Текст книги "Just Another Day"

Автор книги: Steven Clark

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 3

The wagon pulled up at the gate a few yards from Dave with a hiss from the air brakes and dust, kicked up from the stone granite sets of the road surface, swirled around. He went to the driver’s side of the cab and the window slowly wound open and Joe reached down to give Dave the police pass.

‘Mornin Joe,’ said Dave. ‘How’s that shite team of yours then?’ He looked up into the driver’s seat expecting to see Joe grinning that toothy grin with a fag hanging out of his mouth.

Joe wasn’t smoking, he wasn’t grinning. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at Dave. He was staring straight ahead staring out of the windscreen.

‘You’re a happy bastard this morning. What’s up, either your piles are giving you gip or you didn’t get your leg over last night. Which one eh? No shagging, or a sore arse. Mind you, if I was your missus and married to you, it would have to be a sore arse as you definitely wouldn’t be getting any shagging off me you fat miserable old git.’

As he spoke, Dave moved to the front of the wagon to note that the registration number matched the details on the Pass. After doing the gates for so long, it was an instinctive reaction and more often than not all the details were correct. Sometimes it was necessary to send a vehicle back to the point of loading if there was an error in the paperwork. No problem today. Everything okay.

Again, out of habit, Dave glanced up at the passenger side of the windscreen to check that the Tax Disc was displayed in the lower left hand corner. It was still quite dark at this time of the morning on a damp early March day and at first, Dave didn’t see him.

Sat in the passenger seat, he could barely make out the figure of a man wearing a dark jacket and baseball cap. Joe didn’t usually have a passenger at this time of the morning, must be another driver getting a lift mused Dave. ‘Mornin mate, pity you sat next to this old fart, hope you don’t have far to go,’ said Dave as he turned away.

He went back to the driver’s side window and handed the copy of the pass back to Joe. ‘OK you miserable prick, better get your sad arse up the road before it gets busy and you might just get back in time to see your lot get stuffed again.’ Dave thought that; piles or not, the friendly insults would bring a grin from the old bugger.

Joe sat rigid, hands gripping the steering wheel and still staring straight ahead. As Dave looked up at his unsmiling normally friendly adversary, he saw a small trickle of sweat appear from under his flat cap and run slowly down his right temple onto his cheek. Even a fat fucker like Joe wouldn’t be sweating on a cold morning like this thought Dave.

Now, it was his turn to stare. He stood transfixed for a second and then said, ‘OK Joe, just a quick look in the wagon before you go eh?’

Joe looked down at Dave. His mouth didn’t move but his eyes were trying to speak. Dave didn’t see the look of fear as he had already started walking round to the passenger side of the lorry.

He looked up at the man in black. ‘Open the door mate’ said Dave. The passenger wound the window down, ‘what’s the problem officer?’

‘No problem mate, just a routine check of the cab and a quick look in the bunk behind you before you leave.’ He had said those words countless times over the years. Today was just another day.

‘Open the door please mate’ said Dave as he looked up to make eye contact with the man.

‘Doors open mate’ came the calm, matter of fact reply.

Dave took hold of the door handle and pulled. The door opened easily. Because of the size of the wagon, his head and shoulders were at seat height as he opened the door, he was still looking at the passengers face attempting to gauge any reaction. His experience over the years had told him that guilty people often get nervous when they have something to hide; they break eye contact, become twitchy and fidgety. This man wasn’t in the least nervous and looked him squarely in the eye.

The door opened fully. ‘You just made the biggest fuckin mistake of your life ‘mate’ said the man in black.

‘What’s your problem?’ said Dave.

‘I haven’t got one. But you have you nosey bastard. Why didn’t you just take the pass and fuck off back into your little hut?’ The strangers’ eyes lowered and Dave followed his gaze. Laying across his knees, and no more than three feet away, was a sawn off, double barrelled shotgun pointing directly at his face.

‘Oh sweet Jesus’ he said as his knees began to sag as he saw the finger on the trigger. He continued to look at the twin tubes. He knew he had said the words, but he thought they were from a movie and he would suddenly wake up, ‘am I going to die today?’ Much to his surprise, his voice was quiet and calm and he was just hoping that his bowels would remain intact.

Dave felt his initial panic begin to subside and his emotions began to change. He started to feel a sense of anger and outrage as he looked across at Joe sat in the drivers’ seat. He was terrified; his hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice. He was shocked rigid. Joe was a decent ordinary bloke who was now caught up in something he had absolutely no control over. It was patently obvious, given his grey pallor and rigid arms that there was no way he was sat there willingly.

Often referred to as ‘fight or flight’; people act instinctively without thinking and they either run like fuck; or get stuck in. Nobody can ever really tell how they will react until the situation is thrust upon them. Dave felt the anger rise within. How dare this evil, bullying bastard scare the shit out of an ordinary bloke who causes no harm to any one and just wants to drive for a living. I’d like to rip that shotgun from your fuckin hands mate and shove it up your...

Dave was brought out of his rising anger.

‘That depends on you mate.’ said the gunman. ‘Get in and don’t say a fuckin word. One dodgy move and you’ll have a big hole where your guts used to be.’

He climbed into the cab and sat next to the gunman. As he felt the barrel of the gun press into the right side of his ribs, incredibly, he heard himself laugh out loud. It was a mixture of fear and adrenaline. The barrel was rammed harder into his side and he winced in pain.

‘Just what is it about this situation that you find so fucking funny?’

‘It was when you said, one dodgy move, it sounded like something out of a film.’

‘Shotgun’ leaned closer, his eyes were piercing and wild and Dave was certain this wasn’t the first armed robbery he’d been involved in, not by a long way.

‘Then you’d better hope to fuck that this film has a happy ending.’

He repeated Dave’s words of a few moments earlier when he opened the cab door, ‘am I going to die today,’ he mockingly whined as Dave saw the fingers tighten on the trigger. He half closed his eyes waiting for the blast to erupt. He had seen photo’s of close quarter shotgun wounds whilst doing his training. He knew enough to know that he would die almost instantly as the two barrels unleashed together would practically cut him in half.

‘I’d like to off you now mate but you might come in useful. But, don’t you worry porky, I’d be more than happy to do you later.’ Not taking his eyes off Dave, Shotgun said to Joe, ‘Get this fuckin wagon movin or plod here will be wearing his fuckin guts like a necklace.’

Dave didn’t know as yet but his new found friend was none other than Luke Johnson a notorious armed robber also known as ‘chopper Johnson’. He earned his nickname as a nineteen year old involved in an armed robbery of a Security guard who was carrying a cash box that was handcuffed to his wrist. Just prior to the guard depositing the box in his security van, he was kicked to the ground by Johnson who was armed with a three foot long machete.

The guard’s evidence at the subsequent trial made for traumatic listening and one juror needed medical treatment for shock.

‘I’m sorry that you have to relive these events Mr D, but could you tell the members of the jury what happened next.’

Mr Jameson, the prosecuting Barrister, was in full flow and turned dramatically to the jurors, ‘I apologise to you in advance for what you are about to hear. It is indeed extremely brutal, but it is necessary for you to be fully aware of the vicious and callous nature of the defendant.’ Jameson knew, as he was a very experienced barrister and well practised in courtroom theatricals, that the dramatic swing of his gown and the pointing at the defendant in the dock would have the faces of the jurors following his every move. He was not disappointed as he saw that all eyes were now on the scowling menace behind the glass screen.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jameson with another dramatic gesture back to the witness box, ‘please continue Mr D; please be assured that your recollection of the events, notwithstanding the pain you will endure in the course of you having to recall the unnecessary violence you suffered is of vital importance. The members of the jury must be left in no doubt as to the wanton and violent nature of the defendant.’ With a sweep of his hand behind him to gather his flowing gown, Mr Jameson sat down.

‘Continue in your own time Mr D.’

              ‘Yes sir,’ said the guard. ‘I didn’t see him coming; the visor of my helmet was down as I left the Supermarket entrance and walked to my van about twenty yards away. It was just going dark but the street lights had not yet come on. There were plenty of shoppers and customers around and everything seemed just normal. Nothing untoward.  As part of our training we always carry out dynamic risk assessments.

Jameson rose once more, ‘for the benefit of the jury who may not fully understand such terminology, can you just explain Mr D what you mean by that.’

‘Oh, yes sir, sorry about the jargon, all it means is that we are continually assessing the risk. Each time we drive somewhere, every time we stop, before we leave the safety of the cash van. We always have a good look around and if we see anything even slightly suspicious, we don’t get out of the van and we report it over the radio right away.’

‘Yes, thank you Mr D, please continue.

‘I collected the sealed container from the store, checked my exit route out and was escorted to the front entrance by the store security officer. Normally he would escort me to the back of the van as an extra precaution but, before we reached the door, he received a radio message to say that the staff had apprehended a shop lifter and he was required to assist them and await the arrival of the police.

“As I reached the back of the van, I was about to open the small security door to slide in the cash box. I didn’t see or hear anything; I was slightly bent over to enable me to open the door. Everything just happened so fast. Suddenly, I felt a heavy blow to my back in between my shoulder blades. I fell to my knees and then forward onto my face. I put my hands out to try and break my fall and I was momentarily stunned and lying in the road way face down. I let go of the box in an instinctive manner as my hands came down in front of me but the box didn’t travel very far, only about two feet away as it was still chained to my left wrist.’

‘I know how difficult this is for you Mr D, but please go on, would you like a glass of water?’

‘No sir, sorry. I’m ok. I turned over onto my back and was about to try and get up when I saw him towering above me. He had a black leather bomber type jacket on, dark coloured jeans; I remember they had a rip in the left knee, and he was wearing a black woolly balaclava over his head. He stood on my left hand, which was chained to the box, to prevent me from moving it and he knelt down beside me.’

‘Excuse me, Mr D, but I must just stop you there. It is my understanding of the situation that you clearly identified the defendant at the police station a few weeks after the incident, is that correct?’

‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’

‘Well forgive me for being pedantic here,’ as Jameson turned to face the jury once again, ‘but, if the defendant was wearing a face mask, how on earth could you have identified him?’

‘But that’s just it sir, when he knelt down beside me he leaned near to my face and took off the face mask and began to laugh. He wanted me to see his face that’s for sure. I think he wanted to make sure that I could see the wildness in his eyes. He said to me, “I hope you’ve got the key for your fucking bracelet mate.” I was stammering and stuttering and shouting all at the same time, it’s in me pocket, me right hand pocket. I reached into my pocket and brought out the key which was also on a small thin chain and handed it to him.’

‘I’m sorry to put you through this Mr D, but, could you just tell the jury what happened next.’

‘He took the key and chain, dangled it in front of me and dropped it on the floor and stamped on it with the heel of his foot, trying to grind it into the ground. His saliva peppered my face as he spat out the words to me, “Couldn’t be bothered fuckin about with keys,” and I saw his right arm rise above his shoulder and come crashing down to the ground. I screamed in pain as he stood up and I could see that he was holding the money case above my head and attached to the case was my left hand and wrist. He was laughing as he stood and began swinging the bracelet, with my hand still attached.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, me looking down at my arm spurting blood, and him swinging my hand around above his head like a skipping rope. Suddenly, my hand flew out of the bracelet, slammed against the van, and fell to the floor with my blood splattering everywhere as it fell. He looked down at me once more and said in the most chilling voice and manner, “Now me old matey, that was handy wasn’t it.” I will never forget those words or the way that he said them. I wake up sweating at night; he was speaking in the way that you hear old pirates speak in the movies. He enjoyed what he did to me. He is a monster who enjoys inflicting pain on others. He’s like a rabid dog. He should be put down.”

‘So, just to be absolutely clear on this matter Mr. D, Had he so wished, the defendant could have retrieved the cash box without any injury to you. You were not resisting him in any way, in fact, you had freely offered him the cash box key which would have enabled him to simply unlock your bracelet and make off with the cash without further ado. Is that correct?’

‘Absolutely right Mr. Jameson. We are under instructions not to offer resistance to any form of violence, not just for our own safety, but also that of any other staff or members of the public who could get injured if we resisted, we are told quite clearly that under no circumstances are we to try any heroics.’

‘Quite so, quite so Mr D, thank you for your attendance here today in what is obviously a very distressing situation for you. May the witness be excused M’lud? I’m sure he would appreciate a rest and an opportunity for him to have a drink. That is, if the defence have no questions to ask Mr D?’

The prosecution barrister continued his drama by waving his hand towards his learned colleague, but did not look at him as he knew his gesture would have even more dramatic effect.

Johnson’s defence barrister was also very experienced in court room procedures and he was well aware that both the Judge and the jury were looking in his direction. He could read both their minds; he knew it would be seen as extremely callous of him if he began to ask questions of the injured security guard.

Although he was duty bound to defend Johnson, he was well aware of the monster he was representing. He knew full well what a violent bastard he was. As his defending barrister, he had access to his previous convictions and he knew that his client had been in and out of institutions of various kinds for many years.

It came as no surprise to him to hear the evidence of the sadistic nature of the man in the dock when he knew that he had been detained in a young offenders institute at the age of 12 for decapitating a neighbour’s cat and pushing the severed head through the letterbox of the neighbour’s front door. The next door resident, in the eyes of Johnson, had committed a ‘crime’ in that she had not thrown his football back over the wall into Johnson’s yard. Hardly surprising given the tirade of foul abuse the neighbour had endured over a considerable period of time and the latest outburst of, ‘Gis me fucking ball back yeh smelly old cunt.’

Mrs Willis was indeed old, but smelly, she most definitely was not. She kept her little terraced house clean and tidy and lived in abject fear of the two young thugs who lived next door.

The jury are never allowed to know the previous convictions of defendants as it is considered extremely prejudicial to a defendant’s right to a fair trial. Johnson’s barrister knew it would serve no useful purpose to question the guard and equally dismissive with his gesturing hand, said to the Judge, ‘I have no questions for this witness M’lud.’

The Judge turned to the guard. ‘Thank you Mr D for the evidence you have given to this court today. You are dismissed, and I hope that your wounds quickly heal and you regain full use of you’re hand. You have been most honest and forthright in your testimony. I understand that you remain employed by your company in an administration capacity and it is to be hoped that you are never subjected to such violence again. Thank you once more.’

As the guard left the witness box, a woman juror sitting nearest to the witness looked across at Johnson in the dock. He was handcuffed and another chain was around his waist securing him to a rail. Two prison guards stood either side of him. Another stood behind him to restrain him if required. He saw the juror looking at him. He smiled at her and raised both his arms and made a sawing motion, simulating him cutting off one of his own wrists. At this gesture, the young woman fainted and had to be led from the courtroom whereupon the Judge declared a short recess in order that she may be allowed to compose herself and continue once more.

Fifteen years was certainly not enough jail time for the evil sub human that smiled and blew kisses to the jury as sentence was passed. They all knew that with parole and other matters taken into consideration he would serve no more than eight or nine years.

Fortunately the security guard was able to make a reasonable recovery as surgeons managed to re-attach the severed hand thanks to a quick thinking checkout assistant who rushed to the blood splattered scene with several bags of ice from the Supermarket freezer department. He would only ever have limited use of his hand and he would never recover the use of his little finger or ring finger as they were in a permanently straightened position as a result of tendon damage

Into first gear. The wagon lurched forward. ‘Fuck me,’ said Dave. ‘He’ll kill us all driving like that. Mind if I put my seatbelt on?’

‘Very slowly, pull it over with your right hand.’

As he reached for the belt, his mind was racing. Stupid thoughts of another film from the dim and distant past, today is not a good day to die. What day is ever a good day to die thought Dave?

The wagon bounced over a particularly deep pothole in the road and Dave bounced out of his seat slightly. Johnson looked away from Dave and politely asked Joe to be more careful as he drove!

Dave managed to slip his right hand under his uniform tunic and moved one of the switches on the radio concealed under his clothing. He was grateful of the early Season. Still fairly cold on the docks at this time of the year, especially on Nights. He was still wearing his bulky winter short coat whereupon the radio was carried inside the left chest area of the jacket. The new radio system, which had only been up and running for a few months was a huge improvement over the old one. Not only was it much more powerful in the distances it could transmit and receive, it was a lot smaller and lighter, and more important today than any other day, had a number of features that old gear didn’t have.

The switch he had operated was the open microphone facility. He wouldn’t be able to receive any messages of which he was extremely thankful. The last thing he wanted was for his abductor to know about the radio. All he could hope for now was that others might become aware of his predicament.