SkinMarvin Gay Stories

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |

Chapter 8

"Buster," began David, "I'm fuckin scared that my parents will fuckin freak..."

"They will," assured Buster, "but I'll be wiv ya lad, don't worry, and besides you only have to pick up anythin you wanna bring back home with ya." "What about my old clothes and stuff?"

"Nah, leave em, you won't be need em for a very long time," replied Buster, accentuating the last three words by rubbin his hand over David's tattooed skull.

"Guess not. It's the third house on the left once we turn this corn...." David stopped dead. Outside his house were Nisbo and Charlie.

"Fuck. You didn't tell us your family were made of fuckin money, lad," gasped Buster when he saw David's house. "You got any money yerself, boy?"

"I have a s-s-savings book," answered David, "What are they all doing here, Buster?"

"Better bring it wiv ya. Never know when you might need it." Ignoring the young lad's question, Buster's mind flashed back to when Charlie made him clear his bank account and used the proceeds to buy the gang beer and fags. A smile crossed his face, even though he tried to suppress it.

The two skins hesitated at the garden gate just as they joined the other two. Four skinheads outside a perfectly respectable semi in the suburbs. "Oi, Dave, we came to give ya a bit of moral support!" said Charlie, before David could say another word. As much as he could feel the sweat breaking on him, and the feeling that every Mr and Mrs Average were peeping out at him behind the curtains, there was something about having the skins with him was comforting to him. He was sure though that someone by now had phoned the police. There were never that many skinheads in his street before, ever.

"OK, Lad, yer mam's goin to be really upset at ya," began Buster, "but you are to tell her that you want to stay wiv us now, and that we'll look after ya, and you want it that way. You got that?" The severity of the situation was sinking into David's tattooed skull. Buster was asking him to tell his parents that he was leaving home. For good.

"Buster," began the lad, "I don't know if I want to leave home totally. It's just I..."

"Lad, have you fuckin seen yerself lately? You've got ink tattooed in yer head, boy, you don't fuckin belong here any more, you fuckin belong wiv us. Yer a skinhead now, and you ain't goin back to this shite," said Buster, emphasising the last point with a gesture of distain towards all the identical semis in a row. He continued, "we're yer family now boy, we are, not them. You wanted to be part of us and now you are fuckin goin to be. We want ya, Dave." David looked around at the other two skins, who were all nodding agreement. "We're goin in and yer goin to tell em that it's over Lad. Yer ours now. You WILL tell yer Mam that you're comin to live wiv us and that you WONT be back, got it?"

David looked up at Buster and nodded briefly. "You're right, but..."

"No buts, Dave, if you don't you won't be comin back home wiv us lad," said Charlie quietly from behind. His low serious tone spoke volumes.

David stood for a moment and slowly opened the garden gate and walked up to the front door of his parental home and suddenly realised he didn't have his front door key. Buster handed it to him. David gulped as he could see his Mum's familiar shadow through the frosted glass in the door. The key opened the door, as usual, David was praying it would stick so he could run away.

"Hi Mum," squeaked David weakly as he put the first of his 20 holers into the hallway. No sooner had he opened the door than the other three pushed past him into the hall. "Come on lad, don't be fuckin shy," said Nisbo, pulling David in to stand among them. David felt his bald skull glow red with the sound of swearing in his own home. His mum, stunned, just stood there, like a rabbit caught in a headlamp. She began to sob and to shake slightly.

"What.......David, is that YOU?" croaked Barbara, David's mother, almost whispering. "What's happened, why are you dressed like that, whats that on your head?

"I wanted it, Mum."

"You wanted it?" she gasped, holding on to the wall for support, "Mike," she gasped out, "Mike!" David's father would be next to see the spectacle. He came down the stairs and stopped on the second last one, aghast.

"What the hell.... Who are you people, get out of my house immediately before I call the police. I'm warning......" Mike's voice trailed off into silence as it dawned on him who the youngest skinhead standing in his hallway was.

"Hello Dad," began David nervously. "Don't you hello Dad me, you stupid bloody....look at the state of you! What's got into you??" He stopped dead when he saw Charlie, never one for being subtle, take a bicycle chain out of his pocket and wind it round his knuckles.

"Why, Son, why did they do this to you?" Mike went to reach out for his son. It was too late. Buster got there first, putting a huge arm round David. "He fuckin belongs to US now, Mister," said Buster, smiling mockingly at David's father, who was going almost as pale as his wife. The other two skins laughed in the background.

"Dave's just here to pick up his fuckin stuff and a few bits and pieces and when he gets em, we'll fuck off again," stated Buster. He saw David's mother wince at every swear word. Mike moved over beside his wife to put a comforting arm around her.

"Off you go boy, go and get yer fuckin belongins, and don't forget yer savins book!" said Buster to the lad. With that, David obediently, and gratefully, rushed upstairs, thankful to be away from the stares of his parents, leaving them openmouthed at the hold that the skinheads seemed to have over their child. "Charlie, better go up wiv him make sure the kid's OK," added Buster. Charlie followed up the stairs, pushing past the lad's parents.

Mike and Barbara knew it was futile to try to stop Charlie from invading the family home any further. Mike went to go up the stairs after Charlie in a futile attempt but was blocked by Buster and Nisbo.

Upstairs, Charlie took the chance to reinforce to David that it was he who had to let his parents know the score. "Right, boy, when we go back down it's fuckin speech time. Yer goin to tell em that you never want to see em again and yer goin to make it fuckin convincin. And don't fuckin forget what we told ya about swearin - if you ain't swearin enough by the end of today you ain't stayin wiv us. Understand me lad?"

David nodded, his face flushed as he gathered his exam books and entrance cards into a sports holdall. He speedily threw in some underwear and teeshirts and jeans on top. "I'm ready, Charlie, just gotta get my bank book" he said breathlessly. "Good lad, don't worry son, we'll fuckin look after ya, yer doin the right fuckin thing, and take them fuckin student clothes out of that bag, you won't be fuckin needin em again," said Charlie, grabbing the kid's head, planting an uncharactaristic peck on the lad's shaved skull. David went over to his desk and opened the top drawer, took out a bank savings book and slipped it into the back pocket of his bleachers. He stood looking round the room, at his things, his computer, his bed, taking what he knew now was going to be the last look at his old life, the clothes that Charlie wouldn't let him take strewn on the floor and the bed.

David and Charlie came down the stairs slowly - David in front, with Charlie's big tattooed hand firmly on one shoulder. His parents looked at him afresh. "Will that thing on your head come off, Son? Tell me that's not a tattoo, please..." began his mother. Charlie pushed David over to Buster and Nisbo and the three bigger skins stood behind the young lad in support.

There was silence as both sides eyed each other, tears streaming down Barbara's face. Her lip was quivering.

Buster pushed David ever so slightly forward.

"You leave my son alone, you big..." began Mike.

"He's our fuckin property now, Mikey - he ain't yer fuckin son any longer," said Nisbo in return, raising his voice.

"Fuckin stop it!" began David with a cry that ended in a croak. Mike and Barbara's world collapsed around them. They'd never heard their son swear before. He was always so polite, well behaved and mild mannered, nothing like the foul mouthed, dangerous looking yob that stood before them now.

"These guys are my fuckin mates now, Mum, and they're going to stay as my mates. In fact I'm going to fuckin live with them for a bit from now on, and I know this is what I fuckin want," began David, making him mother whimper even more. He continued, "These guys have looked after me and they're my fuckin family now - not you two any more."

"Have these hooligans given you drugs or what, son?" asked Mike, incredulously.

"No they fuckin haven't Dad," replied David beginning to get a bit heated himself.

Buster broke in, "Yeah, that's right, we don't fuckin do drugs in our house Mister, only Special Brew and fags, that's enough fer us." The other skins laughed and even David managed a smile, sensing that the three skins were really behind him and wanted him more than ever to be part of them.

Charlie put his spoke in. "Right, Dave, lad, time to go. We gotta get you back to the tattooists for more ink.....tell em that it'll be a long time before you visit again." Charlie ended with a chuckle.

"NO!" shouted Mike. The silence which followed was deafening.

"Mum, Dad," began David hesitantly. "I'm not fuckin coming back. These guys are my family now and this is the last you'll fuckin see of me. Don't fuckin try to contact me either, Mum. I won't answer you. I'm fuckin off now, to be with my REAL mates," said David, remembering he had to get his "swear quota" in.

This was too much for Barbara and on hearing this she ran forward to try to embrace her son followed closely by Mike. Nisbo and Buster stepped between her and David, and Charlie held out one restraining hand in Mike's direction whilst he ushered the lad back down the hall quickly and into the street with the other

"There ya go lad, weren't so fuckin bad after all, was it?" said Charlie, "best way, you'll fuckin see."

David was shaking. Charlie put a big tattooed arm around him to comfort him. "Yer fuckin shakin lad, fuck, even that cut of yours on yer neck's started bleedin again." Charlie produced another "sticking plaster". "Turn round lad, lemme fix ya up." Charlie ripped off the old nicotine patch and replaced it with a freshly loaded one. In all the stress of the last ten minutes with his family, it didn't even occur to David how odd that was for Charlie to be able to change a sticking plaster in the middle of the street.

Nisbo and Buster came out of David's house yelling back at David's parents. "They're goin to call the fuckin cops, we'd better go," said Buster. Even with that news, David's shaking stopped and a pleasant tingling feeling envelopped him. The nicotine was taking effect.

The four skinheads made off quickly in the direction of the tattoo studio.

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |