Once, Teddy had been respected - feared even. Since the hammering he had received at Eamonn’s hands, he had not been seen or heard of anywhere in the Smoke. Even the older villains gave Eamonn his due, impressed with this young boy, this fighter. Seeing themselves in him when young.
This was duly noted and gave him a mystique which Eamonn used shamelessly for his own ends.
There was one drawback to all this, however: every firm with dreams of the big time wanted to be the one to hammer Eamonn Docherty, therefore acquiring his reputation by default. Eamonn knew this and it was why he was so adamant about getting this South London firm put away once and for all. All in the name of poor Harry, of course.
If he pulled this one off, his entry into the real London gangs was assured. He was just sixteen years old.
He began passing out the weapons they had stashed away for such occasions. Putting his bicycle chain around his neck and his cosh down the back of his trousers, he pulled from his jacket a small handgun, ostentatiously checking it for ammunition.
The other boys all stared at him in awe.
‘Where the fuck did you get that?’
Eamonn grinned. ‘It was me old man’s. Let’s just say I borrowed it.’
Titchy’s eyes were round and staring. ‘Surely you’re not going to use it?’ His voice was high, scared-sounding, and Eamonn loved it.
Looking around him at the fourteen-strong gang he had been leading for the past few years, he shook his head.
‘Anyone who can’t handle it had better fuck off now, I ain’t playing kids’ games tonight. Harry Clark is lying in the Old London battered to fuck. Tonight we avenge him, and we go down in London history.’
He smiled at them all, a chilling sight.
‘South London get their comeuppance, and we become the number ones. Within a week we’ll all be on a wage with the big boys. Who needs the docks, eh, when we can pull in big money for doing what we like best? Kicking people’s heads in.’
Titchy laughed nervously. ‘You’re a fucking nutter!’
Eamonn Junior grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you!’
Everyone laughed, but the sound was tinged with hysteria. Tonight wasn’t just a rumble. Tonight they were going to be blooded - whether they liked it or not.
Eamonn had always had the edge, and each and every one of them knew it. There was no turning back now.
Chapter Four
‘Hello, Cathy love. I see your woman going out done up to the nines. In on your own again the night?’
Mrs Fowler’s voice was kind, and Cathy stood in the lobby to the flats and smiled at the old woman.
‘Yes, I’m on me own tonight, Mrs Fowler. And believe me, with my mother that’s a Godsend at times!’
‘She’s a bleeding case, her,’ the old lady said comfortably. ‘Still, as I always say, each to their own, girl. If you fancy a cuppa later, give me a knock, all right?’
Cathy nodded and took the stairs two at a time, her kitten-heeled shoes clattering all the way up to the second floor. Some people were nice, really nice.
Pulling the key through the letter box on its piece of string, she opened the front door. The worn paint and scarred surface were unchanged from the day they’d first walked in here.
Cathy stepped into the seedy flat. Slipping out of her coat, she looked around her in dismay. Madge had once more completely trashed the tiny kitchen and living room in her hurry to get out to work.
The worn horsehair sofa was covered with sequinned dresses and discarded stockings, most with ladders or badly repaired holes. The floor was littered with shoes and handbags, strewn everywhere, left for her to tidy up.
Walking into the kitchen, she groaned. Make-up in various stages of decay covered all the surfaces. Spit-covered mascara brushes were scattered over the table next to dirty dishes. Exotic blushers were everywhere and gaudy cream eyeshadows were left, minus their lids, by the overflowing ashtray.
Putting on the kettle, Cathy began
This was duly noted and gave him a mystique which Eamonn used shamelessly for his own ends.
There was one drawback to all this, however: every firm with dreams of the big time wanted to be the one to hammer Eamonn Docherty, therefore acquiring his reputation by default. Eamonn knew this and it was why he was so adamant about getting this South London firm put away once and for all. All in the name of poor Harry, of course.
If he pulled this one off, his entry into the real London gangs was assured. He was just sixteen years old.
He began passing out the weapons they had stashed away for such occasions. Putting his bicycle chain around his neck and his cosh down the back of his trousers, he pulled from his jacket a small handgun, ostentatiously checking it for ammunition.
The other boys all stared at him in awe.
‘Where the fuck did you get that?’
Eamonn grinned. ‘It was me old man’s. Let’s just say I borrowed it.’
Titchy’s eyes were round and staring. ‘Surely you’re not going to use it?’ His voice was high, scared-sounding, and Eamonn loved it.
Looking around him at the fourteen-strong gang he had been leading for the past few years, he shook his head.
‘Anyone who can’t handle it had better fuck off now, I ain’t playing kids’ games tonight. Harry Clark is lying in the Old London battered to fuck. Tonight we avenge him, and we go down in London history.’
He smiled at them all, a chilling sight.
‘South London get their comeuppance, and we become the number ones. Within a week we’ll all be on a wage with the big boys. Who needs the docks, eh, when we can pull in big money for doing what we like best? Kicking people’s heads in.’
Titchy laughed nervously. ‘You’re a fucking nutter!’
Eamonn Junior grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you!’
Everyone laughed, but the sound was tinged with hysteria. Tonight wasn’t just a rumble. Tonight they were going to be blooded - whether they liked it or not.
Eamonn had always had the edge, and each and every one of them knew it. There was no turning back now.
Chapter Four
‘Hello, Cathy love. I see your woman going out done up to the nines. In on your own again the night?’
Mrs Fowler’s voice was kind, and Cathy stood in the lobby to the flats and smiled at the old woman.
‘Yes, I’m on me own tonight, Mrs Fowler. And believe me, with my mother that’s a Godsend at times!’
‘She’s a bleeding case, her,’ the old lady said comfortably. ‘Still, as I always say, each to their own, girl. If you fancy a cuppa later, give me a knock, all right?’
Cathy nodded and took the stairs two at a time, her kitten-heeled shoes clattering all the way up to the second floor. Some people were nice, really nice.
Pulling the key through the letter box on its piece of string, she opened the front door. The worn paint and scarred surface were unchanged from the day they’d first walked in here.
Cathy stepped into the seedy flat. Slipping out of her coat, she looked around her in dismay. Madge had once more completely trashed the tiny kitchen and living room in her hurry to get out to work.
The worn horsehair sofa was covered with sequinned dresses and discarded stockings, most with ladders or badly repaired holes. The floor was littered with shoes and handbags, strewn everywhere, left for her to tidy up.
Walking into the kitchen, she groaned. Make-up in various stages of decay covered all the surfaces. Spit-covered mascara brushes were scattered over the table next to dirty dishes. Exotic blushers were everywhere and gaudy cream eyeshadows were left, minus their lids, by the overflowing ashtray.
Putting on the kettle, Cathy began
Similar Books
