The Oxter Bar
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Revenge is the sweetest drug.
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Revenge is the sweetest drug.
Lynford Regis was our mate from the moment he popped up at the school for the fact that he was being baited through the railings by three guys from the secondary, the big school, and giving back as good as he got. He was the same age as us, same size and was dressed in similar fashion. He was also a half-caste, more black than white, and that was the reason he had been chased up the street and through the gates; they thought he was sufficiently different.
Lynford fitted in immediately and for the next few days we escorted him to school to let the older boys know they should let him be, that he was one of us and we wouldn't be taking any shit from them over it. I have to say we roped older siblings into it, older than Lynford's original tormentors and that quickly did the trick.
Seven of us in all, including Lynford, played football, climbed trees, jumped in the sea at high tide down at the slabs and generally stuck together all the way through secondary school when we got there. In no particular order we were Frankie Miller, Angus Young, Alex Harvey, Thom and Jerry the Thompson twins and me, Stanley 'Stan the man' Baxter. Thomasina Thompson, by the way, could spit, climb, dive and swear as well as anyone we knew and she could keep goal like no one else. Besides that, you didn't get Jerry without getting her from a very early age and so she was one of us.
University was virtually unheard of in those days, although I think Alex had the brains, and the twins at a push. Not to worry, there was plenty of work around. An uncle got me on as apprentice mechanic at the bus depot and I in turn got Lynford on alongside me. The twins took up positions in the factory as apprentice lab technicians, again through a relative. Alex was at the same place but as an office junior, and all off his own bat, he knew how to fill in the forms. Angus had been delivering butcher meat for a good two years so he was ideally situated when a position in the shop came up and Frankie's weekend and holiday experience on the building sites saw him easily slide into the family construction business. We were salaried, paid little in the way of rent and had money to burn, literally as it turned out with the introduction of hashish to our little group. Our headquarters was a purpose built, reclaimed brick building complete with tiled roof, plumbing and electrical supply at the bottom of Frankie's expansive garden. We all helped with the construction and it was our pride and joy.
Lynford was seconded to the main bus depot in Glasgow for two weeks and came back a much wiser man, at least in the exotic qualities and effects of marijuana. We took to it like the proverbial ducks to water, almost instantly forgetting the allure of the various pubs in the area with their dreary old men’s chatter and the constant rattle of dominoes. Lynford also introduced music, the likes of which we didn't ever hear on radio 1. We were cocooned.
The only falling out I can ever remember from that time was when Thom downed tools and refused to clean the shithouse. It took the rest of us a full week to see, and smell, what she meant by her actions and the matter was soon resolved. No one bothered us, the oldies left us alone and the place was totally out of bounds to younger siblings, of which there was maybe half a dozen, all curious. We gathered, played our sounds, watched television and chipped in for hash when the need arose. Lynford knew where to go, until he got rolled for fifty quid’s worth of weed shortly after scoring. He earned himself two broken fingers while trying to protect it. That set us back a bit. Scoring closer to home was almost twice as expensive but pretty soon we were back in business.
Alex's brother was on a visit home from London where he ran his own business; he also liked a smoke and shared some choice block stuff with us, claiming he could get his hands on any amount we could afford to pay for. Any amount at all.
Lynford, who couldn't wield a spanner with his broken fingers, accompanied Jack Harvey back to London with our pooled resources and duly returned with more shit than we had ever seen in the one place. It had been so cheap that we managed to recoup our initial outlay and still have more or less half of the score for ourselves, and that got us to thinking.
Around that same time and completely out of the blue, the twins upped sticks and made their way to Cheshire, England. Headhunted both of them. The factory had a bigger site in Widnes and the hike in money they had been offered couldn't be ignored. We couldn't blame them but missed them immediately; like someone had cut off an arm, according to Alex and we all knew what he meant.
Lynford went off the rails for a time when his girlfriend threw him over for the fact that he was always stoned, she didn't indulge, and he started missing days at work. They weren't long in getting rid when his attitude didn't quite fit with their own ideals. As a result, he ended up almost living at headquarters and, being a mate, we rallied round to help him sort himself out. Like I said there was plenty of work around and Lynford soon started at the factory, continental shifts.
Jack Harvey had business concerns in Ormskirk, and made regular mid-week visits there to oversee projects and iron out problems so we arranged to meet him half way and do the cash for drugs swap; he was very obliging, always ready to help us out. Since Lynford's shifts meant his weekend could occur in midweek he was the obvious candidate for the mission, and it worked out just fine, for a while. Carrying identical bags, just like in the movies, Jack and Lynford would meet up in the bar serving platforms three and four at Preston station, have a couple of pints, do the swap and continue on their journeys; Jack to Ormskirk and Lynford on the next train back north.
Three successful deals and some six months later, Jack let it be known he would be out of circulation for approximately six weeks since he was treating his good lady to a surprise birthday cruise taking in the Scandinavian ports and fjords along with some Arctic locations. It was decided we would double up, although to be fair there was no real panic for the fact that we each had enough of a stash as would get us by. Nevertheless we all chucked in, being mindful to include cover for Lynford's travelling expenses and comfort needs.
I knew something was amiss when Alex rang me in an agitated state, inviting me to meet up at headquarters at my earliest convenience. I arrived, in my work overalls, just as Frankie and Angus got there; Alex was already inside, visibly shaking with rage.
It was an absolute horror story. The meeting had taken place as planned, the identical bags set down side by side as usual. The two men shared some banter and eight pints between them during the hour and a half they were together. Nothing unusual in that. Lynford excused himself and went for a piss, the toilets being situated on the platform and not in the bar, leaving Jack to keep an eye on the bags. On his return Jack did the same, coming back to find both Lynford and the bags gone. It took a moment for the panic to kick in.
The main entrance to Preston station is a strictly no parking area, a drop-off point and taxi rank. When Jack reached the doors he recognised Lynford's peace sign emblazoned jacket disappearing up the road on the back of a motorbike, and knew he had been done up like a kipper.
Alex reported that Jack was livid and Angus, speaking for the rest of us, suggested that we were too. It didn't help matters much.
A quick look around told us Lynford's clothes were gone, most of them, which meant he had planned the whole thing. In all the time we had known him, stuck up for him, looked after him when he lost the plot that time, the colour of his skin had never been an issue, not once; in fact over the years we as a group had put several people right when they tried to take issue with it. Now, according to Frankie he was a black enamel bastard and we didn't see fit to disagree. When Alex suggested that perhaps Lynford hadn't been rolled that time after all and had broken his own fingers to cover a misdeed, our collective mood took one hell of a nose-dive.
They say you should forgive and forget but we couldn't bring ourselves to do either. Headquarters became less of a meeting place, mainly because we all had our own pads by then but we all knew there was a bad vibe to it. We happily gave it up to the younger kids in the end and would gather mostly at Frankie's house because it was more central.
Ruth Harvey, Alex's younger sister by some two years, looks nothing like her brother which is a good thing really. If she did I would never have gone anywhere near her. Far too weird. Ruth and I had something going on, casual and relatively early days but that was why she called me up from Blackpool one night just after I had gone to bed. I had an early start but Ruth was down there for a hen party. She had my full attention from the get go.
“It's him, Stan. That Lynford fella.”
“Are you sure?”
“His hair's different. Dreadlocks. But he has that same swagger. Plus, I heard him talking.”
“Shit, Ruth. Did he see you?”
“Na. I was in the hotel room waiting for the girls to get ready and I had the window open. It's mad hot down here.”
“Ok. Tell me where you saw him. Tell me what you saw.”
“Get a pencil. You won't believe this, Stan.”
“Shoot.”
“Ready? Ok. We're in the Maple Leaf Hotel...............”
“.......You're joking! The Maple Leaf? Really?”
“Yeah. It's in Parkend Road, but listen. There's a pub opposite, The Oxter Bar and that's where I saw him. It's a biker pub, I think, well, there's bikes lined up outside it so yeah, it's a biker pub.”
“Did you see him going in?”
“No. He came out, stood about talking to a girl for a minute, then get this. He went into a block of flats next door to the pub and I saw which one he went into. Middle floor on the corner.”
“That's great, Ruth. Listen. Don't let him see you, and don't mention this to your mates either. You didn't, did you?”
“No. We've to be out of here by noon tomorrow so I doubt he'll see me. He probably wouldn't know me anyway.”
“Just be careful. You did good, Ruth. You go out and enjoy yourself and I'll see you soon. Ok?”
“Ok. Bye.”
I didn't sleep much. I couldn't. The next day was Sunday and we had arranged to meet up at Frankie's for an early breakfast before catching the first train to Glasgow. It was summer and there was live music on The Green but we knew we had to get there early for a decent spec.
They knew I had something on my mind the minute I walked through the back door, but I let Angie, Frankie's girlfriend, finish her breakfast and leave for work before I spilled. Angie is a nurse and works all manner of crazy shifts.
I told the tale and I've never known them so animated. Thankfully, no one questioned why Ruth should call me and not Alex so I guess the news had somehow deflected that little gem.
Sunday through to Thursday was perhaps the longest five days I can ever remember. Ruth attended the meeting on the Monday night and retold exactly what she saw, going so far as to draw diagrams to further explain.
Each of us had managed to book a day off on the Friday so shortly after tea time on the Thursday we hit the road. Angus was driving, I had just recently serviced his car and mine was on blocks.
You've never heard four part harmonies like them. Angus is a huge fan of Australian singer/songwriter Paul Kelly so the rest of us are too by association. He has everything so far recorded by the man and a few bootlegs besides, and has provided each of us with copies as and when he gets hold of them. We know all the words and other road users must have thought we were off our heads as we sang along. The trip seemed to take no time at all.
I bought a map depicting Blackpool's hotels at the services when we stopped for fuel and was then able to direct Angus to where we wanted to be. It was four streets in from the front and relatively easy to find. Ruth had described an unlit alley alongside the Maple Leaf Hotel, a sort of unofficial car park, and we reversed in there so we could bide our time and watch. There was no fixed plan. We were playing it by ear with the realisation we'd have to isolate Lynford from whatever pack he was running with; probably bikers.
Although we were basically peace loving, no hassle type dudes, Frankie had been very vociferous in describing just what he'd like to do when we got a hold of Lynford and no one gave argument. He particularly wanted to know would a black eye or bruising show up on a black man.
It was a full fifteen minutes before I noticed it, no one else did but another five minutes passed before I could explain why I was laughing my head off. I knew Ruth was slightly dyslexic from her attempts to help me with my crossword, but I also knew The Oxter Bar was a perfectly good name for a biker pub and didn't think to question it. For Oxter read Oyster, although some artistic clever clogs had turned the Y into an X and I could see how Ruth would read it.
I had no sooner finished explaining when Lynford came into view. Frankie wanted to get at him immediately but we managed to chill him. He wasn't happy. Lynford had a good looking girl on his arm, all in denim like him but there was something odd about her and it took me a moment to figure out just what it was exactly. She was carrying a bag, leather, like a school satchel or brief case type thing and it just looked so out of place to me.
They walked past the pub and into the flats and again Frankie was chomping at the bit. A light came on in the window of the flat Ruth had marked on her diagram and we all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, knowing it was time for action.
Before we could exit the car the girl hit the street, without her brief case, and headed off beyond the bar and away out of sight.
I jokingly suggested that Frankie should stay in the car and keep a look-out but he saw through it, a strange smile spreading over his face. We crept up the stairs and gathered on the landing, Alex with his ear to the door in an effort to make sure Lynford was on his own.
I reached forward and tapped gently on the door and everyone stepped away from the peep-hole to where they wouldn't be seen.
“Did you forget some …....... Oh shit ….....no...” managed Lynford, opening the door as Frankie reached in and got him by the throat. “Shit,” he gasped again when we all piled in.
The flat was sparsely furnished with a threadbare suite taking up most of the small living room, but our interests lay in the kitchen. A single gas ring was burning, with a long bladed knife warming on top. A newspaper wrapped bundle sat on the small table alongside a set of scales and we instantly knew we had dropped on to a decent amount of hash.
Best black, at least a key in weight and hessian wrapped; straight from the factory no less.
The briefcase was on the floor under the table and when I picked it up I knew there was more. In actual fact there was at least another two keys more.
Lynford had been sampling, his eyes barely open with the effects and Frankie still had him in a choke hold. I took charge, passing a manky old tea towel to Angus who couldn't drag his eyes away from all that dope.
“Gag him, Angus. Frankie! Can I have a quick word, brother?”
Frankie followed me into the living room just as Alex held a wad of twenty pound notes aloft. I had an idea.
“I know you want to burst him, Frankie, but just hear me out. Huh?”
“Go for it, Stan.”
“It's pretty obvious he's in with the big boys here.”
“Yeah, so?”
“We mess him up bad and take his shit and he'll lead them right to us. Yeah?”
“Makes sense, I s'pose, yeah. So, what have you got in mind?”
“How about this? We don't put a mark on him. We take him with us and dump him a hundred miles up the road. He wouldn't be stupid enough to come back here unscathed and claim he'd been turned over. And besides, they'll be sure to know the girl and question her. Yeah?”
“Shit, Stan. I wanted to mangle the bastard but that's just genius. Yeah, genius, mate. Let's do it.”
“Just under a grand,” said Alex, “what's the plan?”
Frankie kept an eye on Lynford while I laid it on the others and it was unanimously agreed.
Angus brought the car to the door and we bundled in, Lynford safely tucked between Alex and Frankie on the back seat, still gagged and now shitting himself after trying to make a break for it. He was ignorant to the plan. I made a point of leaving the light on in the flat before pulling the door to.
We made it to the motorway in complete silence. No conversation and no music for added effect. Seventy-five miles farther on and in the middle of nowhere we dumped a bewildered Lynford. Frankie had a few words of comfort for him while the rest of us waited in the car and that was the last we ever heard, or spoke of him again.
I had built a couple of joints out of curiosity as we travelled, and fired one up when we set off for home. Paul Kelly never sounded better, although Angus had to take our word for that since he was driving. He kept his cool rather admirably when we had to stop at the services shortly after the munchies hit us.
We had squared Jack up for what Lynford stole from him, albeit over a few months in the hope he'd start trading with us again but it was not to be. The trust was gone despite the fact that it had really been nothing to do with us, well, at least not our fault nor our doing exactly. He was barely talking to Alex. It had taken us a long, long time to get over it but now we felt vindicated. The dope would last for ages and the money was laid aside for whenever we needed to buy some more.
Ruth moved in with me about a month after our trip and Alex helped her to flit. We're still together, mainly for the fact that she likes the music of Paul Kelly as much as I do, and she also likes a nice smoke. When big brother Jack rang and told her there was a hash drought down south, I got her to call him back. I dangled the bait, a tasty sample of our recent score as a gift; a peace offering, no strings attached.
Jack was due a visit on the following weekend and he assured me we would talk. It was a start, and I'd be including Ruth in the conversation since she knew best how to work him. I was planning ahead, for myself and for my friends.
Lynford fitted in immediately and for the next few days we escorted him to school to let the older boys know they should let him be, that he was one of us and we wouldn't be taking any shit from them over it. I have to say we roped older siblings into it, older than Lynford's original tormentors and that quickly did the trick.
Seven of us in all, including Lynford, played football, climbed trees, jumped in the sea at high tide down at the slabs and generally stuck together all the way through secondary school when we got there. In no particular order we were Frankie Miller, Angus Young, Alex Harvey, Thom and Jerry the Thompson twins and me, Stanley 'Stan the man' Baxter. Thomasina Thompson, by the way, could spit, climb, dive and swear as well as anyone we knew and she could keep goal like no one else. Besides that, you didn't get Jerry without getting her from a very early age and so she was one of us.
University was virtually unheard of in those days, although I think Alex had the brains, and the twins at a push. Not to worry, there was plenty of work around. An uncle got me on as apprentice mechanic at the bus depot and I in turn got Lynford on alongside me. The twins took up positions in the factory as apprentice lab technicians, again through a relative. Alex was at the same place but as an office junior, and all off his own bat, he knew how to fill in the forms. Angus had been delivering butcher meat for a good two years so he was ideally situated when a position in the shop came up and Frankie's weekend and holiday experience on the building sites saw him easily slide into the family construction business. We were salaried, paid little in the way of rent and had money to burn, literally as it turned out with the introduction of hashish to our little group. Our headquarters was a purpose built, reclaimed brick building complete with tiled roof, plumbing and electrical supply at the bottom of Frankie's expansive garden. We all helped with the construction and it was our pride and joy.
Lynford was seconded to the main bus depot in Glasgow for two weeks and came back a much wiser man, at least in the exotic qualities and effects of marijuana. We took to it like the proverbial ducks to water, almost instantly forgetting the allure of the various pubs in the area with their dreary old men’s chatter and the constant rattle of dominoes. Lynford also introduced music, the likes of which we didn't ever hear on radio 1. We were cocooned.
The only falling out I can ever remember from that time was when Thom downed tools and refused to clean the shithouse. It took the rest of us a full week to see, and smell, what she meant by her actions and the matter was soon resolved. No one bothered us, the oldies left us alone and the place was totally out of bounds to younger siblings, of which there was maybe half a dozen, all curious. We gathered, played our sounds, watched television and chipped in for hash when the need arose. Lynford knew where to go, until he got rolled for fifty quid’s worth of weed shortly after scoring. He earned himself two broken fingers while trying to protect it. That set us back a bit. Scoring closer to home was almost twice as expensive but pretty soon we were back in business.
Alex's brother was on a visit home from London where he ran his own business; he also liked a smoke and shared some choice block stuff with us, claiming he could get his hands on any amount we could afford to pay for. Any amount at all.
Lynford, who couldn't wield a spanner with his broken fingers, accompanied Jack Harvey back to London with our pooled resources and duly returned with more shit than we had ever seen in the one place. It had been so cheap that we managed to recoup our initial outlay and still have more or less half of the score for ourselves, and that got us to thinking.
Around that same time and completely out of the blue, the twins upped sticks and made their way to Cheshire, England. Headhunted both of them. The factory had a bigger site in Widnes and the hike in money they had been offered couldn't be ignored. We couldn't blame them but missed them immediately; like someone had cut off an arm, according to Alex and we all knew what he meant.
Lynford went off the rails for a time when his girlfriend threw him over for the fact that he was always stoned, she didn't indulge, and he started missing days at work. They weren't long in getting rid when his attitude didn't quite fit with their own ideals. As a result, he ended up almost living at headquarters and, being a mate, we rallied round to help him sort himself out. Like I said there was plenty of work around and Lynford soon started at the factory, continental shifts.
Jack Harvey had business concerns in Ormskirk, and made regular mid-week visits there to oversee projects and iron out problems so we arranged to meet him half way and do the cash for drugs swap; he was very obliging, always ready to help us out. Since Lynford's shifts meant his weekend could occur in midweek he was the obvious candidate for the mission, and it worked out just fine, for a while. Carrying identical bags, just like in the movies, Jack and Lynford would meet up in the bar serving platforms three and four at Preston station, have a couple of pints, do the swap and continue on their journeys; Jack to Ormskirk and Lynford on the next train back north.
Three successful deals and some six months later, Jack let it be known he would be out of circulation for approximately six weeks since he was treating his good lady to a surprise birthday cruise taking in the Scandinavian ports and fjords along with some Arctic locations. It was decided we would double up, although to be fair there was no real panic for the fact that we each had enough of a stash as would get us by. Nevertheless we all chucked in, being mindful to include cover for Lynford's travelling expenses and comfort needs.
I knew something was amiss when Alex rang me in an agitated state, inviting me to meet up at headquarters at my earliest convenience. I arrived, in my work overalls, just as Frankie and Angus got there; Alex was already inside, visibly shaking with rage.
It was an absolute horror story. The meeting had taken place as planned, the identical bags set down side by side as usual. The two men shared some banter and eight pints between them during the hour and a half they were together. Nothing unusual in that. Lynford excused himself and went for a piss, the toilets being situated on the platform and not in the bar, leaving Jack to keep an eye on the bags. On his return Jack did the same, coming back to find both Lynford and the bags gone. It took a moment for the panic to kick in.
The main entrance to Preston station is a strictly no parking area, a drop-off point and taxi rank. When Jack reached the doors he recognised Lynford's peace sign emblazoned jacket disappearing up the road on the back of a motorbike, and knew he had been done up like a kipper.
Alex reported that Jack was livid and Angus, speaking for the rest of us, suggested that we were too. It didn't help matters much.
A quick look around told us Lynford's clothes were gone, most of them, which meant he had planned the whole thing. In all the time we had known him, stuck up for him, looked after him when he lost the plot that time, the colour of his skin had never been an issue, not once; in fact over the years we as a group had put several people right when they tried to take issue with it. Now, according to Frankie he was a black enamel bastard and we didn't see fit to disagree. When Alex suggested that perhaps Lynford hadn't been rolled that time after all and had broken his own fingers to cover a misdeed, our collective mood took one hell of a nose-dive.
They say you should forgive and forget but we couldn't bring ourselves to do either. Headquarters became less of a meeting place, mainly because we all had our own pads by then but we all knew there was a bad vibe to it. We happily gave it up to the younger kids in the end and would gather mostly at Frankie's house because it was more central.
Ruth Harvey, Alex's younger sister by some two years, looks nothing like her brother which is a good thing really. If she did I would never have gone anywhere near her. Far too weird. Ruth and I had something going on, casual and relatively early days but that was why she called me up from Blackpool one night just after I had gone to bed. I had an early start but Ruth was down there for a hen party. She had my full attention from the get go.
“It's him, Stan. That Lynford fella.”
“Are you sure?”
“His hair's different. Dreadlocks. But he has that same swagger. Plus, I heard him talking.”
“Shit, Ruth. Did he see you?”
“Na. I was in the hotel room waiting for the girls to get ready and I had the window open. It's mad hot down here.”
“Ok. Tell me where you saw him. Tell me what you saw.”
“Get a pencil. You won't believe this, Stan.”
“Shoot.”
“Ready? Ok. We're in the Maple Leaf Hotel...............”
“.......You're joking! The Maple Leaf? Really?”
“Yeah. It's in Parkend Road, but listen. There's a pub opposite, The Oxter Bar and that's where I saw him. It's a biker pub, I think, well, there's bikes lined up outside it so yeah, it's a biker pub.”
“Did you see him going in?”
“No. He came out, stood about talking to a girl for a minute, then get this. He went into a block of flats next door to the pub and I saw which one he went into. Middle floor on the corner.”
“That's great, Ruth. Listen. Don't let him see you, and don't mention this to your mates either. You didn't, did you?”
“No. We've to be out of here by noon tomorrow so I doubt he'll see me. He probably wouldn't know me anyway.”
“Just be careful. You did good, Ruth. You go out and enjoy yourself and I'll see you soon. Ok?”
“Ok. Bye.”
I didn't sleep much. I couldn't. The next day was Sunday and we had arranged to meet up at Frankie's for an early breakfast before catching the first train to Glasgow. It was summer and there was live music on The Green but we knew we had to get there early for a decent spec.
They knew I had something on my mind the minute I walked through the back door, but I let Angie, Frankie's girlfriend, finish her breakfast and leave for work before I spilled. Angie is a nurse and works all manner of crazy shifts.
I told the tale and I've never known them so animated. Thankfully, no one questioned why Ruth should call me and not Alex so I guess the news had somehow deflected that little gem.
Sunday through to Thursday was perhaps the longest five days I can ever remember. Ruth attended the meeting on the Monday night and retold exactly what she saw, going so far as to draw diagrams to further explain.
Each of us had managed to book a day off on the Friday so shortly after tea time on the Thursday we hit the road. Angus was driving, I had just recently serviced his car and mine was on blocks.
You've never heard four part harmonies like them. Angus is a huge fan of Australian singer/songwriter Paul Kelly so the rest of us are too by association. He has everything so far recorded by the man and a few bootlegs besides, and has provided each of us with copies as and when he gets hold of them. We know all the words and other road users must have thought we were off our heads as we sang along. The trip seemed to take no time at all.
I bought a map depicting Blackpool's hotels at the services when we stopped for fuel and was then able to direct Angus to where we wanted to be. It was four streets in from the front and relatively easy to find. Ruth had described an unlit alley alongside the Maple Leaf Hotel, a sort of unofficial car park, and we reversed in there so we could bide our time and watch. There was no fixed plan. We were playing it by ear with the realisation we'd have to isolate Lynford from whatever pack he was running with; probably bikers.
Although we were basically peace loving, no hassle type dudes, Frankie had been very vociferous in describing just what he'd like to do when we got a hold of Lynford and no one gave argument. He particularly wanted to know would a black eye or bruising show up on a black man.
It was a full fifteen minutes before I noticed it, no one else did but another five minutes passed before I could explain why I was laughing my head off. I knew Ruth was slightly dyslexic from her attempts to help me with my crossword, but I also knew The Oxter Bar was a perfectly good name for a biker pub and didn't think to question it. For Oxter read Oyster, although some artistic clever clogs had turned the Y into an X and I could see how Ruth would read it.
I had no sooner finished explaining when Lynford came into view. Frankie wanted to get at him immediately but we managed to chill him. He wasn't happy. Lynford had a good looking girl on his arm, all in denim like him but there was something odd about her and it took me a moment to figure out just what it was exactly. She was carrying a bag, leather, like a school satchel or brief case type thing and it just looked so out of place to me.
They walked past the pub and into the flats and again Frankie was chomping at the bit. A light came on in the window of the flat Ruth had marked on her diagram and we all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, knowing it was time for action.
Before we could exit the car the girl hit the street, without her brief case, and headed off beyond the bar and away out of sight.
I jokingly suggested that Frankie should stay in the car and keep a look-out but he saw through it, a strange smile spreading over his face. We crept up the stairs and gathered on the landing, Alex with his ear to the door in an effort to make sure Lynford was on his own.
I reached forward and tapped gently on the door and everyone stepped away from the peep-hole to where they wouldn't be seen.
“Did you forget some …....... Oh shit ….....no...” managed Lynford, opening the door as Frankie reached in and got him by the throat. “Shit,” he gasped again when we all piled in.
The flat was sparsely furnished with a threadbare suite taking up most of the small living room, but our interests lay in the kitchen. A single gas ring was burning, with a long bladed knife warming on top. A newspaper wrapped bundle sat on the small table alongside a set of scales and we instantly knew we had dropped on to a decent amount of hash.
Best black, at least a key in weight and hessian wrapped; straight from the factory no less.
The briefcase was on the floor under the table and when I picked it up I knew there was more. In actual fact there was at least another two keys more.
Lynford had been sampling, his eyes barely open with the effects and Frankie still had him in a choke hold. I took charge, passing a manky old tea towel to Angus who couldn't drag his eyes away from all that dope.
“Gag him, Angus. Frankie! Can I have a quick word, brother?”
Frankie followed me into the living room just as Alex held a wad of twenty pound notes aloft. I had an idea.
“I know you want to burst him, Frankie, but just hear me out. Huh?”
“Go for it, Stan.”
“It's pretty obvious he's in with the big boys here.”
“Yeah, so?”
“We mess him up bad and take his shit and he'll lead them right to us. Yeah?”
“Makes sense, I s'pose, yeah. So, what have you got in mind?”
“How about this? We don't put a mark on him. We take him with us and dump him a hundred miles up the road. He wouldn't be stupid enough to come back here unscathed and claim he'd been turned over. And besides, they'll be sure to know the girl and question her. Yeah?”
“Shit, Stan. I wanted to mangle the bastard but that's just genius. Yeah, genius, mate. Let's do it.”
“Just under a grand,” said Alex, “what's the plan?”
Frankie kept an eye on Lynford while I laid it on the others and it was unanimously agreed.
Angus brought the car to the door and we bundled in, Lynford safely tucked between Alex and Frankie on the back seat, still gagged and now shitting himself after trying to make a break for it. He was ignorant to the plan. I made a point of leaving the light on in the flat before pulling the door to.
We made it to the motorway in complete silence. No conversation and no music for added effect. Seventy-five miles farther on and in the middle of nowhere we dumped a bewildered Lynford. Frankie had a few words of comfort for him while the rest of us waited in the car and that was the last we ever heard, or spoke of him again.
I had built a couple of joints out of curiosity as we travelled, and fired one up when we set off for home. Paul Kelly never sounded better, although Angus had to take our word for that since he was driving. He kept his cool rather admirably when we had to stop at the services shortly after the munchies hit us.
We had squared Jack up for what Lynford stole from him, albeit over a few months in the hope he'd start trading with us again but it was not to be. The trust was gone despite the fact that it had really been nothing to do with us, well, at least not our fault nor our doing exactly. He was barely talking to Alex. It had taken us a long, long time to get over it but now we felt vindicated. The dope would last for ages and the money was laid aside for whenever we needed to buy some more.
Ruth moved in with me about a month after our trip and Alex helped her to flit. We're still together, mainly for the fact that she likes the music of Paul Kelly as much as I do, and she also likes a nice smoke. When big brother Jack rang and told her there was a hash drought down south, I got her to call him back. I dangled the bait, a tasty sample of our recent score as a gift; a peace offering, no strings attached.
Jack was due a visit on the following weekend and he assured me we would talk. It was a start, and I'd be including Ruth in the conversation since she knew best how to work him. I was planning ahead, for myself and for my friends.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and seven collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and seven collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.