Skinhead Escapes by Richard Allen

Author:Richard Allen [Allen, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-07-07T19:40:21+00:00

* * *

From the outside the house looked dark and dismal. Inside, it was worse. The thatched roof came down too low and the small windows in each room were almost floor level. Even in brightest sunshine there was a gloom that could not be broken.

Seated on his creaking bed, Joe thrust the girl’s picture from his mind. He had four hours before he would see her in the flesh. Between now and then he had this problem ...

Every newspaper had carried the story. The copper was dead and the hunt covered every corner of the country. An identikit picture had been flashed on the telly but the worst was coming. He knew that from this morning’s editions. They had a name to go with the artist’s impression now. Soon, they’d start showing real pictures of him. Police photographs.

He felt no remorse for what he’d done. Only rage for Kenny Walker. The runt had brought this about. What a bleedin’ fool he’d been letting the trendy bastard in on the robbery. Jeeze, how he wished that his old mob had stuck to him. They’d have pulled off the job easily - without needing shooters or getting a fuzz killed.

When he recalled some of the times they’d had, he wanted to lash out and damage furniture. Christ, he thought, what stupid idiots they’d all been! He blamed himself most for embracing a totally alien culture when he switched from skinhead to suedehead. He had played at being one. His frilly shirts, bowler, and umbrella, had all been trade marks manufactured by Terry types and necessary because he had a thing about making Mayfair his happy hunting ground.

His sojourn in prison had taught him how to look back and capitalise on previous mistakes. He was what he was and no amount of frills or environmental change could take away his East End-ness.

Maybe he had lost some of his native patter, his "accent". That didn’t give a damn. Inside where he lived he was Joe Hawkins, son of a docker, bigot de luxe. Aggro was his choice, his excitement. Putting the boot in on a bloody Paki or hippy or busting a Hell’s Angel head stood for something terrific in his being. Being leader of a mob meant more than the loner he now was.

He counted his loot and felt the ecstasy of money flow in his veins. With this lot he could stay on the dodge and laugh at the rozzers when they were forced to admit defeat.

He didn’t need a ouija board to tell him the next few days were of paramount importance. How he acted, how he stayed out of the spotlight could mean prison or freedom.

And that brought him back to the girl on the beach!

He wanted her - badly. He could taste her sweetness in his loins right then. But could he afford her? The luxury of getting her naked and thrashing under him was one he had to evaluate against years rotting away in some stinking prison.

This town was murder for the likes of him.

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