The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London)

by Mark Gillespie

“Yeah,” Tegz said.

  “Just the usual,” Sumo Dave said. “You know, standing in a crowd squaring off with the riot police, that sort of thing.”

  “That it?” Mack said.

  “A few running battles,” Sumo Dave said. “Missiles and all that.”

  Sumo Dave lifted a can of Coke off the table and brought it to his lips. At the same time, Mack looked up at the TV in the corner. Sadie Hobbs, the reality TV star, was a guest on the talk show. They were still talking about the riots.

  INTERVIEWER: Sadie, isn’t it fair to say that there are genuine underlying reasons behind the riots? Social issues? Class issues? Government failings?

  * * *

  SADIE HOBBS: C’mon – these little rats are using anything to try and justify their actions. Are we really supposed to believe that they’re targeting JD Sports because they think that JD Sports use child labour to produce their shoes? How do they know that then? They’re desperately trying to justify their devious little criminal minds by telling us that the riots are noble. Yet they’ve still gone after small businesses and independent retailers, which means it’s got nothing to do with major companies and exposing exploitation. They’re reaching for explanations that will justify the greed and violence.

  Sumo Dave looked up at the TV screen. “Talentless bitch,” he said. “Everywhere I look it’s Sadie fucking Hobbs this and that.”

  “Yeah,” Tegz said.

  “Seen the army yet?” Mack said.

  “The army,” Sumo Dave said. “What are the soldiers going to do, eh? Nah they’re probably in Croydon or Brixton, standing around looking pretty in their uniforms.”

  Mack nodded. “There’s a crowd outside the police station too,” he said. “People waiting for food.”

  Sumo Dave sighed. “Yeah I saw it. Poor buggers.”

  “You hear that Hatch?” Tegz said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s free grub outside the cop shop later.”

  Hatchet nodded. “Yeah, that’ll do me,” he said. “Can’t see my mum getting off her arse to go shopping anytime soon. Not unless the vodka runs out in the flat.”

  “Fuck off,” Mack said. “There’s people starving out there and you’re in here stuffing your fat fucking face with toasties. You don’t need the supply vans anymore than I do.”

  Mack’s heart began to race. He’d never spoken to Hatchet like that. Had anyone?

  Hatchet straightened himself up. His broad shoulders expanded, like he’d just pushed a button, and his doll eyes glared across the table.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?” he said.

  Mack felt the hormones surging through his body.

  Fight or flight?

  The easiest thing to do would be to look away. Just back down. But something bigger took a hold of Mack and in that moment, against all rational thinking, he forced himself to stand tall, staring back at Hatchet and meeting his eye.

  “Fuck you Harold,” he said. “I’m not scared of you.”

  Harold was Hatchet’s real name. Sumo Dave had once told Mack how much Hatchet hated it and that nobody - nobody - was allowed to say it to him on the street. Not without serious consequences. Only Hatchet’s mum called him Harold and nobody ever saw her anyway.

  Hatchet’s entire body twitched, as if on the brink of a spasm. “What?”

  Tegz instinctively backed off. Sumo Dave hovered on the outskirts of the confrontation, like a boxing referee about to stop a fight.

  “Easy boys,” he said.

  Mack kept his eyes on Hatchet. “You’ve got a problem with me man,” he said to Hatchet. “You’ve had a problem with me since the start. Want to tell me something?”

  Hatchet took a step forward. So did Mack. Now they were standing face-to-face. And even though Hatchet was built like a brick shithouse, Mack still saw the uncertainty lingering in his eyes.

  Typical fucking bullyboy. Somebody stands up to you and you don’t know what to do.

  “Tough guy, eh?” Hatchet growled. His upper lip was raised, on the brink of forming a snarl.

  Mack shook his head.

  “You’re right Hatchet,” he said. “What do I know about being a tough guy? If I was a tough guy I’d have come back from Croydon with a pint of dried blood stuck to my hands.”

  Tegz flinched in the background.

  “Did you guys hear about the old man who died in Croydon that night?” Mack said. “The war hero. What was his name? Coggins, wasn’t it?”

  Hatchet’s face drained of all colour. He took a backwards step, as if some unseen force was getting him out of there.

  “Aye,” Mack said. “I heard all about it.”

  For a moment, nobody spoke. There was only the constant chatter of other customers, as well as the high-pitched scratching sound of steel forks on plates.

  And from the TV above their heads, came the voice of Sadie Hobbs.

  Sadie Hobbs: We need to get serious. And I am serious about this problem that’s out there RIGHT NOW infesting our streets. The only way to deter these little crooks is to scare them out of their wits. And the good people of this country – and by that I mean the REAL good and honest citizens – do you hear that Chester George or whatever your name is? The real citizens need to get serious about fixing this mess. If our government are too soft to do it then let’s do it ourselves. Let’s DO IT. Let’s rise up, take to the streets and make a stand against these vermin. There are more of us than there are of them. It’s either that or we watch our city fall into the hands of a minority of degenerates. And here’s another solution that no one else will bring up. What about lynch mobs? If lynch mobs were to make an appearance on the streets of London and target these criminals, then I guarantee you we’d see the back of this problem in a matter of hours. HOURS! But we’re too soft for that. Aren’t we Britain?

  “FUCK YOU!”

  Hatchet barged past Mack on his way towards the door. The impact of one of those thick shoulders was enough to send Mack staggering back a step or two.

  Tegz turned around, watching Hatchet storm out the door. Then he turned back to the others.

  “I’d better go after him,” he said quietly. “Somebody better calm him down, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Sumo Dave said. “You do that. Text me later, alright?”

  Tegz nodded. He turned and walked slowly towards the door. As he left, another person who’d been waiting in the queue outside entered the cafe.

  “You alright?” Sumo Dave said to Mack. “You’re looking a bit white mate. And I don’t mean that in a racist way or nothing.”

  Mack tried to speak but no words came out. The adrenaline dump was over and his brain was trying to re-establish a connection with the rest of his body. He could feel his entire body shaking - from head to toe - just as it had done the last time he’d had a much worse confrontation that this one back in Edinburgh. Different city, different bully, but thank God, this time a different outcome.

  “That was close,” Sumo Dave said. He lowered his voice. “Listen mate, Hatchet is NOT a bloke you want to piss off. Remember the gun thing, yeah? And he’s a nutter.”

  Mack nodded.

  “And he won’t forget something like that in a hurry,” Sumo Dave said. “You embarrassed him. So just watch out, yeah? Even if he acts cool next time you see him, he’ll still be looking for a way to hurt you mate.”

  Mack shrugged. “He’s hardly going to shoot me, is he?”

  “Probably not, but Hatchet’s a pyscho. Worth bearing in mind.”

  “Hatchet’s a dick,” Mack said. “We both know what he did the other night, don’t we?”

  Sumo Dave sighed. “He’s just a fucked up kid mate. I’ve known Hatch all me life. I remember his dad - he was a nutcase too, a proper bloody gangster.”

  “The old boy bugger off did he?”

  “Yeah,” Sumo Dave said. “His dad wasn’t half as violent as his mum though, the crazy old witch.”

  “They sound like a nice family,” Mack said
. “So where’s his dad now?”

  Sumo Dave shrugged. “I dunno. He disappeared when Hatchet was a little kid. Dead probably. Lying at the bottom of the river or buried in cement somewhere. That messed his mum up proper good that did. When he left. She hit the bottle big time but at least she’s too drunk most of the time to be violent, eh? Silver linings and all that.”

  “So that’s why he hates me?” Mack said. “Cos I don’t have shitty parents?”

  “Cos you had a chance. You weren’t born in this shithole. You probably won’t stay here forever, like the rest of us. You’ve got a chance mate.”

  Mack sighed. “Chance of a good life?”

  “Yeah,” Sumo Dave said, looking around. “Something better than this. You’re a smart lad. You’ll finish school, go to uni and travel the world and all that stuff. Things that are beyond the likes of us.”

  Mack looked at Sumo Dave. “I’m not the angel you think I am mate. In fact, come to think of it, I’m a lot like Hatchet.”

  Sumo Dave raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”

  “I fucked up once.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back in Edinburgh. I hurt someone.”

  “What like, hurt their feelings?”

  Mack shook his head impatiently. “I hurt somebody Sumo.”

  “Like…?”

  Mack hesitated. “I stabbed a boy.”

  Sumo Dave’s jaw dropped.

  “You?” he said.

  Mack nodded. “I’m no better than Hatchet. Or anyone.”

  Sumo Dave urged him on. “Don’t just stand there. What happened?”

  Mack sighed. “I ran with a bad crowd,” he said. “Ever since I started secondary school, I ran with the wrong people.”

  “Story of my life,” Sumo Dave said, smiling.

  “It was the usual things at first - smoking, drinking and then a bit of weed.”

  Sumo Dave nodded. “Sounds normal.”

  “Like you say,” Mack said. “I do have a good home and good parents. And these kids, they weren’t the type of people that someone like me - with my background - should have been hanging around with, eh? That’s what made them the cool kids I suppose.”

  Sumo Dave nodded. “Just like you’re doing now, eh? Hanging with the cool kids.”

  Mack smiled. “Aye,” he said. “But they only liked me because I could afford to buy them things. Know what I mean? I was never really one of them. I was always the one stumping up cash for fags and booze every weekend.”

  “So what happened?” Sumo Dave asked.

  “I was always trying to prove myself to them,” Mack said. “It’s so fucking stupid. Trying to prove that I wasn’t this nice middle-class boy. I’m doing the same thing with you lads I guess - going out to Croydon and all that.”

  Sumo Dave shrugged. “I like ya mate. Haven’t asked you to buy anything for me, have I?”

  Mack grinned. “Not yet”

  Sumo Dave winked at Mack. “Although if I hadn’t been nicking everything I need for the past week, then who knows? Eh?”

  “Aye.”

  “Anyway, go on,” Sumo Dave said.

  “We were always getting into scraps with other gangs,” Mack said. “Just fistfights you know. I was coming home with cuts and bruises – my parents knew something was wrong. I said it was nothing. They worried anyway. Anyway, one Saturday we were all hanging about in Leith and this guy from another gang walks past and he starts having a right pop at me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Aye,” Mack said. “Calling me a rich cunt, a spoilt wee bastard and all that good stuff. Fuck off back to mummy rich boy.”

  Sumo Dave smiled. “Sounds like a real charmer.”

  Mack nodded. “We used to carry knives on us,” he said. “I don’t know why - we never used them. They were just there in our back pockets. All the scraps we used to get into – it was always skin. Punches and kicks, you know? But we carried these knives anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Sumo Dave said.

  “Well this guy,” Mack said. “He was a few years older than me. Rossi, his name was. His family was probably more fucked up than Hatchet’s. Heroin.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Well he starts in on my family,” Mack said. “Calling my mum all sorts of things and telling me what he’d like to do to her, you know?”

  “Nasty,” Sumo Dave said.

  “I flipped,” Mack said. “It wasn’t just what he was saying, it was all sorts of shit I’d been burying inside for years. It all bubbled to the surface in that one moment. I pulled the knife, hoping he’d back down. Guess what?”

  Sumo Dave leaned in closer. “What?”

  “He had a knife too.”

  “What a bastard,” Sumo Dave said.

  “It got serious in a hurry,” Mack said. “The chants started up - Fight, fight, fight. I don’t mind telling you mate - I’ve never been so shit scared in all my life. He kept jabbing at me with the knife and I found myself thinking about all those old films from the fifties, know the ones?”

  “Yeah,” Sumo Dave said. “James Dean.”

  “Aye,” Mack said. “So this Rossi – he charges at me. With his arm out, steaming in and I thought – I swear to God – I thought he was going to kill me. I actually thought I was about to die. And so fuck it, I thrust the knife out at him, more out survival instinct than anything. And I was faster than him. The knife went into his stomach.”

  Sumo Dave grimaced. “Sheeeeeeeeit!”

  Mack closed his eyes. “All that blood and screaming.”

  “What age were you?”

  Mack opened his eyes again and looked at Sumo Dave. “Sixteen,” he said. “Same age as I am now. Why do you think we moved to London?”

  “Holy shit,” Sumo Dave said. “This just happened? “I thought it was because of your old man’s job that you came to London?”

  Mack shook his head. “Nah. That’s just what we tell people down here,” he said.

  “Is Rossi, is he…?”

  “Dead? No. He pulled through.”

  “And you didn’t go down for it?”

  Mack shook his head. “I’m a rich kid, remember? We had a better lawyer than he did. And it was self-defence.”

  Sumo Dave grinned. “You are the original rebel without a cause mate. Bloody hell, I never would have guessed it. Not a chance.”

  Some of the kitchen staff were looking their way, and then looking at the queue piling up outside the door.

  “Rossi had a record and I was clean,” Mack said. “Who would you believe? I was cleared.”

  “You see,” Sumo Dave said. “There are advantages to being a rich tosser.”

  Mack smiled.

  “Bloody hell,” Sumo Dave said. “And here’s me telling you to worry about Hatchet,” Sumo Dave said. “I’ll need to tell him to watch out, eh? Don’t mess with Mack the Knife.”

  Mack looked down at his hands. “That’s what the local kids called me after it happened.”

  His palms were warm and sweaty.

  “Did you see the blood on Hatchet’s hands the other night Sumo?”

  Sumo Dave spoke quietly. “Yeah, I saw. He’s a crazy fucker. But he’s a mate.”

  “That’s what my hands looked like that day.”

  “LADS,” someone at the counter shouted over to them. “If you’re not eating can you make room for the others outside please?”

  Without another word, Mack and Sumo Dave started walking towards the door. As they squeezed in between the bodies that filled the cafe, voices came down from the TV above their heads.

  INTERVIEWER: Are you seriously suggesting Sadie, that we should become vigilantes? That we should be hanging people on the streets of London?

  * * *

  SADIE HOBBS: We need to stop being so soft in this country. This would NEVER have been allowed to happen in America.

  * * *

  INTERVIEWER: But it did happen. It happened in 1992 in Los Angeles. And before that, it happened in 1967 in Detroit.
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  * * *

  SADIE HOBBS: Whatever! Look, these are desperate times and this is not the time for political correctness. There are rats running riot out there. Feral rats! And it’s about time they were exterminated.

  PHASE TWO:

  CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE

  Chapter 23

  Transcript of a video uploaded to YouTube.com (posted on 14th August 2011)

  (Mobile Phone Footage)

  A shower of electric light pours down from above, illuminating a vast and abandoned supermarket. Within every aisle, the steel shelves have been stripped bare and in some cases, overturned. The floor is covered in empty boxes, tins, and the carcasses of rotten fruit.

  There are flies everywhere, attached to the supermarket like it’s a giant decomposing corpse.

  In the distance, a small crowd - their faces hidden behind masks – explore the ruins. Scavenging each aisle, one by one, looking for scraps.

  As all this is happening, ‘London Calling’ by The Clash, is playing through the speakers.

  The cameraman flips the phone around. It’s pointing directly at his face – a face covered by a skull hoodie, zipped over the top of his head. Dark brown eyes glare through the peepholes, while the cameraman’s breathing is heavy and laboured. When he talks, the quiet, raspy voice is a familiar one.

  CHESTER GEORGE: This is London Calling. This is London Calling. Welcome one and all – welcome to the unofficial Olympics, brought to you by us, The Good and Honest Citizens of London.

  He turns the camera back on the supermarket.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Mr Prime Minister of the Dis-United Kingdom. Today, I want to do you a favour – I want to save you some money. I want you to forget about pumping billions of pounds into the 2012 Olympic Games next year. What about helping the Londoners – the real Londoners who live in the shadow of the Olympic Village? I’m talking about the people who will still live there and pay taxes long after the athletes have gone home. Okay? So this is the plan - you take care of them. I’ll take care of the Olympics. Right here, Right now.