SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 14

David hardly slept a wink the entire night. He kept thinking of the chance of a top-notch education he was made to throw away, how that Charlie had practically sealed his fate by destroying his exam card. No exam supervisor would let him into an exam hall dressed the way he was - probably not even with an exam card, he looked so unrecognisable from the picture that was on it. .

As he lay trying to get some sleep before his first day at work, he began to play over the last few days again in his mind. How he'd met Buster by chance, and how that he'd been excited about visiting him a second time, and how he'd met Charlie and the others. He began to think about how Nisbo and Buster had convinced him that he wanted to be a full-time skinhead. Despite all his worries, as he remembered how his hair fell to the ground for the first time, his cock began to twitch and rise. As he thought on about how they made him get inked up, he couldn't help himself, he grabbed his dick, still sore from having his PA inserted, and started jerking himself off. The truth was he DID want it. He wanted to be this tattooed, to be this extreme, to belong to this crazy bunch of skins. He wanted to smoke and drink like the rest of the skins, he wanted to be part of the gang and live with them and not worry about what his parents had planned out for him. All these thoughts drove his hand faster and faster as he pumped his dick, and (even though it shocked him) as David replayed in his own mind the scene where Charlie destroyed his exam card as he looked on, his cock erupted and spewed fresh hot spunk all over the Fred Perry and bleachers he was still wearing. Aaaahhhh, he thought as sleep enveloped him at long last.

The next sight he saw was Buster standing over him, gently nudging his ribs with one of his Ranger boots. "Get up, Pisshead, you got work to get to!" he said with a big smile. David could see Buster had brought him the binbag full of kit that he was supposed to wear. "Better let you out of yer Rangers lad," said Buster as he bent down to undo the padlocks. A quick look at the clock showed it was 6.45 a.m. "You'd better get into this kit, lad, don't want to disappoint Spider, now, do we, specially as he's fuckin got you into the job!" warned Buster as he handed the binbag to David, who'd unlaced his boots and was starting to take off his bleachers when Buster said that he shouldn't. "I think you'd better keep em on," he said as he left the room, obviously leaving David to get on with it. The kid fished everything out of the bag onto the floor.

David looked down at the baggy navy overalls, smeared with oil and dirt, the rubber boots with the red toecaps and soles which were as filthy as the overalls, and the black donkey jacket with the (what used to be) orange PVC shoulders. "Oh fuck," he said, out loud to himself. "Get all that stuff on you and get yer arse in this fuckin bathroom, Pisshead," called Buster. David began with the overalls. They were too long in the legs for him but he knew rightly to stuff them down inside the rubber boots. The overalls covered the fred perry and bleachers he was wearing and the boots felt even heavier than his Rangers. The red steel toecaps and reinforced soles added the extra weight. David joined Buster in the bathroom. "Headshave, sit down," said Buster pointing to the toilet seat. "Can I stop having my fuckin eyebrows shaved yet, Buster?" asked the young lad, still bemusedly examining his new work kit. "Get yer head back lad, they gotta stay off for another few weeks, Charlie said so last night." The eyebrow stubble was removed in less than twenty seconds, making David look as freaky as ever.

"Go now and get yer donkey jacket on lad," said Buster as he wiped the last traces of shaving foam from the lad's skull, "and get yer first red smoked lad, and fuckin take em with you to work." David rejoined Buster, cigarette in gob and both went downstairs.

"Right, kid, here's a tenner - that'll get you there and back today and get you a sandwich and a can of beer at lunchtime. You have to go over to the High Street and take the Salisbury Road bus as far as the junction of Skipper Lane. Get off...."

"I have to go on the bus alone, dressed like this??" asked David incredulously. "Ah, sorry, lad, I forgot," replied Buster, "your limousine will be here at 07.45 precisely, Sir. - OF COURSE you have to take the fuckin bus, you fuckwit," said Buster raising his voice with every word. What colour there was drained from David at the thought.

"Spider's goin to meet you at the other end," said Buster, "he'll be waitin for you at the fuckin bus stop, first day at school, like. Just don't fuckin expect this sterling service every bloody morning!" Buster held out his packet of reds to David. David reached for one, almost without thinking. "There, now get goin, workin class fuckin hero!" said Buster, as he shepherded David towards the front door.

The cold morning air hit David on his shaved skull as he shuffled across the waste ground in his heavy rubber boots towards the High Street. He stood by the bus stop, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the donkey jacket. He found a box of reds there, that he didn't remember putting there himself. In small writing on the top of the box, he read "GET AS MANY OF THESE SMOKED AS YOU CAN TODAY LAD!!! BUSTER XX". David lit one up straight away, and shocked himself that was smoking his third fag of the day and it wasn't even 7.30 in the morning. Just as he was stubbing out the fag on the ground with his rubbered foot, the bus came.

David thanked his lucky stars that there were only two other passengers on the bus at that time of the morning. He sat well away from both of them.

David alighted at Skipper Lane, just as he was told to. Spider was nowhere to be seen. "Terrific," he thought, "probably another fuckin Buster-Charlie joke. Get the kid out into a deserted industrial part of town and leave him there." He only had to stand for a few minutes when a large white van came up from behind him and nearly frightened him to death by blasting the horn just as it drew level. David almost jumped out of his filthy overalls. "Get in the back, Pisshead," shouted Spider out of the window.

There were three other workers in the back of the van. Two older guys and a young lad who looked as nervous as David was himself. "Mornin, lad," said Spider again as David struggled to clamber into the back of the van with the weight of his overalls, donkey jacket and rubber boots, which seemed to him to weigh a ton. "Mornin, Spider," replied David, to a sharp intake of breath from the other occupants. "Call him fuckin Boss, Son, if you know what's good for you," said one of David's fellow passengers. "Sorry, mornin, Boss," squeaked David.

"That's better, My Lad," said Spider, seemingly non-plussed, from the front cabin.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, principally because the three in the back of the van were still half-asleep. "You'll get picked up here every fuckin mornin from now on, Pisshead," said Spider, half turning round, "OK?"

"Yes, Spid...Boss."

"These three are Monkey, Fartlad and Mohawk, yer new fuckin workmates. Say hello, Lads!! This is yer new starter this morning, his name is Pisshead." Obviously Spider had decided David's new name. David knew better than to argue.

The three acknowledged David's presence by nodding and smiling in his general direction. It was easy to spot which one Mohawk was - the young lad with the pale skin, and the obviously dyed jet black mohawk. The one who was looking nervously at David. The other two were older. One was a very heavily built man in his mid thirties or so, with a set of heavy thick sideburns that went right down to his chin and no other hair whatever, and was wearing what seemed to be thick rubber underneath his overalls. The other was thinner, but still quite big. David noticed that he had the same tattoo under his eye as Spider. Then he noticed that the other older guy did too. Mohawk did too. A lump came to David's throat - he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be too long before he was marked in the same way.

The van eventually found its destination at the city's waste depot. Spider drove the van through the gates and down a series of small lanes within the confines of the complex until he came to a series of large shed-like buildings, some of which had identical white vans already parked outside them. Spider backed the van up to Shed No.7 which seemed all locked up. The van's inhabitants, including David, got out and waited for Spider to open the large wooden doors.

"Welcome, Pisshead, to yer fuckin new office," said Spider, as he pushed the doors open. The first thing that hit David was the smell. It was rank. "I think I'm going to be sick, Spider," he said. "If you call me Spider one more time on this fuckin job, boy, you'll be bloody wearin this crap yer goin to be shovellin, do I fuckin make myself CLEAR??"

"Yes, Boss, sorry, Boss," said David meekly, trying to hold down what he had in his stomach. "I'll try to remember," he added for good measure. "You'd fuckin better, boy! Right, Fartlad and Monkey, come with me and we'll get the furnace stoked. You, Mohawk, show Thicko here where everything is." At that, the two older men went to the back of the shed and out the door at the back.

"Hello, I'm David," said David when the older men had left. "Hi, I'm Chris, but I'm not allowed to be called that any more. You'd better call me Mohawk like the others do." Chris sounded as well bred as David was. "I'm still getting used to my new name myself, I've only been here a week and a half," he admitted.

"How did you get here, Chris?"

"It's a long story. I left home three weeks ago because, eh, well for various reasons, and ended up at my uncle James' place. My uncle James is Monkey there, the older of the two men. He's changed a lot since I last saw him, but he was always very good to me when I was young. He said I could stay with him as long as I paid my way, but he said I'd have to work with him. Well anything's better than having to go home, so....." "But do you like it here?" asked David, listening intently. "Not really, but Uncle James, I mean, Monkey gives me pocket money from my wages to get by. I've only been here ten days or so as I said, so it's all new to me. This yard that Spider runs is isolated from the rest of the dump. Spider seems to be able to do what he wants here, none of the other people working here even come into this shed. Spider frightens them away. We only treat the really dirty stuff that can't be processed with the rest of the rubbish - we have to burn it."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Chris," said David stretching out his hand again. "Call me Mohawk, please, David, it's what they expect," said Mohawk resignedly. "You should have seen me when I got here two weeks ago. Uncle James brought me down and Spider said I could work here only if I made some changes, as he put it. That's when he and Uncle James gave me this haircut, for example, and made me wear these old army pants and boots. Spider kept my old clothes, but I haven't seen them since."

"You should hear my story sometime, Mohawk!" smiled David, recognising the pattern.

"I'd love to, Pisshead,"smiled Mohawk back, "I'm glad you're here"..

The conversation was interrupted by Spider coming back into the shed. "Right you two, quit yer chat and fuckin come and get started. Mohawk, show the new boy how it's done."

Mohawk led David out the back of the shed, across into a larger more open shed with a huge incinerator dominating the back of the room. David began to sweat, but mostly because he felt so out of place. He never dreamed he would end up having to work in such a smelly, sweaty environment. "Right, Mohawk, the first load's comin down now, lad, take Pisshead and show him the ropes," said Spider as the rumbling of a truck announced the arrival of the young lads' first load of rubbish to be processed for the day.

As the van tipped out the rubbish onto the conveyor belt David could not believe the stench - his stomach began to heave involuntarily. "No, Pisshead, please don't be sick, please.." implored Mohawk, "I was sick last week and Spider took it and spiked my mohawk with it and I had to stay like that the rest of the day. I nearly choked the next day but I managed to keep it down - you do the same, really, it's better to keep it down." The panic in Mohawk's voice told David that he wasn't joking. David suppressed his stomach contents as far as possible as the load started to move towards the both of them.

Mohawk handed David a huge pair of rubber gauntlets and told him to put them on as he was doing himself. David struggled as he drew them up over the sleeves of his overalls towards his shoulders - they were huge but he was surprised how he still managed to grip hold of the skip where the rubbish was being fed into. The two spent the morning filling up knee-high skips from the rubbish conveyor belt, wheeling them over towards the incinerator and shovelling the crap into the fires. As they had to work at reasonable speed during parts of the morning, the rubbish soon left its marks on the boys' boots and overalls.

The routine became, for someone of David's (and Mohawk's) intelligence, soon mind-numbingly boring, even after the first morning. Wait for lorryload of crap to arrive, switch on conveyor belt, fill up skip, switch off conveyor belt, take skip to incinerator, shovel contents in, take skip back to conveyor belt, switch on conveyor belt, etc, etc, etc. The routine was only broken every twenty minutes or so when Spider and Monkey came over to insist that the lads smoked another cigarette, standing over them while they all smoked.

Lunchtime came and the five crew members, Spider, Fartlad, Monkey, David and Mohawk all went out to the white caravan that was parked near the entrance to the shed next to Spider's. As David was deciding what sandwich to have, he heard Spider saying at the end of his order, "...and Pisshead here, our new boy, will have a fry up with double fried egg and fried bread." That was that. Spider really was in charge. The old man who was serving from the van laughed when he heard the new boy's name.

There was no canteen, just Spider's "office" which was a room fenced off of the first shed by a makeshift thin wooden wall which just about made it up as far as the ceiling. The crew obviously met in there every lunchtime. As David sat down, Spider fished the lad's meal out of the plastic bag, undid the aluminium foil cover, and smothered the food in tomato ketchup. For good measure, he broke the egg yolks so it all ran everywhere. "Get that in you lad, fuckin all of it," he ordered as he handed the plate to David who was still queasy from the morning's crap-shovelling.

Spider took the lunchtime to explain the set up. Spider had worked at the dump since he left school, and had for the last five years succeeded in carving his own niche by developing a "dump within a dump". None of the other co-workers or even managers ever came close to Spider's shed, as long as the work was done (and Spider made sure it was), nobody bothered. Spider was in total control, and could lay down the law how he liked.

Spider's diatribe was interrupted by someone coming into the shed - David's heart sunk as he saw Jimmy the Tattooist's head pop round the corner. "Wotcha, lads," said Jimmy cheerfully as he nodded in Spider's general direction, "Doctor James is here with his bag of tricks!!". David could only look at Jimmy's case he'd brought with him - he recognised it as the same one he'd brought his tattoo equipment in the night that they first met each other. Without thinking, he looked at the swallows on his hands that Jimmy had inked on - they were healing up well, but at this moment in time he wasn't ready to get anything else done. His hand was noticibly shaking as he ate the last of his fry-up.

"You know everybody here, don't ya, Jimmy," said Spider, "...all except young Mohawk here." Jimmy nodded round, "How ya healin up, kid, that was some fuckin work I did on ya," directing his question to David.

"Fine thanks, Jimmy," said David meekly. "That's good kid, cos fuckin Buster and Charlie were WELL happy with what you got done. Best leave it for a few weeks before we do anymore work on ya," replied Jimmy, lighting up a fag and holding out the pack to David. David took one and lit up too, sensing that for the moment he was off the hook. David inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. His thoughts were broken by Spider addressing him, "Pisshead, give Mohawk there a fag, he needs one," he snapped. Mohawk didn't look as if he needed a fag at all, but David gave him one nonetheless. Mohawk lit up and slunk even further into the busted old armchair that he was sitting on. He didn't get good vibes about Jimmy.

"Pisshead? Pisshead??? Is that yer new name? Fuckin 'ell," said Jimmy, "that'll make a good tat on ya somewhere, lad!" David managed a resigned smile.

As all this was going on, Fartlad made himself busy in the corner of Spider's office boiling up some water and was now filling up a small bowl. As he brought the bowl back to the little gathering, Mohawk got up and sat on the old wooden kitchen chair that Fartlad had set out. Spider, Monkey and Jimmy chatted away as if nothing was going on, but David was transfixed as Mohawk sat down on the chair. No one had asked him to do it. He just did it as if he did it every lunchtime. As Mohawk noticed that David was watching him, he just shrugged his shoulders. "Do you wanna do him today, Pisshead?" asked Fartlad, smiling over. Mohawk didn't look too happy.

Without further ado, Fartlad began to soap up one side of Mohawk's head with shaving foam. Spider and the other older men didn't bat an eyelid or even glance in the direction of the action. David, however, was transfixed. Mohawk just sat there and took it. It seemed like he had this done to him every lunchtime. In no time at all Fartlad had shaved one side, and then the other. Mohawk sat still as Fartlad wiped the traces of shaving foam away with an old rag. For good measure, Fartlad then dry-shaved the areas where he'd just used shaving foam. The sides of Mohawk's head were completely bald.

Even then Mohawk didn't get up. There was more to come. Fartlad was doing something again at the sink. He came back with an old chipped mug in his hand, and what looked like a small paintbrush. "Gotta keep it as fuckin black as possible, don't we, my lad," said Fartlad as he painted black goo onto the remaining strip of hair along the centre of Mohawk's head. As he finished working it in, he told Mohawk he could rinse it off himself after ten minutes.

What sort of a place was this? What was he doing here? Why did Mohawk just let Fartlad do that to him? What was Jimmy doing here? What are Buster and Charlie up to? How was his mum and dad? What were they doing to try to find him? Would he really have to work here for years and years?

These and many other thoughts were interrupted by Spider, "Oi, Pisshead, wake up, and fuckin get back to work!!" "Yes, Spider, I mean, Boss......sorry, Boss," he stammered as he jumped up off his chair. Spider and the rest laughed out loud. "You fuckin must've been miles away there lad, thinkin happy thoughts were ya?" The question was rhetorical.

"Not you, Mohawk, you and Fartlad stay here this afternoon, there's work to be done in the office," he said to Mohawk as he was drying off his now unnaturally blacker than black mohican with an old towel. Mohawk raised his eyebrows in surprise. David looked at Mohawk and shrugged his shoulders as Spider shepherded him out towards the furnace area.

David was obviously expected to do alone what he and Mohawk had done together that morning. Lucky that there were only two more loads in that afternoon. David was determined to show Spider how hard he could work and got stuck into the routine again.

Not ten minutes into the afternoon shift, David thought he'd heard a sort of cry from the direction of the office. He was pretty sure he had, but still continued to fill up the carts and get them shovelled into the incinerator. There it was again. A muffled struggling sort of sound.

He couldn't resist going over towards the office for a look. As he got to the office, he could hear definite sounds of struggling. He'd a sneaking suspicion what was happening. What he thought was going to happen to him was probably happening to Mohawk. Apart from the teardrop tattoos under his eye like the rest of them, Mohawk seemed pretty tattoo-free. Up until now.

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