John snarled "it better fucking be! Those fisherman won't help you. It looks like a debt collector collecting unpaid debt so they won't bat an eyelid in your direction" John felt the blood pulsing through his vains. The adrenaline pounding. "Oh fine well you did. You wanted to make a name for yourself in the journalist world. You can't bullshit a bullshiter, you just done it on the back of the wrong family" he said as he stood up and gave Gareth a swift boot to the ribs which may have bruised or broken a couple.

He placed the sole of his boat on Gareths chest pushing him down. "One thing about whitby is that it's all working class families who would give you the shirt of their back to help. You want to make a name for yourself, you don't do it off the working class!"

"It wasn't so bad, I -, AH!" he screamed, then gasped for air and brought his hand up to his side. Surely his lung was punctured! Surely he was bleeding internally! "Stop! Stop! Uh!" He gritted his teeth when the boot was placed on his chest. Had he just pissed himself? "I took care, please... I didn't write any lies! And I held back! I didn't write about your father's past! See? I didn't mean to cause real harm!" he begged.

John turned removed his foot and looked at him in disbelief "my fathers past?" He tilted his head slightly like a German shepherd puppy hearing his name for the first time "what do you mean....my fathers past?"

"About his prison sentence. I didn't mean any real harm, I swear!" Gareth begged. He looked around for help but young Mr. Blacke had been right. Some children had been ushered into the cottages, but none of the fisher people seemed ready to get involved.

John rolled his eyes "no about him auditioning for Broadway musicals! Of course about his prison sentence! Spit it out man!" John was wondering if he was trying to buy himself time or if he was telling the truth but he would find out soon enough

"What...?" Gareth asked, not sure what his attacker wanted. "I won't write about it, I swear! I promise! I won't write about your family again!"

John was starting to get even angrier. "Tell me about my father's prison sentence! I'm not interested in you writing about it. I want to know what you know"

Gareth looked into John's face wide eyed. Oooooooooooh fuck. He didn't know.

His side throbbed. This was a really bad time to share something that would doubtlessly unleash fresh emotion in the young man.

"I... I didn't know you didn't know..." he said. "Get away from me... let me breathe and I'll tell you..." He didn't know if he would or would try to run, but it would buy him time to decide.

John stood back and offered him a hand to get to his feet. "You try anything I'll be on top of you in a second. Now speak! You want to walk away from this and never see me again. Nows your chance to speak"

Gareth looked at the outstretched hand. He very much wanted to tell young Mr. Blacke to go to hell. He also knew that that outstretched hand really hurt when it was balled into a fist. He took the hand, groaning in pain as he rose to his feet.

He took a few seconds to catch his breath. He wanted to sit down, but dared not ask for it. He certainly did not dare to run, he realized. If he hadn't managed to outrun the young man before, there was no chance of doing so now. Instead, he swept the worst dirt off his clothes and straightened them. He hadn't punctured his lung. He could breathe well enough. His side hurt like hell though.

"Don't shoot the messenger. Like I said, I decided against publishing it, even if it is the juiciest thing I've ever come across. For your sister-in-law's sake if no one else. She didn't deserve everything that's happened to her." He realized this introduction could be seen as stalling and he didn't care to have another close inspection of Mr. Blacke's knuckles and so he hurried into it: "Your father was sentenced for garroting when he was a kid. Nearly killed the chap. Went to prison, then a reformatory. I honestly thought you knew. The catch is, his victim was a relative of Miss Pearl's. Would have made the story of a century. But I didn't publish it." He held up his hands. "I'm on your side."