The market was, without question, one of the best parts of Barking. People of all shapes and colours sold their wares and represented the best things about the borough—the togetherness of its people. Colourful textiles and trinkets painted East Street like a brilliant picture and the heavenly smells of various foods eddied around the stalls in a pleasant aroma.
'Come any time you like, Fred,' the man behind one of the stalls said as he handed the gangster a paper cone of chips. Freddie smiled in return, raising it to him in gratitude with a 'Cheers, mate,' before the attendant smiled politely and returned to serving other customers.
While he was feared in the underground, Fred believed in keeping a kind face to the people. After all, it was better to be respected than feared, which was the fault of many men before him, like Archy or Mickey. Of course, that wasn't to say he didn't use a firm hand every now and then, as was the way of people in his business, but to the public—at least, those in East End—he was a decent bloke that many of them had known growing up. In the end, he preferred to be "Freddie" than "Mr Evans", and it paid off.
DI Wallace stood beside him with a can of Irn Bru, sipping periodically as he watched Freddie fix up his chips with salt and vinegar. 'Haven't been to one of these in an age.'
Fred licked some salt from his fingers as he started forward, the detective inspector following close behind. 'Best part of Barking, Bobby Boy.'
The two of them walked down the street between the stalls, a short silence passing between them as they manoeuvred through the people and their wares.
'So how's your sister, then?'
Fred kept his eyes forward even as he answered the Scot, gesturing slightly with his paper cone. 'She's all right. I moved in with her now, left me flat. Gotta keep her close, you know? Especially with little Fred getting his own drum with Kate.'
Wallace tucked his free hand into the pocket of his jacket. 'How's she? Katie, I mean.'
Fred knew Wallace had always been fond of Kate, since the man had gone a ways back with her and her mum, and smiled at the thought. 'Oh, she's more than all right,' he responded. 'Her and old Lenny both. She's tough, my Kate. Finally walking proper, ankle's all healed, looks like. I reckon it won't be long before Junior's got her wearing white.'
A short silence fell between the two, which Fred broke, running a hand over his jaw. 'You know, for all Donny's faults, he did care about little Fred. Told Mickey he was living at that old place he got with Niamh.'
Wallace nodded, looking at his feet. 'Aye. Heard what happened to it.'
'Yeah, well, as long as it's the house and not the lad, you know?' said Fred, pausing a beat before he motioned towards a small set of plastic tables and chairs. The two men then sat down heavily and enjoyed their respective meals in a brief silence, looking at the bustling street around them.
'I'll be taking care of Mickey,' Fred said after a bit, as if answering an unspoken question. 'I considered letting him rot in Strangeways the rest of his miserable life, but, well, he'll be rotting in hell in the end, won't he?'
Wallace nodded a few times, but remained silent, simply sipping his fizzy drink. Fred neglected his own chips a bit, pressing his tongue against the back of his lower teeth. 'But,' he went on. 'Unlike him, I'm not greedy. Nah, I don't want fuck all to do with the Mancs. I've got me own little piece here, in London.'
Just then, a faint 'Oi!' from a bit away made both of the men's heads turn. Standing near a stall selling scarves was Susan with little Georgie beside her, waving a hand towards them.
Wallace smiled back before he turned to Fred and patted his arm. 'I'll see you around, Fred,' he said, and the two of them looked at one another, feeling an oddly genuine friendship, before the detective stood and meandered over towards his bird.
Freddie watched as they headed off together and sat there with nothing but the sounds of the market clatter and the wind rushing through the street surrounding him. The thing about London was that it breathed like a living organism. There was a life in the streets, and Barking was at the heart of it all.
He stood and looked down East Street, watching as the people made their way throughout the day, nodding to them as they passed by with the occasional 'Hello, Fred'. Tossing what was left of his chips in a nearby bin, he took a breath and smiled, beginning to walk with a newly-found sense of hope for the future. There was Peter, from the estate where he grew up, and Julie, who went years back with his mum. And that boy was the spit of his old school mate Benny—he must have been his son. There were noisy children running around their mums, women examining clothes that billowed in the breeze, and there was Mr Hornsby, selling his perennials.
All around him, the world was turning, people were living, and it made Freddie feel more alive than he had in a long, long while.
This was his Barking. And God bless it, he wouldn't change a thing.