SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 3

Anthony got back to the hotel and made copious notes about what had happened and wrote down his plan of action for the next round. God, this was much more exciting than financial fraud. He went down to the hotel restaurant and had dinner - a house salad with chicken - and a bottle of mineral water. Anthony was a sensible eater - Rachel had weaned him off pizza and Sainsbury lifeline dinners two years ago when they'd first met. Over dinner he made up his mind to stake out the Stag and Horses from the outside.

It had got cold in the meantime, and the jacket that Rachel had given him came in really useful that night. He walked from the hotel to the Stag and Horses and looked around the immediate vicinity for hiding places should they be necessary later on. The Stag was well off the main road, on the corner of a residential street. Not much opportunity to hide anywhere there, except in the nearest garden. Anthony decided the best plan was to walk around up as far as the main road, backwards and forwards to see who was going into the pub. He cautiously took a quick glance inside to find that there was virtually no one in there, except a few old workmen-types. Well, it was only eight o'clock after all. Still plenty of time.

Between eight and eight-thirty the pub started to fill up - working men, mostly still in their work gear. Anthony felt distinctly overdressed. He continued from the pub back up to the main road and back down to the pub again. His mind was wandering towards Rachel - should he ring her and tell her where he was, should he tell the truth and tell her not to worry? His thoughts were broken by the sound of loud laughter - two skinheads were walking towards him. One of them was Nisbo, the other he didn't recognise from the pictures he had studied. Anthony quickly put his head down and brushed past them as he hurried back towards the main road. His heart was racing though.

He turned and watched their silhouettes disappear into the Stag and Horses. Bingo, he thought. He wasn't a hundred feet away from the pub when a large battered old van drove up and four more skins got out and hurried inside. Anthony looked at his watch. Nine o'clock on the nose. OK, here he was, and there were six of his targets inside. Great he thought. The young lad who'd led him to the pub that afternoon was nowhere to be seen. Anthony thought he'd wait until near closing time and chance going in to observe his prey at close quarters, so long as the young informant wasn't there of course.

Pacing up and down, freezing, and heart thumping, Anthony decided to go in. They were all sitting together round two tables, smoking and drinking. The cop was astounded at how much beer they'd put away between the six of them in only one and a half hours. He avoided their direct glance but chose to observe them from the other side of the bar.

Nisbo was one of them, now much more heavily attired than earlier in the day, but he was clearly not the leader of the group. Charlie was. Charlie was ranked about number three in the whole organisation, apparently, and it was easy to see why. He was by far the biggest and the hardest, and probably the ugliest human being Anthony had ever seen. A huge barrel of a beerbelly hung off his otherwise solid frame. The white braces that held up his camo pants must have been enforced with steel to cope with the humungous stomach . The twenty-hole Rangers could barely be closed over at the tops of the boots despite the best efforts of the white laces which were drawing them together. Both ears were pierced about five or six times and his shaved bonce was marked with a crudely done tattoo of (supposedly) a skull right in the centre of the side of his head. Charlie was exerting his authority by making all the other skins armwrestle him in turn, knowing that he'd win, literally hands down. One by one the others humoured him while having their shoulder muscles practically ripped out.

Anthony strained to hear what they were talking about. "........yeah, if I get him, I'll fuckin murder him...." ".......don't worry, we'll find out for ya mate...." ".......reckon we should chop his balls off......" ".........reckon he's some kind of pervert...." ".......we'd know all about that, wouldn't we?...." Uproarious laughter from everyone. Oh shit, thought Anthony. Were they on to him? He instinctively turned away from the group and tried to stare out his his diet coke. To be on the safe side, he decided he'd avoid looking at them for the last few minutes of opening time and then leave quickly out the door without looking round. Didn't want to spoil things completely at this stage of day one, after such a successful start. Good thing the pub was relatively full.

Just as he was beginning to breathe a bit easier, it happened.

"Oi mate, 'scuse me, can I get by here, me bladder's burstin!" Anthony turned round and gasped. "FUCK LADS - it's him!" cried out the young lad he'd bumped into from earlier on, "we've got him!!" Anthony lost no time in darting past the young skinhead and into the street - he hadn't realised that the young lad who had looked so innocent that afternoon and had been so helpful with the information had been sitting with the others, looking every bit as much of the skinhead gang as Anthony wasn't. Anthony had been set up.

Out into the street, Anthony momentarily froze. In his panic, he darted around the corner of the pub into an alleyway, past all the beer barrels. He heard the skins coming out onto the street and he crouched down behind two piles of wooden pallets to remain out of sight. The skins were obviously on the prowl after him. Anthony was practically gasping for breath. Slow it down, slow it down, he thought. The voices eventually faded and Anthony gasped his biggest ever sigh of relief. He decided to wait in his hiding place for another ten minutes before getting out to the main road and into a taxi back to the safety of the hotel.

He stood up and gave a stretch after being confined behind the pallets. There was a tap on his shoulder, "Going anywhere are ya, you scumbag?" He quickly turned round to meet a huge fist straight into his solar plexus. He collapsed to the ground. Nisbo and the young lad were towering above him. "Oi Lads, he's round here alright, you were right, Charlie!" The other four skins came round the corner into the alley. "You think you're so fuckin' smart Mr Copper Man, well you ain't." The last word was accompanied by a kick from a black Ranger boot to Anthony's thigh. "Sammy here did a great job this afternoon directing you to our little gathering. He's been itching to get his haircut again for weeks but he played his part well...." Sammy was obviously one of them and was no new conscript either. "Yeah, and now you're goin' nowhere, Mr Copper Man. And we know all about your and your fuckin Rachel. We know you're up from London to look for us, ain't ya?" Anthony could say nothing because he'd been so winded, but one thing was for sure, he'd never been this frightened before in his life. All he could see was twelve assorted boots, some black, some oxblood, some Docs, some Rangers, all with white laces.

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