The Guv'nor (11 page)

He was still crying for me to take him to a hospital, so I slung him in the back of his motor, fuck the blood on the seats, and drove back to where I'd left my car in a little lay-by. He had passed out by now, so I parked him up, put all the lights on, and scarpered. At the first phone box I came to I dialled 999, told them where the geezer was, and put the phone down. I didn't want to be involved in any more shit.

Does that sound heartless? Well, it was, and I didn't give a toss. As I was driving along I felt cold sweat running down my face, thinking about my wife and kids and how close that drug-dealing bastard had come to ruining their lives.

By the time I got home I had calmed myself down. It wasn't finished yet but I was using my nut. Keep cool. Keep calm. Val was dozing in front of the telly; the screen was blank and giving out a sort of musical hum because it was after midnight. Do you know, I didn't have a drop of blood on me. Driving along I felt like I was covered in the stuff. Val's sleepy, ‘Hello, luv, how did it go?' was so ordinary and homely I couldn't believe what had gone down just over an hour ago. Still, I couldn't disbelieve it either, because when I emptied the wallet that little stash counted up to over four thousand. I cut in it half and dropped one of the bundles into her lap. She just said, ‘Thanks, Len, I'm going to bed.' Bless her, she didn't ask why, where, or what. Not disinterest – just trust. She was the housewife, I was the money-getter, and that was that.

Before I got into bed, I looked in on the kids. Jamie in bed, Kelly in her cot, two little ginger heads sticking out of the blankets. I gave them both a little kiss without waking them and shivered when I thought again what might have happened, not for me but for these little innocents. Some bastard was going to get it.

I checked out the papers for a few days but there was nothing about the Dartford business. I put the word out through a few people I could trust for them to keep an eye out for those Rasta slags. It took nearly a month before I got the call that put them in a club in East London. You think I'd cooled off? You don't know me.

I was there in ten minutes. The place was nearly empty. Three people, that's all – the two I wanted and the bloke behind the bar.
They'd have had more chance if somebody had let a wild dog loose on them. I slipped into both of them at once. I broke their jaws with the first swipe and as they went down warned the barman he was next if he touched the phone. I could've stopped there, they were well damaged, but what the fuck, they nearly made my Val a widow. Anybody who's seen one of my bare-knuckle fights will know what I gave them. This wasn't a straightener, it was all in. With both of them still on the floor, I punched, belted and kicked them until they didn't move. I gave the barman a look and he put his hands up. ‘Didn't see a thing, mate. Blokes who done them was masked up.' I gave him a nod, said, ‘Mind how you go,' and slipped out. I was satisfied. When word got round, slags would think twice about taking me for a mug.

A little end came to that story about 18 years later. I'd done a bit of work for a firm over Catford way. In fact, I'd done a lot of work for them over a few years, so we were quite friendly. We were talking about various things we'd got up to, and I told them how I nearly got blown away. One of them, a bloke called Jimmy, gave a big laugh and told me he knew who it was that took a pop but that he's been dead for years.

It's a small world. There's me all pally with a geezer who was a mate of the bloke who nearly killed me. It might seem strange but I never really had the needle with the other firm. What I'd been well pissed off about was being taken for a mug without knowing the score.

About a week after the shooting, and luckily while I was still carrying a good wedge in my back pocket, I was driving down Hackney Road with a pal of mine when we got a tug. An unmarked car pulled us over for a dodgy brake light. What a load of bollocks. That stuff's always left to old plod, not plain clothes. Never mind, we're as good as gold. We've got to be. In the boot there were two boxes of blank insurance certificates, and a handgun in the glove box. The joke was, it wasn't even my gun. I'd taken it off a slag who had tried to use it on me months ago, and had forgotten all about it.

We both sat there like we had ice lollies stuck up our bums, looking straight ahead, dead innocent, while they walked round the motor. These two aren't really looking at the motor, just walking round for a bit of show. I was just thinking that this was simply for them to break the monotony between tea breaks, when we were asked to step out of the car.

Yes, sir; no, sir; three bags full, sir. We hopped out and one of them started looking through the motor. Now we were in deep shit.
The paper in the boot's not worth a lot but the gun could see us off for a long time. Still, he might miss it. Some hope. He opened the glove box, rooted round, then shut it again. The next minute, him and the older one got their heads together. Here we go.

If I'd thought about it, we could have done a runner as soon as they waved us down, but now it's too late. The older one came over, took me to one side away from Jimmy, and said, ‘This brake light could be a lot of aggravation for both of us. I could get you nicked and give myself a lot of paperwork.'

I wasn't thinking. ‘What, you're going to nick me for a fucking poxy light?' He just gave me a look. ‘Lenny, I know of you, you're not a c**t. Which way's it going to be?'

I said, ‘Like that is it? Well, come round my gaff tomorrow and we'll sort something out.' But as I spoke I already had my hand on the roll in my pocket.

‘No, Len,' he said, ‘we'll square it now or forget it and you can take a pull, but remember, there are two of us. Want to shake on it?' Bastard – I never answered, just stuck out my hand and palmed him my last £700.

I could see in his eyes he was weighing up the roll of notes and I thought, ‘In future, I'm going to carry a wad of notepaper wrapped in a tenner.' The wedge must have felt right because he gave me a nod, stepped away, and said, ‘Thank you, sir, you can proceed.' As he got in his motor he called over, ‘Don't forget to get that light seen to, and give your kid his water pistol back, somebody might think it's real.'

See what I mean? Easy come, easy go. Now I'm potless again. I've often wondered how they picked on me – they knew something. Coppers never take backhanders off muggy punters. Forget all that crap about sticking a £20 in your driver's licence when they give you a pull, it only works in the pictures. They'll only take from those who know the score and then they won't consider anything under £500.

Somebody said coppers could be trusted in those days and they were right – trusted to be bent as arseholes. But if you made a deal they stuck by it. Today, a lot of them don't want to know, and those who do will bugger you anyway once they've got your money. That was the first time I'd had to pay my way out, but it wasn't the last.

I shifted the certificates to get a bit of dough back in and the gun ended up in the river. I made up my mind to get rid of the starting handle tucked under the seat of the car that I kept in case of trouble. If I didn't, the cozzers might realise that Cortinas don't have starting handles. If it suits Old Bill and they catch you carrying a piece of pipe,
lump of wood or whatever, without good reason, they'll do you for carrying an offensive weapon, a bit like my bayonet and Charlie's penknife all those years ago.

So that's how life was in the early Seventies – up one minute, down the next. Some days, I could have five grand in my bin – others, five bob. But I loved it.

And all through these ups and downs my Val stood beside me 100 per cent. She would have loved me to go to work proper and be a straight guy. But I couldn't do it. I wasn't going to work all my life for the system then when I'm 65 get thrown on the heap without two bob to my name. I always got a good living and we never went short. It had its risks but what hasn't? I fought everybody, but mostly I fought against certain types in the straight world and the system. Fuck the system.

Everything was going well for us. We had a nice little flat, the kids were growing up lovely. Jamie was nearly four and Dad's little sweetheart Kelly was nearly three. Good kids, no trouble. Val seemed to become more beautiful as she got older and the three of them were my world.

Linda was still living with Nan and looking after her and Uncle Fred. Barry was doing well in Australia. And for the same reasons as Barry, Lorraine, who was never called anything else but Boo, had gone to America with a mate of hers. And my little brother Kruger, who wasn't so little any more, had just married a girl out of Hoxton.

At home – funny how I never got out of the habit of calling Mum's place home – things were a lot better than they had been when I lived there. This was mainly because Jim Irwin spent most of the week living with some bird up north. Sherry was about twelve, a smashing kid who still followed me around the house whenever I went over to see them. Which leaves Mum, and she was worn out.

She'd put her whole life into bringing us all up. She'd always been kept short of money so it was a struggle. The money had been there, she just never saw much of it from Irwin. She never gave herself a second's thought. She was just a proper old-fashioned mum; family was everything. As long as they were all right that's all that mattered. She put everything into everyone else's life and took nothing out for herself. And because she'd prematurely aged with the constant struggle, that piece of shit Jim Irwin was shagging some other woman; how's that for a punch in the mouth for any wife? She never mentioned it though, kept it all inside. She never complained
about her health either, though she had asthma and related problems. She just suffered in silence in case it upset us all.

A bit later she was taken into Hackney Hospital for a check-up and a bit of a rest. Then, one night, I got a call from the hospital that the doctor wanted an urgent word. I flew up there, but before I could see Mum the doctor took me to one side and said, ‘Mr McLean, your mother's a very sick woman.'

I said, ‘Well, do an operation or something.'

He just shook his head. ‘I'm sorry, it's gone beyond anything we can do.'

I couldn't take it in – he was making a mistake. ‘How many years are you talking about – two, three?' I was shaking him now.

To give him his due, he wasn't just a white coat. He looked upset himself when he said, ‘I'm afraid we're not talking in years, but in hours.'

Hours, oh no. Please, God in heaven, don't let this happen.

I couldn't face her straight away. A nurse got me a cup of tea and chatted to me until I got my strength back. Then she took me into Mum. She lay in the bed and there was nothing of her. For a second, my heart stopped. I thought she was already gone. But when I whispered, ‘Wake up, Mum, it's Lenny,' she opened her eyes I saw a look pass across her face, then she took my hand and said, ‘I thought you was your dad.' I cuddled her as gently as I could and we both broke down.

In a way, I was lucky. Not to lose my mum, but that we had the chance to talk before the end. She told me not to feel sad for her because she was going to see her Lenny again, my dad. She said, ‘You know, I never loved anyone else all my life but that man,' and she was sorry for all the trouble Jim Irwin had caused. I shouldn't have come out with it at a time like that but I couldn't help it.

‘Mum, I'm going to kill that man stone dead for what he's done to you and us.' But she made me promise never to hurt him. How could anyone be so forgiving? I said, ‘Please, mum, don't make me say it,' but she held both my hands, looked straight in my eyes and said, ‘Do it for me, not for his sake, for me. Just promise.' So I did. That lovely, lovely woman was thinking of someone else right to the end.

The doctor was right. My mum slipped away before morning. I'd never known pain like I felt then. I felt empty. I'd lost my mum. I felt I'd lost everything. I had to fight against the hate that was always inside me in case I broke my promise even before she reached heaven. How could God let all those people live until 80 and 90, but take my dad at 28 and mum at 42? There couldn't be a God.

Eventually, all the family turned up except Barry; he hadn't come from Australia yet. Lorraine was back from America by then. We were all upset and crying. Even Jim Irwin broke down, and for a moment I felt sorry for him. Mum never loved him properly, but yeah, I think he loved her in his own way and now he was broken up. But the feeling passed when he tried to give me a cuddle and the hatred flared back up. I made a bit of a scene. I couldn't believe this man who'd never been anything but a fucking horrible beast.

‘Lenny, son, we've all got to stick together as a family now that Rosie's gone.'

I just shoved him away. I marked his card. I said, ‘Listen, you mug. I've just lost my best friend, someone I loved more than life itself. The only reason I'm not hurting you right now is because I promised her on her death bed that I wouldn't hurt you,' and while I talked I poked him in the chest. ‘You've never been worth nothing to us. We've all hated you because you're a gutless, child-beating bastard. Mum never loved you either … she just took you on to pay the rent. Now the best thing you can do is fuck off and leave us in peace, because every time I look at you I want to knock you spark out.' I suppose I was out of order causing a row, but he made the hate spill out of me. And while I ranted, this great big bullying giant, who had battered me unconscious so many times, stood with his head hanging down, crying like a baby, with tears running down his face.

Mum was cremated at Finchley and not long after the funeral Jim Irwin packed his gear and all Mum's jewellery, and moved in with a relation of Mum's in Hertfordshire. He took little Sherry with him and the idea was that they were going to be lodgers for a while. This relation was a widow, and perhaps she needed a bit of extra rent money. But not long after they were married. And I thought, ‘What a liberty!' I didn't blame my aunt, but that fat git treated my mum bad and wore her out with worry, then when she died he started on her sister. I didn't like it, but it was nothing to do with me.