by Eddie Allen
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.
“Right, we’ll start with your name and address?” he said staring at me without any emotion on his mush.
“Why? I haven’t done anything; I just helped that guy into the hospital. He said he’d been attacked by some geezers outside a boozer and seeing the state he was in, I obliged,” I said confidently.
“What about the other guy?” DC Jackman asked.
“What other guy you talking about?” I asked, looking confused.
“Listen to me, pal; there are two guys in here. One with a gunshot wound, the other with two fingers cut off. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll take you down the local nick for questioning. So, once again, what’s your name? DC Jackman looked a bit agitated.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. You have no right to question me like a criminal. All I did was help someone and this is how I get treated? In any case, if you intend to arrest me for something, I ain’t saying nothing until I have a solicitor,” I demanded, sitting there with my arms crossed, all smug with a grin on my face.
“Fine, take him away and bang him up at Earlsfield police station,” DC Jackman instructed the uniformed officers. Well, that’s the old bill for ya. If they can’t get their own way, they bang you up.
At Earlsfield police station, I stood in front of the desk sergeant emptying my pockets, fags matches, twenty quid, keys and my watch. The only thing they never took was my St. Christopher, cross and chain. Everything else went into a plastic bag and was sealed up. After giving the sergeant my name and address, he read my rights and then asked me to sign a form, confirming what he wrote down as my valuables. He then handed me back my fags, without the bloody matches.
“If you want a light, just ask one of the duty officers,” he inf
ormed me. I was then led to this grey cell and banged up. The officer pulled down the flap and gave me a light for my fag. The cell was bloody freezing. Along the wall was a wooden boxed frame about three feet high. This contraption was the bed. An orange-coloured rubber mattress covered the length of the box and on top of this was a dark grey, hairy blanket. By the door was a toilet without a bog roll. The brick walls were painted with grey eggshell paint; the ceiling was at least sixteen feet high, with ten glass blocks, letting in minimal daylight. What a fucking depressing hole. I sat on the bed, puffing on my fag, waiting for that dickhead DC Jackman to interview me. If Ron and Harry kept schtum, I’ll be out in no time at all. I lost all concept of time; it seemed like I’d been in this cell for hours. Walking over to the cell door, I looked through the flap, I couldn’t see or hear anyone, so I pressed the button on the wall, hoping to get someone’s attention. There was no ringing of a bell, just the dropping sound of a metal flap outside the cell door. That’s a lot of fucking good, I thought to myself.
“Hello? Is there anyone there? I’d like a light, please, for my fag,” I shouted through the flap in the door.
Nothing, not a sound came from the corridor.
“They won’t answer you, pal, fucking ignorant bastards! I’ve been here for two days with my flap down and I’m gagging for a smoke,” this voice shouted from the opposite cell.
Suddenly I heard footsteps and the jangling of keys. The footsteps drew closer and the jangling became louder. Then it stopped, just as quickly as it started. The bastards were winding us up. The guy in the other cell started kicking the shit out of his cell door. The noise was deafening, echoing up and down the hollow corridor. I pushed my flap down and lay on the bed, covering myself with the hairy blanket and trying to keep warm. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
I jerked from my sleep to the sound of jangling keys and my cell door being unlocked. Standing looking at me was DC Jackman, who was now accompanied by three uniformed officers.
“Get up, Eddie. You’re coming with me,” he informed me.
I asked one of the officers if I could have a light. The officer told me to wait until we were in the interview room.
After taking my fingerprints and three mug shots, they took me to the interview room, where I sat smoking a fag waiting to be grilled.
“Well, Eddie, It seems that your story is somewhat correct; the two guys in the hospital don’t seem to know you. However, I have a slight problem. I’ve also got another two guys in hospital in Battersea and both are in critical condition. Now, I know this was a gangland feud, but what I don’t understand is your involvement with these villains. So, Eddie, are you going to put me straight or what?” DC Jackman demanded.
“I ain’t got a clue what you’re chatting about, Mr. Jackman,” I said, feeling pretty comfortable with my situation. “As I said before, all I did was help that guy into hospital. That’s all, honest.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you, Eddie,” he said, looking at me shaking his head.
“That’s your problem, Mr. Jackman, not mine. Are you going to charge me for something, or not? If you are, I would like to see the duty solicitor. If not, I would like to go home, thank you,” I said in a confident tone. DC Jackman stood up, pushing his chair back with his calf muscles. It made a screeching noise along the vinyl floor.
“OK, Eddie, We’ll have it your way for the time being, but rest assured, sunshine, you ain’t seen the last of me. Not by a long shot.” He smiled. “Let him go,” he instructed to the uniformed officers.
Even though I was covered in blood, which I put down to carrying Ron into the hospital, DC Jackman had nothing to nick me for, especially as he came up against a wall of silence with neither of the pair wanting to talk for fear of more reprisals. Upon leaving the station, my mind was churning, thinking that I owed Ron and Harry big time. At least the old Bill bought the story, that they were attacked by a gang of yobs outside the boozer. Well, they had no choice. I decided that the life of crime was not for me. Getting out of this life was easier said than done, though, as I soon found out.
I hailed a black cab near Westminster Bridge and asked to be taken to the Old Kent Road, arriving home at three in the morning. Stripping my clothes off and changing into shorts and tee shirt, I opened the yard door, throwing my gear into the metal bin. Squirting paint thinners over everything, I set light to the lot. I stood in front of the bin, gazing into the flames and feeling the warmth on my chilly body. My mind drifted off into deep distant thoughts.
***
“Come on, you can do better than that, Eddie,” my mother said. I tried again, falling flat on my face. Tears were flooding down my cheeks. Dragging myself up from the floor via the sofa, I tried again. I balanced by holding the chair for support. I let go and took two paces forward, losing my balance instantly. I went flying and ended up in crumpled heap on the floor, again!
“You’ve got to get used to these, Eddie. The doctors reckon you’ll have to wear them for at least four or five years,” she insisted, pointing at my shackles.
“But, Mum, they hurt my ankles and legs,” I pleaded, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Stop bloody whinging and walk in them, otherwise I’ll give you something to bloody whinge about,” my old man warned me.
It took months of practice; however, I eventually started plodding around like a clown on stilts at the circus. Being five years old, I couldn’t get to grips with the fact that these leg braces would be my partners till I was nine. I slept in them and went to school in the bloody things. For years, I had the piss taken out of me. Young children can be so cruel; they called me Frankenstein and Pinocchio because my walk looked like I was made of wood.
***
I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard the sound of the bedroom sash window opening.
“What the hell are you doing, Eddie? Do ya know what bloody time it is?” Sue screeched. “You’re off your bloody trolley,” she added, pointing her finger to her temple. She slammed the window down in disgust. Done it again, I thought. I always manage to upset her in one way or another. I’ll never bloody learn. She’s like a time bomb waiting to explode and, unfortunately, I was definitely the fuse! After checking the contents of the bin and being satisfied that everything had been destroyed, I went indoors. Not to my surprise, I found a blanket and pillow at the foot of the stairs. Looks like I’m kipping on the settee again. Feeling exhausted, I curled up, covering myself with the blanket, promptly dropping off into deep slumber.
***
It was a dark murky night; my car sped down country lanes looking for the way out of the maze. Driving slowly down zigzag roads, bending left, then right, up and down brows, I realised I hadn’t come across any villages in the past couple of hours. On both sides of the narrow road, or should I really say track, there was dense woodland. My headlights started playing tricks on my tired mind. I could have sworn I saw a twisted oak tree wink at me. Brushing the thought out my head, I slowed right down, driving in second gear while approaching a tight bend. Swinging round the bend, I could see a thick blanket of fog engulfing the road. Stopping the car rapidly, I watched in amazement as I disappeared slowly before my very own eyes. Sitting in the car in complete darkness, I couldn’t see anything; not even my hands. The car’s power failed. The battery was dead; there were no lights and no sound coming from my metal friend. I fumbled about, feeling for the door handle and, pushing the door open, I climbed out of the car. I tried to shake this terrible feeling of being tied up in a sack and choking.
Suddenly, the fog started to lift and within seconds it had disappeared. I stood scratching my head. What my eyes were focusing on was unbelievable. It was daylight and the sky was ice blue, sunny and warm. The country roads and woodlands were now a vast barren wasteland. In the far distance on the horizon, I could just make out the faint outline of a mountain range, with large trees and a lake. Scattered about the wasteland were at least thirty rusty old cars. Feeling totally confused, I thought tha
t I must have come off the road at some point whilst driving. I wondered where the hell daylight had come from. It had been pitch black five minutes ago. This was totally bizarre and unnatural. I stood there, trying to comprehend what my eyes were telling my brain. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a shadow darting into one of the rusty cars. My senses were now on red alert; something sinister is definitely going down here, I thought.
Opening the boot of my car, I picked up a shotgun and a box of cartridges.
“Where the fuck did these come from?” I asked myself. If I was confused before, I was even more bloody confused now! On cocking the barrel, I noticed it was already loaded. My God, what the fuck was going on? It’s like this situation had been planned for me.
I walked in the direction of the dumped cars, feeling very nervous and uneasy, even with the loaded shotgun. While I started investigating the area, my attention was grabbed by the sight of a horse-drawn buggy on its side, followed by what I can only describe as a Roman chariot. Further on, I found a cart with wooden wheels. Lying next to the cart was a three-wheeled tricycle and a wagon from the Wild West, standing as if waiting for its horses to pull it away. Everything I observed were all forms of Man’s transport; it was like being in a massive open-air museum. Where the hell did this lot come from? I asked my over-taxed mind. Some of these are hundreds of years apart. Why are they here?
I walked for what seemed liked miles. The mountains in the distance didn’t appear any closer. I came across a yellow taxi and its licence plate told me it belonged in the state of Pennsylvania in America. Suddenly, it hit me like a sledgehammer; I’m in another dimension. All the owners of these modes of transport must have come here, the same way as me! So what happened to them? Where are they? My God, the fog! The fog is the gateway to this world. The fog must be like the Bermuda triangle; go through it and you’re fucked.
