Now, six years is not an extremely long time, at least to those not banged up. So I’d expected things to be no different when I got out of prison than when I got in. I was Pete Tong again. Before I got sent down, these little boxes called computers were just starting up, and were about as rare as a polar bear in sunglasses. When I got out, however, they were all over the place, taking over – and all because I was away for half-a-dozen years I feel like I’m on a different planet just because I ain’t got a clue what ‘C:/DOS’ is supposed to mean. What is the world coming to? I’ll tell you what it’s coming to. It’s coming down to hard-nut criminals like Pete Smalls joining ‘Information Technology’, and instead of popping caps in people’s backsides…he’s popping floppy discs into a magic box. To be honest, I was ashamed of him. I wasn’t sure whether to gently persuade him back onto the crime ladder, or smash his face in. I decided to see him next. He was working for the computer company Xpand. I had to travel all the way down to Reading to get to the offices. He better have been worth it.
The offices were huge. It towered over me like a giant shadowing a leprechaun. All geared out in my best suit and tie, I walked through the revolving doors towards the reception desk. I looked at the secretary. Fine piece of totty she was, nice Bristols and all. I began talking to her in a rough, manly tone.
“Hi…” I greeted, cool as ice and slick as you like “…I’m looking for somebody who works here – Pete Smalls.”
“OK.” She replied, obviously undressing me with her eyes. “I’ll just search on the employee database…” She began hammering away at the keyboard to her left. “Ah-ha, here we go…Peter John Smalls. Floor Six, Cubicle F. Have a nice day, sir!”
“I will.” I replied. “So…what are you doing later - fancy getting a bit closer? Your place or mine?”
“Uh…I don’t even know your name…sir.”
“Call me Jimmy. Remember it…” I began. “…you’ll be screaming it later!” With that, I received one of the hardest slaps I have ever had. I’ll tell you, some women are just too picky. Oh well, her loss, I suppose.
Anyway, I continued down the corridor and took the lift up to the sixth floor. The lift came to a halt with a ‘ping’ noise. I stepped out and gazed, clueless, at the labyrinth of cubicles in front of me. I looked around, but couldn’t see Pete anywhere. Looking ahead, I noticed someone standing at the photocopier. I walked over, tapped him on the shoulder, and began to talk to him.
“Excuse me…” I began “…I’m looking for a man called Pete Smalls.”
“Speaking…” He turned around and looked at me. “Jimmy? Jimmy Cash?! You finally got out, then?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Pete Smalls, a scruffy looking alcoholic with a beard carrying last night’s dinner, had become a clean shaven, respectable looking lad. I used to think Satan would be skating to work before that happened.
“Pete?” I still didn’t believe it. “What the hell happened?”
“What…oh” Pete realized where I was coming from. “Well, when you got sent down I hit the bottle pretty bad. It was about a year before this started to change…when I met Tania”
“Whose Tania?” I asked.
“The love of my life. When we met she helped me through rehabilitation. Haven’t touched a drop of the stuff since. My life is much better because of her and my little Jack” I felt like throwing up, listening to Pete talking about love was worse than watching Titanic with Noel Edmonds.
“Well, if you’re done your life story, I have a little proposition for you…” I began whispering into his ear. “Me, you, Jamahl, Jon and Rizzo. Back together again, hitting the bank one last time. What do you say?”
He was stunned. “You’re having a Giraffe, ain’t you? Why would I give up my perfect life, which has taken me years to build, for you and them three muppets?” I could see his point, but I always got what I wanted.
“Because you ain’t made for this!” I told him, desperately. “And as for your wife…probably couldn’t keep her legs closed with handcuffs!” I could see his blood beginning to boil – the Pete Smalls I knew was still in there somewhere.
“How dare you…”
Before he could finish, we heard a voice coming from the end of the corridor; “Pete! Phone call for you!” Pete began to walk over to him. The geezer at the phone started to talk again. “It’s your wife…she says she’s leaving you! Turns out your not the father of little Jack after all!”
Was I psychic or what? Part of me wanted to burst out laughing. The part of me I used moved in for the kill. “How about it, Pete?” I asked one last time, softly. He paused, sighed, and then answered.
“Let’s do this thing!” Pete Smalls was back. One down…three to go.
Chapter V: Jamahl and the Crazy Russian
That night, me and Pete kipped in Bobby’s warehouse. Well, at least he did. I didn’t sleep, as usual. I was worried about Pete. Worried he’d gone soft. I’d already seen enough to justify that six years was a long time, and I knew that women could kill the killer instinct inside men in a matter of days. Pete had had five years with that succubus Tania. It was beginning to seem as if organizing the bank job was gonna be a lot harder than just convincing the lads to join me again. I would have to train them up – just to jog their memories a little bit. I was gonna need some help, however. I just had no clue where I was going to get it. I looked at my watch; it was approaching half-eleven. I decided to leave early to see Jamahl.
At the train station, I sat on a half-broken bench, impatiently waiting for Jamahl’s arrival. I didn’t have to wait long, 12:01, and he was there. “Jamahl…I have to ask you…” He interrupted me.
“Sssshhh…mon! Me got some business to take care to. A client. He be here any moment!”
And he was. I saw two headlights burning bright approaching Jamahl. Somebody stepped out. The lights were too bright for me to see who. I decided to listen in on their conversation, to get a clue as to what Jamahl had been up to these past six years, apart from frying his brains on Harry.
“You got the stuff…?” The client asked, with more than a subtle sense of fear in his voice.
“Ya” Jamahl responded. “And I would give it ya, mon! But ya be a little behind on the dosh! Where’s me money, ya damn ponce?!”
The client stuttered. “Uh…Uh…I – I’m good for it, you know I am, Sinclair. Just let me have just this one. I’m begging you!”
“Me like to…” Jamahl started, remorsefully “…but me Desert Eagle be bit bored. He need some action, know what I mean?” I could hear the sound of metal hitting metal – bullets hitting the barrel as Jamahl slowly dropped them in.
“Now, don’t do anything hasty, Sinclair!” The client begged. “You don’t wanna shoot me!”
“You’re right, mon!” Jamahl replied, sarcastically. I heard the sound of a train nearing. I knew what Jamahl had in mind, and it pleased me. “Ya hear that, mon?” he asked, while grabbing his client by the collar. The train got even closer as Jamahl dragged the spineless wimp towards the track. I only wished I had some popcorn and a movie hot dog.
The train came into sight, and in one swift move, Jamahl showed off his strength and catapulted the poor bloke into the train’s path. The sound was awful – the sight was brilliant!
“Ya debt be cleared, mon!” Jamahl smirked. “Have a nice day!”
That was the single best piece of entertainment I had seen for years. On top of that, it proved Jamahl was more than up the challenge. I walked over to him, clapping slowly, and singing his praises.
“Nice one, Jamahl son!” I laughed. “Top notch!”
“Did nay want to do it, though mon. With the dosh he owed me for me top-class weed I coulda been a millionaire!”
“No, man! You did good! Never let no berks like that walk all over you” I reassured him. “Anyway, Jamahl, I believe I have a little deal for you…”
I told him about the bank heist. He seemed chuffed to bits about the idea, and agreed with no questions asked. We shook hands, and began walking away. We were stopped in our tracks, however, by the sound of banging and squealing coming from Jamahl’s ex-client’s car boot. I looked at Jamahl, nodded, and decided to take a look.
“Bloody hell!” I shouted. “Jamahl! Come look at this!” He turned round and ran over to the car.
“Jesus, mon! Who the hell is that?!” Me and Jamahl were as shocked as each other. I couldn’t tell whether it was the confusion of not knowing who it was, who the genuine disgust of seeing a sweaty, half-naked, fully-grown man bound and gagged lying helplessly in the car boot. He was trying to tell me something, but the tape around his mouth distorted his words. I ripped it off, pulling large clumps of his goatee off in the process, and pulled him onto the pavement.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, kind sir!” He cried in a thick Russian accent. He sounded completely out of breath.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever!” I shrugged off his praise. “Listen, I got a few questions for you! 1. Who are you? 2. What the bloody hell are you doing half-naked in a druggy’s jam jar?”
“I answer, I answer!” That accent was already becoming extremely irritating. “My name is Uri Korshunov, I used to work for the Hendersons…” I stopped him there.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You mean Jack and Charlie Henderson?”
This is the part where the story gets interesting. Allow me to tell you about Jack and Charlie Henderson – the men who wrote the eleventh commandment; Thou shalt no mess with the Hendersons, those who do, get their faces re-arranged. Before I went down, Jack and Charlie ran London. Rumour had it they even had power over the pigs themselves. Only the brave and sincerely stupid folk stood up to the Hendersons – all three of them were made into jigsaws and fed to the dogs. The rest of the population just tried to stay out of their way, not me though, being the foolishly ambitious person I was at a young age, I went straight to the Hendersons when I ditched school and decided to join the crime industry. I guess I figured if anyone could get me in high places quickly, it was them.
I won’t lie to you, it was like selling my soul to the devil; they bothered me ever since. To be honest, I think I’m lucky to still be alive, glad too. I didn’t like the idea of being served to Jack Henderson’s Great Danes as a doggy treat. At that time, I had this strange feeling I’d be seeing the Hendersons again very soon. For the first time since I was a little nipper, I felt like soiling myself. All my memories of the Hendersons flashed before my eyes after Uri had mentioned their names. I quickly shook the feeling off, and began talking to the crazy Russian again.
“Did that guy have something to do with the Hendersons?” I asked, trembling in my shoes.
“He was a henchmen I think…only small time, though” He replied.
“What were you doing in his car boot?”
“I got Charlie Henderson a little angry.” He told me, as if it was no big deal.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing big…” He tried to reassure me.
“What did you do?!” I bellowed.
“I – uh – ate his cat!” This guy was truly a fruitcake. He had practically signed his own death warrant, and what was worse, I just interfered in one of the Hendersons assassinations…and Jamahl just murdered Charlie’s henchmen. As I stood there, feeling two inches tall, only one word travelled through my head; four letters, started with s, ended in t…and we were in it deep!
Chapter VI: Pray to God
Me and Jamahl agreed to take the commie back to Bobby’s warehouse until we could figure out how to get out of this mess. We knew it wasn’t going to be long before Charlie and Jack were on our backs, but for the time being, we concentrated on the original plan, leaving Bobby and Pete in the dark about our little ‘mishap’ at the train station – it was for the best. The last thing they needed to know going into this little criminal escapade was that two lunatic gorillas were after them. That night Jamahl went back to the Yardie pad, Uri stayed at the warehouse and eventually talked himself to sleep. I stayed up worrying about the Hendersons…but I had a feeling fate had one more card to deal.
The morning came surprisingly quickly, Pete woke up at around 8am, and was scared out of his wits to see a fully grown half-naked Russian snoring next to him.
“Jimmy…” he called.
“Oh, you’re up then!” I responded, sarcastically. “What d’you want?”
“Why is there a naked tramp lying in the bed next to me?” I had to think quickly to devise a story to cover up what had happened. I only hoped Uri was smart enough to do the same.
“Pete…meet my old friend…Mark!” I introduced. “Mark…Smith! Yeah, me and him used to be on the footy team back in school. He was a good striker!”
I noticed Uri beginning to wake. He blew my cover story in the wink of an eye by slurring a number of babbled sentences in his thick accent. Pete stared at me, unconvinced.
“Alright, alright!” I cried. “His name is Uri something. We ran in to a bit of trouble down at the train station, now we need him here until we figure out what to do with him!”
“We?” Pete was confused. “Train station?”
“I went to meet Jamahl…” I told him “…remember Jamahl?”
“The insane pothead?” He reminisced. “How could I forget?”
“Well, like I told you before, he’s involved. Now, thanks to his scrambled mind…” I mulled over whether I should tell him the Hendersons were going to be after us. I decided not to, it would send him over the edge, as I doubt he’s forgotten that his Dad is floating in the Thames with a cement block attached to his feet thanks to the Hendersons. I decided to not name names. “Thanks to his scrambled mind we got in the bad books of some gang trying to execute the Russian…nothing big, but we need them off our backs if we’re to do this thing.”
Pete nodded his head as Uri went back to sleep. I nodded back, reassuringly.
“Anyway…” I began “…we got a hard day ahead of us, first, we’re after Jon Collins, trying to convince him to give up the Priesthood. If we’re quick, we can make it in time for a little ‘confession’!”
Jon’s church wasn’t too far away from the warehouse, me and Pete decided to walk. We reached the entrance, and I walked in, instructing Pete to stay behind. I took one step onto the marble floor and gazed in bamboozlement of the church – it certainly was more than a little better than the prison church the wardens forced us to go to when I was in nick. I took a deep breath, strolled over to the confessional, pulled back the curtain and looked through the hundred tiny holes to the Priest’s section. It was Jon all right, just not the Jon I had remembered.
“What is it you wish to confess, my son?” Father Jon asked in a soft, quiet Irish accent. I smirked and tried to think of the wittiest reply I could.
“I wish to confess…” I began “…I had a love relationship with a drunken Leprechaun!”
Jon raised his head. “Jimmy…?” His voice grew louder. “Jimmy Cashton? It’s me, Jon Collins! Remember we…” He quickly stopped, and changed the subject. The bank job was obviously a sensitive matter to him. “How you been, Jim?”
“Enough of the pleasantries!” I quirked. “I’m here to ask what the hell happened to you, and to tell you what you’re going to do about it!” Jon was shocked out of his bright white collar. “I’m reforming the blokes who hit the bank with us in ’96. I already got Pete and Jamahl…now I’m after you! And before you say no, just remember…the real Jon Collins is not a Priest, you understand?!”
“I won’t do it.” He replied, surprisingly calmly. “I’ve changed…that life is way behind me now…I’ve found God.”
“God, eh?” I laughed. “Let me tell you something about God; he doesn’t like you! In all probability he hates you! He is an insecure power-mad freak, who gets a kick out of bringing pain and suffering to this world. He finds it difficult to find compassion in his heart for any man, so it is not likely to be different for a loser like you, my friend! Each man is given a purpose – are reason to be. Your purpose in life is to be a pimple on the fat arse of society, and you have to cause society as much grief as possible so beardo up there doesn’t get the satisfaction of doing it himself!” I paused for dramatic effect. “That…is why you are about to agree to hit the bank again.”
Jon just stood there thinking for a while, he nodded his head, pulled out his collar, and we were on our way. We quickly walked through the aisles of wooden pews, people were shocked at what Collins had just done…I was shocked that they cared. With the four of us back together, the old group was beginning to take shape, but there was still one left.
Chapter VII: The Fireworks Show
Conveniently, Rizzo’s circus was on early the next morning. I decided to let Jon, Jamahl, Uri and Pete bring him back…I was getting a bit sick of the friendly reunions and stayed back at the warehouse. Not for long though, Bobby encouraged me to take in the ‘new’ London while he attended to some business. I did the usual tourist-y stuff – rid the London Eye, visited the Art Gallery and picked a fight with some drunken Fulham supporters. I couldn’t enjoy it, however, I was too wrapped up in worrying about the bank job…and what the Hendersons would do if they found out about the Crazy Russian. I’d been out for a few hours at this time, and decided to come back. On my way, I could hear my dog and bone ringing. Strangely, it stopped almost immediately. I pulled the phone from my jean pocket and stared at the screen – ‘1 Missed Call’. It was Bobby’s number. I rang back but there was no answer. I tried again…still no reply.
I took a cab back into Soho, where there seemed to be an awful lot of commotion; people screaming, car alarms ringing – the lot. The cabby dropped me off and I quickly ran through the hoards of people surrounding me. As I looked up, I noticed a huge cloud of thick, black smoke coming from the horizon. I tried to get closer, but the pigs and their blue and white tape stopped me. I turned my head away, and just happened to notice a news report on the tellies in the Dixons shop window. Some snooty tart was reporting.
“…as horror struck when a Soho warehouse exploded from the inside today. It has been confirmed as a gas-related explosion – seemingly accidental. So far only one person has been killed, and a few passers-by slightly injured. The man who died has been confirmed as Robert Carter. In other news…”
My whole body sunk as I stood there, mindlessly gazing at Bobby’s image on the TV screen. I couldn’t help but think there was more to this…Bobby may not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he wasn’t stupid enough to cause a gas explosion. I heard footsteps behind me; it was Jon, Jamahl, Uri and Pete…but no Rizzo.
“I’m sorry, mon.” Jamahl placed his hand on my quivering shoulder, consoling me. I attempted to change the subject.
“Where’s Ristoc?”
“We tried our best…” Pete replied, “…he wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Sorry ‘bout that too!” Jamahl apologized again.
“Well…” I began “…that’s it then!” They looked puzzled, staring at me with blank faces. “If you want a job done well…do it yourself!” With that I shot up, pushed past Jamahl and Pete, and wandered straight towards Pete’s Xara Picasso. “I’m borrowing your wheels, Pete!” I cried behind my shoulder, not awaiting a reply. A few seconds passed and I was on my way with great speed, hoping to catch Rizzo’s circus before it left.
Only one thing went through my mind on that car journey; Bobby. I was still bamboozled as to what actually happened, and couldn’t quite place my finger on it. It was beginning to get dark, I knew I couldn’t have had long until I missed Frankie Ristoc, especially seeing as I was stuck slap bang in the middle of a huge traffic jam. I looked up at the rear-view mirror. There was a black sports car directly behind me. The driver was a big bald footy hooligan type with shoulders as wide as the car itself. The jam passed strangely quickly and I was on my way. Occasionally glancing at the rear view mirror again, I noticed the same black car driving right behind me, but thought nothing of it. The time was approaching half-nine, and I was drawing ever nearer to the circus, and apparently, so was the same black car that had been seemingly following me for the past 45 minutes.
I pulled up the car about 100 metres from my destination and stepped out. So did the bald geezer behind me. I started my walk down the pavement ahead, occasionally peering over my shoulder to see the whereabouts of lard bucket copying my footsteps – he was always less than 4 metres away. As I continued walking, I passed a Transit van with its back doors open, and saw his reflection in the glass window. He was pulling something from his pocket - something small, discreet and rounded. I squinted my eyes at the image in the glass to see what it was…knuckle-dusters. Putting two and two together I realised that head case was after me, and slowly changed my gentle stroll into a speedier power walk – the slap head followed suit and began quickening the pace on his walk. I thought fast, and decided I needed to do something, and I did. I changed course and headed around the front of the van with speed. Badly looked round the back of the van, I wasn’t there. I had changed direction again to come up behind him, pounding him one with a vicious right hook. He fell, but got up quickly and gave as good as he got. It wasn’t to be long before I was outnumbered, however, as some more cronies came rushing out of a nearby building and ganged up on me like a pack of wild dogs. I was bloody and beaten…I didn’t stand a chance of escaping, either. I was done for.
I don’t remember much after that, I must’ve been unconscious, but I do remember waking up in the nearby building the cronies had come from. I was in for quite a shock as the first image I saw when I slowly cranked open my eyes…was Charlie Henderson. It must’ve been, his wrinkled hairless head and cockeye was unmistakeable. All of a sudden, it was all beginning to make sense. The only explanation was that the Henderson Brothers were after us, and let me tell you now, not a lot of people have said that and lived to tell the tale.
The blurred image in front of me grew clearer as I fully regained consciousness. I noticed wave after wave of henchmen standing around me. I was trapped. I could hear Charlie’s slow, fear-inspiring footsteps circling me. He eventually stood still directly ahead of me, taking a few puffs of the Cuban cigar he had lodged between two of his fingers before dropping it in a nearby ashtray. I was completely drained of energy, I couldn’t think straight, and time seemed to drag. I felt like I had been in the presence of Charlie forever. My lack of energy was beginning to get the better of me, as I slowly began to lose consciousness again. Charlie made sure I didn’t by slapping the back of my head as hard as feeble arms would allow.
“Wakey, wakey son!” He bellowed. “We wouldn’t want you to miss what me and my dear brother have got to say, now would we?” I stared at him in disgust.
“Henderson…I should’ve known you were behind them mugs attacking me!”
“What? That?” Charlie laughed. “Nah, that was just good ol’ Boris having a laugh, he meant no harm, Jimmy-boy!”
“You’re sick, Henderson!” I snapped. “Anyone ever tell you that?” Charlie kept laughing.
“All the time, son. All the time!” He suddenly became serious. “Anyway, enough of the conversational pleasantries…down to business…”
“What do you want, Henderson? You ain’t got nothing on me…I try to keep out of your way, you know that!”
“Yeah, you’re a smart kid, always have been…” Somehow I didn’t feel complimented. “…I could tell that the day you begged me to get you started in the crime business…”
“I made a mistake!” I quickly interrupted. “I shouldn’t have come to you…I could have made it on my own!”
“You keep telling yourself that, Jim, maybe one day you’ll believe it!” He quirked. “Anyway…I brought you here for a reason. I need a favour, see.” I had a feeling Charlie’s ‘favour’ wasn’t to lend him a cup of sugar. It was something a lot more serious.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, snidely. Charlie shrugged his shoulders and sat down on a nearby chair.
“Sitting comfortably, son? I have quite a long story to tell…” He took another breath of his expensive cigar, blowing the second-hand smoke directly into my face. “Well…you know how me and Jack hate outstanding debts, don’t you? Well, today, us and some of the lads paid a little visit to a client who has been a wee bit stingy with the ol’ purse strings of late – a small warehouse in Soho. Ring any bells, Jimmy-boy?” I dropped my head into my hands, they killed Bobby, Charlie and his loony brother. They killed him and all of a sudden, the tension in the room was brought up a notch.
“Bobby…” I whispered under my breath.
“That’s right, Jim!” He laughed. “A friend of yours if I’m not mistaken. A miracle you still have mates after six years in nick, if you ask me. Well, anyway as I said the fat slag owed us money…he didn’t pay it, so…well, you know how it goes. But, just because he’s dead, don’t mean he’s off the hook. The debt still stands, only it’s in your name now, Jimmy.” Charlie began smoking his cigar again. I felt mentally disgusted. I mean, I had seen a lot of crazy stuff but this really took the biscuit, somehow I had to pay off a dead man’s debt. Charlie was losing his marbles.
“Yeah…and how am I gonna afford to pay off another man’s debt? I’m Boracic, you know that. I’ve been banged up for the past half-a-dozen years!” I pleaded. “I ain’t got a penny to my name, Charlie! You’re just gonna have to squeeze your money out of some other wally. You can’t get blood out of a stone!”
Charlie nodded his head, stood up from his chair and began circling me again.
“Too true, Jimmy-boy, too true!” He laughed. “Maybe you can’t get blood from a stone, but I’d wager on managing to get 800 bags of sand off of a two-faced, lying little bank robber like you!”
“Leave off Charlie!” I quipped. “I don’t do that anymore. I served my time, and I’m going straight now. So, like I said, you’re just gonna have to find someone else to scrounge your dirty money out of!”
I was lying, of course, but I had become good at it. Well, most of the time. It managed to keep the pigs off my back for a few years up until they nicked me for the bank heist. Somehow, I didn’t think it was working on Charlie Henderson. He sighed with one hand to his head and his head hung low.
“Jack!” He called over to his brother, standing in the corner with a sawn-off shotgun placed loosely in his hands. Jack didn’t reply. “Jack, you insane prat!” Charlie screamed. “Get your arse over here!” The younger of the two brothers did just that. Charlie whispered something to him. Jack nodded his head and began walking over to me. I looked straight back up to him, but was met by the hard end of Jack’s shotgun right in the side of the head. The force of the blow knocked me, and the chair I was tied to, to the floor. I could feel myself becoming unconscious again. Charlie and Jack leaned over me, but all I could see was there ominous silhouettes as the bright light above beat down on them.
“Are you listening now, Jimmy?” Charlie spoke quietly. “Are you gonna stop lying to me, because I know you got some money to your name, that slag Bobby Carter told us everything. We know you and those four amateur pickpocket friends of yours are hitting the bank again, and we also know how much money is in that bank – enough to buy Arsenal Football Club four times over, my son. That’s a lot of change, Jimmy! So don’t give me no bull about you having no money!”
“So you want a cut, eh?” I asked. “How much?”
“Fifty percent.”
“Fifty percent?!” I was stunned. That was a lot, even for moneybags Charlie.
“Nasty echo in here, ain’t there?” Charlie quirked. “Yes, Jimmy, fifty percent! Don’t worry, though, that’s not even half. You’ll still have plenty of money left!”
“Yeah, you said you only wanted 800 grand, that’s how much Bobby owed you, you said!”
“Yeah…” he shrugged. “…I’m adding tax. Inconveniences. Not to mention you and that jungle bunny Jamahl interfering in mine and Jack’s business! That dirty Russian ate my cat, and he’s still alive thanks to you two. If it weren’t for you, Jack’s prized dogs would be chewing on a big chunk of dead commie!” Charlie changed his tone to a more relaxed one. “Call it compensation. I’ll give you time to think about it, but bear in mind, you say no, you’ll wake up tomorrow with your balls cut off, understood?”
“Yeah, alright. Fifty percent of what we get is yours…” I paused for a moment. “…on one condition.” Charlie was intrigued.
“I’m listening…” he said.
“We rob the bank, you get your money…but you leave me out of your business for good.” Charlie didn’t even stop to think about the offer, but accepted.
“We’ll be in touch…” were the last words I heard from him as the next thing I knew I blacked out. Jack must have hit me with that shotgun again, but it must’ve knocked some sense into me, because suddenly, I had a plan.
Chapter VIII: A Favour From an Old Friend
I was woken up by the sound of a phone ringing. I didn’t recognise the ringtone, but it sounded quite close. I slowly opened my eyes and realised where I was; inside some grotty, clapped-out old range rover. The ringing mobile was placed on the passenger seat. I looked at it, and noticed Charlie’s name lit up on the screen. I answered it.
“What do you want Charlie?” I murmured, still half-unconscious. “I thought we had a deal…fifty percent you said! Don’t go changing things now, Henderson!”
“Would you relax?” The voice wasn’t Charlie’s. It was more gruff and aggressive sounding. “It ain’t Charlie, it’s Jack!”
“Jack…what do you want from me, eh? I thought it was your brother that did all the talking these days.”
“Shut up and I’ll tell you, Cashton!” He shouted. “Charlie’s on a ‘business deal’ at the moment, he wanted me to relay a message – it’s about the deal.” I remember thinking that this couldn’t be good.
“Fifty percent!” I reminded him. “That’s all he’s getting out of me…”
“Calm down, son!” Jack interrupted. “He don’t want any more money off you…he just needs a favour from an old friend.”
“What favour?” I asked.
“There’s a pub down in Chelsea – one of Charlie’s properties. He’s forced the manager to close it down for the week for ‘refurbishments’, and he needs you to…well…’refurbish’ it. If you get my drift.” I was confused.
“What you on about, Jack?”
“Listen, Jimmy, he wants to torch that place so he can claim on the insurance. Money’s tight, see, and me and him need a few bob to tide us over.” He informed me.
“You must be off your rocker!” I screamed. “I’m just about to pull off a huge bank job so that slap head can have a few bob. Last thing I need going into that is attention from the filth because I torched some pub so he could have another few bob. I ain’t doing it, you sick loon!”
“That’s brave talk for somebody in your position…” Jack spoke slowly. “You’re forgetting…me and Charlie know what you’re up to, we got proof, and we ain’t afraid to kindly inform the pigs of what you’re planning for that bank. It would be a nasty shame for you to get sent down again…so do what we say and it won’t happen! You got that?!” I paused for a brief second, and replied reluctantly.
“Yeah, yeah…I’ll do it, what’s the pub?”
“It’s the Prince William, not too far off Stamford Bridge. Look for the big jug-eared prat himself on the door sign. Everything you need’s in the glove compartment. Oh, and, Jimmy…?”
“Yes…?” I responded, still in an almost silent tone.
“Don’t mess this up…you’re in it deep now, and you’re gonna have to play very rough if you want to stay the right side of the ol’ boom and mizzen, you got that?” With that, he hung up.
I sat there for a few seconds, gazing at the glove compartment before opening it. Sure enough, it did have everything I was going to need – petrol, book of matches…and a pistol - Desert Eagle to be more precise. Lots of ammo too. I knew then this wasn’t going to be a gentle stroll in the park. I was going to have to play rough, just like Jack said. I slammed the glove compartment shut, put the Hendersons’ phone back on the passenger seat and pulled out my own dog and bone. I rang Jamahl.
“Ya?” was the response I got.
“Jamahl…it’s me.”
“Where hell you been, Jim? Me, Jonny-boy and wee Pete been going whack waiting for you.” He suddenly changed his tone of voice. “Did ye get Ristoc?”
“No…look, listen Jamahl. I didn’t get round to seeing Rizzo, you’re just going to have to try again for me…I got other business, mate.” I told him.
“What business?” He asked. “What ye up to now, Jim?”
“Nothing, nothing…this and that. You know how it is. Look, just convince Rizzo to help us at any cost. This shouldn’t take long.”
I ended the call and began my drive to the Prince William. Throughout the whole journey, what Charlie and Jack said ran through my mind. I remember thinking how they pushed me into my first bank job with some his cronies, aged only 16. I was lucky to avoid the filth, but Charlie didn’t bat an eyelid to that, making me his little errand boy, and it was happening again.
Chapter IX: Shootout at the Prince William
I pulled up outside the Prince William, the scene was desolate, barely anybody in sight, unusual for this area of London. I could hear the mobile ringing from the car again, I picked it up, but didn’t say hello, didn’t have time to, I was greeted immediately by screeching voice of Old Man Charlie.
“Are you there yet?! Gawd, my old Nan’s a vegetable, but I bet she could drive faster than you?!”
“I’m here Charlie!” I replied. “Keep your hair on!” I couldn’t help but think of the irony of that, what with Charlie being as bald as a coot.
“Enough of your jokes, sunshine, you got work to do! Everything you need’s in the boot…” He paused for a brief second, it sounded as if he was sipping at a glass full of ice, probably one of his vicious cocktails. “…remember Jimmy, I hold all the cards, your freedom relies on me, so don’t mess this up! I own you now…” It was then that he hung up. I opened the boot, sure enough, everything I was going to need was there; balaclava, petrol can, matches…and a pistol and body armour. This was obviously going to be harder than I had first thought.
I stared at the pub’s sign for a few seconds, before creeping into a back alley and suiting myself up with the balaclava and armour, with the pistol tucked away neatly in my back pocket. The back door was locked, as was the front. I soon realised a quiet entrance was out of the question, so I smashed open the window with a brick. The alarms sounded, and I was greeted by a hoard of goons with bats, one with a pistol. I didn’t understand…if this was Charlie’s pub, why didn’t he sort it out so that there was none of his cronies here on my arrival. They burst out of the backdoor and soon enough I was unarmed, due to a swift swipe of one of their bats, which happened to get me right in the face at an alarming speed. They continued the assault, I was helpless. The only thing left to do was ‘play dead’ after all, these obviously weren’t the smartest of folk and were easily fooled.
After a few more pounds, they left me. Bloody, battered, and tired, I crawled towards my pistol, which had slid behind one of the bins. The sound of police sirens was echoing throughout the nearby area. I got up, cocked the pistol, and fired at the blokes that had just attacked me. One…two…and they both hit the floor. I stumbled up at the sound of gunfire from inside the building, took a pop-shot as I passed, but missed. I rolled forward, grabbing one of the bats as I did so, and closed the door shut as the geezer with the gun approached it. I had three shots left in the barrel, so I aimed at the now closed door…one…two…three…silence. I waited a while as the sawdust from the door settled…still no noise. The door creaked as I slowly pushed it open to peek inside. I looked up; there was a huge patch of blood splattered on the wall. I looked down; and there was a bloodied body lying in a hump on the ground. The police sirens were sounding nearer, so I quickly ran into the main part of the pub to do the deed. I opened the petrol can, and began spraying it randomly, before lighting a match, and dropping it into a huge puddle of the stuff. The place lit up like it was Bonfire night, so I legged it quickly out of the broken back window. The filth were really close at this point, I had to hide in the back alley, there wasn’t a hope in hell’s chance of me reaching the car. I sat there, shaking and sweating as the sirens stopped. As I did so, I cast my eyes on one of the blokes I had just shot. I didn’t notice it a first, but I had seen him somewhere before - a few years back in prison. In fact, it wasn’t long before remembered everything about him…and it made me realize I had been stitched up.
Back in my early years in prison, this guy was there. I remember him all too well, we had got into a lot of fights, and I remember that he had connections to the Bethnal Green Mob, one of the Hendersons’ fiercest rivals…and suddenly it all made sense. Charlie wasn’t trying to claim insurance, this wasn’t his pub…he was using me to get at the opposition, and now I was truly screwed, as the Bethnal boys are the only ones tougher than Charlie’s, and that equals cement shoes for me, followed by a quick dip in the Thames. This had gone beyond the bank job now…somebody needed take out the Hendersons, and that somebody was going to have to be me.
I could hear the front door being kicked open, I quickly stood up, and began running through the nearby back-alleys, so as not to be seen. Each footstep seemed to take hours, and my legs were shaking like Saturday Night Fever, but I managed to elude the filth eventually. Escaping the Bethnal Boys was going to be a completely different ball-game…they wanted blood now, and whether it was going to take them two days or two years, they were going to get it.
Chapter X: A Plan Comes Together
It was a whole week after the incidents at the Prince William until I saw the group again…it was the day of the proposed bank-job, but I couldn’t go through with that now, I had more than just a point to prove now…I had a bounty on my head, the Bethnal’s, and no doubt Charlie’s lot, were after me, and I had to get to them before they could get to me. I sat in my hotel room, head in hands, staring at a TV that wasn’t even on. Then the phone rang. It was Jamahl.
“Jimmy-boi! Where’s ya been?! Today be de big day, mon…have to be getting ready!”
“Yeah, yeah!” I responded, half-heartedly. “Jamahl…you know Charlie Henderson?”
“That bald-headed whitey? Ya, he is known everywhere, mon! Not liked by any mon, but he be respected by all, if you know what I’m saying!” He paused, and changed his tone. “Why, mon?”
“Jamahl…I’m in a spot of bother. Charlie knows about the bank-job. The only way to stop him squealing to the pigs was to run a little errand for him.” I sighed, and continued. “Turns out he was using me to get at the Bethnal’s…and now I’m a marked man. So there’s a change of plan…if I’m going down, that bald-headed bastard’s coming with me. John, Pete and Uri can pull off the heist if they want to…but you and me…we’re taking down Charlie, is that understood?” I was gushing with adrenaline, just the thought of taking out London’s top dog was enough to do that.
“Whoa, whoa, rude-boy!” Jamahl shouted. “Ya don’t just ‘take down’ a Henderson…not with just two anyhow! Ya be needing a whole gang of suicidal maniacs to pull off a stunt like dat!”
I was laughing under my breath. “Jamahl…you know the Yardies, don’t you? You know how they hate the Hendersons – well, anybody with white skin for that matter – well, now I’m giving them to chance to take him out. Their reputation will sky-rocket, as will yours and mine. If we pull this off, we won’t just be small fishes in an extremely large pond of crime anymore…we’ll be at the top. We’ll own London…and best of all, the Hendersons will be pushing up Daisies and sleeping with the fishes. I’m talking stone dead, Jamahl, my son! And then it’ll be all there for the taking!” I paused for a few seconds. “What do you say? You get the Yardies, I’ll bring some people I know, they’ll bring some people they know…and before you know it – Henderson or not – no gang will be able to topple us. Not even the Bethnal Green’s. So, c’mon Jamahl, are you in, or are you out?”
There was a long pause before either of us said anything…I was beginning to think Jamahl had left, until he finally responded.
“Yes!” he replied weakly, until he began to sound a bit more enthusiastic about it. “Ya, let’s do it mon. Dis time next week, Henderson be nothing but ancient history!”
“That’s the spirit, my son! We’re gonna do it! In face…tell Jon, Peter and Uri to bring who they can as well – the heist’s off – if we want to gain reputation, this is the way to do it!”
With that I hung up. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it or if I could get away with it…but what I did know was that I was about to attempt – and complete – what no man had even dared think about before…knock off Charlie, Jack, and their whole empire. Not just for me, but for dear old Bobby, and every self-respecting person that’s ever got caught up in Charlie’s web.
Within a few moments, I pulled out my phone again, looked through the on-screen phone book and began dialling a number. There was a long gap between then and anybody answering at the other end. “Scully! Mate, how are ya? You holding up well?…good, good…listen, mate, I got a little proposition for you…” I paused, and then told him about the plan to take down Charlie. The call was short, and almost immediately after it I was calling again. In fact, I must’ve made over fifty calls, each telling the guy at the other end to bring as many people as he could…they were all sceptical, but were destined to pull this off once I had given them the full details. I only hoped that the rest would bring in a good crowd – I knew Jamahl would, the Yardies can’t stand anybody with white skin, so there wasn’t a hope in hell’s chance of the Yardies backing off from a take-down of a scumbag like Charlie – but that still wouldn’t be enough guns, this wasn’t small-time – we were going to need people flocking in their hundred’s to pull this off.
Chapter XI: Show Time
The big day came all too slowly. I had been awake on adrenaline all night…just the thought of Charlie lying in a coffin, with skin paler than an albino’s, was too exciting to sleep through. But the day finally came…and what a way to get going! First thing in the morning, I received a phone call from Charlie – another ‘errand’ no doubt.
“Jimmy-boy!” He bellowed. “I can’t tell you how chuffed I am with your performance…not only did you torch the pub, but you managed to elude both the filth and the Bethnal’s! I must say I underestimated you, sunshine!”
“Enough of your crap, Henderson!” I interrupted. “You nearly got me killed…you told me that was your pub and that it was all sorted for me to do this. A shootout with the Bethnal’s wasn’t what I was expecting and I’m lucky to still be here!”
“Yeah, yeah…” he said, all too calmly. “But what’s wrong with a little white lie? I had to get you to do it somehow, didn’t I? Not even you’re stupid enough to willingly go into a shootout with the Bethnal Green Mob…and I needed it done. You know how it is, Jimmy!” He paused, and within seconds his sympathetic tone had all but disappeared. “Anyway…I got another little job for you…”
“You what?” I quickly butted in. “You must be off your rocker if you think I’m pulling off another stunt for you, Henderson!”
“Now, now, hear me out Jimmy!” He attempted to reassure me. “This’ll be your last connection with us…you do this, and it’s all over. We’ll never bother you again; debt cleared, interest paid, deal done, signed and sealed. Finished! Understood?”
I sighed, and then answered. “Go on…”
“That’s the spirit!” He shouted. “All you got do, son, is make your way to the garages near the Thames, break into garage number 23, and steal the car inside. Bring the car to my depot – you know the place – and stick it out front. Simple as that. Understood? Good!”
He hung up immediately afterwards. I soon realised that this was the perfect opportunity to get the ‘upper hand’ over Charlie’s gang going into the near-war that was about to happen with them. I had a plan…a good one. In fact, Charlie had dug his own grave with the job he had just given me. I phoned Jamahl again.
“Jamahl, listen!” I began. “You remember that African geezer who owned that hardware shop – the one you were mates with? Is it true that he’d plant bombs if the price was right?” Jamahl answered yes. “Good.” I remarked. “Listen, I need a favour off you; I need you to go to the garages next to the Thames…steal the car that’s in number 23, and get it planted with a bomb down at the hardware shop. Once it’s fixed up, take it to Henderson’s depot and park it just outside the front entrance. Get out, and leg it as fast as you can, son! It ought to take out most of the goons walking around the place, and that will make our job a little easier. Tell your Yardie mates and anyone else involved to meet me at the local train station…tell them to bring as many weapons as they can…we’ll run in after the explosion and pick off what’s left over. With no henchman, Charlie and Jack should be easy targets.” I paused for a long while, in deep thought. “But bear in mind, that it ain’t going to be as easy as I’ve made it out to be…we’re in for a challenge of a lifetime here. Just get to the garages as quick as you can, Jamahl!” I sighed, and ended the call. I only hoped that this would work.
It was a few hours on, just past noon to be exact, until I met Jamahl’s Yardie mates at the train station. They were stoned out of their minds…as usual, arguing about which one of them was toughest. I was beginning to wonder if they were actually as hard as everybody made out…they didn’t seem it. I sat down on the nearest bench, looking at my watch, when my mobile rang. Jamahl was calling to update me on his progress.
“I be near the depot, mon! Ya better start getting yo white ass down there…the bomb be going off soon!” he warned me.
“Got ya, Jamahl. On my way!” I cancelled the call, put the phone back in my pocket and looked up at the crowd of gangsters. “Listen!” I screamed at the top of my voice, gaining their attention. “Get to your wheels, and get to the depot. Any minute now half of Charlie’s gang are going to be scattered across London in little pieces…we got to pick off what’s left. We’ve all got top-of-the-range equipment, so we’d better not leave a single one of the scumbags standing. If that’s understood, get to your cars…AND LET’S BRING DOWN CHARLIE HENDERSON!!” There was a huge roar of cheers and applause as I said those six simple words. They were up for it, I was up for it…and Charlie was about to experience his worst, and last, nightmare ever!
I was driving the car that also seated Uri, Pete and Jon of my lot. We heard the explosion, clear as day, and looked up to see the huge ball of flames rising up to the sky like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. It was only a few streets away, but we had better get a move on – the rest of Charlie’s gang would no doubt be shooting holes through our lot by now. The vehicles screeched to a halt by the depot, and we all exited onto the street, met by gunfire. I bellowed instructions to the Yardies, and they obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Their gunfire was soon met by our gunfire, as I met back up with Jamahl. He passed an M-16 Machine gun to me, and we quickly walked under the spray of bullets towards the entrance to the depot. I remember nicknaming the subsequent corridor ‘the corridor of death’ as that is exactly what it seemed to be - Gunmen to the right, gunmen to the left, in the centre – everywhere. It’s a miracle Jamahl and me got through. The place was still and inferno of smoke and flames, and it was getting difficult to see past the debris, but eventually we made it to the stairs. However, it wasn’t going to be plain sailing from there. Even though most of Charlie’s henchman were occupied by the gang-war riot outside…there was still the matter of Jack Henderson…no small matter in anyone’s eyes. He was firing shotgun shells like there was no tomorrow. Luckily, the randomness and slow-reloading of a shotgun didn’t faze out the preciseness and automatic firing of mine and Jamahl’s machine guns. ‘Big Jack’ was dead. One down, one to go – Charlie. We were running up the rickety stairs as fast as our legs would carry us. On the way, I managed to catch glimpse of what was happening outside – it had turned into a city-wide riot…police, local thugs, drunkards – at least 400 more people had got involved. As I ran past the window, it smashed, and I noticed a laser-sighting marked on the wall. There was a sniper…Charlie was obviously very prepared. We eventually made it to the top floor, but there were still gunman to deal with before we could reach Charlie’s office. Me and Jamahl were outnumbered six to two…there was no way we could win a shootout with those odds, so we ducked against the wall. Luckily they hadn’t noticed us…so I took a blind shot. Well, at least, I tried. Jamahl quickly stopped me, pulled something out of his pocket, and threw it into the room. There was a small explosion, and amidst the dust that was settling, was six dead bodies. I remember looking at him funny, and him looking funny back, and quirking; “I got it off that hardware brother…did not ‘spect me to come unprepared, did ya mon?”. I laughed in response to that. Next stop; Charlie’s office.
“Listen, you slag!” was the first thing we heard as we crept towards to the office door. “What’s going on out there?! You’re supposed to be the hardest gang in London…and you’re getting shown up for a bunch of pansies! Sort it out or we’ll all be in it deep, you hear me?!” With that, we burst through the doors, machine guns loaded and pointed towards him, and interrupted Charlie’s phone call. He looked up, seemingly unfazed, and put the phone he was talking into down.
“You’re already in it deep, Henderson!” I spouted. “You…you’re finished! We own London now!” Charlie just laughed.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t little Jimmy and his spear-chucking friend. How nice to see you…what can I do for you?” His arrogance was almost irritating.
“You be keeping yo mouth shut, white-boy…we plug you foo o’ lead!” Jamahl shouted.
“What’s that?” Charlie mocked, hand onto ear as if he didn’t hear. “I can’t quite understand the language of the jungle-bunnies!”
“Just give it up, Charlie!” I quipped. “It’s two guns vs. no guns. I think that makes us winners, don’t you?”
“Maybe so…” he responded. “Maybe so, Jimmy. But answer me this…” he said as he sat back on his chair, taking a puff of his cigar. “…if you’ve got two guns, and I’ve got no guns…how come I’m still alive, talking to you, and you two are standing there, quivering in your boots? You scared, Jimmy? Scared of getting nicked again?”
“Leave off Henderson!” I interrupted. “We’d be doing the filth a favour by sending you to your grave…them and everyone else in the world.”
Charlie began answering back, but I wasn’t listening, as I caught sight of a laser-sighting planted on Charlie’s shoulder. I looked out the window, and I caught sight of a sniper’s lens reflecting in the sunlight – there was a sniper on our side…and it wasn’t long before he took his no-doubt long-awaited shot. Charlie went down like a sack of potatoes, shot right in the shoulder. He wasn’t mouthing off anymore, that was for sure. I went over to him, pulled him back onto his chair, before punching him in the face, knocking him right back off again. I pointed my gun back down at him, and stared him right in the eyes.
“Listen Henderson! I call the shots now…you’re gang are all dead, Jack’s dead, and soon you’ll join them…any last words?” I screamed with a fierce anger in my voice.
“How can you do this…I made you, Cashton, you’d be nowhere without me!” he whispered, struggling to breathe.
“Made me? All you did was help put me in nick to rot for six years…I don’t call that making anything…”
“I don’t mean it like that…” he interrupted. “…Jimmy, did you ever wonder why I always picked you above the rest? Why I tried to put you on your feet when you came to me aged 16? I’ll tell you…because me and you, we have a bond…and seeing as I’m going to be dead in five minutes anyway I may as well tell you.” He took a long pause to regain what little breath he had. “Your father, the man you called your father, wasn’t. He didn’t hold any blood relation to you at all. Your mother did…but the man she married wasn’t the father of her little boy – you – she was raped. Her husband didn’t believe her…thought she had an affair…so he killed her just after you were born, and then killed himself. Sad story, really…” he began to cough up blood. I was filled with all sorts of emotions. I mean, could I even believe this…this was Charlie Henderson after all, not exactly the most reliable of folk.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“Because…” there was a long pause. “…I was the one that raped her.” I was frozen in shock…was Charlie Henderson of all people my own father? “Y’see, your dad, well, her husband, he worked for me just like you did. Your mother didn’t approve, tried to get the filth involved, so I gave her a little ‘keep quiet message’…I didn’t want her to get pregnant, nor did I want her dead, you have that sicko of a husband to blame for all that.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued. “In short, Jimmy, you’re not a Cashton, you’re a Henderson…”
With a huge rush of adrenaline, I shot him. Nowhere in particular, I just shot him anywhere the bullets would go to. I dropped the gun, and froze on the spot, before storming out of the room and into Charlie’s garage. I took a car, and drove off…and that was the last anybody saw of Jimmy Cash.
So where am I now? Anywhere but London. Who am I now? Not Jimmy Cash, that’s for sure. I could be anywhere…you could walk past me in the street, and would have no idea who I am. I could be sitting next to you on a park bench while you read the newspaper, and you would have no idea of what I have done in my life. If somebody said the name ‘Jimmy Cash’ to anybody in the world, they’d know exactly who that was, and what he had done…but if that somebody was me…you’d have no idea that you’d just be talking to the man himself. I suppose in twenty years time this’ll all be an urban myth, but I’ll still be around by then. London may have seen the last of me…but the world’s a big place, who knows what will happen? I’m out there somewhere…