Brigands M.C.

by Robert Muchamore

  The three coaches following the Brigands’ convoy had skipped the parade and arrived first. James hurried across to grab his tent and overnight bag from a luggage hold. He scouted about trying to find a space for his tent that was far enough away from the action to be reasonably quiet, but not right up the back near the stinking portable toilets.

  ‘James, baby!’ Nigel’s brother Will shouted. ‘I hear you a bad-ass now!’

  James fought off a smile as he wandered over to Will and three other Monster Bunch members.

  ‘Pitch your tent with us,’ Will said. ‘These are my boys, Minted, Rhoda and Shampoo Jr.’

  They were all stocky lads, aged between eighteen and twenty, and in various stages of removing their riding gear. James shook all their hands and spent the next quarter hour pitching his tent, changing into cargo shorts and a Ramones T-shirt and drinking a beer that had spent six hours getting warm in a coach.

  Once everyone was settled Will led James and his three friends downhill past the various outlaw camps, moving extra fast when they passed a small patch filled with Vengeful Bastards.

  ‘You gonna put James’ name up for the Monster Bunch?’ Minted asked.

  ‘When I do Nigel,’ Will nodded. ‘That’s if you fancy it, James?’

  James laughed. ‘Maybe the Dogs of War will make me a better offer.’

  ‘Cheeky little bastard,’ Shampoo Jr shouted, giving James a gentle punch in the back and making beer spew down his top.

  ‘So what do you boys fancy?’ Will asked. ‘Hardcore stage for some dancing? Look around the strip, or the swap meet?’

  ‘Flesh Tent,’ Minted and Rhoda said in unison.

  ‘What’s that?’ James asked.

  Will laughed and grabbed James by his shirt. ‘If you’ve never been you’ve got to go there first.’

  ‘And it’s better while you’re still sober,’ Rhoda added.

  At the bottom of the hill the lads turned away from the strip and headed towards a white hexagonal tent. After stopping to buy bottles of iced Budweiser they paid four quid each, got their hands stamped and headed inside, with James getting teased as the older boys pointed at the Strictly Over 18s sign.

  Inside there were about a hundred and fifty seats, but the all-male audience stood crushed up at the front. Music blasted out of tinny speakers as six topless women danced limply up on stage.

  James and the other lads jostled up close to the stage as the music stopped playing and a seedy looking fatty in a velvet jacket walked up to a microphone.

  ‘OK folks, let’s give our beautiful amateur ladies a big round of applause. And a reminder, our winner walks out with a hundred pounds and you the audience get to decide.’

  ‘Looks like we’ve missed most of it,’ James said.

  Will shook his head. ‘It goes on like this all day. Strippers, pole dancers, amateur girls. Last year they had these two Estonian chicks in leather whipping each other.’

  ‘So let’s hear some noise for contestant number one,’ the compere shouted.

  The room stayed quiet as a woman in her fifties dressed in red suspenders stepped forward and wiggled her flabby arms.

  James spat out a mouthful of beer. ‘Oh that’s gross,’ he moaned.

  ‘They always do that,’ Shampoo Jr explained. ‘One really disgusting one to rile up the crowd.’

  Contestant numbers two and three got some noise from the crowd. Contestant four got a good reception, except from a group behind James who were jeering and calling her a whore. This caused a whole bunch of men to back up from the stage and before James knew it two groups of outlaws were facing off directly behind him.

  ‘Come on folks, it’s just a bit of fun,’ the compere shouted. ‘My old mum used to tell me to hold my breath and count to ten.’

  ‘I’ll slit your throat,’ roared a huge barrel of a man standing directly behind James, but it all seemed like bravado until James saw the flash of a butterfly knife, which promptly plunged into a stomach.

  Will and the others had backed out through a gap, but James found himself trapped between the stage and the fight as a dozen men traded kicks and punches. Folding chairs scraped on the wooden floor as men piled out the back of the tent in a state of panic, then became the weapons of choice as the brawl spread across the room.

  James didn’t want to get involved, but his only way out was up the three steps at the side of the stage. To his astonishment the fat compere charged towards him and ordered him to get down before swinging a punch.

  ‘I’m just trying to get out,’ James shouted, as he ducked the punch and whacked the compere around the head.

  The six topless contestants had run off and were grabbing their tops and shoes from behind a flimsy partition. As James raced across stage to a back exit someone switched on the lights. The smaller of the two fighting groups was running out, there was no sign of Will or the others, but James could see the patches from up on stage and realised that the man who’d been stabbed was a London Brigand.

  James jumped off the back of the stage and followed two of the contestants through a rear flap. The tent backed on to the metal perimeter of the Tea Party compound. James stepped gingerly over an air-conditioning pipe and cables, but he heard a girl screaming back inside the tent.

  ‘You dirty bitch,’ the compere yelled as he hit the girl again. ‘I don’t give a shit where your clothes are.’

  This seemed wrong, so James rushed back inside where the petite contestant number five stood barefoot and still topless. Her dark hair was wound around the compere’s hand.

  ‘Give it up,’ the compere shouted.

  ‘Pick on someone your own size,’ James said indignantly, as he popped the fat compere in the mouth, before snatching his wrist and bending it up behind his back.

  ‘Let go of her hair or I’ll break your arm,’ James ordered.

  The compere set the girl loose, but when James released his arm he swung at him again.

  ‘You’re too fat and too slow,’ James explained, as he threw three quick punches, knocking the compere off the stage, where he clattered backwards into a bunch of chairs before landing hard on his arse.

  James didn’t know who the compere was, but if he ran a tent at an event like this he’d certainly have well-connected biker friends and James didn’t intend sticking around long enough to meet them.

  He looked behind the stage as contestant number five searched through pom-poms, twirling sticks, a caged parrot and leather whips while swearing loudly in Spanish.

  ‘What was that all about?’ James asked. ‘Why did he hit you?’

  ‘Someone took my T-shirt,’ the girl seethed. ‘How do I get back to my caravan like this?’

  James could see no sign of the T-shirt, so he pulled his own over his head. ‘It’s a bit sweaty,’ he said, as he offered it. ‘But it’s better than five thousand people seeing your tits.’

  ‘My hero,’ the girl said, giving James a sweet smile as she pulled the T-shirt on and slid her feet into a pair of canvas plimsolls.

  James followed her as she hurried out of the tent. ‘Some people are such arseholes,’ James said indignantly as the sun hit his bare back. ‘Fancy hitting you just because you asked him to help look for your top.’

  The girl’s face lit up with a mischievous smile as she peeled a roll of twenty-pound notes out of her cut-off jeans. ‘I think it had more to do with me stealing the prize money,’ she explained. ‘And I would have gotten away if that slag contestant number three hadn’t stolen my top.’

  James laughed as they walked clear of the tent. Three bikers wearing vests marked Security and a first-aid team with a stretcher were running into the tent, while a couple of London Brigands stood outside using mobiles, clearly relaying what had happened to their bosses.

  ‘Here,’ the girl said, as she offered James forty pounds. ‘You saved my ass, you deserve a cut.’

  James grinned as he took the money. ‘I love your accent. Are you Spanish?’

  ‘No shitting you is
there, Sherlock,’ she grinned.

  ‘I’m James by the way.’

  ‘So why does a good looking boy like you hang around with creepy fat men watching a titty contest?’

  James felt embarrassed. ‘I got dragged in there by a bunch of mates. I’ve never been anywhere like that before. And I was definitely gonna shout for you, you were the best looking by miles.’

  ‘You need to come back to my caravan with me,’ the girl smiled as she led James into the crowds on the strip.

  ‘I do?’ James said.

  ‘I’ll grab a top,’ she explained. ‘Then you can have your T-shirt back.’

  32. CARAVAN

  The radio-controlled Panzer tank clattered through the shabby lawn behind the Führer’s house. Its turret swung rapidly towards a Red Army T34 and an orange flash and tinny electronic boom came out of the muzzle.

  ‘Missed me, cock breath!’ Dante said, giving Joe the finger before staring down at his radio control unit. ‘Which one turns the turret again?’

  Dante couldn’t find it and Joe was closing in with the Panzer, so he threw it into full reverse and crashed into a bird table. Joe fired and missed again.

  Lauren grabbed Joe’s controller. ‘Gimme that thing.’

  Dante had finally worked out where his turret control was. He advanced forward from the bird table and fired.

  ‘Direct hit,’ a synthesised voice announced from the controller in Lauren’s hand. ‘Damage level fifteen per cent.’

  ‘Fifteen per cent damage,’ Joe carped. ‘You’re on eighty per cent. One more hit on the side and you’re toast.’

  To simulate the reloading of a shell in a real tank, the electronics only allowed one shot every fifteen seconds. This meant Lauren’s Panzer would be ready to fire before Dante’s T34, so Dante swerved in front of Lauren’s tank and charged through the shaggy grass at full speed before swerving into relative safety behind the skinny trunk of a plum tree.

  ‘Don’t go too near the pond,’ Joe said anxiously, as Lauren’s Panzer skimmed over a bump and briefly left the ground. ‘My dad’ll break my legs if we wreck ’em.’

  Anna batted Dante on the arm as the four teenagers chased after the tanks. ‘My turn,’ she demanded.

  ‘Nah-uh,’ Dante said. ‘You’re rubbish. I’m trying to pull us back from the brink.’

  A green LED lit up on Lauren’s controller, indicating that her tank was ready to fire again. She came to a halt and took aim at the sliver of Dante’s T34 protruding from the plum trunk.

  ‘You’ll never hit that,’ Joe warned, as Lauren fired anyway and missed. ‘Idiot!’

  Anna scowled at Dante. ‘Don’t screw it up,’ Dante warned, as he passed the controller over. ‘The firing light just came on.’

  After missing, Lauren’s tank was vulnerable to attack, but instead of retreating she charged on towards the plum tree. It was a calculated risk, based upon the fact that Anna was going to miss.

  ‘Ooops,’ Anna said, as her tank shot backwards.

  ‘That one’s the turret,’ Dante groaned, as he pointed at the controller.

  ‘Keep your wig on,’ Anna shouted back, as Lauren’s tank closed to within four metres.

  ‘Shoot now,’ Dante yelled.

  Anna got the turret pointing towards Lauren’s Panzer and pressed the fire button.

  ‘Too soon,’ Dante said furiously. ‘The turret was still moving.’

  The synthesised voices from two control units disagreed. ‘Side hit. Tank A, damage level thirty-five per cent.’

  ‘What!’ Joe yelled indignantly. ‘That was head on. How could it possibly hit the side?’

  ‘Must have just glanced it,’ Dante giggled, as he slapped Anna on the back. ‘Nice one.’

  Lauren’s gun was almost ready to fire, but Anna charged forward recklessly. Lauren threw her Panzer into reverse, but instead of the electric motor churning inside, she got a whimper.

  The two tanks crashed face on. The left track of Anna’s T34 reared up on to the Panzer. The front track hit the turret hard, before the vehicle tipped sideways and rolled off. As the T34 landed upside down on its turret, Lauren frantically jiggled her controller.

  ‘It’s dead,’ she said, as she demonstrated the fact to Joe.

  ‘Flat battery,’ Joe explained.

  ‘Is there a spare?’ Lauren asked, and Joe shook his head.

  ‘Victory!’ Dante said, grinning at Anna.

  Lauren tutted. ‘How can it be a victory if your tank is upside down?’

  ‘And you’re eighty-five per cent damaged,’ Joe added. ‘We kicked your arse.’

  ‘It’s a war of attrition,’ Dante grinned. ‘We conserved energy and ammunition.’

  ‘The only reason your battery lasted longer is that you couldn’t use the controller,’ Joe said.

  ‘Well they’re your dad’s tanks,’ Anna replied. ‘You’ve driven them before.’

  Lauren peeled her sweaty top away from her back and grabbed her trainers out of the grass. ‘I’m going inside,’ she said. ‘I’m gasping for a drink.’

  Joe carried the dead Panzer, while Dante flipped the T34 back on to its tracks and drove it through the open doors of the conservatory. Lauren followed it and found Joe’s brother Martin in a leather armchair reading The Times.

  ‘Why is all that booze piled up in the hallway?’ Martin asked, when Joe came in. ‘Planning a little soirŽe, are we?’

  ‘You’ll be at the crêperie,’ Joe smiled. ‘So you and your bum-boy friends aren’t invited.’

  Lauren had grown to like Joe, but she hated it when he trumpeted his dad’s homophobic views and she flicked his ear. ‘Don’t be such a shit,’ she said.

  ‘It’s OK, Lauren,’ Martin said airily. ‘Bigotry is a sign of a small mind, and they don’t come much smaller than Joe’s.’

  Dante grinned. ‘If you think his mind’s small, you should see his dick in the changing rooms.’

  ‘Trust you to be looking, you bender,’ Joe snapped back.

  Martin stood up and eyed Joe seriously. ‘If this house gets trashed, Dad’ll kill you.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ Joe grinned. ‘I’m his golden boy. If he hears that I threw a wild party he’ll slap me on the back and tell me I’m a chip off the old block.’

  Martin sighed. ‘The depressing thing is you’re probably right about Dad, but if the house gets messed up Mum will smack you into next week.’

  ‘I can handle Mum,’ Joe smirked. ‘Her bark is worse than her bite. And besides, it’s all people I know from school. If someone pukes or something I’ll get Lauren to put on her Marigolds and scrub up.’

  Dante laughed. ‘Yeah, girls love cleaning. It’s genetic.’

  Lauren gave Joe the finger. ‘With the sexism and the homophobia I can see one little boy getting smacked into next week before his mommy comes home,’ she grinned.

  *

  James lay on a narrow bed in the back of a small Volkswagen camper van. His skin glistened with sweat, he was out of breath and his clothes were strewn over the tiny kitchen cabinets running along the opposite wall. The Spanish girl snuggled naked beside him.

  James was grinning from ear to ear. ‘That was bloody incredible!’

  The girl poked out her tongue and licked a bead of sweat off his chest. ‘It’s not every day you get rescued by a big horny boy. What happened down here?’ she asked, poking just below his nipple. ‘Did some crazy girl try to bite it off ?’

  ‘Nah,’ James grinned. ‘I got bitten by a snake, about a year back.’

  ‘You lead an interesting life,’ she smiled.

  ‘I suppose I do,’ James agreed as he nuzzled the back of the girl’s neck. ‘You know, this is kind of embarrassing but I didn’t actually catch your name.’

  ‘That’s because I didn’t tell you,’ the girl said, pushing James’ head away and sitting up with her bum balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. ‘Did you see where my socks went?’

  James laughed. ‘So aren’t you going to tell me?’r />
  ‘No,’ the girl said, as she picked up the watch lying on the draining board. ‘And now I have to go to work.’

  James was disappointed. ‘How long for? Can we meet up afterwards?’

  ‘This was fun,’ she smiled, as she hooked on a black bra and gave James a kiss. ‘But it was what it was.’

  James wasn’t sure exactly what it had been, but he didn’t want to sound stupid so he changed the subject. ‘So what do you work at?’

  ‘My father and uncle have a van. We make paella.’

  ‘Ahh,’ James said. ‘So you travel all around?’

  ‘In summer,’ the girl nodded. ‘All the big festivals. V2, Reading, Glastonbury, Donnington, Notting Hill Carnival, and in Europe too. In the winter we go back to my mother and brothers in Spain.’

  ‘Life on the road,’ James said wistfully. ‘Sounds cool.’

  ‘Pass my jeans,’ the girl said as she looked at her watch. ‘You need to start getting dressed too.’

  James reluctantly sat up and reached into the cab where he’d thrown the girl’s jeans. As he picked them up, he noticed a dark red triangle sticking out from the pocket.

  ‘A-ha,’ James said happily, as he swiped the passport from the pocket and opened the back page. ‘Reina Cardinas,’ he said in a thick Spanish accent. ‘Even your name is sexy.’

  But Reina lunged frantically. ‘Nosy pig,’ she spat. ‘Give to me.’

  ‘You were cute.’ James smiled at Reina’s passport picture, in which she was about twelve. ‘Nice pigtails.’

  Reina scowled as she snatched the jeans and the passport back. ‘Creep!’ she said, hooking James’ Ramones T-shirt with her big toe and flicking it up into his lap. ‘My things are private and you need to leave. My dad will be here soon.’

  ‘How come you’re out here on the road?’ James asked, as he pulled the Ramones tee over his head. ‘Shouldn’t you be at college or something?’

  He’d hoped Reina would open up, but her tone remained bitter. ‘After the third school expelled me, my dad said he’d take me on the road where he can keep an eye on me.’

  ‘He’s doing a great job,’ James grinned as he slid his trainers on, but Reina didn’t smile back and before he knew it he was striding between the tightly parked vans, heading back towards Outlaw Hill.