by Robert White
Up to age fourteen, she had done her best to hide her beauty; no make-up, jeans rather than skirts, vests to flatten her breasts. It had worked for her… most of the time.
She had learned when to keep quiet, when to fight and, tragically, when to give in.
Then that cop, Hacker came to her house, and her mum had finally been sent down. Her life finally changed.
A care home, then foster parents gave her a fighting chance.
Laurie wasn’t stupid either; her teachers described her as a hardworking, above-average student. She never used that card to get what she wanted. Laurie didn’t need to play dumb, and by age seventeen, she’d realised all she needed to do was smile, or better still cry, and the majority of men did exactly as she wished.
Laurie also had the brains to understand, that being a beautiful tart was not an option that had any longevity.
She’d seen girls her age plough their way through dozens of sexual partners. The men chased them for sex but dropped them as quickly as their hurried performances. Laurie had seen enough lecherous blokes to last her a lifetime.
Now, she used her sexuality the same way she used her looks; to get what she wanted.
Walking up the steep gangway from Preston railway station, Laurie pulled her engagement ring from her finger and dropped it into her purse.
She thought for a moment, she may cry, but she did not.
Laurie had planned on writing to Jamie when he got back to his barracks, but that was the coward’s way out, and she was no coward.
So, whilst holding him tight on the windswept Victorian platform, the day after he’d buried his mother, she told him that even though she loved him, she would never marry him.
The thought of waiting months at a time for her husband to come home; living in a dreary military-owned house and moving from place to place, was not the future Laurie envisaged for herself.
No more slums for Laurie Holland. No more scraping a living. She wanted a man with power and money.
She had offered Jamie his ring back; after all, it had cost several months of his wages. But as she had expected, he refused it. He’d simply shaken his head in disbelief, lifted his kitbag from between his feet, tossed it over his shoulder and boarded his train in bemused silence.
Laurie knew he suspected her actions had something to do with Frankie Verdi, and he was right. Frankie intrigued her. He had respect, he was going places.
Laurie strode into the tiny jeweller’s shop on Cheapside, dropped the ring on the counter and began her tale of desertion and woe to the owner.
Minutes later, the transfixed middle-aged shop owner, ensured she exited with seven hundred pounds in cash, her two-year relationship with Jamie Strange over in an instant.
Whilst Laurie was giving Jamie his marching orders, Frankie and Tony had finally caught up with Eddie Williams.
He was at his work, lying under a Bedford ice cream van that had seen better days.
He slid his bulk from under the vehicle, wiped his hands on a rag and nodded at his two friends.
“All right?”
Frankie walked around the aging vehicle wearing a frown.
“Tell me we ain’t bought this heap Eddie.”
Williams rested a hand on the bonnet and tapped it gently with his fingers. “This and two more like it.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow. “What? Are you taking the piss mate?”
Eddie shook his head and smiled. “Walk this way boys.”
He strode along Ripon Street, before turning left into Villiers Court, fumbled in his coveralls for a solitary key, found it and walked to a rusty metal shutter door. After some grunting, he managed to raise it, to reveal a two hundred square meter industrial unit.
“Three fully fitted vans, the unit, the walk-in deep freezer; all ours for eight and a half grand.”
Frankie stepped inside and examined the building. He began to see the sense in Eddie’s thinking.
“Eight and a half you say?
“This is a good space; we could build an office in here, a meeting room, something secure.”
“I can do all that Frankie,” chipped in Tony, tapping the walls with his knuckles. “Some block to make a room at the back, bit of stud walling to make a separate office, make it look all legit, like a proper ice cream business eh? Few hundred quid and my time is all it’ll take.”
Eddie was in there too. “Yeah Frank, the vans are all mechanically sound, I’ll spray them all matching, even our old one we got from Fat Les, make ’em look all…” he searched for the word, “corporate, that’s it mate… corporate… I even thought of a name for us, ‘3D Ice’. Cool eh?”
Tony furrowed his brow, “3D?”
“Three Dogs,” said Frankie wearily.
Tony smiled, “Oh yeah… cool man… 3D. Three Dogs… I like it.”
Frankie could see the value in Eddie’s scheme. He liked it too, and he trusted Eddie with his life.
Williams had recently brokered a deal with a local pharmacist. The guy had an amphet problem that Eddie “helped” him with. In return, the guy opened a seemingly endless supply of prescription drugs, Diazepam, Temazepam and Valium.
Those pills, alongside cannabis and speed, were then sold from the van Fat Les “gave” them. They even sold the odd ice cream.
That solitary vehicle, working four hours a day on Moor Nook and Grange Park, was pulling near on a grand a week.
Frankie strode around the unit, hands in pockets. He stopped, pulled out his cigarettes and shared them between The Three Dogs.
They all smoked in silence for a moment, before Frankie broke it. He placed a hand on the shoulders of each or his comrades in arms.
“We are going to be fuckin’ rich boys.”
The laughter could be heard streets away.
CHAPTER FIVE
Friday 5th December 1980
Laurie Holland hadn’t considered it would take her long to find Frankie Verdi. Indeed, she firmly believed that he would have sought her out himself by the turn of the month.
This, much to her disappointment had not happened, and had caused her to rethink her strategy.
It came as a further surprise, when she visited Paco’s restaurant with a friend, to find that Frankie no longer worked for his father. Indeed, Mario explained proudly, that none of the boys worked for anyone anymore. They had their own business, selling ice cream out of a unit in Plungington.
Mario did, however, go on to say, that all three boys enjoyed a drink in the Red Lion pub on Church Street, most Fridays.
The Lion had a reputation for being “rough”. It definitely wasn’t a place Laurie would normally consider visiting. As she pushed open the heavy wooden entrance door, she was greeted with ear-shattering music and eye-watering levels of cigarette smoke. The sickly-sweet smell of cannabis resin filled her nostrils as she pushed past two black girls on the way through to the bar. They eyed her suspiciously.
Laurie suspected that they’d made some derogatory comment as she passed, but hearing anything was close to impossible as David Bowie’s Fashion gave way to Blondie’s Tide is High.
The music was apt really, as Laurie had opted for the full Debbie Harry look. She wore a four-check black-and-white mini dress, white patent leather knee boots and the same shoulder-length messy bob of blonde hair that the American star sported.
By the time she reached the bar, Laurie had the attention of almost every man in the pub, including the one she wanted.
Frankie sat at the back of the bar by the pool table. He lolled in his chair, smoking a joint. His spare hand was fondling the breast of a pretty, but overly made-up bottle-blonde to his left. She giggled drunkenly and made eyes at him.
The second he saw Laurie Holland, Frankie stood, roughly pushing the girl to one side.
She pulled an ugly face. “Fuck’s sake Frankie… what’s that about… spill
ed my fuckin’ lager there.”
Frankie didn’t even turn to acknowledge her. He simply made his way through the crowd, eyeing his prize as he went.
Laurie saw him move closer and felt her stomach flip.
He squeezed himself next to her, pulled out a wad of cash and looked her in the eye.
“I take it you’re here to see me… so I best buy you a drink.”
Laurie held his gaze. She was forced to shout over the music.
“I’m waiting for a friend actually, so thanks… but I’ll get my own.”
Frankie beckoned a barman and shouted back.
“Yeah right… course you are… an’ I’m Margaret Thatcher… white wine and soda, isn’t it?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Maggie would approve of you, I hear you’re in business now… an entrepreneur… an ice cream man.”
Frankie darkened, his inability to take a joke getting the better of him.
“Four vans and a warehouse is a bit more than an ice cream salesman darling.”
Laurie ignored his mood. She’d seen plenty of hardmen come and go. Many of Preston’s criminals had knocked on her mother’s door late at night in search of solace. She picked up her drink, sipped it and nodded in the direction of the pool table.
The girl Frankie had so unceremoniously ditched on Laurie’s entrance was staring over, drunk and very unhappy.
“Your girlfriend wants you.”
“Not my girlfriend.”
“So, you always feel the boobs of random women sitting next to you then?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Who have sex?”
“You don’t like sex?”
Laurie looked straight into those black eyes and purred.
“I love sex Frankie.”
She dropped her glass on the bar.
“But right now, I’d like to go somewhere nice.”
It was time for Frankie’s stomach to turn over. He’d never seen anything or anyone so beautiful.
He pulled out a set of car keys and nodded toward the door.
“I got a sports car outside… MG.”
“Will it take me somewhere nice?”
“Or my name isn’t Frankie Verdi.”
She took his arm and they forced their way to the exit. Laurie looked over her shoulder to the pool table where the drunken blonde was giving grief to a well-dressed curly haired guy.
“She still isn’t happy.”
“Fuck her,” said Frankie flatly… then laughed and added, “actually, Tony can fuck her.”
Stepping outside into the cold night, Laurie couldn’t help but think that she hadn’t seen the last of the drunken blonde.
Tony Thompson was his usual jolly self. He didn’t care for the taste of alcohol, so drank Coke or Fanta. He liked the odd joint but stayed well away from Eddie’s white powder and funny pills.
Tony may have struggled at school, and it took him a little longer than most to grasp situations, but girls found his relative innocence appealing. He was a tall handsome lad, with a natural eye for fashion. All this, together with the rumour that he was particularly “big down below”, ensured he always had a girl on his arm.
Problem was, Tony always attracted the younger girls; some far too young to be sharing his well-used bed.
Eddie Williams stood gripping his pool cue so hard he almost snapped it. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes from Frankie as he pushed at the exit door and held it open for Laurie Holland.
He hadn’t even said goodbye.
Tony noticed Eddie’s mood and prized himself away from Frankie’s disgruntled date.
“Hey Eddie, you okay pal, you look pissed off?”
Eddie dropped the cue on the table and rummaged in his jeans.
“I’m fine Tone, just leave it eh?”
“I was just sayin’ Ed that’s all mate.”
“And I said leave it.”
Tony held up his hands and stepped away. He may have been a little slow, but he knew when to avoid his lifelong pal. When Eddie was in this mood, he was as dangerous as a rattlesnake.
Williams found what he was looking for in his pocket, opened the folded square of paper, licked his forefinger and covered the tip in amphet. He dabbed his tongue and finished the process by rubbing the remainder of the drug on his gums.
Eddie felt the hit instantly, his heart raced, he felt sharp, king of the hill.
“You got any of that for me?”
Eddie looked down to see the blonde Frankie had left behind.
“What’s your name love?”
The girl managed a smile. She staggered slightly and pushed out her ample breasts.
“Cheryl… Cheryl Greenwood… you’re Eddie ain’t yer… Frankie’s right hand?”
Eddie sneered, feeling his anger rise again. “I ain’t nobody’s right hand darlin’.”
Cheryl felt the tingle of first nerves. “I… I didn’t mean… you know… anythin’ by that Eddie… I meant you’re one of them Dogs everyone talks about, like.”
Eddie turned from the girl.
“You’re the fuckin’ hound darlin’.”
Cheryl was not so easily dissuaded.
“Oh, come on Eddie, sort us out with some sniff eh?”
He turned back; the whizz working overtime. It was a casual, stupid remark. Eddie knew it the second he opened his mouth.
“Okay, what do I get if I do?”
Cheryl blushed slightly. Even in her drunken state, she knew exactly what Williams meant. She looked briefly at her feet, found her brash confidence somewhere down there and looked Eddie in the eye.
“I’ll give you a blow job.”
Cheryl had shouted her offer above the music, so loud in fact, that two Jamaican pool players turned and laughed, even shouted encouragement.
Eddie looked down at Cheryl with a mixture of regret and repugnance. What was she? Sixteen, maybe seventeen? His mouth had run away with itself, and now he was in deep shit. He didn’t think he could ever bring himself to have sex with a girl. So far, he’d managed to bluff his way through his teenage years with snogs outside pubs, fake girlfriends in Wigan and pretend visits to brothels in Blackpool.
He had to get through this with his reputation intact.
Putting on the biggest grin he could muster, he grabbed Cheryl by the hand and turned to the pool players. “See yer boys.”
Five minutes later, Eddie found himself sitting nervously in the back of his Capri with his trousers around his ankles.
Cheryl worked on his flaccid penis. She bobbed up and down faster and faster. Eddie did his best to get an erection, but it wasn’t happening.
Cheryl had got past her embarrassment. Once she had her handsome blonde muscular boy in the back of his smart new car, she wanted a lot more than a quick fumble.
She lifted her head and wiped her lips. In her drunken and now drugged state she waggled his flaccid member in her hand and shot her mouth off.
“It won’t get hard Eddie. Everyone gets hard on my blow jobs… you queer or what?”
Eddie struck with terrifying viciousness. He grabbed a handful of Cheryl’s hair in his right hand snapping her head backward. With his left, he clutched the girl by the throat and slammed her against the side window of his car.
She cried out in a mixture of surprise and fear. Eddie pushed his face so close that Cheryl could feel his breath.
“What the fuck did you just call me?” he spat.
Cheryl was finding it hard to breathe. “Look… Eddie… come on man… you’re hurting me… I didn’t mean nothin’… you’ve just had too much whizz that’s all.”
Eddie’s temper was up, he gripped Cheryl’s throat harder. Her eyes bulged; she made a gagging gurgling sound as she fought for breath. He used his massive strength, pulled her head forwar
d and slammed it back against the window a second time.
Cheryl’s nose started to bleed.
“Please… please, don’t,” she managed.
Eddie’s flaccid member had suddenly become hard.
He punched the now terrified girl in the face, once, twice; there was more blood, lots of it; he was so excited he thought he may explode there and then.
Cheryl was barely conscious as Eddie tore at her panties.
It was over in seconds.
Eddie climbed off the girl and sat back sweating and breathing hard.
Cheryl sobbed. “You bastard Eddie… you fuckin’ bastard…”
Eddie didn’t feel anything.
Remorse had never been in his vocabulary.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
Detective Jim Hacker
In April 1981, I attempted my promotion board, which I promptly failed.
The feedback I received from the panel stated that I… “lacked departmental experience”. This was cop talk for “you need to go back in blue for a while”.
So, much to my wife’s annoyance, I transferred back into uniform as a section sergeant, covering Preston’s Southern Division.
This meant returning to the crippling three-shift system of early, late and night turns, often with just eight hours’ rest between.
Having two growing girls, who found it almost impossible to keep quiet at any time of day, ensured that my levels of sleep deprivation were considerable.
On the plus side, the constabulary had given me permission to buy our own house, something that had been against police regulations before.
That, coupled with Lord Edmund Davies’ review into police pay, ensured our standard of living had improved dramatically.
We could finally afford a holiday.
As with all good things, the bad is never very far away; the Ying and Yang of life is always close by.
Despite my new role, I couldn’t help but keep a watchful eye on the force intelligence bulletins for news of Frankie and his crew. However, the information coming through was sporadic and at times, non-existent.
In late 1981, Tony Thompson was fined for possession of a small amount cannabis resin and given a three-month sentence for assaulting the arresting officer; but if The Three Dogs were going about their villainous business, they were doing so quietly and out of sight of the Preston CID.
