Signor Rennard clearly so impressed by my work in Little Ealing that he send me away for few days to help our caporegime in Trumpton, where the retirement of Don Blair create huge turf war between families.
Capo "Watcher" Stone is pleased to see me.
"Oh God... Liberali" he say "help with security and try to stay out of trouble. We putting on show of strength for local paparazzi on Trumpton Green today, need to avoid any confrontations."
No problem think I, so first Labouristi cugine I bump into, I warn them off being anywhere near the Green at 12:00. He sure seem to get message, run off straightaway, not looking back.
But some people just won't take hint. While Watcher and our soldiers assemble we see growing crowd of Labouristi in stripy shirts gather nearby. They led by fat man with spiky hair and tomahawk. Eventually they stroll over like they own place and soon trouble kick off with much name-calling on both sides. I make comment to spiky-head to put his little tool away, at which point he go very red.
Presence of paparazzi though stop anything too unpleasant and Labouristi thugs soon drift away yelling curses as they leave.
Next day I back out with Watcher in Newty-Ass market, shopping for pasta for boys, when spiky-head turn up again. He look plenty mad and storm up to us.
"My name is Big Chief Sen of the Labouristi, in insulting my spiritual warhammer you have insulted my tribe. I will be avenged."
"What tribe that" I say
"Ancient tribe of Newcastle New Moon Hopi. Labouristi promise my people supercasino, but thanks to Liberali family whining, project move to our hated rivals in Manchester, then cancelled altogether. Liberali family and Newcastle Hopi are sworn foes, you have no right coming to our ancient burial grounds, speaking with forked tongues."
"Odd Chief." say Watcher "According to Family archive we pretty sure you grew up in Nottyham, live in Streatham, and make living working for retired old Labouristi Capo who own fancy factories. Last time we hear about you up here was many moons ago moping about losing poker games in Northern Echo and selling Daz to housewives. I'd have some reservations about claiming this land as your own."
Signor Stone's incisive analysis do not appear to improve Big Chief's mood.
He seem to be thinking about reaching for tiny totem of tribal pride, so I hurry Watcher away to waiting car, leaving Chief to unleash his fury on gormless colleagues who stand around with camera phones rather than get involved.
Watcher so grateful for my quick thinking he send me back on very next train to Little Ealing. Signor Rennard so delighted he have me getting up tomorrow at 4 a.m. to do some special and important business just for him. It promise to be great day for Liberali.