Go Call The Vigilante...

Andy Rivers

Rob Lawrence knew he’d had a crap upbringing. He wasn’t stupid like people thought he was either, despite not going to school since he was thirteen years old. He knew for instance that a five pound bet on a five to two shot would give you twelve pound fifty plus your stake back. He knew that screaming about your human rights whilst under arrest would usually get you out of the nick fairly quickly or at worse a telling off and a slapped wrist. He knew that working forty to fifty hours a week for shit money was a lot harder than burgling houses, particularly ones he could be in and out of in ten minutes, and he knew for an absolute fact that even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, he couldn’t cross the mighty Falcus and stop working for him or he’d be on the end of a savage beating, maybe even death. He knew as well that his granny worried about him, she told him all the time so it was an easy one to work out. He often went to hers for food as there was usually no one about in his house; his dad was still inside and his mam, well, if she wasn’t ‘entertaining’ then she was in the boozer spending her commission on her previous night’s ‘work’.

He loved going to his granny’s house though, the heating was always on, it was always clean, she loved seeing him and made a big fuss of him which felt good and, above all, she always had a fridge groaning with food as she worked at Iceland and got a big discount. Walking along the top road back into the estate he patted his stomach contentedly, it was class going to granny’s, it was even worth listening to her going on about him going back to school or learning a trade.

“No trades about now Gran.” He’d said through a mouthful of Alabama Mud pie.

“You need an education though son,” she’d replied, “or you’ll end up with nowt and working in a dead end job. No prospects, nothing. Look at me and Vi, still working at our age when we should be putting our feet up”

Rob had thought on this and quietly decided that his granny was past it and not really in touch with modern life. He didn’t need a job at all, the social would happily give him money for the rest of his life, give him a house, pay his rent and throw money at him for all the kids he would knock out via which ever fat slapper he got caught by first; add that to the money he would be making himself by screwing houses and he was in easy street. Fuck getting up at six o clock every morning to get a bus in the rain to a grimy horrible shitehole where the bosses treated you like a cunt; he’d heard enough about that from his granddad, god rest his soul, when he’d been alive. Thirty years down the pit, man and boy, then that horrible politician bird had taken over the country and they were all out of work just like that. She made sure the southern bastards were all right but hadn’t given a fuck about people like granddad, on the scrapheap in his fifties and he couldn’t get work anywhere. His dad had told him that’s what killed granddad in the end, shame at being unable to support the family and having to send his wife out to work. Rob hoped that politician bitch died in pain, the same way granddad did out in the corridor of the hospital. His dad had told him that’s why he never bothered working, they just got rid of you in the end when you were knackered and old and gave you fuck all. His granny still had to work now at the age of sixty cos her pension wasn’t worth a light. Rob read the papers as well, he knew that the posh bastards in suits ripped pensions off left, right and centre leaving nowt for the ordinary people. Nah fuck working, that’s a mugs game.

He didn’t say any of this to his granny though, she had after all just fed and pumped endless cups of tea into him so he kept his mouth shut, it was only now as he wandered home through the estate that he wondered about how different his life was from granddads at his age.

‘That poor old bastard would have been underground now choking on coal dust for about twenty pence a day.’

Shivering slightly at the thought he scraped his brand new trainers against a kerb to make them look a bit more dated; new ones looked shit so you had to scratch them up a bit or everyone took the piss and you looked shan. Then, looking up from his trainers he noticed it, the previously empty house at the end had curtains up and an upstairs window was open. The music blasting out of the house suggested someone was in at present but that wasn’t a problem to Rob, he was a very patient boy.

‘New neighbours eh? Only polite to say hello.’ He thought as he turned to head for home.