* * *
“All roight?” Manny’s amplified voice yelled from the stage.
A swarm of punks and skinheads rushed toward him as one. One hand on the microphone, Manny glared down at the expectant faces of the crowd.
“We’re all fucking upstarts!” he shouted, and everyone roared their approval, drowning out the opening guitar intro. A drum roll started the song proper, and Manny screamed out the words. A punk climbed onto the stage, and before the two bouncers could react he dived back into the audience. The area immediately in front of the stage was soon full of jerking bodies jostling for position.
“They tell us what to think, they tell us who to see,” Manny growled in his rough, guttural cockney voice. He picked up the microphone stand and swung it down into the crowd. Dozens of hands made a grab for it.
“We’re all upstarts, you and me!” everyone in the audience screamed.
Manny yanked the microphone stand away from them and held it aloft above his head before slamming it back down on the stage. He picked up a can of beer while the band continued playing, and shook it furiously. He aimed the can at the audience and pulled the ring-pull, showering the front row with beer. He poured the remaining beer over his own head and crushed the empty can in his hand before drop-kicking it away.
A young skinhead barged Colin in the shoulder. Colin barged him back, grinning, and sent him stumbling forward a few steps. Nearby, Brian spun his arms around like a double sided windmill, clearing out his own little space within the melee as people scrambled to avoid him. Twiglet and Spazzo were right at the front of the stage together, pressed up tight by the surging crowd behind them, so only their upper bodies could jerk in time to the music.
The song ended with a final scream from Manny and the crowd stopped its gyrations as one. Colin lifted up his T-shirt and wiped sweat from his face. He looked around, was about to say something to Brian, but he was quite a distance away now, surrounded by skinheads. He looked for Stiggy, but couldn’t see him anywhere.
The band started their second song, and the dancing resumed. The young skinhead rushed toward Colin again, his right elbow pointing outwards like a lance, his hand clamped behind his neck. He had a wide, lop-sided grin on his face.
Colin dodged to one side just before the skinhead reached him, and gave him a quick shove in the back as he hurtled past. He soared into the back of a punk, who lost his balance and went down. The skinhead tripped over him and landed on top of the punk in a pile of flailing arms and legs.
Colin’s energy started to flag after a few more songs. When Manny started on one of his between-song monologues about police oppression he saw it as an opportunity for a quick rest break and a gulp of beer. Manny was telling a story about a time when he was arrested and beaten up in the cells by a policeman who objected to the title of their ‘Police Scum’ single. It was a story Colin already knew from an interview with Manny he had read in Sounds several months earlier, so he weaved his way out of the crowd and made for the table where he had left his beer. People parted before him, then fought over the space he had vacated.
Colin slumped into his seat and took a long drink. Over the rim of his glass he saw Stiggy leaning against the now deserted bar, watching the band with the skinhead girl. Stiggy’s left arm rested on the bar, behind the skinhead girl’s shoulder as she took casual sips from her Babycham bottle.
Colin sighed and shook his head. He tried to get Stiggy’s attention, but Stiggy either didn’t hear him or chose not to. Instead, he started drawing little circles on the skinhead girl’s shoulder with his fingertip. She turned to face him and they stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. She looked toward the stage area, then leaned her head into Stiggy’s chest. Stiggy closed his arm around her.
Colin gaped at them open mouthed, not believing what he was seeing. He looked across at the stage area himself, expecting to see hordes of outraged skinheads tearing toward him. But the band had started playing again, and everyone was too busy leaping around to notice anything else.
Colin stood up and rushed across to Stiggy. He pulled at Stiggy’s arm, but Stiggy brushed him away.
“Stiggy, I need to talk to you,” Colin shouted. The skinhead girl looked at Colin and stepped to one side.
“What do you want?” Stiggy shouted, turning toward Colin.
“You can’t mess with their bird, they’ll fucking slaughter you.”
“She’s not a bird, her name’s Sally and she’s coming home with us.”
“What?”
“You heard,” Stiggy said, and turned away.
Colin grabbed Stiggy’s arm and spun him back around. “Stiggy, you don’t know what you’re saying. It’s the fucking glue talking, mate. You don’t even like skinheads, remember? You hate them as much as I do, so why would you want to take one of them home with you? Think about what those baldy cunts will do to you when they find out. You think they will just let you walk out of here with one of their birds?”
“I don’t fucking care, leave me alone,” Stiggy shouted.
“Mate, she’s only doing this so she can watch her boyfriends kick the fuck out of you later. Can’t you see that?”
Stiggy shrugged.
Colin grabbed Stiggy’s jacket and pulled him away from the bar. Stiggy stumbled a few steps before wrenching himself free, then launched a drunken punch. Colin jerked his head to one side and Stiggy’s fist sliced through the air a few inches away from his face.
Colin shook his head and retreated back to his seat. He took out a cigarette and lit it. Stiggy glared at him for a few seconds, as if daring him to say anything else, before returning to the bar. The skinhead girl sought Stiggy’s hand and held it. She too glared at Colin.
Colin’s hands shook as he drank the rest of his beer and smoked his cigarette. This was bad. Very bad. He had to get Stiggy out of there before the skinheads saw him messing with their bird. But he couldn’t do it on his own, he would need help. Maybe Brian could shout some sense into Stiggy, and if that didn’t work they would all just have to drag him away from her by force.
Colin returned to the stage area, but he couldn’t see Brian anywhere for all the jerking, spasmodic bodies leaping around. He inched his way through the crowd to where he had seen him last, prising people apart to make a gap big enough to squeeze through. Some parted easily, others resisted and he needed to physically barge past them. A few, unwilling to give up their position under any circumstances, turned and pushed him in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps, further away from his goal.
Colin didn’t make much headway into the heart of the crowd until a song ended and the audience started to relax and thin out to avoid the body heat given off by their closest neighbours. Pushing his way through, he found Brian just as the next song started, and his shouted words were drowned out by a crashing wall of sound from the nearby PA system.
Colin pulled on Brian’s arm to get him out of the crowd so he could talk to him properly, but Brian must have thought he wanted to dance because he grabbed a handful of Colin’s shirt and swung him around by it. The unexpected momentum took Colin by surprise and he was propelled into the back of a stocky skinhead. The skinhead turned and pushed Colin away. Colin stumbled back and lost his balance, then tumbled to the ground.
Two arms came down to help Colin back to his feet. When he looked up he saw it was the same skinhead who had been barging him earlier, the same lop-sided grin on his face. The skinhead pulled Colin to his feet and looped a sweaty arm around his neck. He rushed into the crowd, pulling Colin with him.
Surrounded by writhing bodies packed closely together, Colin had no option but to wait until the next lull between songs. He hoped it would last long enough for him to reach Brian and warn him about what was going to happen.
The song ended, but there was no rest gap, no opportunity to reach Brian.
“Police Scum!” Manny shouted, and the band immediately started playing again. This was the song Cockney Upstarts usually ended the
ir set with, so Colin knew he didn’t have much time left. People at the back of the crowd surged forward, causing even more of a crush around the stage.
Manny pulled the microphone from its stand and screamed into it. He raised his arms above his head and launched himself from the stage like an Olympic diver. Twenty pairs of arms rose to catch him and lower him to the ground. Manny was in the midst of the crowd, singing Police Scum, everyone within range of the microphone shouting along with him. People just out of range fought for a closer position.
Colin was swept along by the crowd as everyone clawed their way closer to Manny, all wanting to be a part of the band for their anthem title. Someone wrenched the microphone from Manny’s hand, and his voice was replaced with a gruff Yorkshire accent that screamed the words out of tune. Manny lost his footing as the crowd surged after the microphone, everyone wanting their own turn with it, and he fell to the floor. He raised his arms to protect his head as boots swarmed over him, oblivious to his plight.
The song ended, and the band stopped playing, but the crowd around the microphone continued singing, starting up a rendition of We’re All Upstarts. The lead guitarist and bass player jumped off the stage and pulled Manny to his feet. They helped him back onto the stage and he stood there swaying as blood poured from his nose and mouth.
The crowd started to thin out as people drifted away to the bar for one final drink before they made their way home. The skinheads were busy giving Nazi salutes and sieg heiling to each other. Colin saw his chance to get to Brian.
* * *
“Stiggy’s off on one again, we need to get him out of here quick.”
Brian rolled his eyes and nodded. “I told you we shouldn’t have fetched him.” He sighed and beckoned Twiglet and Spazzo over. They both had red faces and were dripping with sweat.
“Fucking smart or what?” Twiglet said. His smile dropped. “What’s up?”
“Fucking Stiggy,” Colin said. “He’s that fucking glued up he’s on about taking a skinhead bird home with him.” He nodded at the group of skinheads by the stage, who seemed to have had their fill of Nazi salutes and were jumping on each other’s shoulders. “We need to get him out of here before that lot find out.”
Stiggy looked like he was about to leave when they reached him. He stood by the bar, holding hands with the skinhead girl, and they turned toward the exit together.
“Stiggy wait,” Colin shouted.
Stiggy looked over his shoulder but continued walking.
“Oi, that’s my fucking bird, you cunt!” someone shouted from nearby.
Colin spun around. The large skinhead ran toward him, closely followed by his young mates. Colin’s stomach flipped. He took a few steps back, out of their path. This was it, Stiggy was toast and there was nothing he could do about it. They were too late.
The barman disappeared through a door into a back room. Colin looked for the two bouncers, and saw them standing guard at the band’s dressing room door. They were smiling as they watched, arms folded across their chests.
“Leave him, Joe,” the skinhead girl said. She stood between Stiggy and the large skinhead, looking tiny and frail in comparison. Her bottom lip trembled as she clenched her fists by her sides.
“Shut up you fucking slag,” the skinhead snarled. He lunged toward her and slapped her hard in the face with the back of his hand.
The skinhead girl staggered back, a bright red mark on her face where she had been struck. She stumbled and Stiggy caught her in his arms. The skinhead rushed forward and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and fell to her knees groaning.
Stiggy roared and ran at the skinhead. He picked up an empty Babycham bottle from the bar and raised it. He swung it down at the skinhead’s head. The skinhead brought up one of his tattoo-covered arms just in time, and the bottle bounced off it. He grabbed Stiggy’s wrist and twisted it. Stiggy cried out and dropped the bottle. The skinhead stamped down on it, shattering it beneath his boot, and wrenched Stiggy’s arm up his back. Stiggy bent over, yelling. The skinhead roared and shoved him head-first into the bar. Stiggy crumpled to the ground, the skinhead moved in for the kill. Stiggy curled himself up into a ball, the skinhead kicked out at his arms and legs. The young skinheads cheered him on.
Twiglet and Spazzo rushed forward to intercept. The young skinheads swarmed over them and they went down in a hail of fists and boots. Brian jumped on the large skinhead’s back and wrapped his arms around his neck. He kicked out his legs to unbalance him. The large skinhead twisted and turned, tried to punch Brian in the face. The skinhead girl stumbled toward Stiggy, holding her stomach with one hand.
Colin knew he should do something to help Brian but he was frozen to the spot. He watched the skinhead girl help Stiggy to his feet, then support him with an arm around his waist while they staggered to the exit. It was only when the group of young skinheads got bored of kicking the unconscious bodies of Twiglet and Spazzo and looked around for a fresh target that he sprang into action.
Colin rushed up to the large skinhead and pushed him in the chest with both hands. He toppled over, Brian still clinging to his back. Brian gave out a loud gasp when the skinhead landed on top of him. His hands fell to his sides. The skinhead rolled over and straddled him, raised his fists to pummel his upturned face.
Colin grabbed the skinhead around the neck and pulled with all his might. The skinhead sprang up and spun to face him. He laughed and grabbed Colin’s wrists, stretched his arms out wide and pulled Colin closer. His head snapped back, then launched forward to smack Colin on the bridge of his nose.
Blinding pain soared through Colin. The skinhead pushed him away, into the waiting arms of the younger skinheads. They pulled him to the ground and went to work on him with their boots.
* * *
Trog watched the scuffle at the bar with interest. It wasn’t his fight, so there was no need to get involved. The gobby student punk and his mates were getting a right fucking hammering though. The Shefferham mob had no class the way they were all steaming in six onto one. Trog preferred a fair fight, something you could brag about to your mates later. This was just the sort of brutal thuggery that gave skinheads a bad name.
Someone yelled “Coppers!” and everyone drew silent to listen. Trog heard two-tone sirens wailing in the distance, until a mass stampede toward the exit door drowned them out.
“Time to get fucked off,” Don said. Trog nodded and followed him to the exit.
Near the bar, the large skinhead picked up the stem of a broken Babycham bottle and straddled the gobby student’s mate. He smiled as he raised the jagged glass shard above his head like a dagger. Trog stopped to watch, torn between intervening and getting the fuck out of there while he still had time.
The gobby student’s mate cried out and raised his hands to protect his face. The skinhead slashed down and sliced through a wrist. Blood spurted like it had been shot from a water pistol, staining the skinhead’s British Movement T-shirt.
“Trog, come on,” Don yelled, “we need to get fucked off before the coppers get here.”
“You go on, I’ll catch you up later. Meet me at the train station if you need to scarper from outside.”
Trog ran up to the large skinhead just as he raised the broken bottle again. He made a grab for his wrist, but the skinhead jerked it away at the last second and backhanded Trog across the face. Trog stumbled back, the skinhead laughed and rammed the broken bottle into the punk’s neck. He pulled it out and threw it at Trog, then swaggered casually toward the exit door.
* * *
Colin opened his eyes and groaned. Every inch of his body ached. Sirens howled in the distance, getting closer. Colin rolled onto his side and pushed himself up onto his knees. He shook his head and looked around. Tables and chairs were tipped over, broken glass was everywhere. Twiglet lay groaning a few feet away. Spazzo sat holding his face in his hands, blood dripping from his mouth.
Colin looked down when he realised his knees were wet, and saw a large
pool of blood. He searched his body frantically for knife wounds. When he found none he looked behind him and gasped. Brian lay still on the ground, a skinhead straddled over him.
Hands around Brian’s neck.
Strangling him.
Rage surged through Colin. It was the same skinhead who had been giving him hassle all week, the midget bald bastard who had attacked him for no reason in The Queen’s Head. And now he was killing Brian.
“You’ve had it now, you fucking cunt!” Colin roared. He ran to the skinhead, adrenalin coursing through his body and giving strength to his aching limbs. He barrelled into the skinhead, hands outstretched, and pushed him off Brian. The skinhead rolled onto his side and sat up, glaring at Colin. Blood spurted from a large, gaping wound in Brian’s neck. Colin stared in shock. Brian was unconscious, his face deathly white.
The skinhead crawled toward Brian and clamped a hand over his neck. “We need to put pressure on the wounds or he’ll fucking bleed to death,” he said.
Colin gaped at the skinhead, open mouthed. The skinhead looked up at him. “For fuck’s sake, get down here and help me or he’ll fucking die!”
Colin knelt down and stared at Brian, saw more blood gushing from his wrist. “What do I do?”
“Take your belt off and tie it around his arm, just below the elbow. As tight as you can. Then hold his arm up. I hope that’s a fucking ambulance I can hear coming.”
Colin removed his belt and held it out to the skinhead. “I don’t know what to do. You should do it, you seem to know what you’re doing.”
The skinhead glared at him. “If I let go of his neck again he’ll fucking die. Now fucking do it or I’ll fucking batter you! Get that fucking belt round his fucking arm! Now!” Colin startled, almost dropping the belt. “For fuck’s sake, just do it you useless cunt!”
Colin looped the belt around Brian’s arm and pushed the end through the buckle. “Here?” he asked, still unsure if this was the right thing to do or not.
“A bit further up his arm,” the skinhead said. Colin slid the belt a few inches closer to Brian’s elbow. “That’s it. Now pull the fucker tight and don’t let go.”
Punk and Skinhead Novels Box Set Page 8
