Class of '88

by Wayne Anthony

  ‘It’s OK, you ain’t got nothing to worry about. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. I’m sorry about Razor, he’s like a big kid under all that aggression. How old are you then?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  ‘Twenty-two. Fuck me, that takes me back. OK, this is how it is. You’re using ex-soldier boys from out of town for your security. Did they force you into using their team?’

  ‘Not at all, a friend of mine from the paratroopers introduced us. They’re all right, they do a good job. I’ve never really thought about where they come from.’

  ‘Well, I’m gonna give you a way out. I want you to call your security team together and tell them to meet you here, within the hour,’ he said.

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Course you ain’t. I promise you no one will touch ya. My name is Xuereb, my family is from Malta. Maybe you have heard of me?’

  ‘Yeah, I have, but what is it you want from me or the security?’

  ‘Make all the phone calls you have to and get the whole team down here. You’ll know why when you need to know. Get cracking, son, time’s running out.’

  I rang Anderson and told him what was occurring. I said I’d been taken to this pub and some people wanted to see them. I also pointed out that, if they didn’t come, I’d be bang in trouble. It was done. They were on their way. Xuereb was speaking with a group of about twenty geezers who all looked like they could have a right tear-up. Over in the corner of the pub were seven blokes cleaning and loading firearms. I knew our security would be properly tooled up and ready to do battle. They knew this was a potentially threatening situation.

  My heart had begun a drum roll that I was finding hard to control. I started breathing deeply and broke into a sweat. This was heavy shit. My mind slipped into survival mode. I glanced around the bar to see if anyone was watching me, then I sprang into action and headed for the door.

  A loud voice shouted, ‘Oi, don’t you fucking move!’

  I froze on the spot and turned around. One of the geezers in the corner was pointing an automatic hand-piece directly at me.

  ‘All right, all right, don’t shoot, don’t shoot,’ I said.

  ‘Go and sit down and don’t you move again,’ he said.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you doing?’ said Xuereb. ‘What you pointing that at him for? He’s only a kid. What the fuck’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just so scared. You don’t realise: if you do anything to them, they could hurt me or my family. They’re gonna say I set them up. I can’t handle this, I just want to go home.’

  ‘Listen to me and listen good. I’m telling you no one is going to hurt you or your family. I told ya I’m offering you a way out if you want it. All you have to do is say yes. If it’s no, you can walk and there’s no harm done,’ said Xuereb.

  ‘But what do I have to do?’

  ‘When they get here, I’m gonna ask you one simple question,’ Xuereb went on. ‘Have they threatened you into giving them money? All you have to do is say yes, whether they’ve threatened you or not. If it’s yes, I promise you’ll never see ’em again.’

  ‘I can’t say that! This lot would kill me if they thought I led them into a trap.’

  ‘Calm down, you haven’t led anyone into a trap. They’re meant to be your protection. This is what you’re paying them for, and you know as well as I do they’re not gonna come empty-handed.’

  ‘But why do you want me to say they’re extorting money from us?’

  ‘Look, why don’t you use your brain? It’s only a matter of time before a London firm moves in on ya. If you was clever like I know you are, you’d accept my help. I’m not extorting money from you. I’d give you better protection than those pricks ever could. So fucking what if they’re mercenaries, we’re not in the bush now. We’re in London. My family name carries a lot of clout in this manor. If you ever had a problem, it wouldn’t come to no violence. It’s all done over the blower. With the poofs you’ve got now you’ll be constantly tested, no one will let up for a minute. Almost every villain in London is watching what you boys are doing. If there’s no name behind you the game will be up. Look, don’t worry about a thing. If you want my protection you can have it. If you don’t, there’s no hard feelings.’

  ‘What’s going to happen if I say yes to your proposal? My present security won’t just walk away. It’s gonna go off severely, and then what happens after you’ve canned them? They’ll be straight round to my gaff, and who knows what might occur?’

  ‘I’ve already told you nothing will happen to you or your family. Look, I can see you’re starting to panic. It’s OK, let us take care of it. Don’t even think about it, leave it to us.’

  ‘I’m only young, this is all too heavy for me. I’m just an ordinary person. I’ll stop doing parties if I can avoid all this.’

  ‘Xuereb, they’re here,’ said one of the guys standing by the window. ‘Where do you want them: outside or in ’ere?’

  ‘Nah, bring ’em in,’ said Xuereb.

  The huge pub had already been cleared of tables and chairs.

  Xuereb took me over to the bar in the middle of the saloon. The doors on both sides opened and in walked Dick, closely followed by the other team members. Everyone in the pub stood up, hands hidden in their jackets, and stared at them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Dick.

  ‘My name’s Xuereb and these are my brothers: Keith, Michael, Leyne, Paul, Mickey, Dean and Ian. Being from the country, I doubt you’ve heard of us. The situation, gentlemen, is as simple as this. Wayne has told me that you and your boys are taking money off him for protection. He said you forced him into giving you money and now he wants to change teams.’

  ‘Well, let’s ask Wayne,’ said Anderson.

  ‘Don’t start giving out your orders here, boy. You think you’re the SAS, don’t ya?’ said Xuereb. ‘I’ll tell you what, someone get me a pint of milk.’

  One of his men passed him a bottle of milk, which he immediately smashed on the floor.

  ‘Have a drink on me, you fucking pussies. Now, Wayne, tell me, are these ponces taking money off you?’

  I glanced around the room. Everyone was staring in my direction. The geezers in the corner were holding their shooters, half-hidden behind their legs. The army unit had hands in their coats and behind their backs. My legs started shaking uncontrollably and my body began to twitch. The silence was broken by Xuereb’s voice.

  ‘Is that a yes or a no, Wayne?’

  I tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t believe I was in this predicament. These guys were all over 35. All I had to do was give them a reason and a full-scale battle would commence. This wasn’t like the fights we had when we were younger. The most you’d get out of those was a few stitches and bruises. This lot were actually going to kill each other. It was serious shit. I’d already seen the firepower and they didn’t have them for show. My mouth wouldn’t budge. Xuereb came over to reassure me, saying I had nothing to worry about and no one was going to hurt me or my family.

  ‘Right, it’s over,’ he said. ‘You soldier boys better piss off and don’t ever come back to this pub. One of our lot will give Wayne a lift home, it’s not a problem. I’ll make sure he’s all right.’

  ‘Look, we don’t know what’s really happening here, but we think it’s best we take Wayne with us,’ said Anderson.

  ‘Oh yeah? What, don’t you trust me or something?’ said Xuereb, throwing a pint glass straight at Anderson, which missed and smashed on the pub wall. ‘You can fuck right off, before we give it to you anyway.’

  ‘Wayne, call us when you get home, OK?’ said Anderson.

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ I replied.

  The unit walked backward out of the pub and off they went. Xuereb disappeared somewhere in the pub and everyone sat down. Razor, flanked by three others, told me to follow him.

  We went outside to the car that had brought me and jumped
in. I was sitting in the back with a geezer on either side of me. We drove through an industrial estate, then entered a scrap yard and pulled over. Fear rapidly filled my soul. This didn’t look good. Razor was in the front seat. He pulled the Rambo-style knife from out of his jacket.

  ‘You fucked up. You didn’t do what they told ya. So now I’m gonna cut ya,’ he said.

  He hit me on the forehead with the handle of the heavy blade. He was gritting his teeth, holding the blade to my face, while my hands were kept at my sides by the blokes I was sandwiched between. Razor had water in his eyes and was screaming at me that he had to do it. I told him that he didn’t because I had done nothing wrong. His phone started ringing and Razor pulled himself together and answered it.

  I heard Xuereb’s voice shouting at him: ‘’Ave you took him home yet?’

  ‘Et, nah, I thought you wanted me to give him a smiler,’ said Razor.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing? I’ll tell you what, mate, if you’ve hurt him in any way, I’ll go fucking mad. Now take him home and get your arse back here pronto.’

  They drove me home in total silence. Razor told me to keep my mouth shut or he’d come back. They dropped me at the bottom of my road and sped off. The ordeal had lasted around five hours, and it left me shaken and well and truly stirred. Amazingly, after this mad ordeal, we never heard a word from Xuereb again and Anderson continued running our security, but I was constantly afraid of yet more gangs of psychopaths trying to muscle in.

  GENESIS 1989: IN HOUSE WE TRUST

  We found a pukka gaff in the East End, set in the middle of an industrial estate. There were landmarks to help the punters’ keen sense of direction, and untold parking space. At this stage of our fame we spent more than 25 grand a gig. Considering some promoters spent five jib on their entire campaign and production, this was a chunk of money to lay out for an illegal event. The mission was to create the perfect environment, a surreal fantasy playground and abstract world concealed within the walls of an ordinary-looking warehouse. Our man-made Bermuda Triangles helped transport revellers into another dimension.

  We had inspected the gaff earlier in the week, breaking in through an upstairs window for a walkabout to check how much work needed to be done. It was clean as a whistle, the electricity was on and the building was easily secured. On the night of the event, we arrived outside the venue at the usual time, promptly got the trucks inside and went to work. Hours rushed by before everything was almost ready and then I got a call on the walkie-talkie from our man on the roof.

  ‘Two police cars pulling into the estate, heading our way,’ he said.

  This was a critical time. Gone were the days of going out and fronting it: you’d definitely be nicked if you did that. In the old days, being peaceful and pacifist was cool, but now desperate times meant desperate measures. We were in a corner and had to fight. What we needed was at least 300 people who would stand their ground to the end. It was the only way a party could continue. If you stirred up a crowd to fight for their right to party, the officers would soon retreat and let us get on with it. I decided to turn on the music, lights and smoke machines, to create an illusion of a party already started.

  Our man on the roof hadn’t been spotted yet. He was watching what the Old Bill were doing and reporting back to me. The warehouse was filling up with smoke and one of the machines was right by the entrance door. We started shouting and making lots of noise and, although there were only twenty of us, it echoed around the building and made us sound like a hundred.

  ‘They’re fully kitted up and coming into the warehouse,’ said the roof man.

  We became louder and more aggressive, calling them all the names under the sun. We couldn’t see much, but knew exactly where they were. We weren’t really going to have it with them, we only wanted to scare them off, and it worked. They retreated to the street.

  ‘Two SPG [Special Patrol Group] vans are speeding on to the estate, followed by three police cars,’ came the word from the roof.

  We were the backbone of Genesis and couldn’t afford to be nicked – especially me. It was time to leave. We got the team together and told them the koo. The only ones we’d leave in the warehouse were the equipment crews. Dibble wasn’t concerned with these people: they were only hired to do a job. We smashed some windows out back and made our escape through the estate, over some trainlines, and settled by a river. The others went their own way, while we stayed within radio range.

  The next message we got left us quite shocked. ‘Wayne, they’re gonna drive a forklift truck through the shutter doors. There’s about 30 of them in full riot gear.’

  A loud crash echoed into the night. I told the roof man to get out of there. We heard the sound of police radios and saw several torch beams searching the area about 50 yards away. The instinctive thing was to get up and run, but we decided to stay put because they’d easily have caught up with us. Our only escape route was into the river, so we belly-crawled over to the edge and slipped quietly into the freezing cold, rat-infested water. The posse were still moving our way. Shit, shit, shit! The only thing we could do was swim underwater to the other side, or as far away as possible. Even a breaststroke would have made a noise. It was now or never. We faced the other side and ducked under the dark water, pushing ourselves off the bank and coming up roughly ten yards out. The police were already in the area we’d just left.

  We had to get out of the water before we caught pneumonia, or even worse. So, submerged once more, we swam until our hands touched the slimy concrete bank. By this time the police had moved on and we scrambled out, freezing our bollocks off. I hadn’t realised it was going to be that cold – I would rather have done the bird. We were so unfit I’d say we were in the first stages of hypothermia. Our phones and radios were fucked so we threw them into the water; we didn’t want to hide them on the bank in case they were found with our dabs over them.

  We ran for ten minutes across marshland to the nearest road. Dripping wet, we ran a gauntlet of streets before finding a minicab office. At first the drivers did their nut, but we told them we’d had a fishing accident and needed to get home before we caught a life-threatening virus. We offered a hundred quid up front to the person who took us. They all jumped at it, and before long we were home drying in front of the fire.

  I did catch pneumonia and ended up in hospital for a week; it took me a month to recover fully. On the Saturday morning I got out, we were having a party, so from the hospital I went straight to a warehouse and organised the night ahead.

  The crews we’d left in the warehouse told us the demolition men crashed through the barriers with a forklift truck. Everyone was arrested and all the equipment confiscated. Receipts were produced for the equipment and it was collected from police storage. Our roof man made his escape and was home before us. This was a new form of police tactics. The Old Bill in east London were playing for keeps. I don’t think they cared who was behind the shutters or in the building. They were determined that somebody was going down.

  GENESIS 1989: ONLY LOVE CONQUERS HATE

  I first saw a Biology flyer in February 1989. We’d found a warehouse and were out on the night shift with our new flyer, hot from the press. Someone handed me the Biology flyer. The party was billed on the same day as ours, which surprised me. It was a colour flyer with a picture of the World In Action logo. They had all the top DJs booked: Paul Oakenfold (whose name was spelt wrong), Norman Jay, Kid Bachelor and a host of other well-known names. It was being held in the Linford Film Studios in south London and they were showing the Tyson v Bruno fight live on giant video screens.

  The flyer proclaimed that the function wasn’t open to the general public and admission was by invitation only. I got a friend to discreetly acquire some complimentary tickets in case our gig got stopped. I didn’t really want to miss the fight and it would be an ideal opportunity to check out the competition and see Bruno get hammered.

  We had a loyal clientele so I wasn’t really concerned that th
eir gig was on the same Saturday as ours. The more promoters out there organising large-scale events, the bigger and better the scene would become. Our gaff could hold 5,000 people comfortably, and it was in north London, on the opposite side of the road to the huge event (Chapter of Chapters) we’d had a few weeks earlier. The aerodrome-style building was one of several in a row. Only a padlock and chain held its huge doors. Once the chain was snapped, the building was declared open. A warehouse directly next door was still open for business at 7 p.m., so we had to wait until they closed before we moved in and went to work.

  Two hours soon passed and we sent a man to the point to direct everyone straight to the venue, which was set back from the main road. It didn’t matter how many people stood outside the warehouse, they couldn’t be seen. All the main lighting was switched on while the boys added the finishing touches.

  There were narrow walkways high on both sides of the arena, connecting one end to the other. I imagine the feeling of walking across was similar to walking the plank of a pirate ship, or crossing a rope bridge 30 feet above a jungle. No room to turn around meant one-way traffic only. At the end of the plank was a tiny square area where we built a tree-house camp as our office. We used a large dustsheet to enclose it, so no one could see us counting the dosh.

  People were arriving and forming a queue outside while waiting for the final soundchecks. Then the huge double doors were only opened enough to allow room for just two punters to enter at a time. It started snowing heavily and, though we weren’t quite ready, we let the people in anyway. After an hour, the dome was half full, but minutes later a group of SPG vans screeched to a halt and out jumped a riot squad.

  Standing by the entrance, I heard the flat-cap say, ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘I think the organisers are inside,’ said a punter.

  ‘Do you know them?’ asked the flat-cap.

  ‘No, I saw someone with a management tag earlier,’ said the punter.