The Devil Shook My Hand by Micky Gluckstad

Author:Micky Gluckstad [Micky Gluckstad and Matt Nixson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781857827996
Publisher: John Blake Publishing
Published: 2012-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘ALL I HEARD WAS A SPLASH AND THEN I REALISED SHE’D GONE OVER THE SIDE INTO THE THAMES. SHE COULDN’T SWIM AND WAS BEING DRAGGED UNDER BY THE CURRENTS IN THE DARK, COLD WATER. I DIVED IN AFTER HER. I WAS A POWERFUL SWIMMER, BUT THE CURRENT WAS TOO STRONG AND I NEVER REACHED HER IN TIME. SHE DIDN’T CRY OUT ONCE. JUST SLIPPED AWAY…’

THAMES TRAGEDY

Some jobs are best avoided, no matter how juicy they sound. You just have a gut feeling that something ain’t right. If only I’d listened to my instincts when I bumped into a geezer I knew named Ernie while having a quiet drink in Bow one afternoon. Ernie was a quiet bloke, a long-distance lorry driver who wouldn’t say boo to a goose and had never been in trouble with the law.

Today he was buzzing. A friend had tipped him off about a stash of electrical goods in a warehouse in Woodgrange Road, Forest Gate, and suddenly he was being Billy Big Bollocks about turning it over. Given his inexperience, I should have heard alarm bells and avoided the job like the plague, but it sounded like easy meat. A skylight gave access to the warehouse and there was no guard or alarm. All we needed was a van and some luck. Well, we got the van.

The following Saturday, Ernie was getaway driver and lookout in an alley round the back while I shimmied up a drainpipe, climbed across the roof and levered open the skylight. As promised, it came up easily and there was no alarm. I lowered myself through the gap and down into the warehouse. It was an Aladdin’s cave of televisions and radios, all brand new and in their boxes.

Christ, I thought. We should’ve brought a bigger lorry.

With that, I opened the doors and Ernie scampered in. He could hardly contain his excitement and I had to warn him to calm down. We were looking at a serious haul, even if we only managed to cart away half the goods. It was Christmas come early for 15 minutes as we loaded up the van. Then Christmas got cancelled. I was balancing a couple of tellies on the back of the van, trying to make room to squeeze them in, when there was a shout and Ernie appeared from the front collared by two huge policemen, one of whom had him by the scruff of the neck. I looked round but there was no point making a run for it.

We were stuffed, caught red-handed. Later I learned we’d been set up and ambushed. The Flying Squad had been under pressure to take a few scalps and dangled the juicy target as bait. They must’ve been delighted when two gormless fuckers like us took it lock, stock and barrel.

We appeared before Stratford magistrates the next day and were remanded to Brixton prison. Two weeks later, we were hauled in front of the judge at Snaresbrook Crown Court. I told the judge the plan was mine and I’d talked Ernie, with his lack of previous, into helping.

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