Costa del Trolls

By Craig Cavanagh

Graham, Benny, Zippy and Gore had come a long way since the heady days of the nineties when they ruled the roost in the field of knock-off designer clothing in the Luton area. However, times change and following an undesirable power shift, the quartet have found themselves at the bottom of the ladder, forced to peddle whatever their new track-suited overlords demand of them. With nowhere to go except prison, they are surprisingly given the chance to start a new life as part of a major international crime organisation in Marbella.
Finding it hard to believe their luck, they bid farewell to Luton with one last dig at the town that made them.
Once ensconced in the Costa del Sol they take to their new glamorous lifestyle with ease, often wondering whether it is all too good to be true, until inevitably, they find out it is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Craig Cavanagh
• Release date: Nov 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370951581

Craig Cavanagh

Seville based translator and on-off roving football reporter who dabbles occasionally with the pen. Other works include a novel entitled Costa del Trolls, the story of a group of good-hearted yet ultimately flawed thieves who up sticks and join an international crime organisation in Marbella. 11 Noches, a novel written in Spanish, with the assistance of his wife who acted as editor, the story of an everyday yet uninspiring town that receives no sunlight for 11 nights and the townspeople's endeavours to restore the light. All presently available at good on-line retailers.HIs most recent work is a collection of short stories entitled Collected Third Millennia Piffle which is slowly garnering interest amongst its (hopefully) growing readership.Please leave feedback on anything you have read, whether it was to your liking or not, on this page or on the official Facebook page.https://www.facebook.com/pg/C3RDMPFL/reviews/?ref=page_internal

Book preview

BOOK ONE - SECTION ONE

It was the worst of times, it truly was... And then 4 Non-Blondes

GRAHAM: And no word of a lie, it was a dreadful moment to be any of the four of us who had the misfortune of being stuck in our lives. No wonder there was so much talk of the change, the change we hoped was around the corner, and, despite more than a few teething difficulties, seemed to be finally heading our way. Our privileged, idyllic situation as the undisputed kings of knock-off ladies' designer clothing in the Luton area had been usurped long ago, and now we were forced to work under the graceless auspices of the scallies who were once our underlings, now even the kids are tooled up with blades and shooters, the glamour has gone, the respect for your adversaries and the pride in your work lost. It was clearly time to wave goodbye to the Luton that had seen us turn from boys into men. Every day was going to be one of those days and this was no exception as What's Goin' On By 4 Non Blondes was the clock radio's offering to inform me that it was quarter past nine.

A song guaranteed to pervert and penetrate my head throughout the entire morning. Capable of transforming any other work so un-alike in its musicality that the connection would seem impossible, no matter how far removed the genre may be from the insidious whining of that abominable pile of shite, the track chosen to remove this perverse musical violation from my head will never be strong enough to prevent conversion. As I make my way to the living room, I quickly head for one of Zippy's dreadful techno efforts that seem to please his ears, but as I make for the kitchen the track has just become the even ghastlier remix brought out later. I would have to concede this battle to time. The music has caused Zippy to stir from his slumber. One is never aware if he has risen early or yet to make it to his quarters, but one would suggest from the Play Station control near him, the wrappers of an imaginary war between Nestle and Cadbury and the telltale holes on his sleeping bag all make me think that Zippy has enjoyed another night of leisure in the world he controls.

It's nearly half past nine now and I have to admit that is my favourite time to get up. Getting up a bit after nine reminds me of not being at school, either due to health reasons (my parents must have been surprised to see me reach eighteen after so many life threatening illnesses prevented me from attending school) or, as an angry youth with a penchant for pinching and being on the bunk. Once my mother's worryingly easy signature was mastered and a supply of nice writing paper ascertained, all I had to do was wait until both parents left for work at half past eight before returning home at a little after nine. Hence the affection for that hour of the morning. I almost feel self-anger welling up inside me if I go through to ten on a work day, as if I were a layabout or something. My parents were soon informed of my truancy by the less than sporting Headmaster and following the dispossession of my entry key, other methods had to be employed, for example the use of an ideally shaped stick which could reach inside through the letter box and force the handle down. This would never work if the double-lock was on, but in those days the streets were almost safe, especially the days we were at school. Then it would have to be over the fence and leaving the back door open, until a combination of me forgetting to close it later and my parents asking the eagerly nosy neighbours to keep a beady peeler out for any untoward activities led to first, an embarrassing moment upon my mother's unexpected return with me exploring the highlights of their video collection and subsequently, the inevitable burglary. After that I was forced to sit in silence as the merest sound from the telly or music machine would be brought to the attention of my parents.

That soon became actually more boring than being at school, and, to my joy, in my absence the school had acquired some characters. School had converted itself in a fun place to be as we formed a gang that, through the many moments of thick, would remain, almost intact until this day. And that's where this story really begins, back in the school days when we first met, when we first got together and when we all shared the realisation that passing O levels was no better guarantee of a steady income than knocking off catalogue warehouses and taking the gear round the streets. So that you don't feel ill at ease with the influx of information that will appear on the following pages, it is though necessary for you to know what we are like and how we operate, both in a professional sense as well as a personal one, if you are going to accompany us when the change comes, I shall introduce you to Zippy now, as he is present.

Zippy is still on the sofa, he will remain there until the food scattered around him is no more, when the last sip of Tizer has been consumed and he is forced to enter the kitchen for a replacement. Despite the 4 Non Blondes incident, I am in quite good form for the morning of Monday, certainly other comparisons with other Mondays would be less favourable, I decide to offer him a cuppa. It would be easy to think of Zippy as a lazy waster, I do regularly, but everyone in our organisation (we eschew terms like possee or crew) fulfils a function, and Zippy is the Chemist, perpetrator of fabled medicaments used to maintain lucidity or remove it from our victims, plus, he is also good at lifting. I am the numbers of thinking stuff man, the brain behind the operation, I like to think, logistics as is the modern argot, and the other two, who will be introduced formally in the forthcoming chapters, Benny is the gob, a silver-tongued ponce who could sell false moustaches to Arabian lads, and Gore, who is the muscle we prefer not to use, but always feel safer having around, especially in these inclement times, again also well versed in operations requiring lightness of fingers.

Brew Zip? I enquire.

You read my mind! I was just about to make one. Was his almost unpredictable response. Zippy is almost about to make one, then something comes up. He is also a master of putting the kettle on. He will gleefully tell you that the kettle has just boiled, and, as we have a metal affair, who is to know?

Well, I won't stop you then, make it nice and strong as it's cold this morn. Banter should always be embraced, even on Monday mornings.

Yeah, but you're there now aren't you? I'll put the news on. Zippy has suddenly acquired an interest in current affairs it would seem. I'll give him two minutes before he smells the bacon and calls my name in that way you normally only hear from a long-term girlfriend returning from a business trip aboard. Maybe in some ways that is what he is like, not, and I wish to make that very clear from the outset, that there is anything like that going on at all. We have lived together for nearly four years now, Zippy seemed the obvious choice as me and Benny would end up murdering each other and Gore likes heavy metal. I consider closing the door to reduce the aroma levels so that I can see his face when I enter with only one bacon sarny, for myself. A relationship is maintained healthy at times by a modicum of good-natured torture and abuse. However, I decide to treat him, maybe my good deed will remove the song from my head, which is still causing grief. As the kettle boils and the boiling water weaves its magic with the PG tips, it seems like now would be a good moment for some more background.

Dates fail me to be able to say with any exactitude but we must have been in the fourth year at secondary school when we started knocking around together. That would make us around fourteen-fifteen, we believe that a person, like a footballer should never be constrained to one age, but like the season in which they are playing, they should be both ages, so no we are thirty-three - thirty four, which means we met in eighty-five - eighty-six. We are still unsure if this should continue once we pass the age of hanging up our boots, and if we take the omnigram of our organisation as Benny being the striker then Gore would be the goalkeeper could feasibly play at this level until he is forty-one - forty two whereas Benny would then be forty one and retired. We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. During that season we met when myself and Zippy realised that we got the same bus home and one day bumped into Benny with a young lady, who turned out to be the intended (unilaterally) of the school cock who took exception to Benjamin's amorous advances and offered him the chance to be beaten senseless, Benny had little muscle in those days, until Gore stepped in and rewrote the school's table of hardness. After that Benny shamelessly adopted Gore as his best friend, should his wayward genitalia get him into another scrape. Gore's family had a garage where his elder brother hung around with his makeshift band and Gore asked us if we wanted to hang around. Despite the family tradition to gravitate towards Motley Crew at best, once we discovered there were girls as old as seventeen and a seemingly never-ending supply of Woodpecker cider and Number 1's, we were welcome, in our eyes, additions to the garage.

Once we scraped past the surface of the music being offered by the group, shockingly called No Rite of Way, there were some interesting influences. It was there we got our education, musically and criminally, school was merely a place to plan, later a selling-ground and eventually and gladly, a memory. In the garage music of all genres cohabited happily with arguments only being ever tongue-in-cheek as a skeleton in the closet of someone was unearthed and mutilated. At first we sat in awe of these almost ancient creatures approaching eighteen with their endless knowledge on music, football, pulling and, most importantly, how to make a few bob from nothing. We knew we never had a chance with the girls, even Benny failed to make an impact in such illustrious company, and this was Benny who had become a legend at the age of thirteen when he was ceremoniously deflowered by a nineteen year-old nurse. Most people wanted to believe it was bullshit, but everyone knew that he walked like someone who had had sex, then he left her and started dating her roommate. The cider and Embassy Number 1's were not free, well occasionally, but with only one consenting party in the transaction, we weren't sure how funds were obtained, though were aware that the offerings of the YTS's proposed by the school career's office were clearly not the source.

Gore's brother didn't let us in on much at the time. We knew they were as shady as the shadiest willow tree in the garden, but we weren't about to pull the moral high-ground. I suppose we were not supposed to be present when they received a visit from Tony Matthews. We didn't even know who he was as naïve fifteen year olds looking to cop a feel and imbibe as much cider as our still developing livers could handle. Tony Matthews ran everything in Luton, he was an elegant, well-dressed man in his fifties. I remember thinking he just looked like someone's dad, but everyone in the garage's personality changed with his entry. Gore wasn't even that sure what his elder bro was involved with, although we thought he was keeping something from us. Another three years would pass before I saw Tony Matthews again in the flesh, and by that time it was too late, but let's not go too fast and hang around the garage for a while longer. Zippy is pleased with his bacon butty and informs me that tomorrow it's his turn.

Gore's brother explained the income he received by claiming that the band were doing well. We were employed as roadies as to explain Gore the Younger's healthy pot. His parents enjoyed Perry Como and Mantovani and as a result had no desire to attend the fictitious concerts the band was playing in the capital. Once the cover was in place Barry Gore and the bassist Jamie Riley made us an offer. We were considered small and nimble, and could get into a variety of nooks and crannies in order to misappropriate articles. This was basically just a nice way of saying that we were to perform the tasks that they had no wish to do, the ones that had a higher risk of an encounter with the long arm of the law. Our technique was inexpert at first but we soon learnt the ways of the world and despite having to make it away on our toes more than once we generally escaped with the booty. Most of it was to order so if there was anything extra we would have that and fence it in the school playground. By the time we were sixteen we were looking at seventy-five quid a week easy. Our only outlays at that time were records and clothes, though we soon learnt how to cut out the middle man with the latter. I remember my cousin coming back from work covered in grease, made up with his thirty pound pittance at nineteen. However, it wasn't before long that I got cocky and he soon twigged what was going on, he knew about Gore and Riley and the others and demanded a cut, lest he inform mama and papa. It was a learning curve and we wanted to learn fast. We just had to get off the bottom part of the J-Curve.

Luton may not seem like the ideal place for four young ambitious thieves, but it provided us with the perfect canvas to learn how to ply our trade. Ah! Luton, too close to London to be interesting and too far away to be important. In the early days, I was forced to stay on at school when the others bailed out at sixteen as not to lose the market. Gore went to technical college in the area too, simply to open up another. We were seen as likeable, cheeky wide-boys, we only ripped off shops and retailers, so people didn't seem to have a problem with us, they got their cheap fags, booze and other items and we made the quids. Our idyllic life looked like it would continue forever, but then again it always does. Whenever we were in the company of Gore the elder and Riley we were untouchable, everyone knew they went with Tony Matthews and his organisation and it would be too risky to do anything to us. So we made sure that we were always in safe company, then we got cocky, we pissed of Riley and then ripped off a lad called Dean Hughes who turned out to be a good mate of Riley's. Gore the elder was given a few stern words by Tony Matthews’ right hand man Stephen Doherty and the message was passed on. Gore the elder was none too pleased about the embarrassment of the dressing down from the top and left his younger brother's face in a less than inviting state. As we considered Gore to be the hard one in the group, it was clear that were playing with fire. A combination of greed and silliness had overpowered us, poisoning our minds and making us believe we were some sort of gangsters. I'll never forget that phone call for the rest of my life.

Graham? A voice I couldn't place asked. The voice seemed older, well-spoken. Then I placed it. Haven't we been trying to take a larger slice of the pie than corresponds to us, then? I knew that the question was rhetorical, but couldn't prevent myself from answering. I knew I was boring him, but thought, if he was going to kill me? Why phone me? He was bored, but continued. Graham, I like the way you boys work. You have initiative, some would even dare to use the word flair, you have a good balance between your group. But, and this is at the moment only a moderate size but, though it could grow, you are becoming greedy, and one thing I won't stand for is sloppy. However, you have placed me in something of a quandary. I can see your potential and wish to harness it, though your actions must be admonished for the mere status quo. I hear you are the intelligent one so you will realise I do not refer to one of your metal friend's records. So, I have arrived at the following decision. The protection which you enjoy and abuse, part of which filters down from me, will be removed for a short while and the streets will do with you as they please. You have angered some people not well versed in the art of ignoring vendettas. You have taken more than your share. You have assumed I would not find out. Still, I firmly believe in rehabilitation, and this short, sharp shock should impede the possibility of your falling into recidivism. So, when I decide the lesson has been learnt, you will return to the fold. This time on salary, rising when your worth has been proven and you will learn to operate in the correct way. Well, Graham, I'm glad we had this little chat. I just hope they don't end up murdering you all, which I do admit would be a shame. Though, if that is what is written in the stars then so be it. I'll be in touch and good luck. He put the phone down and though the incident seemed to pass in a flash, the words have remained ingrained in my head ever since.

After passing on the information to the others, we sat around and shat ourselves for a while. Then things were made worse by our regular customers, the ones we hadn't ripped off, getting the hump because we'd gone to ground. Some of them used our products to stock their pubs and punters were getting thirsty. If we stayed in, our client base would do us, if we went out, the enemies would. Either way, we had to take a pasting, and in true Scarface fashion we lined up, had some shots of tequila and went out to sell. Feeling invincible, we entered the pub owned by Dominic Morgan's dad and offered the loot. It wasn't long before the local telephone wires were jumping, and as we left Dean Hughes was in the car-park brandishing a baseball bat that looked actually friendlier than his cohorts. As we heard the doors of the pub bolt behind us, Zippy lit a fag and Benny rushed with all his might towards Hughes, Benny would rather die than have the baseball bat do any damage to that, in his opinion, beautiful face. I went for the biggest one and hit him pathetically on the elbow or something, maybe it caused a reaction in his funny bone at best, though he was soon able to wield his strength again. I remember very little from that moment on, except that as I went down I saw the lights of a Mercedes Benz go on and as the electric windows rose to blacken the image on the backseat, I made out the face of an older, classical looking gentleman enjoying a cigar and the view.

Zippy came out of it the worst. Zippy always did. He excelled in being the unfortunate one, a kind of Joe Bloggs dressed, weed-smoking Norman Wisdom. If we'd had a car crash and he had been in the passenger seat on the opposite side of the impact, he would have been the one expelled through the windscreen, whilst Benny would receive no injuries, except maybe some exotic scar to help in his pulling, I would get some sort of leg injury to further enhance my lack of physical movement and Gore would repel the blast. Perhaps Zippy's bad luck was the Yin to the Yan of Benny's good fortune. Zippy would always appear with cuts and burns when seemingly he had been nowhere near the presence of cutting implements or burning things. Once, on a family holiday, he hired a rowing boat off the coast of a Greek island, his parents, who never took much of an interest in their son's safety, yet were still continually surprised when the call came from casualty departments, he fell asleep in the warm, nee scorching mid-afternoon sun and drifted to another island where he was stranded for two days until rescued by a passing fishing trailer. His parents had taken advantage of the privacy to sample some of the local delicacies, their voyage taking an extended stop in the land of Oozo, returning to their hotel for a rekindling of the flames, and drunk, they fell into a deep sleep until the next morning. When they woke up and had had breakfast, nursing their sore heads, they realised they were minus their first born and lazily decided to investigate. Eventually, they were reunited with the boy who hadn't eaten for two days and was visibly weakened by mild sunstroke. As the lad had to spend the next few days in bed recovering, his parents then went on a tour of the islands and took advantage of an unexpected second honeymoon. If it had not been for an attentive chambermaid, the boy's nourishment would have gone even more amiss.

Zippy was in hospital for a month. We had to get on our toes a few times and there were unpleasant digs from time to time, but things died down. A truce was called by the publicans and Tony Matthews called us back into the fold. He put Zippy in a private room and gave us a few hundred quid for lost earnings. He told us to forget about the booze and fags racket, that was for the idiots. He told me he didn't want me getting any knocks on the head and six months later he enrolled me in a Business Management course at the tech. My mother was elated that my supposedly errant ways had been curtailed, as she, like many others, considered Tony Matthews to be beyond reproach. Of course, in many ways he was. People liked him because he was good to them, he had a clearly defined philosophy which went along the lines of: DON'T FUCK WITH TONY MATTHEWS. And very few did, as far as I know no-one did, no-one even tried. Why bother? Tony Matthews ran a tight ship and everyone benefited. People thought if you crossed him, you wouldn't live to tell the tale. And if you took his empire, you'd only have to run it yourself, and that could start a war. I have pondered this power situation on many occasions, and can only liken it to the myth of military invincibility enjoyed by Sweden in the latter part of the seventeenth century, like Sweden, Tony Matthews never fought a war, and when attacked for the first time by Kalvin and his scallies, that proved to be his battle of Ferbellen, and then the Prussians took Luton. Well, that's just my interpretation, anyway.

Briefly before my mother was mentioned. There was also a father too, but I never met him. You see, my mother is of Galician origin, and fled her native land when she fell pregnant for Blighty's more welcoming shores. She had heard of the sexual revolution and assumed it was commonplace in Portsmouth. She soon discovered it wasn't but as a trained nurse she found work easy to come by. That is when she met Jack, a patient of hers who took a shine to her. She was not keen to court again in her state, and in an attempt to thwart Jack's advances she told him her plight. To her surprise he told her that it were not a matter of concern for him, and that if she would do him the honour of becoming his good lady wife, then they could move to a new place and start a new life. She couldn't see a better offer coming before she got fatter, and accepted. They chose Luton and concocted the story of a holiday romance and him doing the right thing. Despite the marriage not being founded on the strongest base, they soon turned into quite the young couple, even after I arrived, and was so named after Jack's late father, which I preferred to mum's idea of Fernando, which would have made school so much more fun. My mother told me the truth when I was sixteen, and I'd love to be able to justify my garish behaviour due to the feelings of rejection and deceit after years of lies, but Jack was dad and always would be. She had had no contact since she left Spain with the man whose sperm turned into me, and I didn't feel I needed to either. Contacts were re-established with the homeland when the birth of democracy changed attitudes. Mum always spoke to me in Spanish so without learning it I was bilingual. We had great fun winding dad up as we spoke the language of Cervantes but said his name in a pointlessly loud voice. Family life was a reasonably happy affair, and if it wasn't, the blame fell solely at my feet.

In all our families there was a fair dose of deception when our career paths did not go in the desired way. At least Gore's father had been to prison, though that was for tax-evasion, much more glamorous than petty thievery, and everyone knew what his brother was like, so at least from a socio-demographic point of view his fall seemed inevitable. I know people whispered that, I, being from Latin stock would be inevitably drawn to corruption and crime. I know that hurt mum, Luton at times failed to be the welcoming, cosmopolitan metropolis it appeared. Zippy's parents were aghast, both his elder brothers had attended Oxbridge and, though it was clear that the same level of academic attainment was not to be expected from their youngest, they even admitted the word polytechnic, their disappointment was more than evident each time a police car drove into their cul-de-sac. I was kicked out pretty soon after the incident in the pub car park. However, as I was on the Tony Matthews payroll, I could get my own place and do what I wanted. It fills me with pride to look back on those days and revel in the absurdity of the wanker I was to the very people who had given me everything, how I let my mother spend sleepless nights worrying if she would have to identify me, how my father, an honest and decent working man as you would hope to find, could not enjoy a pint after work for fear of being the recipient of something owed to me. And so, despite my life of crime and deceit which has been never-ending, I did come to a realisation soon after that my attitude had to change, it seemed like everyone liked a thief with principles more than a wanker with none. Luckily, when I went back to college they took me back, and when I left, I did so because it was the right time and they retrieved their house for their autumn years in peace.

College was good fun, it was tempting to get involved in some business, but we had to play straight by Tony, we couldn't blow it again. The course was easy, the tutors wanted me to do an access course to do a full degree, but that seemed like too much time. Anyway, without wishing to sound boastful, most of the stuff they taught was common sense and so why bother listen to common sense for three more years when I could put it into practice. Tony only really wanted me to have qualifications in case of any future judicial appearances, he thought that kind of thing would make a nice bargaining plea. I was on the same wage as the other three but they were doing real work. I know Benny resented this, but for once in his life he managed to keep his big mouth shut. Tony wanted to leave the rackets more commonly associated with gangland to his minions, he was interested in getting into the fashion business, through the back door, of course. We were to acquire (nick) and sell (cheap) articles of varying degrees of quality. Ideally designer stuff, but in the absence copies, and in the extreme absence, market stuff. It was a safer environment to work in, although we would later prove that wrong, and no-one was up to it in the Luton area. With London down the road, all we needed was some audacious larceny and would be away. We approached eighteen with the spectre of a violent death looming over us, as we hit nineteen the world seemed a wholly more inviting place. It was the summer of '89 and we had cars with stereos that blasted out the sounds of the moment, and as we danced the nights away we thought anything was possible, and for a good while, it was.

It's hard not to get nostalgic when I think of those early days, we had to grow up fast and learn from our mistakes, if we'd repeated them it would have been the end. Our roles were clearly defined even then, Zippy and Gore were in charge of reconnaissance missions and general lifting, they loved it, the thrill of breaking in, the chase, even getting caught seemed a bonus to them. As they liked this chasing lark so much we sometimes had a system going whereby they caused such a ruckus that the security guards chased after them leaving us free reigns on the merchandise. This was generally only done on birthdays and special occasions as it would be seen, in the eyes of Mr. Matthews, as sloppy. I did transport, planning and numbers, and Benny, and you have to hand it to him, did the door to door flogging. He was a charming swine even at twenty and soon had the local women in the palm of his hand, of course, Benny being Benny, he soon found the need to relocate these women, which led to problems that we shall see later. Most operations ran smoothly, sometimes we wondered if these people wanted to be robbed, the easiest were the catalogue warehouses, that was almost insulting, it tempted you to be sloppy just for a bit of fun, but the Matthews theorem was still in the bonce. Best though, was doing jobs in London, the buzz of going down past Wembley, remembering those glorious final days out, and into town, coming back over Tower Bridge and back into the sticks. Whenever we went to London it was cos' there was something good on offer. Sometimes even beyond the speculative planning had led us to believe.

Like one time, we mustn't have been more than twenty at the time, we'd only done a couple of jobs in London at that point, Tony considered we were still cutting our teeth. We were down there for about six in the morning, Benny had been winging all the way down, cos' one of his clients had kept him up all night. He had some powder on him and begged us to let him take it, but we had a rule, and that was no drugs on jobs, no drinking even, sloppy innit? So he's half asleep when we get to the place. We thought it was gonna be down some back-street or something but it's only bloody next to Harrods's. The place is a joke, there is absolutely no security. We can't believe there is actually gonna be anything worth taking when there in front of us are three racks of Armani suits, dresses and fuckin' some fur coats! God knows how many thousands of pounds worth of gear is here, but it turns out that there was some fashion parade next door, but they decided it was too cold to store them there so they left them across the road trustingly. Tony thought there would be a nice lot of shirts from Gap and Next and that which always sold well, but this was beyond belief. There we are then, with the balaclavas on and loading up, some fruity looking guy turns up and asks us what we are doing. He looks like a designer and would lose a fight with one of his models. So Benny tells him we are moving the stuff for the show. He asks so why the balaclavas? And Ben replies Cause it's fucking freezing! He tells us were right there and says he's off to get a coat himself, he says he'll see us at the show. And we are off, looking for the M25 to get back to civilisation. Only in London! We are pissing it in the back of the van, and everyone enjoys a well earned line of Benny's powder as we race back to Luton. From that moment one, we were like Tony's sons, it was a lucky scoop, we admit, but we still did it well. With my three-grand share I got myself a Golf and then met Julia.

Julia wasn't meant to happen, but, then again when is it? We met while I was just finishing off at college, she was a few years older than me and was completing a masters degree in fine art. We got talking thanks to a tinkery, old photocopier which gave her and me problems at the same time. Immediately I was struck by the way she wasn't like any of the girls I had been with, or even talked to before. Her eyes contained enthusiasm that I had never seen before in a person, she talked with passion about all the things dear to her, and listened attentively to anything new that could be of benefit to her, or not. I was convinced at first she saw me for what I was, a young joker with a bit of nouse, doing a course out of boredom. Although we conversed frequently in the refectory, I never considered for one moment she would go out with me for a date, let alone enter into a relationship with me. She was continually surrounded by potential suitors which she brushed off with eloquence, and was clearly riled at being the oldest student at the college. She had wanted to do the masters in the capital where she hailed from, but was refused funding, thus was forced to make do with the inadequate facilities and teaching staff of our provincial institution. At first I pretended to share her interests to give me the opportunity to maintain our platonic, and probably, fictional relationship. Soon though, I found her verve intoxicating, and adopted these interests with, what I hoped was, a similar passion. We went to museums together, she showed me round places in London that I would never have found in a million years, and, most importantly, she was an escape from the world which controlled and owned me. I deliberately kept her apart from the others, mainly because I didn't want her to know what we got up to, and secondly because I feared Benny's charms might work on her. Even though I knew she was not the type Benny would go for, he may have just had a pop to rile me, to show me that he was the master. It was one of the facets about Benny that I most detested, and over the years more would come to replace and supersede that one. For me it was love at first sight, but that love soon turned into a longing pain that filled my entire existence, it was hard to concentrate on my work, or studies with Julia ever present in my head. I would have her as an imaginary passenger in the get-away vehicle, discussing modern art with her as the others raided another warehouse. When the cash came in, she would accompany me in my head on shopping sprees, with me imagining her laughing at hideous shirts I had tried on simply to amuse her. We would have deep, extensive conversations long into the night in my bedroom, when I was the only person present. My mum despaired of me, talking to myself, something she had seen in her village when she was young and nothing good ever came of it. I was infatuated with her, but left with the cleft stick of if I asked her out or, even worse, declared my love for her, that would be the end of our friendship, as neither would be able to recover from the chagrin of my declaration. If I didn't tell her though, I would remain miserable and distraught for the rest of my days, which I hoped that, without her, would be few.

One day I was in the boozer with Zippy and I saw her from the window, walking arm in arm, and clearly not besotted with me, with a poncey-looking twat in his forties. No doubt an artist of some sort, no doubt someone who could offer her the same intellectual desire that she fed on, no doubt someone wholly better and more deserving than me. I felt like my heart had been packed away in a loft somewhere, as, for the rest of eternity, it would never be needed again. I tried to sever links with her, but she kept calling me and asking what was up. She thought she had done something to offend me, and even asked if she bored me. I told her it was me that was the problem and that maybe it was best that we didn't see each other any more. Then she said the greatest sentence I have ever heard in my life, that she had high hopes for her and me. Simply that, but the way it ended in her and me, gave my hand Inspector Gadget like powers to reach up the stairs, upon the loft door and retrieve the heart, replacing the stale pasty that was acting as a stand in. I began to sweat from places I was sure I did not have sweat ducts, surely my toenails couldn't be sweating? I coyly asked her what she meant by her and me, then she gave me the look. I already considered her the epitome of beauty, nothing that had ever walked this planet could compare with my exquisite Julia, but at that moment she achieved perfection. I couldn't think of her though as a sexual being, despite being apocryphally ensconced with her in the privacy of my room, when the tension became to much and sleep could only be achieved by the outlet of relief, I could never manage it thinking of her. Maybe if I had managed to slip a sly one off the wrist about her, then her allure and magic may have dwindled and she would have returned to the domain of other females, but I felt like it would be abusing her. Then, when I thought about others during the act, I felt like I was betraying her. When she gave me that look, however, she became a sexual being, she became the zenith of all desire, she embodied every passion that could be evoked. She had done something to me, for a start I didn't fucking talk like this before I met her. We fell into an embrace and the details are not necessary. Perhaps, like they weren't when I mentioned the masturbation incident, but that can go under the umbrella term of clarification for the story.

She had been waiting for me to make a move and I didn't. I remember asking her.

So, who was the old geezer I saw you with.

To which she responded:

I can't stop being a woman just because you can't stop being a coward.

And so love blossomed. Benny found it sickening and Zippy questioned whether it was the end. I tried to tell him it was simply a new beginning, but he didn't seem to credit it. In the early days, Julia asked no questions, I told her we did a bit of selling, but it was all kosher. I went a bit overboard on how much and it was clear that no-one was that honest, but she didn't seem to mind, she worried about me getting into trouble, though as she never found out what trouble I got into, she assumed I was being a good boy. She was taken up with her art most of the time anyway so we only saw each other after the grafting had been done. Well, we also enjoyed numerous horizontal lunches and my Spanish blood introduced her to the joys of the (awake) siesta. It was the best time of my life. Tony was so happy with my progress and healthy state of mind that I was basically running his numbers and planning operations and was superfluous to requirements for the work of the foot-soldiers. The rest didn't get too uppity as my tactical brilliance brought them in some very big scores, it also meant the pots were full and the law were off our backs, in times of plenty, love is all around.

I was convinced that there was no way Julia could find out, I wasn't, at that time, aware as to what her potential reaction would be, but as my mum says when its the epoch of the thin cows, then problems started to appear. We had problems with the law, not that they wanted to arrest us, they just wanted a bigger share of the pot. We had our hands tied, to operate we needed jurisdiction, and to get jurisdiction we need to operate. Suddenly exorbitant amounts were requested and we needed to cut corners. Julia had heard some rumours, and was also wondering how someone who seemed to work so little enjoyed such fiscal delights. She smelt a rat. She asked me if I was involved in anything that I shouldn't be and I laughed it off. She told me the only thing she would never stand for was being lied to, then added a few more for good measure. All of these things read like my CV. When she said that she would believe what I told her, but if the opposite were proven true, she would leave me. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but with all the ease of the thief, lied to her, and continued doing so.

With the increased necessity to find funds, I was doing a double-shift with the foot patrol. Rumours were now all about town, my mum continually accosted me about my doings and began praying for my wayward soul. When she got nervous she lost her Estuary accent and adopted an unplaceable voice somewhere from between the Galician mountains and the Vatican City. It was then she got into cahoots with Julia and the pair began questioning my movements. I tried to explain the situation to Tony, but all he could do was empathise, while reminding me that the ship would sink without the lifeboats being used. And so, one routine job was turned sour when the constabulary were waiting for us on the inside. It turned out that the police on our side, which was really their side, got the impression that we were not going to play their games for much longer, and decided to sever ties. No questions were asked, no deals were struck. We were taken down the station and charged. When I saw the look on Julia and mum's face, I knew it was time to put the old pasty back in. Despite having a top lawyer, nothing much mattered, I remembered Tony's words about going down together, but we did not receive one visit or call from him.

We were tried hastily. In court, when under questioning Benny could not resist the opportunity to reproach the judge when he claimed we were selling these products for a hundred quid, his exact words: Your honour, we're not those sort of boys, we'd only charge you twenty!, we couldn't help but laugh, not because it was funny, but because our brains had parted company with our moves. Maybe if we hadn't laughed wouldn't have got a year each, but then again, would it have made any difference? I couldn't look at Julia and my parents as I was led away, at that moment it wasn't the year in prison that bothered me, it was the prison that awaited me afterwards. I had broken Julia's heart, she would leave me now, and I deserved no less. Once again, I had managed to show contempt for the only beautiful thing that had happened to me in my adult life. We talked about fraternity and the organisation, but as Billy Ocean should have said, when the going gets tough, everyone fucks off and leaves you to get stiffed.

We assumed that being part of the Matthews organisation would guarantee us a smooth passage through prison. We all remembered Henry Hill and Pauly in the nick in Goodfellas and were sure that would be us, worrying about the wine and the bread so we could dine, running the joint. I would like to be able to say prison was a wheeze, that we did our time and met a few characters, that we mastered our trade and enjoyed a camaraderie that made the time easy, but it was not like that. Prison was the lowest point. We were kept apart and spent our time dodging assaults with physical and muscular weapons. I know Benny was raped in there, he never admitted it, but it was all too obvious. Zippy was systematically mistreated by all the lunatic cellmates the screws could think of, whilst I went quickly mad. A madness that would have driven me to a place I had no wish to visit had it not been for one thing, that visit. After about three weeks I received a visit and was in two minds about showing up. My mum came at every opportunity only to chastise herself in Galician for her failings as a mother. When I realised how it would make her feel if I refused to see her, I decided I had no right to give her any more pain. When I walked into the visiting room and saw Julia, it was the closest I have ever come to considering religion, not Catholicism mind. I remember feeling difficulty in my breathing, so absorbed was I with her beauty . She made it clear that any second chances would be on a number of very strict conditions which in layman's terms were not to be fucked around with. Any misdemeanour, she even mentioned library books, would result in a definitive end. I would have accepted any conditions and as I whistled my way back to my cell I was brought back to earth by a punch from someone who thought Tony Matthews was an old fruit.

Every week she came and although we couldn't touch or kiss or even hold hands, it felt like she was once again with me, accompanying me everywhere, shielding her eyes from the naughty men in the shower, and laughing at her when she tried to lift the twenty kilo dumbbell. These moments of relief were still interspersed with beatings, but to my joy I was released after six months with my sphincter the same size as I had entered prison. Gore and Zippy were already out when I got home. Julia made it clear I was not to mix with them until they had proven their worth. I couldn't see them getting proper jobs either, it was an anathema to me, but, I had to buy some time and placate Julia. I still had a fair bit of money stashed away, so work, was not considered a priority, until Julia announced she would not have the rewards of the devil's work in this house (she had spent a lot of time with my mother) and that caused me some pain. She wanted me to give the money to charity or some good cause but I managed to blag her and get it to Zippy, on condition. Julia and mum got their hooks into some retraining programme for ex -cons (Christ I only did six months) and with my qualifications I was offered a place in a ghastly company, working for nine to five in reward for my benefits. Yippeee dooooh. I thought prison was bad. After about two weeks I told Julia that it was doing my head in and what I wanted to do was go into business, but legit, like. She embraced this idea, but commented that funds were an issue as she hadn't sold a painting for yonks, and her work had suffered due to my incarceration. Then Tony Matthews found out where I was and came looking for me.

When I left prison I made myself two promises, one never to return to prison, and two never to lie to Julia again. Don't ask me about the order of priority cos I can't tell you. Soon, the second promise was modified to never lie to Julia again, unless it is wholly inevitable and you won't get caught. Tony offered me my old job back and a mate at the programme said he would cover for me. I felt capable of living a double life. Unfortunately, and unbeknown to me, my mate was done for robbing a car and was sent back from whence he came, leaving me without an alibi. For about four months I got away with it, I eschewed the materialistic trappings my earning power could aspire to and lied constantly and freely to Julia and my parents. She recovered her flair for painting and I managed to get an anonymous buyer to pay over the odds for her work with my money so there was cash in the house. So pleased was she with my recuperation that she decided to surprise me one day outside the programme with tickets for a week in the Bahamas. Needless to say, her disappointment levels reached new extremes when she discovered that Graham Thompson had not been seen in the place for months.

When I got home she showed no emotion. She asked me questions about how things were going, allowing me to prove myself truly the biggest twat in the world, which I did gleefully. Lying had become an integral part of our relationship, well at least my interpretation of it. Then she held up the tickets to my delight, when she ripped them in two, I began to suspect the worst. She simply said that the conditions had been broken and that she was leaving forever. I felt so emasculated and sub-human that I made no attempt to stop her. I had no right to stop her. I had destroyed her definition of trust, on two occasions and she knew I would gladly nosedive towards a third. My mother had been informed and excommunicated me, properly, this was no sulk. I had nobody, nobody except the organisation. What was the point of going straight now? And when I look back and wonder if things could have been any different, I'm not sure if they could. I hate myself at feeling in part relief because I now can do what I wish and pain for the loss of the only woman I could ever truly love in my life. And as I sat and recounted the pain and misery I caused her and my family, I wonder what kind of person I truly am, and despair as the answer always seems to be, fuck it.

Anyway, that was Julia, I fear she will crop up from time to time, but we have missed out a part of the story that is essential. That we are four but there was a Pete Best. Though, that is a story best told by Zippy and as he has to go to Kalvin's to pick up our sales produce for this week, he can tell you on the walk.

BOOK ONE - SECTION TWO

Once we was five

ZIPPY:

Has he been banging on about Julia? Inevitable. I heard something but was honestly too busy trying to get my Pro Card on the old Tiger Woods. So, I'm off to Kalvin's. I got the short straw with that bad boy. It had to be me, can you hear Harry singing? Kalvin hates Benny cos Benny Big Lover Man, he always thinks Graham says clever things to wind him up and he's scared of Gore. Course, he's not scared of Gore when he's got his scally mates all tooled-up. But, I'm the jolly one, let him take the piss we won't be here too long. It's time for the change. Graham told you? Still, that's Benny's tale.

When we say that we was five, there is a bit of artistic licence involved. We've tried to pinpoint when the graceful and elegant Alan appeared on the scene. Arrive he did, and with what Graham would probably call aplomb, and get away with it, if I said it the piss-taking would last longer than a tournament with the Tiger. Still, nice of Graham to do the brekky honours, guess it'll be my turn tomorrow. So Alan came with the old aplomb and for that reason it seems to have blurred our social scene beforehand, as if he had always been there. There didn't seem to be any pre-Alan anecdotes, or any worth telling anyway. Everyone rushed to Alan. He was a great lad, endowed with fine qualities (from our point of view), and, inevitably, hindsight has only made him greater. For indeed, Alan is no more, the James Dean of Leighton Buzzard via East London now rests with the deities.

Alan had been seen knocking around for a while before we really got to know him. He knew Benny and had served time with Jamie Riley for something they didn't do. The justice system in this nation of our does seem to be a cruel set up with so many innocent friends and acquaintances and enemies of mine sent to the land of Scottish brekky for no reason. Alan had everything, good-looks, even beyond the standards set by Benny, the gift of the gab, patter, plus he knew loads, an immense knowledge, both practical and the ever favourite pub type of useless stuff that won quizzes and left the gobs open. He was born in the East End and was proper London, his accent was the stuff of pale imitations in our post codes. He was the sort of lad lads wanted to be and the sort of lad that girls wanted to be with. Now, I know what you're thinking, and I'd probably be tempted to wander down the same boulevard of procrastination myself, but although he sounds like the most odious, conceited twat ever to walk our lord's planet, he wasn't, quite the opposite. Everyone lapped him up. He was like a Hollywood star and we couldn't believe he was on our patch. He became the social epicentre of our nocturnal earthquakes in no time and was soon established as the essential face on the local scene. It's hard not to well up a bit when I think back about him, but the way he was it was clear he wasn't gonna last too long.

His main problem was the way he worked. He was generally regarded as insane, a risk-taker, so Tony Matthews made it clear he was a no-no as a partner. Anyway, Alan didn't like being tied down to a restrictive organisation like ours. He joked that we were the librarians of Luton crime, everything so safe, so, he almost said it with disdain, Tony Matthews. Alan aimed to retire to the Bahamas before he was thirty and spent the days leading up to his 10957th day on the planet looking for a big job to guarantee him the lolly to live his dream. We only worked with him on special occasions like Christmas or birthdays, it was always a rush, but it was nice to get your feet back on the ground with what he called lazy crime.

Despite the odd job with Alan, we saw him loads as he decided that socialising with the lads he did the jobs with could get him in a stick. He sometimes blanked Jamie Riley in the pub, or out and about, and once, famously, reported Riley's car for double parking to the rozzers, so that when they accused him of being in cahoots with the Rilemaster, he had a nice little alibi. Of course, Alan, being a gent paid the fine for Riley. He worked with the Upton Crew of Gary Dickinson and Tony Cooney mostly, and as those two are in a place where the keys have been well and truly thrown away, well at least for two decades, it was best not getting to close to Alan as an associate. You may also think, from what you'll have heard about Benny (I suppose will you notice that him and Gray don't see eye to eye always) that the Benny lover might have felt some pressure from the presence of Alan on the scene, having the girls, as he so quaintly puts it, frothing at the gash, but no, Benny liked the competition, he always said we were cramping his style and wouldn't touch anything that would so much as converse with the sexual plebs of Luton. Though deep down there was another reason, Alan could have any lass he wanted, but had fallen in love with a lass from the Buzzard, a surprisingly plain, dull and un-Alan girl, to whom he remained faithful. Alan liked the idea of a chase, but didn't trust the vehicle. Benny couldn't understand it, but then again Benny never could comprehend a relationship that was based on anything more profound than screwing the new hairdresser before anyone else so that you could brag about it in the boozer. He couldn't understand how anyone would want to spend so much time with the same person, not realising that spending time with a person makes them grow even beyond your initial, seemingly exaggerated, expectations as you passionately glide towards a harmony and understanding only achieved by true love. Also, you must take into account that most girls detest Benny a week after meeting him after the realise just how shallow, and dull, in equal parts, he is. Of course, that