Heavy Duty People

by Iain Parke

  Of course resentment of heavy metal kids was nothing to the degree to which I despised the disco kids with their smart clothes and happy songs. What were they doing that was dangerous?

  And then there was a mix of older rockers and hardcore bikers.

  My mates hadn’t come and I’d never got to know anyone else there to go and sit with, so grabbing a pint of lager above the wailing guitars of Boston’s More Than a Feeling, I found an empty table in the black shadows of the back at which to hide, watching the groups of people talking together, the knots of friends, the gangs of mates, the friendly scrum at the bar; and knowing that I wasn’t part of it.

  The local bike gang had their spot in the far corner, everyone knew where they sat and you left their tables to them if you didn’t want any trouble.

  They were older guys, mostly in their late twenties or early thirties, some possibly more. Back then they weren’t a patch club as such, but they clearly already had the BTL/FTW4 mentality. I came in from out at Enderdale then, about 10 miles up into the hills outside town, so I’d been to secondary school down in town and knew some of the heavy metal kids from there. But these guys were strangers to me. Other than that I’d seen a couple of them working in the bike shops in town, and that the same faces were always there every Friday, apart from Gyppo, I didn’t really know any of them.

  Every club is made up of two kinds of guys; those who are open to talking with outsiders, and those who aren’t. Gyppo had got his nickname from his Zorro like appearance which of course he then played up to. A slim swarthy guy, about 25, with straight dark medium length hair, thick gold hoop band earrings, a drooping moustache and usually a bandana, he dealt a little dope and was always happy to say hi and let us score.

  You’ve got to remember that this was back in the 80s, not like now when skunk’s all around. For us kids out in the sticks getting hold of a bit of blow, usually some Lebanese black, was a bit of a big deal.

  Gyppo was OK. He was approachable, he had a sense of humour and you could make a joke with him, like when he asked us to sponsor a parachute jump and we offered him 2p a mile, without worrying that he was going to drag you outside and fill your face in. He wasn’t like some of the really heavy hostile guys, the ones that gave off an aura of being unexploded bombs just looking for an excuse to go off at any second. While you had to respect him, you instinctively felt that Gyppo drew a distinction between some friendly banter and a deliberate insult that called to be dealt with.

  I sat there alone in the darkness, nursing my beer, not speaking to anyone.

  The temporary high of the ride had worn off and the downer of reality had sunk in again. Why had I bothered, I wondered to myself? Why am I here? What had I thought I would achieve by coming out tonight?

  I had always been alone, been different from others, been conscious of being an outsider, wanting to belong but somehow never knowing how, unable to make friends.

  And it was something that fed on itself. I pretended to myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t need people. That people would have to like me for myself.

  So that to then test people to make the effort I made myself as obnoxious as I could.

  I dressed like shit. My jeans were filthy, ripped and oil stained. I wore a donkey jacket over my leather just because it looked more scuzzy and my mum hated it. And over that I wore my own colours, my denim cut off, the arms hacked roughly from a proper denim jacket, not some posey waistcoat.

  I was a lanky beanpole with hair that I grew straight, long and greasy, and a scrappy beard.

  I got stoned on dope and anything else I could get hold of. I dropped the tranqs the doctor prescribed me into pints of lager and drank myself to oblivion.

  As I said. A bit of a fucked up kid.

  My mates were all into either the music or the bikes or mostly both. But somehow it was different for most of them. It was a lifestyle. They would give it up as they got jobs, moved on.

  With me, it was my life. It was what gave it meaning and made it bearable. And the only time I lived was when I was on my bike and could forget it all in the here and now of taking risks.

  Truly it was better to travel than to arrive.

  The only place for me was on my bike. It was a place where being on my own was right; and not a reminder of what I wasn’t.

  Overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of despair I got up and slipped out of the exit and into the night air.

  *

  And so I was outside in the car park, kneeling a few yards from the back door, invisible in the dark with my back to the pub, undoing the padlock on the heavy chain securing my bike, when it happened.

  I didn’t pay any attention as the door swung open while I was putting on my lid and a flicker of blue strobe flashed across the bikes the other side of the entrance. With the strap done up and my gloves pulled on I fished out my keys and was ducking down beside the back wheel when the door banged again and two guys came out, I could hear voices but with my lid on I didn’t hear what they were saying.

  And then there was a shout and the noise of a struggle.

  ‘You cunt!’

  I recognised Gyppo’s voice.

  Starting up and looking round, the clatter of my heavy chain as I pulled it free of the bike’s back wheel was masked by the grunting of the fight.

  I could see immediately what was happening. It was an ambush. Gyppo had come outside with one of the guys, obviously to do a deal, only to be jumped by the guy’s mate who’d slipped out just before to lie in wait.

  Now the two of them had him slammed up against the wall, each one holding him with one hand and pummelling him with punches to the body with the other.

  I didn’t really stop to think. I just acted.

  The chain was of case hardened steel. The idea was that it would stand up to a set of bolt cutters with a big ugly guy jumping up and down on the handle. The padlock was the sort of thing that dark ages’ dungeon locks were shut with. Swinging with all my might from behind him, I hit the guy closest to me straight across the side of his head with the chain, the padlock lashing round to smash him full in the face. The surprise impact knocked him sprawling away against the wall, as I just stood there, my chain hanging in my hand.

  Gyppo with both hands free now grabbed the other attacker by his jacket and head butted him as they fell struggling to the ground.

  The guy that I had hit turned towards me, his hands reaching up to his face to where the blood was streaming from his mouth. Then with a shake of his head as if to clear his sight and grabbing something out of his pocket, he suddenly lunged at me at the same instant as I realised what I had done.

  It was now a matter of survival, so I swung the heavy chain back again catching him across the other side of his head as he lurched towards me. The blow knocked him to his knees and as he put his hands out to break his fall, something metallic clattered to the ground.

  As he reached forwards to grab what he had dropped, I realised that there was only one thing that it could be, a knife. In desperation I stamped down on his hand, feeling the crunch as my heavy biker boots stomped on his fingers. Then grabbing hold of the chain in both hands, I swung it high up over my head and brought in crashing down in a club like blow across the back of his head, almost feeling rather than seeing him slump to the ground, while behind me I heard the sound of Gyppo overpowering his attacker.

  It must all have been over in a few seconds.

  Then suddenly there was the noise of heavy boots on the gravel all around me as the others came pouring out of the club door and piled into the attackers, boots swinging to kick the bodies on the ground.

  For a second it felt unreal, I felt strangely peaceful. Then the shock hit me, as breathing heavily, my body flooded with adrenaline. Almost shuddering, as with trembling fingers I slipped the strap of my lid and pulled my scarf from across my mouth, I saw the world through different eyes.

  ‘Who’s this?’ said a voice as the guys left off the kicking and turned to look at Gyppo and me
.

  I’m six foot two but I don’t think of myself as tall. My whole family is big and the guys that I hung out with at school were as well, so I think of myself as ‘normal’. The speaker was a giant guy, six foot six or so and built with it. The gang were surrounding me now and suddenly I was very conscious of my cut off. The hand-painted lone wolf on the back, copied from the cover of a Steppenwolf album, framed by the words ‘Family Disgrace’ above and the defiant ‘No club’ below.

  Gyppo was spitting blood.

  ‘You cunts!’ he swung a final vicious kick at one of the prone bodies groaning on the ground. Then turning and still breathing heavily, ‘Tried to jump me. The kid’s alright. He can handle himself. The big bastard had a knife and he took him out. Saved my fucking arse.’

  ‘Did he now?’ The giant turned back to me with a grin on his face. ‘Nice one kid. Good work.’

  The giant was obviously in charge. Someone was delegated to fetch their gear from inside.

  ‘You OK to go?’ He asked Gyppo who just nodded.

  The guys were already dispersing to their bikes, knowing that they had better split before the cops arrived.

  ‘You too kid,’ he said, looking at me as I stood there. ‘Better make yourself scarce.’

  *

  The next week they spotted me as I walked into the disco.

  ‘Oi. Kid, over here,’ the giant waved me over to their corner. ‘Grab a seat!’

  I wasn’t sure if it was an invitation or an order, but it sounded friendly enough, I didn’t feel any sense of threat.

  ‘Er thanks…’ I started but he wasn’t even listening as he had turned to shout over to where Gyppo was standing talking at the other end of their bit.

  ‘Gyppo! Get the lad a drink.’

  But just as some of the gang were squeezing up to make space for me on the end of a bench the cops arrived.

  One of the guys that I’d noticed hanging about in the hallway suddenly appeared with a whispered ‘Busies’. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gyppo sliding quickly towards the gents as the DJ turned down the volume and the house put up the lights.

  There were two of them, an older sergeant and a younger PC and they headed straight for our table, to be met with silent stares.

  ‘Evening lads,’ said the sergeant with a menacing cheerfulness. ‘Now then, I think you know what I’m here about?’

  ‘No officer,’ said the giant standing and moving to face him so close that the cop had to look up at him, ‘I don’t think we do; do we lads?’ he added over his shoulder.

  There was a muttering of Nos and shaking of heads behind him.

  ‘There was a serious assault in the car park outside here last week. Two men are in hospital. So we were hoping that you lads could help us.’

  The giant shook his head slowly and regretfully over the gang’s complete lack of knowledge about how such an unfortunate event could have happened out in the car park and their sorrow that since the whole group had all been inside, all the time, they didn’t know anything about it that could help.

  The sergeant wasn’t buying any of it. Everybody knew it. But as his gaze travelled across the guys sitting facing him, everybody including the cops knew that there wasn’t anything he could do about it, not unless someone was talking.

  His eyes stopped on me. He obviously knew the others and knew that I wasn’t one of their gang. He could see I was younger than them. I might be willing to talk, more easily intimidated. He obviously decided to try his luck.

  ‘What do you know son? What did you see?’

  I could feel the tension around me. Other than that I’d pitched in last week out of the blue and had bought from Gyppo in the past, they didn’t know me at all. They would have no idea what I would or would not be prepared to say. And worse the cops had walked in just after I did.

  ‘Sorry mate,’ I shrugged. ‘I didn’t see anything. Left early.’ And washed the chain afterwards, I didn’t add.

  ‘Left early? Really? Is that right?’

  I looked at him straight.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Anyone see you?’

  ‘No, I was on my own.’

  ‘Are you sure about that son? You might want to think about it for a moment.’

  There was a few seconds of silence.

  I looked him in the eyes and said in what I hoped was as firm a voice as I could muster.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  He grimaced in frustration.

  ‘I think you’ve just made a serious mistake son, that you might live to regret.’ Then as he turned to leave, gathering the younger constable with a gesture he added in an undertone, ‘I’ll remember you son. And I’ll be looking out for you.’

  *

  The giant who introduced himself to me, obviously enough as Tiny, sat opposite me while Gyppo elbowed his way to the bar and back to squeeze in beside me with pints for all three of us.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers. No problem mate. You’ve earned it.’

  ‘Can keep your mouth shut as well,’ said Tiny. ‘That’s good. Can’t have guys about who go blabbing to the cops. What’s your name kid?’

  I didn’t have much choice I thought. I was the one who actually smacked the guy on the head with a steel chain putting him in hospital.

  ‘My mates call me Damage.’

  ‘Damage eh?’ Tiny laughed. ‘You really are OK kid, aren’t you? Good, cause we don’t want no wimps around, we need people who can handle themselves.’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s just what you do.’ What did he mean by ‘around’, I wondered.

  Tiny seemed interested in having a talk. I’d obviously seen him here before and because of his size, appearance and evident leadership in the gang he was someone that I would always have avoided. But now over a beer he was quite different from what I’d imagined. He wanted to know who I was, where I came from, what I was doing, who I knew. It was quite a friendly chat, but one where he was asking all the questions.

  I obviously didn’t drop any bollocks as Tiny seemed quite relaxed with what I was saying.

  Around me the gang were chatting. There seemed to be general surprise that the boys from the gang down the valley had jumped Gyppo, and general agreement that they were due a good kicking to keep them in line as well as some perfunctory discussion about how and when that would be arranged.

  But they were also talking about other stuff and my intense but avuncular interrogation was brought to a close as one of them interrupted to ask Tiny about the next day’s run.

  ‘What do you reckon, about tennish?’

  ‘Yeah, seems about right.’

  ‘Blast up to Edgeside for a brew and then see who’s about, where we feel like going.’

  *

  Tiny and Gyppo nodded a greeting as I rolled into the car park at ten to ten.

  To my relief they didn’t look at all surprised to see me, almost as if they had been expecting me.

  I almost hadn’t come. I had lain in bed the night before agonising. I hadn’t actually been asked if I wanted to join them. I didn’t know if they would want me along or not? But then I decided, what did I have to lose by trying?

  Dismounted, I joined them for a smoke. Gyppo seemed to have taken some kind of responsibility for me and introduced me to the others as they arrived over the next half hour or so.

  It was a sunny morning. The mood was peaceful. Blokes stood around in knots, talking, or checking out their bikes, waiting for the signal. Eventually at about quarter to eleven, Tiny and the others around him decided that it was time to go, and the squadron dispersed.

  Cigarettes were stubbed out. Helmets were pulled on. Last words before the off were exchanged. Keys turned. Kickstands clattered up. The whirr of electric starters being cut off by the roar of motors catching. Owners of the older Brits jumped down hard on their kick-starts. Engines snarled as throttles were blipped to ensure the bikes had properly caught.

  The group bunched at the
entrance to the car park. Tiny at the front on a Zed one. I pulled up to the rear of the pack on my much smaller two fifty, although I noticed that Gyppo was hanging back to take up the Tail End Charlie slot.

  We were ready to go.

  And then at a gap in the traffic we were off, pulling out onto the road, a cacophony of exhaust blast echoing between the shop fronts as we headed up the main drag through town and the Saturday shopping crowds on either pavement.

  As we rode slowly along the road behind the traffic it was my first experience of riding with a group this big.

  There was a sense of the power waiting to be unleashed, the over-revving of the engines just to get more noise bouncing between the walls on either side, the ratcheting up of our own adrenaline. I could feel a wild exuberant excitement welling up within me, a feeling of invincibility.

  There was a sense of power. When you see a group of bikes, you know they are together. You know they are a pack of guys who know each other. You know that they are heading somewhere together deliberately, as a group. You wonder where, you wonder why, you wonder who they are and what will happen on the way. And now I was part of that.

  Heads turned to see us go past. You didn’t look, just like you didn’t look at your reflections in the plate glass windows of the shops. But out of the corner of your eye you could see the heads turn. The small children point.

  We crested the top of the rise and headed towards the crossroads and the drag up the hill out of town that allowed us to pull past the cars in front.

  If you’ve ridden bikes then I don’t have to tell you what it’s like.

  If you haven’t then it’s difficult to describe.

  You drive a car. You turn a wheel, you press a pedal and it goes. A car is an object that you control.

  You ride a bike. You dance with it, it goes where your body tells it. Your bike is your partner, it sways and shimmies with you as you move your hips and twist your body to shift your weight.

  In a car you are inside, insulated from the world, surrounded by a cocooning wall of steel.

  On a bike you are outside, exposed to the world, feeling the wind, the rain, the warmth, the cold, and with only your skill, your luck and a leather jacket between you and the ripping tarmac tearing past you below.