Read Online Skinhead by Richard Allen - Free Book Online

tough, sinewy, an unfrozen offering to nauseate a gourmet, and that the potatoes were a day old and reheated. None of them paid any attention to the tinned peas and the way they came up in solid balls. And even the cheese passed their non-inspection although it smelt to high heaven and had mould on the edges. As for the biscuits the least said about them the better.
    Only one item on the menu passed for what it said – the tea. It was hot, fresh, sweet.
    â€œLike it?” the owner asked with a secret smile as Joe again withdrew his cash.
    â€œNot bad!”
    Money exchanged hands – an exorbitant amount duly paid without a query.
    As the mob trooped from the caff, the owner laughed and muttered to himself, “Bleedin’ fools!” Then leaving just enough change in the till, he folded his notes, placed them in a paper bag, put that inside an open packet of Tate & Lyle sugar and left it in plain sight on a shelf. Ringing up NO SALE he removed five shillings, put in a seven-sided atrocity which decimalisation had decided to thrust upon an unwilling public and helped himself to a packet of Everest cigarettes. As he lit one he watched the mob stagger down the front, the wind in their faces. “Bleedin’ fools!” he said aloud and blew a smoke ring with expert ease...
    â€œI feel full up,” Don bucked the steadily rising gale, the remains of his meal resting like lead balls in his stomach.
    â€œLet’s have a few beers, Joe,” Tony suggested.
    â€œYeah, that’s an idea,” Billy agreed.
    Joe cut around the bus depot and past the dolphin statue. He knew a large pub where they could get served without the fuzz noticing they were in town. It made him feel good to exhibit himself in a conspicuous place like the pub he had in mind. Almost like those Western movies he avidly watched on the goggle-box. He pictured himself as the villain going into a strange town, ready to meet any challenge, prepared to face up to the marshall.
    â€œChrist!” Billy examined the pub’s interior with awe. He was used to East End establishments with their smaller bars, their dinginess. He hadn’t expected Joe to select such an opulent tavern. He had never before seen such grandeur – unless one counted the time his school paid a visit to Hampton Court Palace. He had been seven then and his memory could still conjure up images of the vastness of those rooms, the armorial bearings and the instruments of torment with which the ancient men attacked their foes.
    Joe stalked to the bar giving the snooty barmaid a wink and getting a haughty look in return. He knew the score – his kind were unwelcome in these hallowed precincts. But he didn’t flinch. He ordered beer, flashed a fiver, and waited for the slow service which said more than any retort could have.
    A log fire burned in a huge hearth, expensively dressed people chatted quietly and, across the room two young birds got their heads together and their legs further apart as Joe’s mob swilled their beer.
    â€œl can see ’er knickers,” Don enthused.
    â€œBloody hell... ’er mate ain’t wearin’ any.” Billy almost jumped from his seat, only to have Joe restrain him.
    â€œNot in ’ere,” Joe snarled.
    â€œBut, Joe... she’s...”
    â€œI said...”
    â€œOkay, Joe!” Billy controlled himself, refusing to take his eyes from the delightful view of the girl with her thighs spread wide apart.
    â€œI’d like to start a fight in ’ere,” Don remarked with relish.
    â€œMe too,” Tony chipped in.
    â€œI’d like to fuck that bird!” Billy said eagerly.
    Joe scowled, finished his brew. “Let’s find the hippies.”
    â€œNaw, let’s have another...”
    Joe turned on Billy. “I said – let’s go!”
    Billy drank his beer, wiped his lips, leered at the girls and followed Joe from the pub. On the street he glanced