Read Online Skinhead by Richard Allen - Free Book Online Page B

only eighteen but she had had enough experience fighting off those who wished to destroy them. She had taken part in practically every demonstration in Grosvenor Square, been arrested sixteen times for obstruction or disturbing the peace and, always without exception, had the Welfare State pay her fine. She had had two abortions on the State, been in receipt of a student grant until she tired of her fellow students using her as a physical oil-change. Since meeting Roger she had wandered from one end of the country to another, sleeping rough, eating when they could, stealing a little here and there to pay for pot and, when they found a sympathetic Civil Servant, begging a pitiful sum from the tax payers to let them continue the anti-social life they insisted was right.
    She was a pretty girl beneath the grime of their outdoor existence; a girl with a high I.Q. gone to “pot”. She liked calling herself that. It amused her to watch intelligent faces light up and acknowledge her witticism.
    â€œCherry’s right, Rog,” Joel Standish said calmly. His American accent bit into the wind. “They’re coming after us!” For himself, he didn’t give a goddam what happened. He was sick and needed hospitalization anyway. His ulcers were reaching danger point. In a way, he’d welcome a beating and deportation. He could think of better places to go hippie than England. He thought about California and the communes; about the searing head of Death Valley and the wild life the likes of a Manson could have there. He thought about orgies where the girls were all naked and the pot was freshly imported from Mexico and the desert sun beat down to provide a love nest of shifting hot sand.
    Then, suddenly, he thought about his draft dodging and how they’d grab him and toss him into a hoosegow once he set foot in Uncle Sam’s land. Fear clogged his nostrils. “Let’s get the hell away from here, Rog,” he yelled, turning to run.
    â€œNo...”
    Roger was too late. The moment Joel turned tail, Joe and his mob broke into a run.
    Cherry screamed, threw herself over a low fence and rolled down the incline, her sleeping bag denting her soft side as she rolled over and over.
    He couldn’t tell it was a girl trying to escape. He jumped the fence, slithered down the steep incline and landed on top of her as she sprawled on the pebble beach. His tool rose ready to smash down on the unprotected head until he saw her face.
    Slowly, he lowered his hand, ripped her duffle coat open and felt for her breasts.
    â€œYou bastard!” she screamed up at him.
    Billy felt the old urge return as he squeezed soft yielding flesh. His hand worked inside her jeans down... down, until he felt her pubic hair. “Christ, I’m goin’ to rape you,” he mouthed.
    Cherry fought. She didn’t mind the act itself but she objected to being used in plain sight of these animals. His hand was hurting her, his fingers exploring without regard for the tenderness of her body. Her fist smashed into his face... into the damage of last night. He yelled, his tool catching her a hard blow above the eye. She slumped dazed, shocked, unable to resist his frantic attempts to rip her jeans off.
    Joe felt his boot sink deep into the tall one’s groin. He lashed out again, catching the other under the chin as he sank to the ground, hands clutching the injured parts. Like an automaton, Joe kept kicking... each blow bringing him greatest satisfaction as the moans of hurt rose above the screaming wind. He didn’t care if he killed the hippie or not. He wanted to hurt... to rid himself of the feeling within his chest; a feeling bordering on murderous rage.
    Don laughed, slammed his shortened axe handle almost down the hippie’s throat as the man valiantly tried to resist. It was easy, Don thought, kicking his opponent in the balls, listening to the rapturous sigh, the explosive groan. He hit the falling hippie