A Cockney's Journey

by Eddie Allen

  “Shit! Now what am I going to do?” I said out loud. My eyes started scanning everywhere in the vain attempt to find a solution to my very serious predicament. Suddenly, I heard running footsteps, followed by a loud bang. Spinning around, I noticed dust clouds hovering over the yellow taxi. Someone or something had just entered the taxi, slamming the door shut. Pointing the shotgun in front of me, I slowly moved towards the taxi; my mind churning over, with images of what might confront me. Standing by the passenger door, I pressed the barrel of the shotgun on the tinted glass window.

  “All right, I know you’re in there. I’ve got a loaded gun. Come out and show yourself,” I demanded, taking a few paces backwards and feeling very uneasy. I stared in disbelief as the taxi started rocking violently from side to side. The sound of growling and scratching filled me with terror. In a split second, the glass shattered. Diving out the window towards me was this hideous-looking old hag with long fangs. Its glaring eyes were bloodshot and its hair resembled that of Medusa’s: covered in wriggly worms, its flesh grey and wrinkly and full of open weeping sores. The smell was horrendous; like a thousand decaying bodies. I froze with fear, trying in vain to pull the trigger on my shotgun. The hag lunged at me, dripping phlegm and pus all over my face and body. It tore at my torso with long talons and the pain and fear rendered me useless. I gazed in horror as I watched the contents of my stomach spill out onto the floor. The hag sank its fangs into my throat, ripping and tearing at my flesh. I felt the life drain out of my body…

  ***

  I jumped up to the sound of a vacuum cleaner ringing in my ears. I looked around the front room, sighing with relief, knowing it was another nightmare. Sue was doing her best to annoy me by waking me up. She never knew where she had just dragged me from. Sitting up and rubbing my weary eyes, I asked her if there was any breakfast.

  “Get it yourself. I’m busy,” she snapped. “Anyway, what was you burning in the bin last night, and where were you till four o’clock?” she asked, turning the vacuum off and looking really pissed off, waiting for my explanation. I was in the middle of telling her about last night’s escapades, when the front door bell chimed. Outside, Al stood in the drizzling rain holding the Sporting Life over his Barnet.

  “Come in, mate, I’m just about to cook breakfast, Do ya fancy an egg an’ bacon sarnie?” I asked him.

  “Nah, not really, Ed. We’ve got big problems,” he said looking distraught.

  “Why, what the fuck’s wrong now?”

  “Well it’s like this. After you took Ron into hospital, I drove the Rover back to the pub, but unfortunately I…”

  Interrupting him in mid-sentence, I barked, “You can’t drive Al. How the fuck did you get the car back to the boozer, and why have I got problems?”

  “I’m trying to explain, Ed. I thought it would be a piece of piss driving an automatic motor. However, I pranged the fucking thing twice, both front wings are dented,” he said disappointedly.

  “You have got to be kidding me, mate. He’ll fucking kill me. That Rover was my responsibility. I was going to pick it up and return it today,” I spluttered angrily. “Where is it now, Al?”

  “It’s in the pub’s car park.”

  “Great!! Everyone can see the damage. In fact, he probably already knows,” I said shaking my head in disgust. “Where’s the keys?”

  He fished about in his pockets, handing me the car keys. “What you gonna do, Ed?” He looked worried.

  “I’m hoping he hasn’t seen or been told about his motor. If not, I’ll bring it round here to see if I can repair the damage.”

  The thought of breakfast disappeared rapidly from my mind. We both left the house, hurrying to the boozer’s car park. After a short walk, we approached the car park where there was a lot of activity going on. Hanging around, carrying holdalls, were a bunch of guys chatting and drinking takeaway teas. It suddenly dawned on me who they were. Every week, the pub team met in the car park before venturing off to their football match. However, what I didn’t know was that the team’s goalkeeper, Alan, worked for the Rover owner, who was already on his way to the boozer after being informed by him. We stood next to the Rover, surveying the damage, when this Mercedes screeched to a halt.

  “Get your arse over here, Eddie!” the driver shouted through the open car window.

  “I can explain about the Rover. I pranged it whilst rushing Ron and Harry to hospital last night. It was a matter of life or death that I got there pronto!” I told him.

  “I’m not bothered about the car; it’s just a bit of metal. Nothing that a panel-beater and some paint couldn’t put right,” he said smiling. Well, this was a turn up for the books, I thought to myself.

  “Apparently you saved my Ron’s neck last night, Eddie, and you kept schtum whilst bang up. Very commendable, young man,” he said, handing me a brown envelope. “I want to see the pair of you tonight, about nine o’clock, OK?”

  “Yeah, no problem, we’ll be there.” Al told him.

  “Good, I’ll see you later,” he said, spinning the car around and driving off. I quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a wad of tenners. Flicking through the notes and counting I informed Al that he’d given me at least a monkey.

  “You jammy sod, he ain’t give me nish yet,” he moaned. I decided to split the dough down the middle with Al. That’s the least I could do, considering I binned the dough from the post office job. “Cheers, mate, you’re a diamond,” he said patting me on the back. “Fancy going up the café for breakfast now, Ed?”

  “Absolutely! I’m starved. Let’s go to J’s,” I said feeling pretty good with myself.

  Later that evening, we were having a drink and waiting, as instructed, for the main man. We were joined by one of Ron’s brothers, Pat, who informed us that Ron was doing fine. He reckoned the gunshot wound wasn’t as serious as it looked. The doctor said that Ron was lucky; he never took the full blast, consequently only getting small amounts of pellets hitting his side. Pat also told us that Harry’s fingers had taken well to being stitched and grafted back on and he should make a full recovery. However, his fingers would not operate as they used to and he would have to undergo considerable physiotherapy.

  Dead on nine o’clock, he entered the boozer flanked by two burly guys.

  “Nice to see you’re good timekeepers,” he said, taking his overcoat off. He glanced around the pub, then pulled up a chair and sat down. “Right, let’s get down to business. I need the pair of you to do a small job for me. Any problems with that?” he asked, staring at Al, a slight malicious twinkle in his eye.

  “Er, no, not at all,” Al said.

  “What about you, Eddie boy. I need someone sensible behind the wheel, who knows how to keep his trap shut.” He smiled.

  “Yeah, I’m up for it. What’s the deal? I asked curiously.

  “There’s a consignment of goods coming in tomorrow night at Greenwich Wharf. All you got to do is pick it up and bring it back to my lock-up. Pick-up time is midnight; my man on the inside will be expecting you.” He handed me a sheet of paper with the lock-up address scribbled on, and a set of van keys.

  “The van’s outside the lock-up, Ed. My man knows what make of van will be there, so just sit and wait for the signal. I’ll sort you both out tomorrow night, when you get back.” He stood up and put his overcoat back on. “Oh, and keep your eyes peeled, Eddie. Any suspicious activities, dump the van and leg it,” he added.

  Now this sort of earner suited me down to the ground, no violence or weapons; just good, old-fashioned, bent gear! We both left the boozer, agreeing to meet up the following evening at ten-thirty. The next morning, I took Sue and Daniel out for the day; visiting London Zoo and having dinner on the way home at Manzies’ Pie ’n’ Mash in East Street. Sue just loved pie ’n’ mash with lashings of liquor accompanied with jellied eels. As it happens, so did I, especially when I’d had a few beers! I enjoyed treating Sue; well, she had to put up with a hell of a lot from me. I wasn’t the most reliable husband
on this planet. In fact, I was a bit of a prat really, and that’s an understatement. All I was interested in was making money for my family and, unfortunately, while I tried to do just that, I neglected her big time, ultimately paying the price years later. Never mind, such is life. I did what I had to do in more ways than one, just so they never went without.

  Later that evening I met up with Al outside the lock-up.

  “What do ya reckon we’re picking up, Ed?” he asked, looking puzzled, as he climbed into the van.

  “Ain’t got a clue, mate. Whatever the load is, it’s not for us to know, otherwise he would have told us. This van’s not big, though, is it, Al? I expected a large tranny or something.”

  “Obviously the cargo is small, but valuable,” he reckoned.

  “Oh well, we’ll soon find out,” I said, jumping in the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. Turning the ignition, the old beast fired up straight away. “Not bad, all his motors are well looked after.” I pulled out from the lock-up entrance. “Mind you, they have to be in his line of work,” I laughed, steering with one hand and lighting up a fag with the other.

  “Yeah, you’re dead right there, son,” Al said, leaning over and nicking one of my fags. “What time is it, Ed?” he asked, while cupping his hands trying to light his fag with a match.

  “Eleven twenty, plenty of time yet.”

  “How are you and Sue getting on?”

  “Don’t ask. I seem to do everything wrong at the moment. I just can’t please her at all. The only time she’s happy is when I bung her dough,” I said shaking my head, all despondent.

  “That’s birds for ya. Nothing but bloody grief,” he reckoned with a laugh.

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I said.

  I turned into Greenwich Wharf, parking up in the loading bay. We sat there in the dark, watching a container swinging to and fro in the wind. It seemed to me that the crane was struggling with the container’s weight. I couldn’t help thinking how precarious it all looked. Underneath, three guys were trying to pull the container away from the barge with long ropes. The banksman was waving frantically, trying to get his orders to the driver of the crane. Al tapped me on the leg.

  “Fucking dodgy, that is,” he said. “They look like a right bunch of muppets.” He shook his head in disbelief. I opened my window, throwing out my fag butt, getting a welcoming gush of wind in my face. Suddenly, we heard a loud crack, followed by hysterical shouting. I watched in horror as two of the crane’s chains snapped; the container up-ended, smashing down onto the barge, the sudden jerk yanking the crane off its bearings. What followed next was absolutely mental; the crane and the container smashed down onto the barge and it started sinking fast. Within minutes, the barge had disappeared under the Thames’s murky water. The sound of wailing sirens and flashing floodlights overshadowed the noisy, panic-stricken workers, who were running around like headless chickens trying to restore some sort of order. Miraculously, nobody was killed, and the docks were now engulfed in flames. How and why I haven’t a clue; all I could see was this thick band of billowing smoke. Obviously, there must have been barrels of inflammable liquid stored near the crane, which ignited on impact.

  “Let’s get out of here, Ed, before the fire brigade and old Bill turn up,” Al said in an urgent tone.

  Starting the van up, I spun the beast round and headed out of the wharf towards the exit. “Oh shit, look! For fuck’s sake, I don’t believe this,” I screeched, staring at the blue and white flashing lights of two patrol cars blocking the exit. Three uniformed officers moved towards the van, beckoning us to get out.

  “Now what the fuck we gonna do? How do we explain why we’re bloody here,” I said quietly to Al.

  “Fuck knows,” was all he could say.

  “Leave it to me, Al. I’ll try and blag it. Let me do the talking,” I said as I slid out of the van. “Evening officer, Thank God you’ve arrived. The wharf is in total chaos. We came here on the off chance of looking for work. I was told they needed night workers on the docks, but instead we witnessed a bizarre accident. Luckily nobody got hurt,” I said, waving my arms pointing towards the wharf.

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened?” the tall ugly officer asked as he opened up his notebook. The other two officers started looking over the van, one peered through the back window. Thank fuck there was jack shit in the back.

  “Well, it was like this, officer…” I then proceeded to explain everything that happened and what I thought caused the accident. “…definitely struggled to lift the weight,” I finished, thinking I’ve blagged the arse off this mug!

  Rapid ringing fire engines could be heard approaching and one of the officers ran over to move the patrol car. After giving our names and addresses, the old Bill let us go, reminding us that they would get in touch regarding being possible witnesses. Driving back to the Old Kent Road, I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “What a triplet of incompetents they were! Bloody hell, no wonder this country is in such a state when you got plums like that in charge!” I laughed.

  Pulling into the lock-up, he was waiting, with both his minders sitting in his Mercedes. After explaining the whole scenario again, he informed us we should wait for a couple of days before going back. So we both left, making our separate ways home.

  I arrived home at two o’clock in the morning. Quietly tiptoeing around the house, I made myself a coffee and sat in the front room with my feet up. I was trying to chill out, while smoking a fag and sipping my coffee, when I heard a car pull up outside the house. Being in the relaxed zone, I dismissed the sound from my mind thinking that it was sod all to do with me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the front door. Getting up and peering through the front room window, I could see standing on the pathway two-uniformed old Bill with DC Jackman. Reluctantly, I opened the front door.

  “Well this is a nice surprise! Dropped round for coffee, Mr. Jackman? Unfortunately, there are no biscuits,” I said sarcastically.

  “Very funny, Eddie, I told you I’d see you again, sunshine, but this time you’re going nowhere,” he said, grinning. “I’m arresting you for armed robbery. Anything you do or say will be taken down and used as evidence against you. You have the right to remain silent, subject to your solicitor being present,” he informed me arrogantly. The two officers pushed me up against the passage wall, pulling my arms behind my back and handcuffing me. Sue came running down the stairs, shouting and screaming hysterically. Seeing me handcuffed she realised immediately that I’d had been arrested.

  “Phone me a brief in the morning, Sue, and don’t worry. I’ll be alright,” I told her as I was dragged from the house and bundled into the back of a patrol car.

  “We’re taking him to Earlsfield nick. He’ll be allowed a phone call in the morning,” DC Jackman informed Sue, who was looking very distraught and angry. “I’ll tell you one thing, love. You won’t be seeing him for a while,” he laughed.

  “Piss off, you wanker,” Sue screamed as she slammed the front door shut in DC Jackman’s face.

  I arrived at the station and after being charged and fingerprinted, DC Jackman explained why I’d been nicked. Apparently, my prints were found all over the Jag that we dumped in Redhill.

  “If you hadn’t been finger-printed the other day, you might have got away with it,” he said, looking pretty pleased with himself. “Well, Eddie, you’re definitely going down with the others for this robbery, so you might as well tell me what happened at Battersea. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I guarantee you it’ll be taken into consideration.” He leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, smirking.

  “Can I tell you something, Mr. Jackman? I think you’re a total dickhead and what’s more you haven’t got a fucking clue about fuck all,” I grinned, starring into his cold blue eyes.

  “Well, I know one thing. I’ll be having a beer later while, you’re banged up in here, mate. That’s a bloody certainty.
” He laughed and left, slamming the cell door shut.

  The following morning, I appeared at Horseferry Road Magistrates’. After the brief hearing, I was remanded in custody, thanks to the old Bill objecting to my solicitor’s bail attempt. I spent the following week on remand at Brixton prison. I was up and down like a yoyo every seven days; this went on for nine weeks, until I finally got bail after the committal hearing. I had three weeks of freedom before my trial at the Old Bailey. During that time, my nan came and visited us, staying for the week. Paul got bail but got himself nicked for GBH after smashing the fuck out of cocky Frank outside our local. Al and I kept a low profile, changing our eating and drinking haunts. Sue had enough dough to take care of everything that she and Daniel needed. The three weeks flew by and before I knew it, we were all out in our favourite restaurant in Bermondsey on the eve of our trial, enjoying what turned out to be our last night of freedom.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On the morning of the trial, Sue cooked me a hearty breakfast, before we all left for the Old Bailey. Upon my arrival, I had to surrender my bail to the court officer. Not expecting to be banged up straight away, I felt very agitated and extremely annoyed when I was led down to the cells, being told that I had to wait until called by the court usher. Sue accompanied friends and family of all the defendants in the gallery, waiting for our case to be called.

  “Case number 32, M’Lord,” the clerk said, while reading out the charge sheet. Blah blah blah, armed robbery with intent to harm, blah blah blah. He prattled on for ages, reading out the charges and everyone’s previous convictions. The four of us stood in the dock with our hands secured behind our backs and our heads bowed, looking at the floor. I was churning over in my mind what my brief had told me. He recommended that I should plead guilty and throw myself on the mercy of the court. He also reckoned that I should expect at least five or seven years inside! The court clerk continued reading out previous convictions. Bloody hell! I thought. The others had loads of previous convictions. Then the clerk informed the court that this was my first offence. DC Jackman casually walked towards the stand glancing over his shoulder, eye-balling the four of us. After being sworn in, he took a deep breath.