner table. The police driver escorted the old man to the corner and sat him down, back to the wall. The old man said nothing, neither of thanks nor protestation. Hanley glanced at the wall chart behind the counter. The cafe owner wiped his hands on a damp dishcloth and looked inquiringly.
'Double eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage and chips,' said Hanley. 'In the corner. The old fella. And start with a mug of tea.' He placed two pound notes on the counter. 'I'll be back for the change,' he said.
The driver returned from the corner table to the counter.
'Stay there and keep an eye on him,' said Hanley. 'I'll be taking the car myself.'
The driver thought it was his lucky day; first a warm car, now a warm café. Time for a cup of tea and a smoke.
'Will I sit with him, sir?' he asked. 'He smells a bit.'
'Keep an eye on him,' repeated Hanley. He drove himself back to the demolition site in Mayo Road.