Gangster Stuff / Dreams - Part One

GANGSTER STUFF / DREAMS - PART ONE


INTRO


“Fuck you and fuck the Diaz brothers, what have they ever done for us?” Ross and Lees young brains soaked up every glorious line of dialogue as they sat and watched Al Pacino spit bullets into the American dream. It was Saturday afternoon, a long shift on a milk round had finally finished and Ross and Lee had been released from their arduous duties. A few weeks before, the pair had subsequently acquired positions as ‘Milk Boys’ after a salacious Milkman (we shall call ‘Mike’) had asked through certain lonely mothers if any of their youngsters were seeking possible employment with the probability of making some extra pocket money before Christmas festivities kicked off. The only problem with that, Christmas in London is fucking cold and savvy youngsters did not put their own names up for such duties. Unfortunately for Ross and Lee mums were only interested in getting lay-about teenagers out from under tired feet and of houses for a bit, weather reports were secondary. Maybe, just maybe, the chosen youngsters might also be able to earn a few quid and would then be in a position to purchase their own bloody trainers. After managing to coax Ross’ mum and Ross’ mum coaxing Lee’s mother, a proposal was soon nodded and agreed to. Welcoming smiles were exchanged and a new partnership ensued. Ross and Lee were not happy being out of the equation and it was a shame that their just broken voices were not heard. Unfortunately for them, milkman ‘Mikes’ was both mums were delighted and for about six weeks now both of them had found themselves working their nuts off every freezing Saturday, and always early-fucking-beat to-boot!

From Lee’s 14in colour television, Frank Lopez screamed for ’Elvira!’ and from the downstairs hallway Lee’s mum shouted up the stairs ‘Turn that bloody racket down!’ Lee, from behind the safe knowledge of his bedroom door, stuck his two fingers up ‘Ok mum’. Ross missed the gesture and sucked deeply on a caked joint. Slowly inhaling iridescent that smoke he sat engrossed in the global dream. Almost choking, he ordered Lee to ‘Rewind it, I wana see Frank tell Tony’. After twenty seconds of rewinding, Lee alighted upon the required scene ‘Turn it up, this is the bit when Frank says “Your fucking right I’m gonna do something” Doing his best to mimic a heavy accent, Ross did his worst and sent Lee into fits of laughter. Recovering from their kink, they sat and watched the rest of the movie in-between shotguns, giggles and loose 3–papers. Credits rolled and the debate began as it did every Saturday or after every viewing of a worn VHS copy of Brian De Palma’s ‘Scarface’ and as usual Ross was first to give his critique ‘Tony fucked it up mate. There’s no fucking way I would have let it get to that’ Ever the sound of reason, Lee gave the usual response, instantly dismissed by an animated Ross ‘Your such a girl! We could be doing that shit, I told ya before. All this milk-round bollocks, we could earn some real fucking money’ Ross had indeed told Lee of far fetched ventures that would reap rewards on many a Saturday afternoon and probably wind the two up into some real strife. As the credits finally rolled after one hundred and seventy minutes or so of drama, Ross was still in rant ‘What you laughing for you gills, all we gotta do, I told ya before, see Mickey down the Finca and fuck all this milk-round shit’ Stabbing a heavy button, Lee ejected Mr Montana and encased him for another week. ‘Stop talking bollocks and skin up. UB40?’ Ross agreed ‘Whatever Trevor! Bit’ a Love is…’ A snap, crackle and pop and Ali Campbell’s dulcet tones cut through Ross and out through open windows into a long crisp afternoon. The rattling of the room’s window frames seemed to be the final straw and “Johnny Too Bad” was cut down in his prime. The bass could longer hide anymore. Lee’s mum banging the ceiling from below convinced all present it was time to wind up proceedings. With a dash of Kuoros, Aramis and a mirror check, hard earned money headed out for another night in the metropolis. As they headed into the kitchen the questions flew ‘What time are you gona be home?’ and ‘Where are you going?’ “Well if we’re going be honest, down the local boozer is where we’re going and fuck knows when we’ll be home, see how we go” This was said internally you understand, he wasn’t too big for a good clip round the earhole just yet. ‘Dunno mum, wont be too late’ looking at Ross, being the eldest of the two, Lee’s mother instructed him to orchestrate good behaviour ‘Of course Mrs Briggs, we will don’t worry’.

£30, which included small milky tips, bopped and jangled in the back pockets of 501’s as Lee and Ross made their way down a long Kennington Lane, after twenty minutes of trudging they were rewarded and finally alighted at the bar of The Finca, a swanky tapas bar. The Finca was always packed on another Saturday night and as always full of pretty birds, weekend gangsters and cocaine fuelled numbty’s, just the place for impressionable youngsters with money to burn. A perfect setting in which to spend a quiet eve! Two Uri Geller’s were ordered and quickly arrived in cold pint glasses, sips were exchanged ‘Cheers big ears’ It should be a good night, the place was rammed to the hilt, and the salts never failed to disappoint. Another sip was supped and they both smiled at each other. To a Fourteen and Fifteen year old, being in the Finca was a right result, usually the bar staff would cotton and refuse to serve them and maybe lodge them out into the street, nicely of course. It wasn’t that sort of boozer. The Finca had a bit of jazz about it. Anyway, after working nearly ten hours on a fucking uncomfortable milk-float and probably been party to the delivery of some six hundred assorted cold bottle tops which by the way had been planted on ice cold doorsteps, in spidery cubby holes or into the sleepy hands of expectant early risers, Ross and Lee thought they deserved a nice cold one or two. Getting paid a £6.50 plus tips salary, working nearly ten solid hours a week for that dubious privilege and having numb fingers was cause for some celebration. Now that fingers had thawed, the cold set on again as Ross ordered the second of the night ‘Slow down, we’ve only been here ten minutes you pisshead’ Unperturbed, Ross paid for the drinks and asked the barman ‘Where’s the snout machine mate?’ Upon receiving directions, Ross cut a swathe through the atmosphere, leaving Lee to fend for himself and be pretty much bang on offer in an adult world.

Coping well and saying hello to various bods including, Maccy, Whitey, Alfie Matthews, Darren and Danny Evans certainly helped pass the time, Lee settled down and even managed to get a peck on the cheek from Billy Smith’s sister, Janice before Ross whose own cheeks beamed as his sidestepped his way back to sanctuary. ‘Wana a snout, I got bundles. Did you just see Janice? What a fucking tool!’ Lee had of course seen and had smelt Janice ‘Yeah, she passed by, said hello and that’ Not believing a word, Ross said as much ‘Bollocks, your talking out your ass. Why did she say hello to a donut like you?’ Lee had no idea why Janice had singled him out, but he was fucking delighted. ‘Fuck knows mate, she bowled up and gave me a kiss’. Janice was deemed off limits as she was entwined in the blood of Billy Smith and a very vicious family tree which was enough to put pay to amorous advances from all angles, let alone a fourteen year old charlatan. Ross was in shock, but before he could voice his second opinion, Billy Smith tapped Lee on the shoulder. The look in Ross’s eye was enough to tell Lee this wasn’t one of the bar workers asking if he had finished his pint. Lee reluctantly turned as Billy Smith introduced himself and welcomed them both into the folds of strange people and lush rear booths. Overlooking the expanse of a wired and mellow environment the two teenagers lapped at grandiose, birds, champers and pucker tunes. Later on, they would become privy to the floaty world of the caustic bit of gear Billy Smith had managed to have wrapped around him. After two and a half hours of debauchery and clumsily tooting mountainous lines, novice nasal passages burned as the bars lights dimmed and signalled the end of another cold Saturday night. On the way out Lee was granted another peck on a warm cheek as a tipsy Janice sparkled in the dull light. Lee was smitten seconds later and watched her wiggle out and disappeared into the night. Billy smith nudged the reverie ‘Tell your brother I said hello.’ Hardly able to talk, Lee said ‘Will do Bill’

Leaving the blood red scheme of The Finca and a kipper ten minute bowl later, Ross and Lee would normally now have parted ways at the entrance of Glenny Road and head on home. Tonight, they had a pass and Lee was on a late one under strict conditions. Those conditions being, he was tucked up snugly before mid-night in the safety of Ross’ bedroom. Oops! It was already one in the morning and the night was young, bollocks to a pokey box room. With roughly a tenner and some smash left in the tanks more could be had. Ross had managed to pry some knowledge from a slurry Mich back at The Finca that ‘Whatsisface’ in the flats had a do on the go and she would meet him down there later if he wanted. Ross wanted, and after telling Lee that Janice would ‘Definitely be there mate!’ it was all that was needed for immediate navigation to the flats. Another five minutes of head down shifting and they were fighting through bodies strewn on stairwells, eventually alighting at the opened front door of 32 Suggs Place. The hum of b-line from Frankie Knuckles’ and his ‘Tears’ greeted all who entered. Making way to the buzzing kitchen, Ross secured two tins of some cheap piss happening on one of the chaotic worktops, a glug later and they were comfy. Ross drained can number one, and offered number two with a smile ‘I’m gona find Mich’ accepting the can, Lee watched as Ross bopped against so many ‘Tears’ and carved his way into the living room and disappeared out of French doors into a landscaped rooftop garden. Amazing really, there was frost on the fucking flowers and low-cut tops matched every crystal! Ross enjoyed the view as he crushed fake grass. In the kitchen, Janice caught Lee’s eye as she glanced by the door. At the same time, Ross found Mich thicker than ever in a frosty corner and went for the kill, back in the kitchen Lee fought with butterflies and the stubborn ring-pull of can number two as Janice introduced herself in the usual way. This time Lee swore her eyelashes brushed. Before any small talk could ensue, Billy Smith made entrance with Norfolk, Fisher and Alfie Matthews and some other geezer Lee had never seen before which pretty much put pay to any chance of getting on the firm with a glowing Janice. Ross arrived just in time with a tipsy Mich in-tow to a packed kitchen in the middle of introductions, and tried hard ‘Hello Mr Smith’ a cursory acknowledgement and Mr Billy Smith shook numerous hands and moved past clasping Lees shoulder as he guided him toward a sequestered bedroom, now making a temporary ‘V.I.P’ lounge. Ross followed on the heels and saw bowed heads exiting as he passed on through and found himself a precarious bean bag plot next to Lee.

It was about an hour or so later when Mickey White popped his head into the makeshift ‘Chill-Out’ room and caught Billy’s greeting from a dark corner. Waving Mickey and his party into an already packed space, Billy pointed to flashing figures and introductions began, lines, lugs’ and tunes followed. Time passed, foundations rocked and the crammed room bumped shoulders and knees in unison for two more hours. It was almost three in the morning before stoned bodies began whatever exodus they had into a nipping night. As that tick-tock of three struck, Lee gave a subtle elbow into the ribs of a smitten Ross, Michelle had been generous and was too cloudy to realise she was now being swerved and laid to rest for the evening on a crunched bean bag, as her shining amour relinquished any responsibility with escape. Lee was not so fortunate, Janice noticed his intention and nuzzled deeper, Lee slightly horrified, met Billy’s eyes; luckily they shined back accepting his predicament. Gently and respectfully watched, Lee placed a limp Janice into the nape of Michelle and headed quietly over chilled limbs, ashtrays and assorted shadows as the gentle bass from ‘Tricky’ and ‘You Don’t’ soothed many nerves. Rocking quietly they made their exit into two below zero. Hands in pockets and in-between short breaths and an occasional ‘Fuck me, its kipper!’ observations, Ross and Lee made the crisp walk through Kennington streets and managed to overcome the prongs of park fences, traversed a desolate main road, briskly fought the horrors and shadows of St Mark’s Church. Once past the eerie Cryptic quiet shadows and blended into the amber light of the Oval train station. It was silently agreed, they were almost tucked up in the safety of Ross’ bedroom. Stoned minds skinning up big joints, dry fluffy tongues almost tasting that plugged up cold bottle of Thunderbirds in the fridge and the anticipated b-line from a bit of UB40, imminent. Along with those notions and the sight of the old bill slowly cruising on by, they quickened their step. One hundreds yards up the road, the panda car did a u-turn at red traffic lights and with a roar of V8 their suspicious minds just caught the silhouettes of Ross and Lee disappear into the mouth of Anuder Place.

Number thirteen stood silent as Ross stabbed at the doors Yale lock, several attempts with giggled shoulders and they were in. Luckily Ross’ old man as usual had said that he ‘’Will be down The Fent for most of the night son, if you need me give John a bell. I’ll prob be home in the morning’ Ross was delighted. Such information now gave a free rein to some music and none of that anxiety of wanting to pump some tunes, but knowing you’re really taking major fucking liberties and should know better. Any thoughts of responsibility and such considerations faded with the illumination of necessary rooms and the quick procurement of that wanton one litre ice cold bottle. The thawing pair continued with sloshing glasses up the stairs into comfort. With a few room adjustments and a shaky needle placement, UB40 crackled, popped and sang of ‘Seasons’. King-size were rolled. Ross, almost forgetting to say that he had managed to tape Genesis live at Knebworth off Sky and that they should ‘Fuck UB40 Off!’ and have a watch of that instead. Bass resonating through two 15” Jamo speakers interrupted Lee’s train of thought and shorted his sticky fingers applying finishing touches to a caked cocktail, grasping tips and a tongue flick later and he was out of trouble. Lee didn’t argue ‘Whatever mate, Phil’s always good’. Before his input could be digested the videos piano play button had been depressed and for the next hour or so Phil and the lads were indeed, very fucking good! In-between songs any talk soon turned into insights of wet fingers and milestones. By the sounds of it, Ross had had the lions share ‘You mean you never even reefed her up?’ Lee, ever the gent ‘I wanted to, but her brother was bang on me’ Ross was gutted ‘I’m gutted for ya mate! Still never mind have a whiff of that’ and stuffed several fingers into the vicinity of Lee’s hooter ‘Piss off you tramp! Pass the bottle you mackerel, anyway forget the birds and skin up you slippery cunt’ After laughing his bollocks off, Ross began a report that lasted twenty minutes and pretty much concluded the evening with ‘She was lagging mate, I could’ve rumped her, but I never!’ Phil and the lads from Birmingham played for a bit more before euphoria turned to dust and lights were dimmed. Luckily, dawn was approaching and just another night in a kipper and crisp London town was over.





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