It was the second bus he’d been on since leaving the hospital – a journey that had taken over an hour. Jay-Go liked the bus. If you avoided pub closing and school hours, they were a good way to get around and they were cheap. He didn’t travel out of his area often, so the thought of blowing some of the money the Holy Man had given him on a cab hadn’t even occurred to him.The thick wad of cash was pressing against his thigh as he strutted his way up Grudie Street. The railing-topped wall of the community fire station was over to his right. A row of boarded-up terraced houses to his left: most of the occupants of which had either moved on or had flitted to the new houses further up the estate.It was just after one o’clock in the morning.The dark streets were deserted, the quiet disturbed by the distant sound of a heavy bass dub-beat banging away in some inconsiderate stoner’s house. The air was filled with the incongruous smell of freshly cut grass wafting down from the square of green common at the top of the road.Jay-Go was just about to turn right into his street when his mobile buzzed.It was a message from Yogi Bearcat.‘Party was at your house?
