A Cockney's Journey (22 page)

    “Which fucking key, pal?” Paul screamed, shoving the gun in his left cheek. The old boy fumbled about with the bunch of keys.
    “These two will open the door,” he said, shaking like a leaf. “It won’t do you any good though. The safe’s on a time lock,” he added sheepishly.
    Paul opened up the door, entering behind the counter. Al followed him; they both stood looking at the safe, swearing.
    “This’ll do, Paul. There’s got to be about two grand here,” Al reckoned, as he flicked through a bundle of notes he took from the till. Paul grabbed all the stamps and books containing tax discs. Harry was watching outside in the village, when he noticed in the distance four sets of headlights approaching.
    “We’ve got company. Must be the Filth! Quick, let’s get the fuck out of here!” Harry said, panicking.
    He yanked the door open and ran towards the car. We all followed, bundling into the Jag. Paul spun the motor round, screeching and doing wheel spins with smoke billowing out from the tyres. We raced through the village at high speed, blindly driving down narrow country roads. Paul turned the car’s lights off in a vain attempt not to be seen from the distance. Unfortunately, his idea backfired. Suddenly, the passenger side of the Jag dropped into a ditch, spinning the car over onto its roof. All four of us were sprawled about the car, trying to get out and kicking the doors until they opened. We eventually climbed free from the car. Standing in total darkness trying to grasp the situation we were now in, Paul announced it was every man for himself and promptly legged it. Harry and Al followed suit, disappearing into the woodland. I looked around, trying to ascertain my best options of escaping the old Bill. I could hear the others clambering through the woods, making enough noise to wake the dead. In the distance, I could see headlights coming down the country lane towards the crocked car. On the floor, I noticed a bag. Picking it up, I realised Al had dropped the cash from the post office. Stuffing the cash inside my bomber jacket, I ran in the opposite direction to the others. My survival instincts took over. I ran back through the woods in the general direction of the post office. After a few minutes, the area was flooded with old Bill. Police cars screeched to a halt, surrounding the dumped Jag. I jumped into a ditch, covering myself over with lumps of grass and broken talons from bushes and trees. All around the area were pinpoints of light from a vast number of torches. Then I heard barking in the distance as the police combed the woodland behind the Jag. I laid under my camouflage, listening to footsteps and faint voices, followed by the occasional shout. Then I heard this voice shout out loudly, “There they are, up the top of the hill.” One of the officers relayed to the others. Suddenly, there was a flurry of footsteps and cracking of twigs, followed by barking and more shouting. The police surged into the woodland with tracker dogs, leaving me to the bugs and ants. I decided not to move until daylight. Then I heard fast running footsteps approach where I lay. My instincts told me to get up and leg it. Then I heard really heavy breathing above my head. I froze solid, holding my breath.
    “You can’t escape, mate; there’s at least a hundred officers in the area looking for you. Come quietly, or I’ll set the dog on you,” the voice said confidently.
    “Bollocks, you wanker!” Paul screamed. “You come anywhere near me an’ I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” he warned the officer. He then turned and ran into the wooded area where I was hiding. I could hear his crunching footsteps disappear in the distance.
    “Bravo, Tango, Juliet, suspect is running northwards through woodland. Suspect is armed and extremely dangerous. Request back-up, over,” the officer said.
    “Area cars 56, 23 and 67 are already on their way to the other side of the woods. We’ve made two arrests already. According to the post office master, there were four perpetrators, over,” said the police radio controller. I lay there, listening to dozens of old Bill with dogs disappear in the direction to where Paul had legged it. I pulled myself from my weedy grave, noticing the woodland and fields basking in early morning sunshine. I took a deep breath, while brushing the crap of my clothes. I trudged through the fields, keeping myself out of sight until I reached more bloody woodland. Pushing my way through bushes and brambles, avoiding piles of dung, I suddenly heard the rushing sound of cars ahead. Peering over a fence, I saw a set of traffic lights on red with a long queue of cars and vans. When the lights turned green and the traffic began to flow evenly, I jumped over the fence. Looking around I noticed, to my delight, that I was in the middle of a town centre. On the other side of the road was a train station. I tried hard to contain my excitement while walking across the road towards the station entrance. I bought a ticket to Shoreham in Kent, deciding to double-back on myself. Upon my arrival in Shoreham, I decided to have some breakfast in a near by café, gorging myself on the biggest breakfast I’d ever eaten. Well, why not? I was loaded. Leaving the café completely stuffed, I boarded a train to New Cross Gate where I jumped on a bus to the Old Kent Road…
    It took some explaining to Sue where I was all night. After giving her a handful of notes, she accepted I was telling the truth. I told her not to mention the money to anyone. I’ll never forget her answer.
    “Do I look bloody stupid,” she smiled. Loved a bit of dough, that girl did, and she didn’t give a fuck where it came from. The following day, I heard that Paul, Al and Harry had been charged with armed robbery and all three were appearing in court at the London sessions for committal proceedings. The case was adjourned for reports. Al and Harry were given bail, while Paul was remanded in custody. What I most expected never happened. I was cock sure one of them would grass me up, but they never did. That evening, we all went out for a drink. I was toying with the idea of telling them that I had picked up the cash, or at least some of it anyway. While we were drinking, Al asked me how I got away. I explained everything that happened and he shook his head laughing.
    “Fucking old Bill reckoned we nicked two and a half grand. I told them I dropped the dough while running away. You know they’re looking for you, Ed, don’t you? That fucking Muppet Paul dropped a clanger when he pointed the gun at you in the post office, shouting out that Al was your cousin,” he said angrily.
    “Oh fuck, you’re joking,” I said, feeling completely pissed off.
    “All they got is a vague description from the old boy. They don’t even know your name and, being a clever boy, you left no prints in the Jag, so don’t worry. They’ve got sod all to go on,” Al reassured me.
    “If the old Bill do pull you in, Ed, keep schtum. They haven’t got nish on ya,” Harry said, smiling.
    “The Filth might have my prints from the Jag, but seeing as I’ve never been nicked before they wouldn’t be on any records,” I said smiling cheerfully, feeling quite smug.
    “Of course, that’s why that CID bloke reckoned it’s only time before he nabs ya,” Harry stated, nodding his head in agreement.
    “I’m going down, anyway,” Al said. “It came as a complete surprised to me and my brief that I got bail!”
    “Same here, Al. I’ve got no chance of getting away with this,” Harry said, all dejectedly. The pair of them accepted their fate and decided to go out with a bang, arranging to do another job in Battersea for one of the top local villains. Apparently this guy owned a DIY shop for cover. He’s actually a fence for most of the villains in South London; you name it he got rid of it. However, he was getting a bit too big for his boots and had consequently upset a few lads with his greed. Our job, seeing as I had got roped into this as well, was to stage a robbery at his premises and give him a good kicking. That’s all I knew. Al, Harry and this guy Ron knew the finer details. My job was to drive them to Battersea and bring them back. For my services, I would be paid one hundred pounds on completion. I actually didn’t need the dough, but I couldn’t tell them that, otherwise I would have dropped myself in big shit!
    A couple of days later, we all meet up in J’s café, which was situated near Bermondsey Street. Al was the last to arrive at 3:30 p.m. Ron handed me a set of keys for the ringed Rover V8 that was parked outside the café. The wheels looked really tasty; jet-black with sparkling chrome arches. The rear and front bumpers were gleaming; good enough to have a shave in. The windows were all tinted glass. Inside was spotless; cream leather interior with beech panels. The lads carefully slid into the Rover. It was obvious to me that these wheels belonged to somebody tasty.
    “No smoking in the jam-jar, this motor has to be returned in pristine conditions, otherwise heads will definitely roll,” Ron informed us.
    I turned the ignition and the Rover fired up first time, purring like a cat. Giving the accelerator a couple of pumps I put it into drive and headed towards Tower Bridge. The feeling of power was unbelievable. This motor had some serious ‘oomph’. Leaning over, I switched the eight-track on play. The car was flooded in quality sound.
Fuck me, he’s got good taste in music, as well
. We listened to Roxy Music with Brian Ferry on vocals until we arrived in Battersea.
    “Park up over there, Eddie, and keep the engine running,” Harry instructed me.
    “Where’s the DIY shop, then?” I asked, looking around for an answer.
    “Just the other side of that railway arch,” Ron said. “This shouldn’t take long anyway. Keep your mince pies open all the time, Ed. You see anything out of the ordinary, hit the horn.”
    The three of them slid out and disappeared through the railway arch. I decided to spin the car around and reverse as close to the archway as possible. The position was better for my view; I could now see anything that came up the street. I used the interior mirror to keep an eye on the archway, which was for pedestrian use only. After waiting forty minutes or so, I felt slightly edgy and concerned that the lads hadn’t returned. I didn’t know what to do. I was told to stay put and wait, but supposing something went wrong. I could sit here all fucking night without knowing. I decided to have a butcher’s. I climbed out of the car, straining my ears, while I crept through the archway listening for any indication of the event on the other side. Nothing; not a sound penetrated my eardrums. I approached the end of the archway and, peering round the wall, I could see the shop. There were shadows moving about rapidly, flickering in the shop’s lights. I looked around the street; not a bloody soul to be seen.
What a strange place to have a shop,
I thought. Totally out the way of potential customers. Casually, I walked towards the shop’s entrance door. I still couldn’t hear a thing. The flickering shadows in the shop had ceased. I felt nervous; unaware of what I was going to walk into. I gently pushed the shop’s door open and walked in. What confronted me was sheer mayhem! I stood rooted to the floor next to the counter. My mind couldn’t believe what my eyes were showing me. Ron was sitting on the floor propped up against the wall and holding his side with his blood-soaked hands. His face was screwed up in agony and he was unable to move or even acknowledge I was there. On the floor, Al was on his back with this big motherfucker on top of him, both their hands locked together on each other’s wrists. The big guy was trying to push a blade into Al’s chest. In the corner on the floor, Harry was being strangled by this other guy with a piece of wire, Harry’s fingers were underneath in a vain attempt not to get garrotted. His free hand was in the guy’s mouth trying to rip his jaw down. On the floor was a shotgun and the barrel was still smoking after being used!!
    “Fucking do something, Ed! Quick!” Al screamed.
    The big guy glanced over at me; his eyes wild, like a mad man. I didn’t know what to do and in a blind panic I picked up a pointing trowel and rammed into the side of big guy’s face. The trowel passed straight through his cheek and out the other side, severing his tongue. He screamed in utter agony; blood spurted all over Al and me. I ran over to where Harry lay and kicked this guy straight in the head then stabbed him between the shoulder blades with the trowel. Two of Harry’s fingers lay on the floor, covered in claret. I was shaking uncontrollably, never in my life have I ever used such violence, in any way shape or form, and I never would again. Al jumped up, kicking the shit out of the big guy, while he lay screaming in agony, trying to hold his face together. Harry picked up his fingers from the floor, wrapping his hand in a decorator’s cloth, his neck still bleeding from the wire cut. Harry’s assailant was wriggling on the floor, his back covered in blood. Ron was shot in his side and was losing a lot of blood. We carried him quickly from the shop and down the archway to the Rover. I had to get Ron and Harry to hospital sharpish.
    I pulled up outside St Thomas’s hospital in Waterloo; my mind still churning with terrible thoughts. I felt sick and disgusted with myself.
How the fuck did I get myself in such a position that I had to hurt people? Even if they were villains or not, I just couldn’t believe that a soft sod like me committed such acts.
I decided to park the motor in the hospital car park. Harry jumped out, heading in the direction of the A&E. I helped Ron out of the car, putting his arm around my shoulder and carried him in the same direction.
    “You can’t go in there, Ed. You’ll get nicked. The doctors will call the old Bill,” Al shouted, frantically waving his arms and beckoning me back to the car.
    “I can’t just leave him, Al. I’ll have to take my chances. If I get nicked, so be it,” I said, still in shock over the whole incident.
    On entering A&E I was surrounded by doctors and nurses. Everybody was asking questions about how, when and where Ron got injured. I just shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t know. They put him on a trolley and disappeared in the lift, going up to the operating theatre. Harry was already having surgery; the doctors were trying to stitch his fingers back on. I turned round, with the intention of leaving the hospital, when I felt a hand squeeze my right shoulder. I stopped my movement and looked back over my shoulder behind me.
    “Where do ya think you’re going, sunshine? We need to have a chat,” said this guy in a suit. He was accompanied by two uniformed police officers. “My name is DC Jackman. Do you mind explaining to me what the fuck’s been going on?” he asked, pulling my arm towards the waiting area. He pushed me onto a seat, indicating to everyone in the area to leave the room. He stood in front of me, flanked by the two uniformed officers.