NOT A VIOLENT MAN
by
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Saturday night finally arrived. Spider and I got together at the Neptune Steak House, in Bethnal Green, to have a meal and check out a few things for tomorrow, to make sure we had everything right. Spider had the van fuelled up and ready to go and for the moment, had it locked away in a garage belonging to a friend, in a run down area of the
‘How do you feel Spider, are you well up for this and happy with our arrangements?’ I said. ‘I reckon this will be the easiest bit of fucking dough we’ve earned, in many a long year. By the time you get back down here and over the ‘Island’ to the slaughter, I will have Billy waiting, to check the goods, his lads there, ready to drive them away to his warehouse and a nice bottle of champagne, on ice, for us to celebrate a very successful bit of work. Ok mate?’
‘Terrific Mac’ said Spider, ‘don’t worry about a thing. This job is as good as done. It’s a doddle really, isn’t it? I mean lets face it, other than being grassed, we’d be hard pushed to get caught, even if we wanted to.’
At that moment, a bottle of Bollinger arrived in a bucket of ice, with the compliments of Chris, the owner of the
‘It never pays to count your chickens before they’ve hatched.’
That’s what they say!
We were about to have it proved in the worse possible way.
I arrived at Jimmy’s place at about
Big-nose Jimmy was a diamond, as usual.
He had let me into his gaff, given me the keys and left me to sort out my work. He didn’t ask anything of me and simply said;
‘He’d see me sometime tomorrow, to pick up his bit of wages.’
At about three-thirty, Spider pulled into Jimmy’s yard. He’d made good time and had no problems at all. His pal, the driver, was safely taped up, inside the van, which Spider had parked in the lorry park of the Newport Pagnall Service Station.
‘Hi Mac, everything ok?’ Spider said, a big grin across his face. ‘No trouble my end mate, no trouble at all. My pal is comfortable in the van and I told him that we would tell the service station people he was there, as soon as we had ditched his lorry. How’s things this end?’
‘Great Spider’ I said, ‘lets get the back open and get the load ready for Billy to check. I told him I’d ring him as soon as you got back.’
Spider went round to the back of the lorry and I could hear him opening up the doors. I also heard a muffled gasp and then, ‘bollocks!....Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!’
I rushed to the back of the lorry, to find Spider, leaning ashen faced against one of the doors. ‘What’s up Spider?, what’s up?’ I said, thinking that he had hurt himself. Spider didn’t talk, he just pointed and when I saw what he was pointing at, I understood his rage. The lorry was fully loaded alright, but it was loaded with dresses. Rails and rails of them, in a myriad of colours and styles. Worse, on closer inspection, we found they weren’t even good quality dresses and worse still, they were made for the larger woman.
Well, to cut a long story short. I phoned Billy Rowe to come over to the slaughter and when he got there I gently explained that there had been a fuck-up and that we had the wrong load. He was a total gentleman about it, even though he had two large vans following him, with two drivers expecting some wages.
Formats Book Details This is the fictional story of a very street wise boy, Frank McQueen, who grew up in Stepney; a hard, impoverished, docklands area of As with most of the East-End children of the early post war years, he turned to crime, almost as a means of survival and carried his criminality on into his adult life. At the age of fourteen, he was committed to an Approved School in Hertfordshire. Whilst an inmate of the school, Mac met and was befriended by, Vic Franks. He, unlike Mac, was an inmate, only by virtue of the fact that he came from a broken home. Their relationship blossomed to the extent that they became almost as brothers to each other. For two years, they did everything together and confided only with each other. Finally, Mac was released back to his loving family and the two friends regrettably became separated for twenty odd years, but then, through the media and Mac’s latest trial exposure, they became reunited. By that time, Vic was a married businessman, whilst Mac, was a divorced, career This is Mac’s chronological story, starting from the age of fourteen, until the age of fifty and tells the tale of, imprisonment, violence, sex, international drug dealing, love and heartless betrayal by his lifetime friend. K. J. Newbury is 61 years old. He was born in London’s East End, a year or two before the 2nd World War came to an end and grew up in the tough environment of London’s Docklands, ‘rubbing shoulders’ with all it’s wonderful, ‘colourful’ characters. Finally, after fifty years, disgusted at the way the government had ‘given away’ his beloved This is his first book of a proposed trilogy, all related to international drug smuggling.
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