Revenge Inc.

Part One

Jimmy Was A Good Boy

I’m going to tell you a story now. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. This particular story’s about a lad I used to know named Jimmy.

Jimmy was a good boy, that’s what me mam said. Why can’t you be like Jimmy Mowbray? Look at Jimmy from over the road with his clean face, tidy hair and nice clothes. Why can’t you be like him? Jimmy this, Jimmy that, it was no wonder I had it in for him.

Looking back I could see the old dears’ point, I mean I’d turn up after being out all day when the street lights were coming on with the knees out of me jeans, a bruise on me head and, usually, a tale of woe regarding the neighbours to tell. Jimmy never left the house without his parents and even then it was probably to go to church or something. We used to call for him in the early days when they first moved into Mrs Guthrie’s old house. That was before we realised he was some sort of swotty hermit. Just thought he was maybe shy and me mam said I should be nice to the new people as they’d obviously had their circumstances reduced and were struggling with the change. Had a big smile on her face when she said it mind you, don’t know what that was for.

So we’d bang on his door, bouncing a football on the path outside the garden and when his dad answered we’d all ask in unison if he was coming out. His dad was always dressed up to the nines, even on a Saturday afternoon, full suit and tie just to sit in the house. My dad would finish his shift at the factory on a Saturday, open a bottle of ale and sit in his pants and vest listening to the football on the radio – I don’t think he even owned a suit. Mr. Mowbray would answer the door and just look us up and down before shutting it again without answering. Used to sometimes see Jimmy staring at us out of an upstairs window as we went marauding off to the field. He always had the full shirt and tie thing going on as well.

This weirdness couldn’t go unpunished on our estate and I finally snapped one wet Monday morning after I’d slept in for school and was ramming my breakfast down while panicking about the homework I hadn’t done for English.  Old Furey was a right bastard and would definitely give me the ruler. Then she said it.

‘Why can’t you be more like Jimmy over the road? Look he’s ready a good half-hour before he needs to be.’

I followed her gaze to the Mowbray’s front room across the street where the little goody-two-shoes was gazing out of the window in full school uniform and not a hair out of place. He obviously hadn’t been up until two reading comics.

Then, without warning, she clouted the side of my head and shrieked.

‘For God’s sake, you’ve slopped cereal down your shirt now!’

It was pointless telling her that if she hadn’t made me look over at little lord Fauntleroy in the first place then I wouldn’t have missed my mouth but it did nothing to calm the antagonism that was slowly rising in my chest. I said nothing, picked up my stuff and ran to the bus-stop. Luckily, I just caught it and wouldn’t be late, unluckily the school top boy was on the back seat as I wandered up the stairs and I was soon in a head lock, being relieved of my dinner money and having swear words written on my books. Best days of your life eh?

I was in a right one when I got off and I saw him again. - Jimmy didn’t get the bus as his dad had a car and dropped him off. I’m surprised he even came to our school really but I suppose running a car and paying big school fees were two different things back then.

All I could hear in my head was ‘Why can’t you be more like Jimmy?’ and I was furious that this little runt should be escaping everything the estate threw at you, why should he be allowed to avoid everything?

***

I wasn’t a bully. I’d been on the receiving end of those dicks often enough so I certainly wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t one of the cool kids either, not a prospective football superstar or future champion fighter. I was just one of the middle-ground types, grey, could slip in and out classes without anyone really remembering I’d been there. Just tried to get through school as easily as possible without annoying those in authority, be they teachers or big lads.

For all that though I was pissed off at how easy Jimmy had it and I wanted to do something about it. Archie must have caught the look on my face as I glared at the little swot skipping in from daddy’s car.

‘Goody two shoes doing your head in again mate?’

I had just started to calm down when he said that. Brought me right back to the boil again.

‘Aye, who does he think he is swanning round like fucking owns the place?’

‘You ganna get him?’

‘I’m sure I’ll think of some way to bump into him Arch.’

A little wink and we were off to registration. I already had a plan.

Double games first. Ideal. It was with Mr. Hancock the psycho yorkshireman, it’d definitely be rugby and he always encouraged, expected even, some fucking vicious tackling.

I cranked it up a bit in the changing rooms by nudging against Jimmy and bouncing back against the wall.

‘Fuck’d you do that for Jimmy man?’

He just looked nonplussed. Continued getting changed without even answering.

‘Do you fucking want some then?’

He just looked at me confused. Then, slowly, recognition began to dawn. He’d been twatted and bullied from day one of starting here so he knew what was happening.

I’d actually lost interest in having a go at him anyway by now. My anger at this morning’s bollocking had all gone and, as I said, I was never a bully.

The look on his face had slid from surprise to a sad resignation, no fear at all though. I felt shit, like a proper wanker, and turned to just leave it there, resolving to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the lesson. I’d noticed the bruises on his back and, as he never went out, decided his home life must be shit enough without me adding to it here at school.

Then Archie got involved.

‘You want ya fucking goes with my mate eh Jimmy do ya eh?’

That gets everyone’s attention. Now I look a twat if don’t do anything and that takes me down the rankings which then leaves me at the mercy of the knuckle-headed fuckwits that specialise in picking on softies. Jimmy still has that resigned look on his face that says he isn’t bothered, he’s seen and heard it all before.

Everyone’s looking at me now, it’ll be all around school by break-time if I don’t do anything soon and I’ll have lost my lunch money about ten minutes after that. I mentally apologise, ask God for forgiveness and swing a half-hearted kick at his nuts. He goes down like a sack of tatties and I turn away shaking my head. Everyone loses interest, Archie slaps me on the back and I steal a look at Jimmy.

He’s not crying, just looking up at me, expressionless. I give him a half-smile and mouth ‘sorry’, he just nods.

Pulling my boots on I head for the field. I feel like the world’s worst wanker.

***

One day we were coming back from town as Dad had roped me into a last-minute shopping session to get me mam a present for her birthday. As usual that had turned into him having a pint or six while I waited outside the pub with a bag of crisps and various other abandoned lads. Coming back up the street he was swaying slightly and was in such a good mood that I’d already had double pocket money out of him so I was thinking of trying my luck for some chips when we walked past the Mowbray house and I glanced in. For once Mr Mowbray wasn’t wearing his suit. In fact, he wasn’t wearing anything. Neither was Jimmy.

I looked at my dad again to check if he could see what I just had but he was wobbling about and doing his best to stay upright, as I looked back I caught Jimmys’ eye just as his dad was shutting the curtains. He looked exactly as he had at school when I’d done him. Just…well…resigned to it all. Like this was simply another indignity to go through until he could be grown up and be rid of all this shit. It broke my fucking heart. Still does. When we got home I told my mam and dad what I’d saw and they went quiet. I thought they’d shout but they didn’t. Mam gave me a cuddle, so obviously I tried for the chips, shy bairns get nowt as they say and I wanted something to take my mind off Jimmy. Dad ruffled my hair with his big working mans hands and then went and got them without a second of protest. I could hear them talking in low voices when I went to bed but couldn’t hear what was said.

The next day Archie and Deka knocked on me with the ball and we were walking past Jimmys’ house when I thought ‘sod it’ and I knocked on the door. Mr Mowbray answered and I looked him straight in the eye and said ‘we want Jimmy to come out and play football.’

He looked different, not just the black eye and swollen mouth but his demeanour, like he suddenly knew he wasn’t actually better than us.  There were cases in the hall and Mrs Mowbray and Jimmy were nowhere to be seen. He just shook his head and shut the door.

When we came back that night my dad was waiting. I noticed he had fading grazes and scratches on his knuckles and he ruffled my hair again and said I could watch Minder with him if I was quick. That was great.

Never did see Jimmy again.

---

Two Weeks Ago – Keith

The Blade

‘How is he Mrs Barraclough?’

Maureen’s looking tired. Not surprising when her only son, my best mate, Archie is in intensive care after bumping into some drugged-up little arsehole with a blade.

‘He’s stable son, it’s the best we can hope for...and you know you don’t have to call me Mrs Barraclough it’s bloody Maureen!’

She aims a mock swipe at me head and we smile, it relieves the tension a bit. I’ve known Maureen and Davy, Archie’s dad, all me life. Davy and me dad were best mates, Maureen and me mam were best mates. They met, married, lived next door to each other and had two sons.

The owld fellas fell out during the miners’ strike but me and Archie didn’t. People used to call us the Likely Lads, sadly for me Archie was the one who got the lasses. He used to be fighting them off at school while I’d get the mate of the lucky one he deemed worthy of his time, used to see it in their eyes how disappointed they were to get second prize when I turned up. He was never shy about whether they were single or not either and we had some run ins with jealous boyfriends and protective big brothers over the years.

One memorable occasion there was even a raging fucking husband involved. I was knocking about the street ‘cos I knew he was on a promise and next thing I know is there’s loads of shouting and he’s jumping over garden walls in his undercrackers while a proper bloke...and I mean proper, comes steaming after him shouting something about ‘my fucking wife...’

He’s heading towards me with a pleading look in his eyes and I had to think quick, you don’t bring trouble to the door, that was drummed into all of us from birth so there was no running home and letting on where we lived, and at sixteen I wasn’t squaring up to this big fucker so with a sigh I stepped into Archies path.

His eyes widened as he tried to work out what I was doing but I gave him a wink and as he got close, I swung a punch, it was a shit one, designed to go over his head and as I did it I shouted ‘I’ve been looking for you Dennis you prick!’

Archie grinned as he ducked under and kept running while my momentum carried me into the path of the soft touch whose wife obviously had a thing for younger meat.

‘Fucks sake,’ I shouted as we bounced off each other and ended up on the floor. I made a big show of scrabbling to get up, ‘I’m ganna fucking do you Dennis’ I shouted at Archies disappearing back before turning accusingly at the bloke.

‘Is he a fucking mate of yours?’

The bloke looked nonplussed.

‘I was ganna ask you that kid. I want a strong fucking word with him meself!’

I made a show of exasperation and went to walk off, then looked back.

‘His name’s Dennis, if you get him before me then leave a little bit mate ‘cos I’m ganna stamp on his knackers me.’

The bloke nodded then heaved himself up and walked back the way he’d came.

He shouted me a couple of bottles of cider for that but to be honest I was more interested in the stories he told me about her.

Looking down at him in the hospital bed it broke my heart. He was just a mischievous lad at heart, no malice in him at all. Story was he’d been to see his old dear back on the estate and saw these three little pricks booting car wing mirrors off. He could have left it, Maureen doesn’t even have a car but he was brought up right, got morals and that. He shouted them to stop thinking they’d scarper but the fuckers turned round and marched right up to him.

Archie’s threw a punch at one of them and caught him, sent him to the floor, he’s a miners son after all but the main one’s pulled a blade out and started laughing saying he’s ganna shank him. The other two lads wanted nowt to do with it at that point and ran off but the blade merchant’s just laughing and half stabbing at him making Archie try to get out of the way.

Then there was a siren and a blue light and it probably would have ended at that but Archie slipped on a dog shit that some lazy, filthy fucking bastard couldn’t be bothered to pick up after their dog and the knife wielding prick took his chance then ran off. The bizzies knew who it was but couldn’t get him, the whole estate knew who it was within the hour and word had come back to me.

I’d been warned off though. The shitbag worked for One-Punch and was apparently one of his top salesmen. Business was everything to that family so I’d been told in no uncertain terms to keep out of it and being built like a racing snake I was hardly going to bother them boys. It felt like I was betraying my mate though. You grow up with your best pals thinking life’s like a western and you go into battle to fight the bad guys no matter how outnumbered you are. Looking at Maureen weeping over the bed I felt something more than rage come over me though, I felt calm. I’d spotted someone I vaguely knew by the coffee machine and I’d had an idea.

***

‘Alright mate, Ray isn’t it?’

He spins round, big fucker, handy looking. That’s why I’d picked him.

‘Who are you then?’

Fair question. Hand out I give him a smile.

‘Keith Blake, know you from round the estate mate.’

He shakes the hand, a vague look of recognition forming on his face.

‘Blakey the burglar aye?’

That’s me. A little bit well-known to those in the know for what I do, and if you were to need something getting from somewhere...well I’d be the man you’d think of first. And I’ve had an idea.

‘Did you hear about my mate Archie Ray?’

He nods. He would have. His dad goes back years with Billy One-Punch, not that he’s a villain like Billy. Just knows him and stood up to him when they were younger so he’s respected and so’s Ray for exactly the same reasons. Well regarded as a straightforward lad who’ll do the right thing when it needs doing.

And I need the right thing doing.

‘Thing is mate, everyone gets shit on don’t they and it’d be good if there was some way of righting the wrongs wouldn’t there? Maybe by pooling people’s talents?’

He’s looking quizzical and I’m about to say more when one of the hospital staff stops next to us. An older looking woman, hint of an afro or something under the hat, but fit. Probably goes on long walks with her dog or something.

‘Have you finished with the machine lads?’

I’m about to move off without a word when Ray touches her arm and smiles.

‘Sorry Portia, just got caught up chatting with me pal here. Do you want a coffee - least I can do after you’ve looked after me old fella?’

She’s smiling at him an all, you can see she was a proper looker a few years back, and he’s brought that out in a second. He’s a charming fucker is Ray as well as a blunt instrument, I could learn from him definitely.

As she moves off, coffee in hand and day made by the big lad, I make my move.

‘Archie needs a bit of street justice Ray and I’ve heard you’ve a bit of trouble lately mate, maybe I could help?’

He shakes his head.

‘I know who did it Blakey but I can’t batter him for you. No-one can. He’s a horrible little shit and breaking his jaw would be a pleasure but he’s out of bounds at the minute.’

I’m gutted. Properly gutted.

Then he smiles again.

‘No,’ he says, ‘I can’t batter him but I’ve got an idea if you’re happy to do something for me?’

---

Cuts and Scabs

Now I’m ganna tell you one more story then we’re getting on with it.

My dad was a big union man in his time. I didn’t realise when I was a kid but as I got older people would stop me in the street and ask after him. They used to give me the odd packet of tabs or four-pack of beer to give him from them and ask to be remembered to him.  I used to hear things like ‘Your dad was a saint at that place son.’ Stuff like that. There were stories of him leading a walkout when a bloke was refused time off to go to his wife’s cancer operation and one about him supposedly laying out one of the bosses in a square-go at the back of the admin office when they messed up one of the lads overtime on purpose.

You’re getting the picture then yeah? He was what the yanks would call a ‘stand-up guy’, old-school, well-respected and honourable. He stood his ground, said his piece and always, always pulled his weight. So when his oldest friend betrayed him over the miners’ strike it was like a dagger through the heart. 

Davy Barraclough and my dad went to school together from the age of five. They worked their apprenticeships together, did their national service together and courted and married two best mates in my mam and Mrs Barraclough. They drank all the beer, smoked all the tabs, fought everyone who deserved it and raised well-mannered children in loving, but tough, households. Davy and my dad were inseparable. It’s said that the day Davy crossed the picket line at Orgreave it sent my dad so loopy with rage that he attacked the coppers on his own. That’s how he ended up with a half-useless body when five of them beat him so bad that he was in hospital for two months. His mates piled in but couldn’t get through for the horses and riot shields while the alleged coppers picked their spots on the defenceless man that was already beaten on the ground. Me and you both know different though don’t we?

I don’t blame Davy mind; he was just a man trying to provide for his family. I hold him no ill-will at all. My dad would never have forgiven him even if they’d all gone back to work the next day. Davy knew that and made what was probably the hardest decision of his life, I respect the fact he was man enough to do it and take everything that came with it. I still bump into him and say hello, always shake his hand so he knows he’s got friends. The rest of the community wasn’t so forgiving, the word scab was always getting daubed across his, and the others, windows in the night and the local copper station still gets lumps of coal thrown through windows and at their cars at every possible opportunity. Maggies little militia couldn’t be any more hated here.

No, I don’t blame Davy. I do fucking blame you though.    

Stop whining you prick, it won’t help.

So, my old fella’s on the picket line, bit of banter with the lads, bit of jostling with the bizzies and some insults being flung by either side. He hasn’t seen Davy for a couple of days but isn’t worried, assumed he was up the coast at Amble in the caravan for a bit of a break from it all. Then the scab bus came in and he saw Davy’s face through the window.

I know this because I visited him in the hospital just after and he told me. Through the one side of his mouth that still worked.

"I clocked him and tried to get his attention son, tried to make him see sense but there was a massive surge and I got thrown up against the wall of coppers."

"Did they batter you back dad? Is that how it happened?"

Silent. Far away. Tear rolling down his one good side. Then back with me.

"Nah son. They parted and let a couple of us through. Then they closed ranks again."

I get fucking angry every time I think of this. It'll never leave me either. Never.

"The coppers all had their backs to us. Me, Ding-Dong, Simmo and Ginge. We were laughing like we'd fooled them."

I closed me eyes. Because even then I could guess what's coming here.

"Then from nowhere there was about fifteen big lads with bats and truncheons. They were wearing the uniforms of Thatchers little runabouts but they weren't coppers - no way."

"How'd you know that dad?"

"No numbers on them for a start but it was more their manner. These bastards had seen action before and it wasn't at last orders on a Saturday night. They set about us with no mercy. We were getting smashed all over. The lads on the picket were only about twenty feet away and could see what was happening, they were going berserk - more than a few riot pigs got bruises that day."

"Did you get any digs in dad?"

All I could think then was please say yes. Please let me think there is a tiny little bit of justice in this shit world.

"We were all miners son; we weren't scared of a fight. I knew we'd been singled out for a beating and I was going to make sure the bastard who took me remembered me for the rest of his life. Every single time he looked in the mirror.  I was rolling round the floor with one while a few of them hit me with their weapons - brave lads they were like - and I knew I was close to being knocked out."

"So, what did you do dad?"

"I bit part of his fucking nose off son. Then I woke up in here."

Loved him for that. Amongst all the other reasons I had to worship the man who was, and still is, my hero, he gave me that as well.  A massive fuck you to Thatcher, the bizzies and the dirty bastards who set about normal lads mob-handed. It properly affected us though. Not fit for work - so no wages, no compensation pay out as no copper could be found accountable and if they could have been then me dad would have got lifted for grievous bodily harm and a tiny little pension as the NCB said he'd made himself unemployable and therefore 'ineligible for the full amount'. 

So that left us in the shit and me the only one able to lift a shovel. I mean me mam did her best an' all, cleaning jobs, bit of ironing and that but it was nothing more than keeping a roof over our heads - didn’t stretch to new shoes never mind anything else. Which brought me back to flash Chris. I knew he had no kids 'cos I knew every lad on that estate and I was sure he had no-one else working with him, so that meant he might want a hand now and then I reckoned. I mean it's had to be better than what we had? Hadn't it?

I'd heard he did a bit of thieving, never sold anything hisself though. Not one of these in a boozer knocking out clothes and meat or flogging toys and stuff on street corners with half his relatives keeping lookout. Nah, he was a pro. Did what he had to do, got rid and got paid. I decided I could learn from a bloke like that. Make a career even - let's face it, shit like me was never ganna be a lawyer or a doctor was I? And I was fucked if I was going to work for anyone anyway - look at me dad, you pay your taxes and when the time comes you beaten into a stroke by some hired prick that the government is using against its own people. If that'd been any other country there'd have been uproar but 'cos it was just us Northern scum then it was alright wasn’t it?

Anyway, that’s me. That’s how I became a burglar, and a fucking good one at that. I had a thorough apprenticeship from a master of his trade and that’s why you’re fucked now you sick paedo twat.

---

Two Weeks Ago - Ray

The Ring

‘She kept the ring?’

‘She kept the fucking ring Keith – She dumped me for a suit wearing, rod up his arse, banker with “prospects” virtually seconds after I’d asked her to marry me and she kept the fucking ring.’

‘Did no-one else get involved? Must have been obvious to your mates Ray?’

He was right, it must have been obvious and a couple of the lads did try to talk to me about her but when you’re an average looking bloke like me and what can only be described as a Page three girl throws herself at you then you don’t really look at the small details like her being a horrible cow do you?

It happened just over a year ago.  We were in the boozer throwing back the champers – I’d had a bit of a score that week – and generally having a laugh when I notice this bird eyeing me up. Now I knew I was pissed but didn’t think I was so far gone that I was imagining things so I gave her a little wink to test the water and next thing I knew she was over with a glass and joining the party. The rest of the lads were all giving me “You lucky bar steward Coxy” and “Go on son fill ya boots” so...well...I did.

Next thing I knew we were a couple and I was getting to ‘fill me boots’ on a regular basis with the lovely Corrine, which was all very nice but every time my boots were metaphorically filled it seemed to be after the promise of her going on a shopping trip or having some cash for “me” time. I was working all hours to keep her sweet and I was saving up on the quiet to buy her a ring. The lads on the other hand had her down as a gold digger from the off – they thought she’d shag me, realise I was basically potless and then ditch me so she encouraged me not to listen to them by making sure my boots weren’t empty...you get the picture right?

Anyway, I’m out working all the time, squirreling cash away for the ten grand ring I’ve spotted that’s exactly the same as one she noticed Colleen Rooney wearing in one of them mags that women read and then bitch about. In the meantime I’m obviously not seeing as much of Corrine as I’d like and that means I’m not spending as much of my hard earned on her as she’d like. I reckon she was starting to realise about now that I didn’t have as much cash as she’d first thought  - well I say thought, I actually told her I was loaded when we met so I could get her into bed, worked an all! - and must have been looking about for her next victim. Hapless city boy banker ‘Nigel’ came into her sights (and not just her sights I’m guessing) and that was that, well, apart from the fact that she kept the fucking ring I’d given her seconds before.

‘You wanna tell her you want it back.’

‘Oh...why didn’t I think of that. Of course I did. She just laughed and told me Nigel had “enough money to have the shit kicked out of me on a regular basis” so I should put it down to experience and fuck off.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Do you see any bruises on this devastatingly attractive face dimwit? I fucked off didn’t I. As you know I can have a go but I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every day for the rest of me life do I?’’

‘What, so are you just leaving it at that then?’

‘Well no, that’s where you come in.’

He’s smiling now, knows where I’m going with this.

Corrine never really asked much about me, didn’t even want to know what I did to get all that money that she blew on designer shite. She was soon going to find out though because that ring was mine (well, until I got it back to the jewellers anyway) and I was skint and to be honest a little humiliated. I mean a banker called Nigel for fucks sake.

‘She thinks I’m going to leave it. She thinks I’m just a cash-in-hand doorman without the wits to get it back.’

‘Does she know you know me?’

Oh no, she doesn’t know about Keith.

‘You know that favour you wanted me to do for you Blakey...’ I wink at him, ‘...and that little business you’d been thinking about?’

He’s beaming.

‘So you’ll do it? And we’ll do the...’

I interrupt him with a nod.  See, my new pal Keith Blake is a burglar, a very very good one. And Blakey here wants a favour from me on account of my being a blunt instrument that’s also got a bit of nous and also, crucially, knows Mister Billy One Punch through family connections. Corrine obviously doesn’t know that...she might have worked it out by this time tomorrow though.

‘Mr. Blake I call this inaugural meeting of Revenge Inc. to order. First item on the agenda is the retrieval of my engagement ring.’

He’s nodding now, putting his gloves on already, can’t wait.

‘And the second item will be that little fucking bastard that stabbed your best mate!’

To be continued…

© Andy Rivers 2024