“All right. You come back with a report that recommends something instead of jail but doesn’t sound like wet liberal bullshit. And we’ll work out how to sell it to the judge. And the cops. Come and see me with what you’ve got at one o’clock, and we’ll go and talk to the cops around four. Ok?”

When Jock had finished punching his juvenile crims bloody, he’d trust them with $50, maybe more, to use to get back to their mothers, or aunts, or whoever was most likely to look after them. Jock couldn’t afford to lose the money he lent those kids – they knew that, because he’d become a bit of a legend – and being trusted scared the hell out of them. Most of them wanted to earn that trust, and most of them paid the money back.

In a movie he’d have been played by Pat O’Brien, except that Jock was an atheist. He was, as they say, a better man than I was, or am. We had nothing in common. We faced each other, each time we met, completely baffled.  

“Ok. Thank you.”

“Yeah. I should think so. How’s that Ana girl?”

“What? Ana?”

“Well of course Ana. Have you fucked her?”