James Graham Plays 2

by James Graham

  Morris I’ll just try one. (Dialling.)

  Smith I’ll come over there.

  He’s walking over to Morris’s phone as Henderson’s phone rings.

  Morris Oh sorry, I already sent her on.

  Henderson (answering her phone) Hello?

  Smith Henderson –

  Henderson It’s your wife, sir.

  Smith (moving to her) Yes I know that, give –

  Henderson Let’s try again. (Pushes a button.)

  Smith No, just –

  The phone on Smith’s desk rings now.

  Henderson There you are, see.

  Smith (moving to his desk) Right. Finally. Thank you.

  (Answering.) Hello.

  DCS Habershon.

  Meet in the Tank, yes of course. Thank you, sir, I’ll be there. (Phone down.)

  You said it was my wife.

  Morris It was your wife when I transferred her.

  Henderson Me too.

  Morris It’s like Chinese whispers with phones, isn’t it; starts off a wife one end, becomes a superintendent by the time it –

  The phone rings. They look at it. Smith answers.

  Smith DS Smith.

  Susan.

  The others busy themselves – making the final touches to their desk arrangements, making notes. Parker begins working through some files.

  Smith Yes, I’m sorry, we’re all – it’s a new office and we’re somewhat fingers and thumbs . . .

  I have to have a meeting with Roy – with DCS Habershon, in the Tank but I’ll be home for tea around 8 p.m.

  No I won’t have a drink.

  I won’t.

  Parker freezes. She has seen something in her pile of papers – and removes it carefully, holding it out to the room. It’s a letter, with an address on the envelope, printed in a children’s stationery set.

  Parker Sir?

  Everyone freezes.

  Smith . . . Susan, I’m going to have to phone you back.

  He puts the phone down.

  Parker Sir?

  Smith Where did you find that, Parker?

  Parker It was just here, in this morning’s internal post.

  Smith Parker don’t move, you’re fine, but don’t move.

  Parker OK.

  Smith Henderson and Morris, get back. (Dialling.)

  Parker Well, why are you telling them to get back if it’s fine?

  Smith (on the phone) DCS Habershon please.

  I know he’s in the Tank, he’s gone to meet me there, this is DS Smith. I need you to go and get him for me. I’m down in . . . I can’t tell you where I am, get him to phone me immediately.

  Phone down. He removes some gloves from his drawer.

  Parker Sir –?

  Smith It’s alright, Parker. You’re alright.

  He carefully takes the envelope from Parker.

  He carefully places it down on the desk.

  Morris Shouldn’t we wait for the Super, sir?

  Smith Maybe it was the Super who sent it down here.

  (Looking up.) Maybe it’s a test . . .

  Beat. He opens the envelope carefully. He takes out the communiqué, and opens that.

  He looks at the group, and then the letter.

  Single side of A4. Handwritten. Penmanship is neat. Considered. Feels strangely . . . female, for some reason, I don’t know.

  Labelled, Communiqué 5.

  Parker It’s them . . .

  Morris What does it say?

  Smith . . . ‘British democracy . . . is based on more blood, terror, and exploitation . . . than any empire in history.’

  ‘Has a brutal police force . . . whose crimes against people the media will not report.’

  Parker Crimes, what crimes, we don’t commit crimes, we stop crimes.

  Smith ‘Now its government has declared vicious class war. A one-sided war . . . We have started to fight back . . .’

  ‘. . . With bombs.’

  Scene Three

  Against the darkness, another communiqué lights up on the projection screen.

  WE ARE NO MERCENARIES.

  THE WAR WILL BE WON . . . BY THE ORGANISED WORKING CLASS.

  Lights snap up on:

  The Prophet, a young anarchist, sits facing Smith with Henderson and Parker.

  Smith You are Albert Meltzer. Convicted of smuggling arms to Hamburg for the Spanish CNT group. Current editor of the anarchistic publication Freedom.

  The Prophet I’m out of that game now. Grosvenor Square was the end of it for me.

  Smith What do you mean, Grosvenor Square was the end for you?

  The Prophet (smokes) Do you know why there has never been a revolution in Britain? Spain, yes, France, hell yes, America, Greece, Italy, Russia, Cuba – it’s the pillars. The pillars that hold the establishment up, they’re so old here, so sturdy, they don’t . . . wobble. I saw it in Grosvenor Square, and I knew the game was up. That’s what’s clever about you lot; the Great British police force. We cannot fight against that which will not fight back. Other countries, we charge, they charge back. But you lot. You just wouldn’t bloody do it. You just wouldn’t ruddy let go. You stand there, rigid, in your lines. Smiling. It’s as if you know. It’s as if it ran through your veins. The lines will hold. They’ve held for centuries. Nothing to see here.

  Smith And you’re settled down are you now, wife, kids, job?

  The Prophet (smokes a bit) There is a woman that I currently love, yes. And we have had born unto us a child. I do not however ‘work’.

  Parker You live off welfare payments from the very state you once sought to destroy? Isn’t that hypocritical?

  The Prophet (smokes, smiles a bit) Work exploits half your life for no reason. There are other ways to organise a society. You just don’t want to see them.

  Parker You don’t want to provide for your family. Have independence.

  The Prophet (laughing) And how ‘independent’ do you currently feel, love? In this room right now. How free do you think you are?

  Smith . . . So. What’s the word on the street. Who’s doing this?

  The Prophet Who’s doing what?

  Smith You don’t know?

  The Prophet Know what?

  Smith Henderson.

  Henderson lays down some photos on the table.

  Henderson The Police Commissioner’s house. The Attorney General’s house. The Employment Minister’s house. Paddington Police Station.

  The Prophet These are bombs?

  Smith nods.

  The Prophet Well, it looks like the Irish.

  Smith It is not the Irish.

  Henderson hands The Prophet a communiqué.

  The Prophet takes it. And reads.

  The Prophet Communiqué 6.

  Our attack is violent.

  Our violence is organised.

  The question is not whether the revolution will be violent. No revolution was ever won without violence.

  . . . The Angry Brigade.

  He stops reading. And places the letter down.

  He takes another cigarette from the packet, his hand shaking as he lights. A deep drag . . .

  It’s happening . . .

  Smith What’s happening, Albert? Tell me what’s happening; you’re quite safe.

  The Prophet (laughs; and then laughs some more) I might be. But you aren’t.

  Smith What does that mean? Who’s doing this, give us some names.

  The Prophet These people don’t have names. I don’t know who they are and even if I did, it’s too late. They’ve already gone off the map. They don’t exist anymore. They’ve gone that one step beyond where any of us before them were willing to go.

  Smith Where have they gone?

  The Prophet It’s coming. To the streets of London. To the very heart of the very oldest empire in history, at last. The flames are going to rise. And you aren’t going to be able to stop
them. They’ll be coming for you too, you know. All of you. You, and the people you love. You should be so afraid.

  He smokes. He laughs, shaking a little still.

  It’s finally time.

  Lights down.

  Another communiqué lights up on the projection screen.

  COMMUNIQUÉ 7

  THE POLITICIANS, THE LEADERS, THE RICH, THE BIG BOSSES, ARE IN COMMAND . . .

  THEY CONTROL.

  WE, THE PEOPLE, SUFFER

  Lights up.

  The Model, ‘ Miss United Kingdom’, sits facing Smith with Henderson and Morris. She is slightly frazzled – her crown and sash singed – and has traces of flour over her. She blows her nose.

  The Model I mean what they got against me, ey? I ain’t done nothing wrong, no one’s ever had anything against me.

  Henderson It must have been quite the trauma, I’m sorry.

  The Model Yeah, too bloody right.

  Henderson Did you see anyone behaving suspiciously? Before, during or after?

  The Model It’s a bloody beauty pageant, everyone’s behaving suspiciously. Why would they want to hurt me? Everyone’s always liked me. Ever since school.

  Smith We’re actually not talking about the feminist protestors who threw flour over you from the box. We’re talking about –

  The Model What was all that about, with the flour? Not a bloody cake, am I? Don’t need self-raising, do I? Big enough as they are, these, aren’t they? Bloody flour. No respect, that’s this lot’s problem.

  Henderson We’re talking about the blast outside the Albert Hall.

  The Model Who was it? The Irish? My mum, she warned me, she said ‘It’s the Royal Albert Hall, they’ll have that, one of these days, the Irish’ but I didn’t listen.

  Henderson Were you anywhere near the vicinity of the blast?

  The Model I was onstage, and Bob Hope was there talking – Bob bloody Hope! – and we heard the explosion outside.

  Smith They planted the incendiary device in a BBC broadcast van.

  The Model Those bra-burning butch bloody lesbians, they wanna get a life, wanna slap a bit of lippy on and stop being so bloody mardy. Fat ugly cows.

  Lights down.

  Another communique.

  We must ATTACK.

  Lights up in the basement office again.

  The Snitch, a highly-strung, fidgeting prison inmate in uniform, sits opposite.

  The Snitch Guarantees.

  Smith Hello, Brian.

  The Snitch That’s what I want. Guarantees.

  Smith To maintain confidentiality – we shall herewith refer to you as ‘Prisoner A’.

  The Snitch (tapping) Written down, stamped and whathaveyou.

  Smith Can you at least state for the tape that you are here of your own –

  The Snitch Is that thing on?! I was told it wouldn’t be on, turn it off.

  Smith You’re currently incarcerated for handling stolen items, is that correct?

  The Snitch Hot goods, yeah that’s right, you know it is.

  Smith Residing in Brixton, serving three years?

  The Snitch (to the others, gesturing Smith) It were him what done me. You’re on the up and up, aren’t you, blimey. He were just a plod when he put cuffs on me.

  Smith You have some information relating to our current investigation?

  The Snitch I want that off. I mean it. You don’t know who you’re dealing with here. You haven’t got the first foggiest, mate. I’m shtum as your mum until that thing clicks a clear one, do you understand?

  Smith . . . most of it. Henderson?

  Henderson (stands) Yes, Mister Smith?

  The Snitch Oh ‘Mister Smith’ is it now, very nice.

  Smith Turn off the machine.

  Henderson I don’t recommend that, Mister Smith.

  Smith Henderson. Turn off the machine.

  Beat. Henderson stands and approaches the tape recorder.

  Beat. She presses stop.

  The Snitch The whatsit. Inside.

  Smith The cassette tape.

  The Snitch Cassette yeah. Out. I want it out.

  Henderson takes opens the recorder, removes the tape, closes the recorder.

  The Snitch In the corner or something. Away from the – thing.

  Smith Don’t be a silly billy now, Prisoner A.

  The Snitch Well, fine then I don’t talk, up to you.

  Smith . . . Henderson.

  Beat. Henderson starts pulling the tape out of the cassette. Pulling and pulling.

  She rips off the strand, and places the tape in the bin.

  Silence.

  The Snitch So I’m on my bunk, just lying there, Monday night it was, the one before last, new shipment comes in, I know I’m getting someone underneath me, don’t know who, don’t care, I keep myself to myself, only this one, he wouldn’t let me, gabble gabble gabble, know what I mean, soon as he was in, door closed, puts his bag on the bed, toothbrush in the glass by the mirror, bosh, and he’s off, ‘What’s your name, what you in for’, I couldn’t tell whether he was nosy or nervous, I just buried me head in my paper, but he couldn’t help himself, pulled up he says on some cheques that didn’t clear or that he forged or that he stole I don’t know check it out, I’m not gonna do your whole job for you, anyway he says that’s what the Old Bill got him on but that they don’t know the half of what he’s into, he says he’s got himself mixed up with this, like, set, like, group, like, bunch of thingymajigs, up West somewhere, around Notting whatsit, living together like you know, they do, some of ’em, in these places they don’t even own –

  Smith How many?

  The Snitch Well, loads of ’em, but he says there’s, there’s like, what would you say, like, erm, like a breakaway ‘cell’ or something, a small group of them. Group of four.

  Smith Four?

  The Snitch Yeah. Two lads, two birds. And that they’re planning something. Planning some ‘terror’.

  Smith ‘Terror’.

  The Snitch Yeah. And that they’re starting. That they’ve already started.

  Smith What targets?

  The Snitch So am I getting time off, then, or what?

  Smith What targets?

  The Snitch Good behaviour, all that?

  Smith Not unless we can verify –

  The Snitch The Albert Hall.

  They said they was gonna blow up the Albert Hall.

  Smith lifts a box onto the table, removes the lid, and begins removing the contents, all sealed in plastic bags.

  Smith This new cell mate of yours, his name is Jake Prescott, correct?

  The Snitch 10–4, sergeant, yes, sir.

  Smith The evidence you have acquired here –

  The Snitch Right so yeah here’s the situation, old gobshite was put on kitchen duty at 1 o’clock, that’s when I bung all this in that box and they brought me over here to talk to you. (At his watch.) They aren’t gonna be able to keep him there beyond 5 cause it’s cell inspection then, if he ain’t sent back he’ll get suspicious, and worse if he comes back early and I’m not there and his stuff’s not there, you can say bye bye to me for sure.

  Smith His toothbrush.

  The Snitch Yep. (Taps his nose.) For fingerprints, I thought.

  Smith And sputum.

  The Snitch Sputum?

  Snitch Spit, from the suspect’s gob, Prisoner A.

  Removes another item.

  A notebook.

  The Snitch Ho-ho-ho. No. No, Mister Sergeant Detective Arresting Officer Smith Sir. That ain’t just a notebook. That is an address book.

  Pause.

  Smith Parker.

  Parker (standing) Yes, Mister Smith.

  Smith Transcribe everything in this book for our records.

  The Snitch Well, hold on, the time –

  Smith We will have Prisoner A and these items back in place before Prescott returns
at 5 p.m. You have done a real duty to your country today, sir.

  The Snitch Oh yeah, lovely, I’m all warm inside; when can you get me out?

  Smith That’s up to the parole board.

  The Snitch Do one. The lot of you –

  Smith, Henderson and Parker make to leave.

  Henderson stops. And turns to face The Snitch.

  Henderson What is he like?

  This chap. Mister Prescott.

  What kind of man is he?

  The Snitch He’s young. Got ideas. About the world. Thinks he can change it. He’s very clever, I can tell that much. Educated. Expensively, is my guess. If they’re all like that, you’re gonna have a right old job catching ’em, I’ll say that much.

  If they’re all that clever, to be honest . . . I don’t think any of us stand a chance.

  Lights down.

  Scene Four

  Another communiqué lights up on the projection screen.

  WE ARE SLOWLY DESTROYING THE LONG TENTACLES OF THE STATE MACHINE . . .

  168 EXPLOSIONS LAST YEAR . . .

  A big flow chart of photographs of young people, their names, and lines linking them to one another. There is also a map of London, with squats highlighted – Powis Square, Grosvenor Avenue and Lavender Hill.

  Smith addresses Parker and Henderson.

  Smith That’s thirteen radicals from the Prescott address book currently in custody, then, pulled in from various squats around the capital. Our most productive haul being Grosvenor Avenue.

  (Holding up a file.) Their fingerprints back from the lab. No match with the communiqués.

  (Holding up another.) Their sputum also. No match. Nevertheless the first steps on our association map that will inevitably, I am – sure, will lead to the culprits’ capture.

  Morris enters.

  Morris I’ve got bad news, Smith –

  Smith There is no bad news in criminal investigations, Morris, only the inevitable discovery of solvable challenges.

  Morris I’ve got a bad discovery of a solvable challenge,

  Smith. (Handing him a newspaper.) The press blackout’s done a long walk off a short pier; Daily Mirror’s gone and blabbed.

  Smith A £10,000 reward for anyone with information leading to the arrest of the Angry Brigade. Blast.

  Parker Ten grand?

  Smith Bring this chap in, the journalist. We get the boys upstairs to contact the editors, we must lock this down as best we can.

  He holds up an evidence bag.

  Obtained from the squats. Cheque books – stolen, presumably, none of the names match up with those in custody. Send them over to Fraud.