A voice comes over the tannoy.
"Window number One please!”
A bald geezer, about six foot, eighteen stone, looks like a hard nut... (I know different)...wears a goatee beard, about forty five years old, leather waistcoat, jeans with steel toe-cap boots...polished. On his finger he wears a ring of the hells angels, (fucking twat, who`s he trying to kid?) moves to the counter.
I hear him ask for ten first class stamps, he doesn’t even take his wrap-round sunglasses off. Who the fuck wears sunglasses in a shop in the middle of winter? The thing is... I know this chap from old school. Is he really a hard bastard? Or is he just a self conscious insecure paranoid wreck?
The latter I think.
I punched him out once, that was before we kidnapped him and left him out in the woods tied to a tree...to think things over.
He was talking to a couple of toke-the-weeders in the local boozer, giving it all the large about, knowing people, people who grow the stuff, and they aint to be messed with.
"I can get any shit you want at any time.” He says.
‘Good for you.’ I thought as he stared menacingly at them through his paranoid eyes. The two tokers seem to be impressed with this statement and lean in a little closer as if there’s now a deal going down.
My ears are so fucking good I can hear a baby crying for its mother from over two fucking miles away, so I can definitely hear the bullshit coming out of these pricks mouths from a few yards away, even if it is busy in here.
“Can you get us some white shark?” the rat face kid asks. He`s early twenties, wearing a hoodie, trying to make his way through the ranks of drug respect and all that crap. Geezer looks at him straight in the eye,
“You better not fuck me around if I do?” he says, giving them a hard stare. It`s unbelievable that he`s trying to act all hard and going for the respect shit from a couple of two bit pricks if he does get `their` gear.
“No mate!” the other kid says. He’s a lanky kid also with a hoodie, I think he’s a ground- worker or something judging by his mud covered boots.
“We wouldn’t do that...if we order it...we pay.”
Fuck me he’s been watching too much TV as well aint he?
So geezer gets his phone out, dials a number in front of them, and makes the order. Lo and behold ten minutes later, bloke walks in and sits down next to them. Geezer asks him what he wants to drink.
“Fosters mate.” bloke says, acting the big boss.
Fuck me! I almost fall about laughing, this is better than the fucking sopranos. This bloke wears a moody leather jacket, black jeans that don’t fit properly and white trainers that look fucking stupid. This bloke only deals because he`s a lonely fucker, got no friends and wants to somehow gain some sort of recognition within the community of tossers. If he didn’t deal, no fucker would want to know him. He`s a slimy shithead and only took up dealing so he would make acquaintances and be seen as cool....fucking dick-splash.
Geezer introduces bloke to tokers, and a respect kind of pussy handshake starts to ensue with the `I know the respect shake shit’ with the `we are underworld` grin on their idiot faces.
Bloke and tokers chat about who they know and where they drink for a couple of minutes while bloke drinks some of his pint. Bloke starts to nod slowly at the tokers like he`s in touch with them and the whole wanking underworld.
“Do you do speed or smarties?” bloke asks.
The tokers look at each other and then back at the bloke.
“Yeah,” says rat face with his eyes wide. “Do you sell that too?”
“Yes mate,” bloke replies all jack the pancake. Prices then start to emerge.
“How about some posh?” asks the ground worker.
“Can do,” says bloke leaning back into his chair all cool.
They all start looking at each other and nodding slowly like now they all know what’s going on and where.
“I’ll go out to my motor and you follow me in a couple of minutes,” says bloke to the tokers.
“Cool.”
Bloke fucks off and tokers follow after a couple of gulps of their liquid confidence. Geezer now sitting on his own is looking around to see if anyone`s clocked what’s going on.
I think to myself...`No one gives a fucking shit mate, only the managers, and they aint here, so stop looking so menacingly paranoid and enjoy your pint....Wanker.’
The tokers come back in with their large walk and sit down trying to look like they just been for a piss... but not. Bloke isn’t with them, his pint is still on the bar and still half full.
“Cheers mate.” the rat faced toker says to geezer while sitting back down.
“No worries,” he replies. “Is it okay?”
“Fucking wicked!” rat face says, ”It’s going to stink my whole fucking house out!”
They all laugh and take a couple of gulps of their booze, with geezer looking a bit proud of himself.
“Did you get anything else?” Geezer asks.
“Yeah, got ten pills and a gram of posh,” rat face replies being all jack the biscuit.
“Cool” geezer replies now thinking he`s got the ‘cool respected’ status with them.
He gets up and offers to buy them a pint.
I think...’What the fuck`s he up to? Is he trying to make friends now or something?’ They both accept.
“Fosters please mate,” rat face says.
“For you too?” Geezer asks ground worker.
”Please mate.” he replies. Geezer goes to the bar to order.
The tokers start talking fast to each other... quietly, as if there’s a problem. Geezer returns with three pints in a triangle shape clasped in his outstretched fingers showing off his hard core `biker skull ring` and sets them down on the table.
“Cheers mate!” the tokers say.
It’s silent for a minute or two while they all take a few gulps of the new sweaty glass pints. Rat face pipes up,
“So...how well do you know this chap then?” Geezer looks straight into his eyes as if he’s said something wrong, and replies,
”Long enough, why?”
Rat face says, “Well it’s just that when we went to score at his motor, he said it wasn’t his, it was yours, and we were thinking, why has he come down to sort us out with your gear from your car...when you could have sorted it yourself?”
“That fucking bloke is a wanker and I don’t know what he’s on about,” says geezer trying to act all hard and like he knows fuck all about this, “I can tell you what, he’s going to get a punch from me when I see him next.” he says giving it all the menacing biker bit.
“Why don`t you give him a bell now?” Says rat face looking a little confused.
“Nah! I’ll do it later,” geezer exclaims.
What a complete and utter fucking cunt! Geezer has only gone and just employed a runner to flog his gear for him, and then the bloke goes and shifts the real ownership to geezer, so now we all know that he’s the real pusher ...WANKER!’
I`m outside on the phone to a very good, long time friend of mine.
“Hello mate.” I say.
“Haaaay! How are ya?” He replies.
“I’m fine thanks very much.” I reply. We have a small chit-chat about how each other’s lives and families are and then get on to why I phoned.
About twenty minutes later we`re sitting in his car, a very nice one may I add, with two of his friends who I haven’t met before in the back. My friend introduces me to them. In turn I shake their hands and return chatting with my friend. From where we are, we can see the front door of the pub. Like clockwork, out strolls geezer, I wait till he`s about a hundred yards from the pub and go to meet him on the pavement.
No words are spoken. A knee in the bollocks...he doubles up...an uppercut with my whole bodyweight behind it and he`s flat out on the pavement.
“Fuck that hurt my hand! but I’m not going to show any pain right now.”
My friend and his two friends join me as we pick the heavy lump up.
“Fuck me, dead weights, I’d forgotten how heavy they were.”
We all puff and pant and struggle his unconscious lump onto the backseat with my friend and his friends on either side. We put duck tape over his mouth and a cloth bag over his head with his hands and feet taped. He`s now sitting there totally unable to move or talk. The car pulls away with a thrust and glides effortlessly up the road, much more effortlessly than the last few minutes were. It’s an automatic...smooth.
After about five minutes in the car, I can hear geezer starting to come round. He`s not struggling or kicking up a fuss, probably just confused as to where he is and what’s going on, which is cool... as panic never did anyone any good.
About fifteen minutes later my friend stops the car, we all look at each other as if to say ”here we are then, let’s do it.” Then at geezer who by now is looking in a very submissive and sorry state. My friend gets out, goes round to the boot and gets out a sack-trolley. We all get out and man handle geezer out of the car and onto the trolley, feet first bolt upright.
Wheeling him down the bumpy dirt track, the sack-trolley`s only just coping with geezers weight.
“Thank fuck we`re going downhill and not up, this fat fucker would be a proper struggle.”
I can smell the fresh cool essence of pine.
“Funny that, because it’s the same smell as my friend’s air freshener that’s in his car, or has the residue of the freshener stuck to my nasal hairs? Fuck it, it’s nice anyway.”
Going over a load of rough ground one of the wheels gets stuck and the trolley jolts forward tipping geezer onto the ground with a heavy thumping sound that almost echoes. I look at my friend who I can just see in the dim night light, he looks at me as if I’m going to say something.
“Fuck it! We`ll tie him up here.” I say.
“Fair enough.” my friend replies.
Laying the trolley down we get geezer to his feet. I reach for my knife and cut the tape that’s round his legs, he can now walk unaided. Like the Police escorting a criminal, we take him off the track and into the denseness of the forest area. The dead twigs and forest foliage is spongy with a springy feel under the foot. Finding a tree that`ll accommodate this idiot isn`t difficult. Turning him round with his back to the rough bark he`s held tightly to it by my new friends.
Taking the duck tape out of my pocket we wrap the tape round and round him and the tree so much that he`s starting to look like a cocoon. I rip the tape with my fingers; it’s firmly holding him against the cold rough exterior with his head hanging down and onto his chest in dejection. We stand there for a few minutes not saying a word. I`m wondering what he`s thinking, so I ask.
“What you thinking then mate?” in an inquiring tone. The squeaking noise that comes from his taped up mouth says it all. My friends suggest that they`ll meet me back at the car in a while.
I agree.
They leave.
Moving up to geezer I take the bag off his head and the tape off his mouth. He doesn’t murmur a word; he just looks at me in a ‘What are you going to do to me?’ look.
“Now then mate” I start. “How did that little prick of a runner get the keys to your car? It’s not that I want to tell you how to do your business, but please sort out that prick that you`ve stupidly employed, and let’s not have an episode like that again. If at the end of the day you`re being watched, then he goes to your car, they`ll do an ownership check of the car, then of course my name and address pops up and I get busted. That’s not why I employ you is it? I employ you... for you to take the risk, not me... okay? If it happens again, then the next time you get brought out here, it will be a different scenario...okay?”
Geezer indicates that he knows I’m serious. I pull out the knife and let him look at it for a couple of seconds, he looks concerned. Holding the six inch blade up to his mouth I tell him to open it. He doesn`t.
“Open your fucking mouth... or I`ll cut your mouth open.” He slowly opens it a little while forcing his eyes shut. The blade is put in sideways.
“Close your mouth” I say. He slowly closes his mouth and grips the blade. “Make your own way home and I`ll speak to you later you doss cunt.” I say.
His body shows the signs of relief as he slumps against the tape and breathes out through his nose with bogeys drizzling down.
Now then, I know what he thinks we were going to do...but then that’s his demon now isn’t it? Strolling back to the waiting car where my friend and his friends are, not a word is spoken, I get in and he drives me home and drops me off at my drive. Leaning into the car I say,
“Thanks for your help gents” I say to my friends, friends. They reply without emotion or expression, “No problem, only glad to help.”
I look at my friend, offer my hand which he shakes and I say thanks, he replies, “Any time.” Closing the car door I make my way to my front door and watch the foreign plates pull away.
“Window number four please.” rings out.
That was a while ago now, looking at him, he`s aged.....but still the prick I’ve always known. Mind you, I know those biker rings aren’t available to buy, so maybe he`s seen a bit of action since the last time I saw him.
He’s still a wanker though.
© Harry Steel 2009