Guns Of Brixton (39 page)

    'Yeah,'
agreed Mark. 'But they've got our logo on them. Our guarantee of purity and
value.'

    Dennis
looked a little hinky.

    'What?'
said Mark.

    'I
think the bloke who makes our pill stampers might have gone native.'

    'How
d'you mean?' said Mark.

    'Well,
he's an old mate from uni. You know we more or less make these by hand?'

    Mark
nodded.

    'I
mean we can do thousands, but we ain't Glaxo Wellcome.'

    'Yeah…?'

    Dennis
wasn't happy. 'I think the bloke who made our stamper dies made one for someone
else and put our little logo in it.'

    'Fuck,'
said Mark. 'So someone just produces any old shit and people think they're
buying off us?'

    Dennis
nodded. 'Or someone we've supplied.'

    'But
they could put anything in them.'

    Dennis
nodded.

    'Poison,
all sorts.' Mark knew all about drugs cut with strychnine, scouring powder and
even ground glass. 'Christ, people could be dying out there and it's down to
us.'

    'Well,
not on these,' said Dennis. 'Like I said, it's mainly chalk, a little baby laxative
and some amphetamine.' 'But you don't know what else is going on.'

    'No,'
said Dennis.

    'Who
is it?' Mark said to Elvis.

    'No
idea, mate.'

    'Well,
you'd better find out. All of us had better get on the case. I don't want no
fucker saying I killed anyone. At least, not unless I meant to.'

    Elvis
nodded.

    Finding
out who was behind it wasn't hard. The boys went to all the haunts where drugs
were freely available; but instead of selling they were buying. Pretty soon
they started to turn up more of the bootlegged E's, all of them bought from
Neville's runners.

    'Bastard,'
said Mark late one night at Tubbs' flat, where the boys had gathered.

    'Well,
he's not really doing much damage,' said Dennis.

    Paul
nodded.

    'Except
to our reputation,' said Dizzy. 'No one's bleedin' buying at the moment. This
stuff's so duff we have to give the bloody things away to prove they're good
and that just wastes our time and makes no profit.'

    The
rest nodded.

    'So we
have a word with Neville,' said Mark.

    'He
needs more than a word,' said Tubbs. 'Black fucker.'

    'But
no one can ever catch up with him,' said Andy, lifting his nose out of a manual
for the latest Volkswagen Golf. 'He's got more homes than Barretts.'

    'We'll
catch up with him,' said Mark. 'I'll make a couple of calls.'

    Which
he did. Posing as a punter looking for a couple of thousand tabs of E.

    It
took a couple of days, but eventually he connected with one of Neville's
lieutenants and made his bid.

    'Perfect,'
he said to the boys when they met in the Four Feathers. 'Greedy fuckers can't
wait to meet me. Promised me pure E for a fiver a tab.' 'Bloody cheek,' said
Paul. 'Our stuffs worth twice that.'

    'So I
jumped at the offer,' said Mark.

    'Where
and when?' asked Elvis.

    'Saturday
night there's a rave on up Waterloo way. You know, in those old arches under
the railway? They want to make a meet.'

    'Will
Neville be there?' asked Dizzy.

    'Oh,
for sure,' said Mark. 'I'm supposed to turn up with ten grand in readies.'

    'And
he believed you?' asked Dennis.

    'Course
he did. I told him I'd been buying off us big time. But I heard that he'd
starting supplying the same merchandise for half the price.'

    'Didn't
he wonder about you?' asked Andy.

    'No.
Why should he?'

    'But
he knows you,' pressed Andy.

    'Yeah,'
said Mark. 'But he doesn't know Paul and Dennis. They go in and meet the boy
and we're right behind them.'

    Paul
looked at Dennis and Dennis looked at Paul, and neither of them looked happy.
'You know we're scientists, not gangsters,' said Paul.

    'You
don't have to do anything,' explained Mark. 'Just be there and get a sight of
the merchandise. He'll be at the bar, he said. There's a door at the back. Go
outside. Tell him you don't want to flash the cash where everyone's watching.'

    Mark
knew the layout of the place well, having done regular business there.

    'Then
we go after them mob-handed?' said Dizzy.

    'Spot
on,' said Mark. 'That bastard needs teaching a lesson.'

    Saturday
night came and the boys met in the same boozer. They looked as if ready to
party in jeans or combat trousers, desert boots and loose sweat tops and
T-shirts. They stayed in the pub until past closing time then trooped out to their
cars.

    At
that time Suzuki jeeps were all the rage. Andy could unlock and start one as if
by magic, and the boys were making a little extra spending money by ringing a
couple a week in Dev's garage. That week Andy had stolen two, resprayed them, changed
the VIN number on the engine and replaced the registration. They were both soft
tops, one now red, the other white. Dizzy was driving the red one, Andy its
white twin, and they let the tops down before driving off. It was still a bit
early for the rave to really get going so they took a diversion down the Kings
Road to see what was happening down there. They stopped at a coffee shop and
soon had a crowd of admiring young women collected around their motors. Dizzy
was rolling spliff in the back of the red car and Mark was snorting coke with
Tubbs and anyone else who was interested in the front of the other. Everyone
was kicking back and happy, but Mark was keeping an eye on the clock and at
one-thirty he went round reminding the boys that there was work to be done.
'Shit,' said Dizzy. 'I was just getting off with that bird in the blue dress.'

    'Get
her phone number,' said Mark. 'We've got heads to break.'

    That
cheered Dizzy up no end, and a minute later he was ready to go, the young
woman's telephone number written in red lipstick on his belly.

    'That'll
wear off,' said Mark as he got into the car next to Andy.

    'Let
the boy have his fun,' Andy said. 'You know what he's like.'

    They set
off again, running the cars over the river on Battersea Bridge and heading east
across the top of south London in convoy. Dizzy was off his nut and kept
nudging Andy's Suzuki with the bumper of his motor, and Mark, who was trying to
snort coke off the dash, kept spilling the powder on to the carpet. 'Fucking
bastard,' he said as Dizzy drew level with them just past Vauxhall Cross and
then tried to run them on to the pavement. 'He'll have us nicked.'

    'Who
the fuck cares?' said Andy.

    'You
will if Old Bill takes a look at the gear we've got in the back.'

    In a
roll of carpet stuffed into the luggage compartment at the back of their car
were four baseball bats, a couple of tyre irons from the garage and Dizzy's
sawn-off shotgun. And Mark was carrying a small.38 five - shot Colt revolver
he'd borrowed off John Jenner tucked into his boot. Jenner hadn't asked him why
he needed a shooter, just given him the usual advice: 'If you use it, lose it.'

    'No,
mate,' screamed Andy above the slipstream and the music booming out of the
sound system. 'We're minted. Magic. Old Bill can't even see us. We're
invisible.'

    'Have
you had too much coke?' yelled Mark in reply. But he knew what Andy meant. They
were untouchable. The boys were out for revenge and no one could stop them.

    So on
they raced, bumping and tailgating each other, cutting off other drivers,
jumping red lights and going the wrong way around roundabouts until they
reached the mean streets of Waterloo.

    Before
the rave scene took off, those streets would have been deserted at that time.of
a Saturday night/ Sunday morning. Previously, all the action had been in the
west end, various spots of north London and down the Old Kent Road. But then
entrepreneurs discovered that they could make lots of money by leasing or
squatting railway arches and playing Acid House music at ear-splitting levels -
the bass could be turned up so high it made the dancers' ribs vibrate inside
their bodies - and tiny bottles of water that cost pennies in any cash and carry
store could be sold for fortunes.

    Of
course, the emergency exits and toilet facilities were almost non-existent,
there was always danger from falling masonry and unsafe staircases, and taps
were always turned off, which meant that kids who couldn't afford the expensive
bottled water dropped from dehydration. Oh yeah, and if you thought about
bringing your own refreshment, there were always plenty of bouncers at the door
to confiscate it. The raves were advertised by flyer, word of mouth and mentions
on pirate radio, sometimes nothing more than a mobile number to call. The
venues were cheap or free, and the entrance fee was enough to ensure that the
organisers always drove the latest motors and wore the most fashionable
clothes. Then there was the drug franchise. And that's where Mark and the boys
had been given pretty much free rein until Neville had stuck his beak into the
action.

    Not
that they minded competition. After all, there was plenty to go round. But like
John Jenner before him, Mark Farrow treated south London as his own. He didn't
care what went on north of the river. Whoever wanted it was welcome; to Mark it
was another country. But south of Old Father Thames was his - a massive cash
cow that was there to be milked by him and his mates alone. And Neville was
taking the piss. It wasn't on, and Mark was determined to make an example of
him. How much of an example none of them was going to realise until it was too
late.

    Eventually
they found a couple of parking spaces and dumped the cars. They didn't bother
putting up.the tops as they didn't intend being around for long, and Andy had
fitted a couple of devices that made the cars almost impossible to drive away
unless you were… well, Andy.

    They
gathered around the back of the white car and Mark handed out the weapons. 'You
two go in first and find Neville,' he said to Paul and Dennis. 'I'll be right
behind you. The rest of you follow on.' He gave Paul a briefcase full of
newspaper cut to the size of fifty pound notes, with the real thing top and
bottom which would convince Neville it was ten grand if he wasn't allowed to
examine it. 'Don't let him get too close to this,' he said. 'Tease him until
you're outside.'

    Again
Paul didn't look happy about the deception, but wisely stayed silent. Mark was
bopping from his cocaine intake and the boy knew he'd brook no argument. 'Don't
leave us with him too long, will you?' Paul said.

    'Trust
me,' said Mark, grinding his teeth. 'I'm a fucking doctor.'

    'What
about the bouncers?' asked Tubbs.

    'Depends
who's on and if we know them.'

    'We'll
know 'em.' Tubbs again.

    'Chances
are,' said Mark.

    'So.'

    'So
we ask them to take a break and give them a few quid.'

    'What
happens if they're not keen?' asked Dizzy.

    'You've
got your shooter. Convince them that discretion is the better part of valour.'

    'I
can do that,' said Dizzy, slipping the gun inside his combat pants and down one
leg.

    'You
only do that to impress the girls,' said Mark.

    'No.
I can do that without,' replied Dizzy. 'Remember the bird in the blue dress
just now?' And he. lifted his shirt to show the red smears on his skin.

    'And
she thought you were just pleased to see her.'

    'That's
the truth. And I intend to see her again.'

    'Come
on then,' said Mark. 'Let's do it. And let's do it properly.'

    The
bouncers, two black guys and one white, were easy. They all knew Mark and the
boys and let him, Paul and Dennis go to the front of the short queue. 'The rest
of my lads are behind me,' Mark said as he slipped each a score.