© 1997

The blast took her face off. Two seconds of pressure on the trigger and a full shotgun load went roaring out.

We’d been doing good. In with a maximum of ferocity. Get ’em terrorised, shouting ‘Get the fuck down – NOW.’

Push push push.

Let ’em see the guns, hear the manic screaming of very dangerous men.

Doc had planted devices at the

cop shop

Tesco

The Masonic Lodge

They’d gone off like lubrication. You had the noise, smoke, confusion and then we’re in – ‘MENACE’ writ brutal large.

Oh yeah, fuckin’ A.

Bingo, the motherload. More cash than Camelot, two bin-liners overflowing with readies.

Everything hunky-dory… and then…

Then I shot the cashier in the face.

I guess it began with Cassie.

The cop stopped me on Kennington Road. I was having a bad day. As if a neon sign above my head, high-lit to read

‘FUCK WITH THIS GUY’

They’d seen it.

I turned off the engine and waited. A sign of middle age when policemen look young. This one looked ten and had seen too many cop shows. He had the saunter and the cap adjustment. Get that sucker on to look mean. He wasn’t wearing shades but he wanted to… and badly. I expected him to drawl in a Kentucky twang… ‘assume the position’ or, at the very least, ‘what we got here Bubba?’ What he did say was, ‘Do you know why I stopped you?’

I’d no idea as I hadn’t been speeding and the car was in good nick. Tax, insurance, all that good shit was in order. So, I went for it.

‘’Cos you’re a bad bastard.’

My parents were hard-line Presbyterian. Wouldn’t make love standing up lest people thought they were dancing. Fun was indeed the F-word.