by Iain Parke
‘Well if you didn’t, who did?’
He nodded slowly at my response as he evaluated it. ‘Now that,’ he said at last, ‘is a very good question.’
‘And do you know the answer to it?’
‘Well,’ he said, effectively shutting the topic down again, ‘that’s another thing that you can ask, but I might not answer.’
‘But you know stuff don’t you?’ he asked changing tack.
‘Stuff? What do you mean?’ I replied. It wasn’t feeling exactly like a verbal fencing match, not yet at least, but it was starting to feel like a bit of a warm up to one, a wary arms length circling, sword tip to sword tip, with an on edge feeling that at any moment a sudden lunge could come.
‘Damage told you a lot didn’t he? A lot more than went into your book I mean? Not everything went in, did it?’
There didn’t seem to be any point in denying it so I shrugged. ‘Yes. I spent a hell of lot of time interviewing him, we covered a lot of ground, talked about a lot of things but when you come to do a book like that, there’s only so much you can put in. You have to edit, make decisions, leave bits out.’
‘Makes sense,’ he nodded, ‘did you tape all of it?’
‘Yes, it’s the easiest way. Much better than just relying on making notes if the interviewee’s up for it. That way you can make sure you’ve got everything.’
‘And he didn’t mind?’
‘No, he was cool with it.’
‘I bet there’s some interesting stuff there.’
‘Could be,’ I said more warily now, unsure now as to where this was heading.
It was definitely time to change the subject, I thought.
‘So, getting back to my question, I said, ‘what can I do for you? I take it this isn’t just a social call or the start of a book club?’
‘You ride don’t you?’ he said unexpectedly, ‘Damage said you did.’
There was no getting out of that then, ‘Yes I do,’ I admitted cautiously.
I had ridden as a kid, in my early twenties I had even constructed the world’s worst chopper out of an old Z400 twin, a peanut tank and a pair of six-inch over fork extensions, rebuilding the engine in my bedroom, which had really done for the carpet. These days I still had an old Guzzi 850 sitting in the garage. It was more a toy now than the all consuming passion it had been, and one that in truth I admitted to myself, I hardly ever used, but I still had it and it was insured for the odd weekend blast when it was sunny and I felt like a breath of fresh air. Even though I was such a fair-weather biker these days, at least I understood something about riding that had given me some point of contact for talking to Damage.
‘Well then, come for a ride with us.’
I could hardly believe my ears.
‘You want me to come on a Brethren run?’ I squawked.
‘Yeah. You can tagalong at the back,’ he said dismissively, although of course that was where I would have to ride given what my status as a civilian would be on such an outing.
I was still trying to process the bizarre idea of The Brethren inviting a journalist along on one of their runs, and what’s more inviting me as someone who had written what I had about them.
‘But why do you want me?’
‘To see for yourself what we do, what we’re about.’
‘But why?’ I asked, in danger of starting to sound like a broken record.
‘PR.’
‘PR?’
‘Yeah,’ he shrugged, ‘we want to start to generate some good PR.’
It seemed from what he told me that The Brethren had decided that they wanted to polish their reputation. As a club they already did a lot of stuff for PR purposes; charity runs, bike shows and so on, but now he told me they were looking to move on from this. They wanted to open up a bit, become more public about who they were and what they did. They didn’t want to drop the mystique, and they didn’t want to be fucking poseurs, but they had decided that it was time to be less secretive than they had been in the past and it was time to actively put a positive spin on what the club was and what it did.
Given their reputation and history, it was going to be a pretty tall order, I thought.
‘We’ve got a run on this Saturday, a weekend bash,’ he concluded, giving me details of the time and the place they were meeting.
‘Be there,’ he said, in a serious, but not threatening, tone, ‘come out with us. See what we’re really about.’
I nodded to confirm that I would at least think about it.
‘There’s just a couple of things,’ he added, by way of an afterthought as he began to stand up.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘Well first, when you come, remember you’re going to be riding with The Brethren. So don’t be a fucking wanker, don’t wear anything fluorescent.’
I looked up in surprise and he was grinning from ear to ear as though this was the funniest joke in the world.
‘And second?’
‘Pack a teddy. A fucking big one, you know, like the ones they have at the funfair? Put it on expenses.’
We shook hands. And with that and a ‘see yah then’ he was up, gathering his guys behind him with a nod and off out of the café with a hundred pairs of eyes once again surreptitiously following him, before not quite swivelling back to me as people leant over the tables in whispered conversations.
I sat back and sipped my previously untouched coffee.
Gradually a few more lines from back in my O-level days came to me.
But Brutus says he was ambitious
And Brutus is an honourable man.
Perhaps it was just as well that we’d dropped that line of discussion before we’d got too far into it I decided. I doubted that Wibble would find the reference flattering.
Should I take him up on his offer I wondered? Would it be safe? Meeting him here in public was one thing. Riding off with him and the whole crew God knows where was something else. Talk about exposed, I thought.
But then as he said, I was exposed anywhere really if they wanted me badly enough.
And after all, I thought, as I swirled my coffee around in its mug.
For Brutus is an honourable man
So are they all, all honourable men –
Honourable, I remembered Mr Majewski saying, now that was a double edged word.
I sat for a while after I had finished. I don’t know why, other than that it seemed right to let them have a chance to ride off before I got up to go.
It was a while before anyone new came into the restaurant and sat down in one of the free booths either side of me.
The final book in The Brethren trilogy:
Heavy Duty Trouble
Having got too far in to the dangerous world of The Brethren MC for comfort, Iain was now out again, but out in bad standing.
He has been in hiding in Ireland when he discovers that not only do Wibble and Charlie both know where he lives, but that he’s now wanted by both sides as a potentially bloody biker conflict heads towards its final showdown and worse, a trial in front of the media.
But as the case unfolds in Court, the questions become more and more urgent.
Is everything what it seems, and who, if anyone, knows or is telling the truth?
Read Chapter 1 FREE at www.bad-press.co.uk
This book is available in print at most online retailers
ISBN 978-0-9561615-6-7
For suggested background reading and details of more biker related books visit www.bad-press.co.uk
‘Don’t take this as your safari reading.’
The Liquidator
Dangerous things happen in Africa.
People disappear.
Everybody knows that.
As an ex-pat outsider, Paul thinks he is safe, even from the secret police, whatever happens as the country holds its first multi party election with a genocidal diamond fuelled civil war raging just across the border.
But when he finds himself trapped holding a deadly secret while
the country implodes around him, what will he be prepared to do to protect him and those close to him?
A dark contemporary political thriller set in East Africa.
Read Chapter 1 FREE at www.bad-press.co.uk
This book is available in print at most online retailers
ISBN 978-0-9561615-5-0
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