The judge was a famously hard operator and the police couldn’t have been happier when they found an eyewitness who was willing to testify. But I had faith in the gang and naturally they paid a visit to her son at his school and she withdrew her statement. Unbeknown to me though a CCTV camera had captured the whole ugly affair. This alone was enough to find me guilty of assault with a deadly weapon. I was dismissed from hitting the man brandishing the cosh as it was classed as self-defence. Subsequently I was given a two-year sentence, which in retrospect was only half of the maximum four years. I looked at it as another step up the ladder.
I was sent to the top security juvenile prison in Liverpool. Where I met up with other NW bandits Ashie and Doug. They took me under their wing and began to teach me about prison life. A posse of Panthers was on the block opposite ours and so they were our sworn adversary’s. In my first month I was running a tobacco shop from my cell with the in-house back up of four other bandits and the outside backup of the gang I was able to have a productive business without any difficulties. All prisoners over the age of sixteen were allowed to buy a ration of tobacco but for those that wanted more or weren’t over sixteen they had to come to me. They could buy half a ration for the price of three quarters or they could get the same amount and hand over the whole of their next weeks ration. The Panthers were running a similar scheme on their block but that dissipitated away after we started getting to the customers and they then came to me instead. Our numbers slowly grew and the panthers diminished, we saw this as an invaluable advantage.
I had my sixteenth birthday in prison and even then eighteen months after the first shooting the streets outside still hadn’t calmed down. I regularly lifted weights and so acquired a muscular physique so much so that my reputation as a hard fighter was spreading to other prisons. I would brawl with any enemy of the gang at any time, which resulted in serving a total of three months in solitary confinement, with no remission left. After a particular savage brawl with two Holy Smokes I was transferred to a London prison, called stalwart, where I was immediately put onto the Z wing designed to house the more violent juveniles. As a new comer who had a reputation and was conceited I attracted a lot of attention. A gang called the Brixton Massive dominated the prison and they took an immediate disliking to me. On my first night at the prison a voice from the cell next to mine came booming into my ears.
“Who you wit.” This was the typical script in prison as it is a way of establishing which gang your with and accordingly if you are a friend or foe.
“NW bandits.” I replied trying to sound intimidating, we didn’t have any problems with the London gangs but this didn’t mean I wouldn’t.
“I eat them for breakfast.” He obviously wasn’t mincing his words and was openly insulting my gang.
“Shame you wont live till breakfast.” I replied trying desperately to disguise the tell tale quiver in my voice.
“Let the gates be the bell,” came his stark reaction. For the rest of the night I lay awake in fear of the approaching clash and not another word passed between us.
The morning came and the familiar screech of the gates being electronically opened funnelled into my ears. I bounded out of my cell to face my anonymous combatant. He was a tall black thug who was well built and with a mean face. He was making his way out of his cell. In the moments that it took for his appearance to register the little voice of doubt crept into my head. But I was a soldier and I had to promote the authority of my gang.
Without any additional hesitation I threw an impressive punch firing down from my six-foot height to his solar plexus, causing him to crumple like a rag doll. I followed that up with a rally of fast viscous kicks to the groin, he collapsed to the cold tiled floor. In order to make the desired impression I stomped on the back of his head repeatedly. His bleeding body would ensure that I was regarded as a brutal warrior and so prove to be future insurance.
That afternoon I was taken to my new governor for the first time. He was young for somebody so high up and energetic, he rambled onto me about not showing respect and how I must be punished. I thought this was very ironic as I was only in front of him for punishing someone who disrespected me. All the same I had my privileges taken away for two months.
Stepping out of his office I realised the full impact I had already made by the way the inmates on the three joining blocks regarded me. I had commanded their respect. The entire prison knew I had arrived and that I deserved recognition. Nobody else challenged me again as my first victim had been a notorious hard man and by beating him I had secured respect and his title.
I later discovered that the brute I had beaten was Big Toe, a leading soldier in the Brixton Massive. He was soon discharged from the hospital wing having partially recovered from his broken bones. I got a visit that afternoon from him and some others from his crew. reluctant to loose their vice like grip over the prison to a newcomer like me. They were justified, but I still had to fight my corner.
“I bin hearin bout you.” It was Big Toe at the foot of my grey clad bed, his tone wasn’t as menacing as I had expected but still I was petrified of the anticipated battle, this time he had back-up and I didn’t have my lucky knuckleduster to even up the odds.
“All good I hope.” In my quest to stay as cool as possible and I was sounding like an idiot
“I hear you all ‘ight.” This really threw me, I mean I’m out numbered out skilled and in a different city to my gang. I changed my tone after this, as it seemed it might get me somewhere.
“Ditto.” I was buying favours; he’d intrigued me with his unorthodox approach. Big Toe was no amateur in reading people and saw through me, he laughed.
“I need some help.” SMACK right in the jaw my attention is absolutely undivided I mean he had got me riveted to the spot with anticipation.
“I am a bit busy, don’t get much time and all.” He sniggered he had seen through this too, he was very good. Big Toe sat down on my bed and the flimsy mattress bellied under his weight. We spoke business. He gave me the run down on where the Brixton Massive stood in the prison and how since the transfer of Brickie he was the most senior member in prison. I explained to him about my tobacco business, and he liked the idea. We got on very well and I became an honorary member of the Brixton Massive whilst still staying true to the NW bandits.
Just one month after we joined forces we had one of the most sophisticated and well governed juvenile prisons in the UK. We had a tobacco baron on every landing that kicked fifty percent of all profits upstairs to Big Toe and I. They were only permitted to sell our tobacco and so we’d make money on it both ways. We also served protection for the weaker prisoners, and I mean it was protection they were happy to pay us and we were happy to have one little word in one ear and we would make a profit every week, lovely. If anybody had anything to do with money going on they had to pass it by Big Toe and I so that we could get a slice of the action. We were making almost two hundred pound a week and considering a months prison wage is ten pound that’s a lot.
Big Toe and I became royalty, we ourselves had soldiers and I was first beginning to see myself fluttering through the boxing gym and I liked what I saw. That prison gave me the taste for gangster power and I went after it harder than ever before. The guards liked me about as much as herpes and they did everything they possibly could to let me know. Fortunately for me though because I had risen so high in the ranks both Big Toe and I were miles away from any acts of crime. Bearing in mind we were surrounded by criminals we were achieving the impossible.
Big Toe was released from prison two months before me, leaving me too rule over the prison along side Eight Ball, a Brixton Massive soldier, he was my new partner as I was only an honorary member and so the Massive wanted their cut. I understood and had no problems with that. We didn’t get along as well as I had with Big Toe but business was good and our partnership worked.
Prison didn’t have any effect on my natural naughtiness. Contrary to the desired effect of the government I realised how significant those years in prison had been to my repute. Dave picked me up the night of my release in a flash car he had acquired and I left my family to finish off my welcome home party while I went to the café to be greeted by all my employers and some of the younger soldiers who were now looking up to me. Everybody associated with the gang came over and paid their respects to me and for only a sixteen-year-old soldier that was a rarity. My dealings in London had earned the gang some extra credibility and I was being treated like a king. A whip round gave me two grand to “Find my feet.” All the captains were there and they announced that I was being recommended for my own captainship. I was euphoric with excitement I would be the youngest ever captain in the NW bandits. My ceremony (cesa) was set to be a week later and for the entire time I thought of nothing but that. All captains were forbidden to talk about a cesa and no soldiers were permitted to attend.
The Friday of my making I was filled with elation. Stepping down from my icy front doorsteps I looked onto my street in a different way than ever before. By becoming a captain I owned this street and all the people on it. I was sixteen and felt like the king of the entire human race. That evening is one I shall never forget. I was picked up by Crazy Phil a governor an honour in itself and was drove to a big barn in the Midlands. CP was a man of very little words but this evening driving down there reclining in his luxurious leather seats puffing away on his big cigar, he wore a dazzling beaming smile across his red rounded cheeks and reminisced about his cesa and how excited he was.
Finally arriving at our destination I stepped out on to the slippery cobbled driveway and my eyes scanned the hoards of BMW’s Jaguars and Mercedes it was like a show room of executive cars for gangsters and I looked at every one with envy. Stepping into the warm barn I was greeted with the sight of ten captains the three northwest governors and a man so high up he was an urban legend. Big Tom, Big Tom is big in every sense of the word this man has more power than God himself and to be in the same room as him was like being in the audience at a coronation. He too was smiling along side the other thirteen hard men of England and every one of them looked at me as a son. This was the first time I ever felt real gangster love and I realised that we would all die for one another’s honour.
The barn had been converted into a dance hall that was brightly lit with glaring yellow strip lights, without a single piece of straw or a cowpat in sight. The seating arrangement was a circular one with a spotlight centred in the middle. I was escorted to the centre flanked by both Dave and Crazy Phil. The eyes of the other captains followed me as they held full glasses of first-class brandy loosely in their hands. I felt the glowing smiles surrounding me as I sat onto the firm backless bar stool. It seamed out of place encased by such superior leather seats that the captains were lounging in.
Big Tom rose, with a look of seriousness lying on his face. Licking the top part of his lip his eyes lifted as he composed himself.
“Do you Dave Wright and Philip Brown, offer Charles Wood to the NW bandits as a captain.”
“Yes.” Came the reply of my two peers. Their voices oozed with gangster love.
“Do you Charles Wood except the gang without any hesitation and with Love and respect.”
“Yes.” There was a notable quiver of excitement in my voice.
“Do you promise on the honour of the gang to serve the NW bandits with all your heart. “
“Yes.” Even with all the excitement I almost couldn’t resist saying I do.
“Then we shall begin.” Bellowed Big Tom flaying his arms out in front of him with a shine of exhilaration heavy in his eyes. The men surrounding me stood up tall. I was now very curious as to what course my ceremony would take. I had spent years guessing but now I would finally discover the truth.
A loud bang startled me and I wheeled- around quickly. Two Liverpool captains were holding a hooded man by the shoulders and were roughly leading him in towards me. My heart began to pound harder than before and the realism of having such a ceremony hit me very hard in the stomach. Throwing the hostage aggressively to his knees onto the course granite floor, he began to cry loudly and was begging for mercy. Absorbing such a sight I realised that his hands were bound in rags. I looked up to gage the reaction on the other captains but they just grinned in a sinister sort of communal understanding. Except I didn’t truly understand what was going on.
Crazy Phil stretched out a gold handled revolver gesturing for me to take it. Instinctively I took it from him and held its heavy weight in my hands thumbing the trigger with my sweats hands I realised the power it had. The anonymous detainee began bowing down on the ground praying to his God. I presumed now that he was a member of the Holy Smokes or the Panthers, I also realised I had to kill him.
“The NW bandits order you to Execute this foe.” Those words broke my deep thought and my stomach turned over as I heard and began to assimilate them. I held the handle of the gun tightly and placed my rigid finger on the gateway to heaven. Shaking with the tension I brought the gun up to eye level and trained the sights on to his hidden head. I felt sick with the tension and so I began reasoning with myself as my inner conscience argued loudly in my mind. If I didn’t kill this adversary somebody else in the room would do it. Then I wouldn’t be the captain I so wanted to be. Being a gangster involves killing and only the strongest survived. I pulled the trigger.
CLICK not an echoing bang or the spurting blood I had expected. It was replaced with raucous applause. The two scouse captains picked up the hooded man. Whilst the other captains encircled me, as they all patted my back heartily congratulating me on my achievement. Both Dave and Phil kissed me on the cheek. The hooded Bengali was revealed to be a captain from Sheffield a crook called T-bone who obviously liked to try his hand at amateur dramatics. He just stood their grinning from ear to ear and said.
“Now why would you wanna kill me Charley.” In as sincere a way as possible. I would never look at him the same way again.
I was given four soldiers to work under me and they were all older, but I still had ultimate control over them and they had to do as I said. As well as the soldiers I was given a second hand Mercedes, a gang owned apartment on the main council estate in Droylsden where we had a lot of business so I could operate from there and five thousand pounds to set myself up in the area of my choice. My mum was pleased when I moved out as it now meant that I wasn’t going to bring any trouble to the family. It did however mean that for several months after that my suits were never as smartly ironed again, a minor downside I know but it was the little things that mattered to me.
My soldiers were all good workers, they specialised in car theft and so it seemed only logical that I should start a chop shop with my five thousand. I rented a lock up, bought the tools and waited for the cars to come rolling in. It develop into a very lucrative business. I sold the parts to a Birmingham branch of the gang who offloaded car parts to a foreign patron and the chassis to an affable scrap metal yard. As my business grew so did my army, after three months I had fifteen soldiers, which was on par with Dave and a tremendous achievement, conversely, I had to donate two of my first soldiers to him because they were needed for drugs. I passed a lot of money up to Crazy Phil and I had saved enough to buy a half share in a club in the city centre I had my door staff off an agency within the gang and had one of the best young DJ’s that managed fill the place to well over capacity. My doormen would only let the NW bandit dealers in, so I got a cut of the immense profits. Every where I turned I was making a profit to the point where I could afford a brand new Mercedes and the sharpest, biggest most vulgar jewellery money could buy.
I arranged to meet at my lock up one evening with a well-known thief called Sticky and work out the details to a ram raid he had propositioned me with. This was my opening big scale job as a captain and I wanted it to do well. We planned into the early hours and finally arranged to have a van with a battering jam set up near the shop, we would then drive down in another stolen transit with four of my best soldiers park it in the same lock up and then go to the shop in the ram van. After that transfer the goods from one van to the other and one of my soldiers would drive that back to a newly rented lock up in Manchester. We would return on trains, planes and coaches, separating so as to avoid detection. If the goods hadn’t been apprehended by the police it would mean that they didn’t know where they were so Sticky and I would go and start distributing the loot across the country.
The next day I orchestrated our plans and drove down on the Friday night. Sticky had paid the security guard to not hear anything, and we would all wear balaclavas to render the CCTV useless. We arrived at the lock up late that night and all clambered out of the clammy dark van.
“Ello ladies.” Came a deep cockney accent. I turned startled to see a tall man in his early twenties holding a big machine gun that was ominously pointed at my stomach. I just stood there thinking, hold on a second this wasn’t part of the plan.
“Who are you.” I retorted obviously showing my concern.
“Let me explain, I’ll go nice and slowly so your white little minds can keep up.” At this point I looked at Sticky a six foot black man in order to draw the strangers attention to his `black little mind’. He continued showing no sign of his slip up and not acknowledging me.
“This is Brixton Massive territory and correct me if I’m wrong here but none of you are Brixton Massive members.” I interrupted not willing to be out done by the man with the big gun.
“Correct me if I’m wrong sunbeam but that is not your name and so that is not the answer I was looking for.”
“Please remind me, who has the gun?” He had a very valid point, and that did give him a lot of influence over a conversation.
“I do.” Answered little Tim one of my soldiers who did have a gun directed towards my nameless adversary. His face lost its confidence and he now looked more worrying than hostile.
“Oh how the tables have turned.” I smirked with a smug face. I slipped my trusted knuckleduster onto my hand in preparation for the anticipated mêlée.
“I want five grand payment for working on my turf.”
“I already paid Big Toe two grand for the pleasure.” I answered noticing that his trigure finger was now taking a tighter grip, in conjunction with little Tim’s
“I want five.” His cool manner had now completely disintegrated and was replaced with a blunt comportment. At this stage we both realised that we were in a stale mate situation and that neither of us would concede defeat. I had to intensify the pace.
“Right well shoot him.” Little Tim hesitated as he digested such a frank order. This was just what I wanted him to do.
“YO YO fool, aint no need fo’ dat.” Panic was very prominent in his voice and the realism of what he had just done began to set in.
“ I din’t realise you already paid soz man.” He definitely knew, and I was now beginning to suspect he wasn’t even a member of the Brixton Massive himself.”
“Okay pal, just pass the gun to me.” I was victorious he handed the gun over with one eye fixed on little Tim. I held the machine gun with two hands and admired it from above.
“Talk.” Their was no need for niceties as I had two guns to his bare, now shaking hands.
“I just tryin to make some chedda.” This was the wrong thing to say.
“Off my back.” I answered he hesitated, carefully summing up his answer. I then knew categorically that he was a nobody and definitely not in the Brixton Massive and so had no back up. “I was……….”
BANG, BANG, BANG I pumped several rounds into him. The racket bounced around the sparse garage and the smell of cordite loomed heavily in the air. His bloody corpse lay in the corner riddled with fresh hot bullets. I had killed. I felt good holding that gun and I knew I was the better man. The others in the room had ducked in the confusion and evidently didn’t feel the same rush as I did. A visage of absolute terror was emblazed on every one of them. Little Tim broke the ringing in our ears.
“Well that’s that plan terminated.”
“Along with him.” Retorted Sticky drawing attention to the more pressing matter of the cadaver. My mind snapped out of its buzz at this realisation.
“Everyone go home as arranged, I’ll call you in the morning, speak to no one.” They all nodded in recognition happy to be distanced from the deed. I further instructed them to leave separately from the front and back exits so as not to arise anymore suspicion than the gunshots already had. I was soon left with a corpse, two transit vans and a murder weapon, not one of the best situations to be in, even the biggest optimist would have to admit.
I disposed of all the evidence into the river Thames and torched the garage and ram van. Driving back avoiding the motorways and so the cameras. I realised what had happened and that I never did discover the name of the man I had murdered. I also realised that I wasn’t remorseful, as the way I saw it he had challenged me and lost. It was that thought that made me remember something that had soared over my head in the excitement. He pointed the gun straight at me and so he must have known I was the leader but how did he know that I was the captain? as we had never met. The only answer could have been, someone had specifically told him what I looked like. Consequently that would mean somebody on the inside had set me up. And then I realised how stupid I had been I ran over the one critical line in my head. ` Your white little minds can keep up.’ Sticky had come to me with the idea and was the only non-white person with us.
I also realised that I had sent him home and that I now didn’t have any idea where he was. I phoned Crazy Phil from a payphone and quickly explained my theory. The soldiers still weren’t back from London so we presumed he wouldn’t be either. Crazy Phil stationed four soldiers around Manchester airport to see if he had the audacity to come back on the pre booked ticket and two more at the train and coach station in case he would be foolish enough to assume we wouldn’t be there. I was home two hours later after getting lost in the maze of country lanes I had taken. I drove to the street parallel to my apartment and walked the rest of the way. Crazy Phil was waiting for me inside as arranged and informed me that Sticky had come in on the plane, had been seized and taken too the lock up we hired to take the fruits of our robbery. I the burnt clothes I had been wearing and had a thorough shower to get rid of any gunpowder. Meanwhile a soldier was taking the van I had drove home, away to be burned and so cut any ties of the gang to the murder. Crazy Phil waited and we drove to the lock up together.
Inside Sticky was sat unharmed on a stool looking petrified. Two soldiers stood behind him brandishing baseball bats. I looked into his eyes and using the knowledge of people I had gained through a life of crime I knew immediately that he had something to hide, I sensed that Crazy Phil had similar feelings.
“Talk.” I said with impressive authority
“Charley I dunno what all this is about, mate” by adding mate at the end he was trying to reinforce our connection to one another, to me this stunk of guilt.
“All what’s about I haven’t done ought, yet.” I was calm and confident an approach I find is more effective. A look of pure horror bled from his watering eyes. I was enjoying this power.
“Honest.” He was being foolish by having such faith in his abysmal mendacious skills. I thrust a four inch rusty nail into his thigh. A blood-curdling scream was emitted from his mouth. Fluorescent red blood spurted up clinging to my shirt.
“You’re lying.” My calmness yet sheer brutality was invoking terror in Sticky.
“I didn’t know anyone would get shot.” Winced my internee whilst tightly holding his oozing wound.
“And.” I reacted whilst flipping another nail with my thumb his eyes followed it strictly.
“He made me tell him.” I came close to seeping another nail in but Crazy Phil took control.
“Tell him what.” Shouted Phil whose opposite approach had a dramatic effect considering the civil capture had happily sunken a nail into his thigh. Sticky was an amateur and spilled his guts, just as we were planning to do for him.
“He was a guy I met in prison and he made me tell him our plans so that he could rob Charley.”
Without any hesitation Crazy Phil drew a silenced revolver and shot him in his healthy leg. Sticky stifled his scream and the two soldiers standing behind winced at the shock of the gunfire.
“Was he connected?” Bellowed Phil, his face now close to the tearful spectacle known as Sticky.
“No, no one.” He blurted as his chin wobbled uncontrollably making him look utterly piteous
“Good.” Exclaimed both Phil and I in unison relieved to know that we wouldn’t have any further retribution. I realised that Sticky had taken on the gang and for such a crime he would be killed. Phil came to the same recognition and began ripping up rags. The soldiers were sent away as Phil tied Sticky’s hands tightly, any effort of escape was terminated with a rapid punch to the face.
“Charley go call a sit down I’ll finish off here.” I was pleased not to have to witness another death. As I walked to the door I heard Sticky crying for his Mum and begging for mercy, this was soon followed by the crunch of bone. I never heard him again.
The sit down was revolved around informing everybody of the events, only I knew where my body was and only Phil knew where Sticky’s was. This was an insurance method that we liked to adopt as without a body or evidence there is no murder trial. I had to burn the clothes I had worn to the lock up so did Phil and the two witnessing soldiers. We braced ourselves for the anticipated police interest into the gang.
My club was raided to no avail. Then the chop shop was raided several weeks later and five stolen cars were retrieved and the tools were seized, however that was held in the name of an old age pensioner. They did however find my fingerprints and several other well-known soldier’s throughout the building. A phone call later and ten thousand pound insured that they were lost. I didn’t even get called into the police station. Yet they had proved that they had their beady little eyes on my empires and I realised that I would have to be cautious.
To compensate for my loss of regular income I opened an illegal casino above a shop near the club and it began earning a reputation as a first-rate establishment. Crazy Phil’s best prostitutes operated from there so if a punter won I got a slice back through them anyway. I would move the location every couple of months to avoid detection. I would then launder my winnings through my legitimate club, and the restaurants I had shares in.
This left me with allot of money and at around this time a new drug Polysryormate was hitting London. I decide to invest. I got in touch with the Hells Angels in Manchester who were rumoured to be able to obtain the lucrative silky liquid. My reputation earned me a place on the exclusive list of outsiders that the Angels would associate with. They were true to their word and I paid six thousand for five kilos of Pure Polysryormate or Polly as it was now being christened. However pure Polysryormate is liquid so it needs to be boiled in a pan. I used a derelict garage and worked it off a second hand calor gas cooker. I then packaged the powder and started sending my soldiers into the clubs including my own. It started to get the reputation it had earned in London and so after doubling my money I reinvested it into fifteen kilos. This went on for six months until everybody in Manchester had heard of “Polly” and it was being heralded as the new party drug, this gave it masses of credibility and so I could then move into the other cities and sell twenty five kilos this I bought direct from the Angels supplier and so side stepped the middle men. It was the biggest shipment of “Polly” to ever come into Britain and I smuggled it packed inside exotic foods that were delivered to a restaurant I had shares in. This was possible by giving the customs officer thirty thousand pounds to not heed the trucks cargo. They did and I got my drugs. However for such large quantities I shipped it out from a derelict house in its pure form. I sold it all for one million pounds and so had to launder that through my Club and restaurants. This proved to slow so I hired a trustworthy accountant to set up several off shore accounts, which he did, and I had the clean money I needed.
With my recent spoils I bought a luxurious manor house in Cheshire with a swimming pool and kept an impressive garage of high performance cars. I had passed up hundreds of thousands of pounds to my peers and had earned the gang a prestigious amount of respect in my five years as a captain. So much so, that I was named to become a governor and for two of my first soldiers to become captains. The word came from Big Tom and I began making preparations for a day that came a lot sooner than I had expected, primarily off the back of my success with Polysryormate. I used my restaurant for the celebrations and invited every member of the bandits including all the soldiers. I hired dancing girls and brought my roulette wheels into the restaurant.
The day came and I remembered how just five years ago I was a soldier running around snatching car stereos, now I was becoming a Governor the rank I had sought for so long it made my ultimate ambition of becoming a fully fledged gangster seem closer than ever before. . We ate an exquisite meal and speeches were made about my life of crime. Everybody laughed throughout the night and drank lots of complementary champagne and enjoyed the plethora of different entertainment.
The climax came when the captains and I moved into the next room, first my soldier had his cesa with the same captain acting the hooded Bengali. He reluctantly pulled the trigger and I was overjoyed and bursting with pride. I passed the apartment in Droylsden down to him. Then came my moment, Unfortunately Dave my first captain wasn’t able to attend as he had suddenly fallen ill.
Big Tom stood up and said a few words about the joys of seeing such young talent being nourished in a “productive” environment. As I absorbed his every word I looked around at the people I had grown to love. In this line of work a bond stronger than any other is founded. At the end of his speech he stood up once again and stretched out his shovel like hand that cradled a Shinning brass knuckleduster with the initials G.C.D.W encrusted in diamonds on each knuckle, it truly was a thing of beauty. I was Governor Charlie “Duster” Wood of the NW bandits, I was overjoyed.
We then rejoined the party and preceded to get recklessly drunk, the limo driver took me home after I had insisted on wishing everybody a safe journey and proclaiming gangster love to even the smallest of soldiers. Stepping out of the car I stumbled along the gravel path to my palatial double doors and fumbled hopelessly with the key to open them. Once inside I collapsed fully clothed onto my four-poster bed and lay unconscious for the next ten hours.
I was suddenly woken with a vigorous smack across my left cheek.
“A’ight Dave mate feelin betta.” I mumbled through my chalk dry lips. His head shone just as it did all that time a go and I smiled meekly to myself at the thought of it.
“Get up.” Came a gruff voice obviously not Dave’s causing me to open my eyes fully in order to inspect the owner. Silhouetted against the open windows I saw a large figure with a beard. I thought it best to sit up for a closer look and held my swirling head stable as I did so. A rough callus hand gripped my sweaty hair and yanked me too the ground, this definitely got my attention. I felt terror seep into my bones and I was jump started awake with the adrenalin that came with it. The tall bearded figure was now standing over me menacingly and as I stared up I noticed now in the better light a leather jacket and biker gloves.
“Bloody hell Pete, scared me half to death then.” Pete was a hells Angel and the man I had predominantly dealt with over the Polysryormate shipments. A sharp kick struck my right ear causing a penetrable ringing to deafen me, and absolute confusion run through my body. Pete stood me up and looked into my eyes hard and me his. I had the opportunity to compose my self a little more and absorb the Hells Angels surrounding me and Dave stood amongst them looking unusually ominous.
“I bin talking to Dave, and d’you know what he’s bin telling me?” Not waiting for an answer he continued.
“He says you bin getting your Polly straight from my man.” I looked hard at Dave a fellow gang member who had taken me under his wing all that time ago and I couldn’t comprehend why he would perform such a dishonourable act. I shook myself free of Pete’s grip in order to establish my authority.
“Bollocks.” I said trying desperately not to show the fear that was now deep inside me. Pete’s eyes widened and I realised that I had affronted him.
“Don’t you Bollocks me ya little prat I’ll rip your arms off.” Now he was being insolent so I swung at him hard with my clenched fist. But I was tired and the fear had started to rot my confidence. Pete side stepped my attempt and through me backwards into the wall with an impressively fast uppercut that rattled my head back and forth on its neck. Before I could coordinate another attack Dave flew into my dishevelled face foot first and caused me to spurt my own blood over my Persian rug. Falling to the floor the back of my jacket snagged onto the wardrobe and it sat over my face as a rain of heavy kicks pelted into my body. Winded and gasping for breath I propped myself onto my hands and knees, the kicks ceased. Looking up at Dave and Pete they both gave a sinister grin and set about pouring cold liquid over my body. It stung my eyes as it dripped down my face and smelled strongly. I attempted to stand but was heavily stamped to my knees. The room spun around my head as I gathered my thoughts once again.
“Now Governor if I don’t get my twenty grand in twenty four hours I will kill you, do you understand?” This kind of disrespect wasn’t how I was used to being treated and I would not let him getaway with thinking it was acceptable.
“Yes.” I answered choosing not to annoy the man waving a lighter over my petrol soaked body.
They left the room with me bleeding whilst the cutting petrol ate into my wounds. I immediately phoned Big Tom who had to be shaken awake by the mysterious lady he went home with. Dazed and hung over he slowly absorbed everything I told him, which caused him to blow up into an immeasurable rage. I showered and waited for the army to arrive at my house for an emergency sit down. Every captain was there and the main points that we had to arrange were, what should we down about Dave who had been a traitor to the gang he had promised to stay true to. And what should be done about the globally spread thousand strong biker gang that were demanding money from us? I wanted revenge for the blatant disrespect that had been shown to the gang and me. Crazy Phil suggested that we should mount Dave’s head on a pole, which at the time was about as constructive as a bulldozer. T-bone reasoned that several big gangs before us had paid off the bikers and that we wouldn’t loose any face if we did the same, then we would mount Dave’s head on a pole. We voted, that T-bone had the best plan. We set about implementing it immediately I set off for the Angels clubhouse to settle the financial debt. Whilst Crazy Phil organised a mass search of the country for Dave who’s life span was slowly diminishing.
I stepped into the clubhouse of the Angels; it smelt strongly of beer and sweat, a very different environment than the one I had grown accustomed to. Pete saw me and headed towards me with a gun held prominently in his clenched fist, I had a semi automatic in the back of my belt and its weight pushed heavily into the small of my back. He reached towards the paper bag I was holding. Opening it up he saw the money and looked up at me. The menace in his eyes dropped immediately and he was no longer squaring his shoulders back to create the impression of massiveness. Instead he smiled looked closely at the noticeable scars on my bruised face and exclaimed.
“Glad we got that sorted out Charley.” I smiled back and walked out. Stepping down the steps I felt a stabbing pain in my back, that was my pride and it hurt like hell. I felt that by giving in I had lost the power I so yearned for, Pete had taken that away from me and I hated him for it.
Dave was proving difficult to find, as he knew that we would be looking for him, he had hidden himself well. All of the captains, governors and colonels slept at my manor that night whilst the revenge that was owed to Dave lay heavy in our minds. At six o’ clock exactly, the following morning a loud banging startled me and I jumped from my bed with my gun drawn. Stepping out onto the landing I grouped up with all of my guests as they had done the same. And were making their way to my reinforced door that was the source of the deafening racket. We had all lined up on the overlooking landing and were pointing our guns purposefully, without really knowing what to do. A final pound signified, a herd of dark clothed men to charge into my large hallway. Crazy Phil released several lethal bullets onto the oblivious lambs below. The fire was returned causing us to take cover behind a Georgian cabinet housing an assortment of antique guns. But the rapid fire that was now bouncing around my house slowly disintegrated my walls and furniture.
“Stop police.” We all gave one another a look of absolute dread as we realised the trouble we were now in. Crouching behind the cabinet we half heartedly listened to the police demands coming from downstairs.
“I’ve killed three o’ them.” Crazy Phil highlighted the other problem.
“That means life.” He confirmed more for his own sake than any body else’s.
“Gangster love forever.” He pronounced pointing his smoking gun to the ceiling above. Without further hesitation he gave us all the look that through our work we had grown to under stand as the epitome of power. He ran full speed at the slowly advancing police shooting intentionally at the moving targets. In true gangster fashion he went out shooting. After his valiant kamikaze act we silently looked to one another with that same look of power and took one deep breath. We stood up with our hands high in the air.
The court case was a media frenzy, we were being named the most dangerous villains in the north. Dave had turned informant in order to save his own neck and so supplied enough evidence to convict us all. I was acquitted for the garage murder due to lack of evidence but found guilty of drug smuggling after the customs officers made very damming statements, the guns I had in the house along with a collection of knuckledusters and machetes meant I was found guilty of possession of an illegal fire arm and deadly weapons. I was sentenced to a hefty 16 years in a top security prison in Birmingham. The others were all sentenced for different lengths with Tiger Paul being given the least with just five years, but he was killed in a Manchester prison after a drug deal went sour. T-bone was released a year ago and is reported to be on the straight and narrow, but is still looking for the illusive Dave. All the other are scattered around the country in various prisons.
I’m currently still running the tobacco business and selling Polly, except here I have to kick up a percentage to a Turkish mafia boss. I am due for release in two years and intend to regain my title. The media like to call me a ruthless gangster but I don’t feel like I made it as far as that. I plan to meet my full potential. I will be the biggest gangster. Gangster love forever!
