The Common Enemy. Paul Gitsham

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СКАЧАТЬ guess I’ve known him getting on for ten years now. At first it was just to say “hello”. He’d travel down to Essex if there was a meeting on. Then he went away for a bit—’ he meant prison ‘—and when he came back he moved down to Romford. We’re about a mile apart. I’m a painter and decorator and Tommy needed some work and a place to stay, so we teamed up. I guess that was about five years ago.’

      ‘You lived together?’

      Brandon scowled. ‘Not like that. He kipped on my couch for a couple of months until he found a flat.’

      ‘Of course, I didn’t think otherwise.’

      Brandon grunted.

      ‘After he moved out, did the two of you stay good mates?’

      ‘Yeah, he repaid the favour a few months ago when me and the missus went through a rough patch.’ His voice cracked slightly. ‘He was an untidy bastard, but it’s times like that you find out who your mates are.’ He paused. ‘He wouldn’t even take any rent.’

      ‘But you aren’t living with him now?’

      ‘No, I got myself a bedsit.’

      ‘Did you still see each other outside work?’

      ‘Yeah, we both like a bit of golf and we used to go and play on a Sunday afternoon.’ He smiled slightly. ‘He was crap.’

      ‘What about Jimmy?’

      Brandon snorted.

      ‘You’d never get Jimmy on the golf course, far more likely to find him in a wine bar with Goldie. Me and Tommy used to take the piss out of him. He had the cleanest overalls you ever saw. God knows what he used to wash them with. I swear, if he wasn’t always on the pull, I’d think he was batting for the other side.’

      ‘So he used to work with you guys as well?’

      ‘Yeah, me, Tommy, him and Goldie.’

      ‘I’m surprised you managed to find enough work, what with all the Poles.’

      If Brandon realised he was being provoked, he didn’t seem bothered.

      ‘Yeah, fucking Europe. Sooner we’re out and can send them all packing the better. How is a man supposed to put bread on the table when he has to compete with that? They use cheap materials, charge half as much and don’t pay fuck all in tax. Half of them just want to use the NHS. There are plenty of good, honest British tradesmen out there, why do we need to bring in foreigners?’

      Warren was beginning to wish he hadn’t broached the subject, but he needed to get Brandon worked up.

      ‘But you weren’t up here for work?’

      ‘’Course not.’ Brandon looked at him scornfully and Warren worried his deliberately clumsy questioning had been too obvious. ‘You know why we’re up here. To stop that fucking super mosque.’

      ‘But what’s so special about Middlesbury? You didn’t march on Dudley or Newham.’

      ‘Some of us did. But Middlesbury is personal to Tommy and Jimmy. They grew up here. Their old lady still has to live here. You’ve seen the town, it’s like fucking Islamabad.’ He leant forward, warming to his topic. ‘You mark my words, it’s a slippery slope. Before you know it the local schools will be serving halal food and teaching the boys and girls in separate classrooms so they don’t offend the Muslims. And what will they be teaching? They’ll be learning the Koran by heart and listening to preachers telling them to destroy the West and earn their seventy-two virgins by blowing themselves up on the underground.’

      Brandon was now in full flow and Warren found himself watching with a disturbed fascination. How much did he actually believe and how much was just hyperbole spouted to justify his unabashed racism?

      ‘Fancy a pint on a Friday night? Forget it, before you know it they’ll be demanding pubs shut down. It’ll be like Iran. Islam will be the biggest religion in the UK within twenty years the rate we’re letting them into the country. They’re breeding like fucking rabbits and converting people left, right and centre. And what do we do about it? We build more mosques and give them free houses and let them use the NHS without paying.’ Brandon leant forward.

      ‘You and me are an endangered species, pal. Look around you. Middlesbury is supposed to be at the heart of England. If anywhere in this country should be full of white people it’s here, but it’s not. It’ll be as bad as Birmingham or Bradford before you know it.’

      The man’s face was bright red and he used the edge of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

      ‘Help me out here, Harry. Who killed Tommy? Point me towards them.’

      Brandon slumped back in his chair, the plastic creaking alarmingly.

      ‘I don’t know. Take your pick. It could have been one of the Muslims or it could have been one of those Muslim-lovers throwing stones and making death threats on Facebook.’ He smirked. ‘Hell, it could even have been a bunch of Polish painters trying to wipe out the competition.’

       Chapter 9

      Marcus ‘Goldie’ Davenport, was another person whose nickname was both unimaginative and descriptive. In addition to his gold earring and incisor, he also sported several gold sovereign rings. Like his friend, Bellies Brandon, he too wore an England shirt, although it was probably one-third the size.

      ‘Can we be quick about this? I need to get back home to feed the cat.’

      Davenport’s face was inscrutable and Warren couldn’t tell if he was being serious or facetious.

      ‘It’ll take as long as it takes, Mr Davenport. After all, we don’t want to miss something that could let your friend’s killer go free.’

      Davenport sighed his acquiescence.

      Much of his story matched that of Bellies Brandon, so Warren focused on the small details. Davenport enjoyed the audience.

      ‘I’m a pacifist, me. I wasn’t going to get involved in any violence. I was just there to exercise my freedom of speech. So when the police let the protestors attack us, I left quickly.’

      ‘Where did you go when you left the square?’

      ‘Me and Jimmy headed past the war memorial then towards BHS.’

      ‘Did you go into the shop?’

      ‘Nah, ’course not. They’d pulled the shutters down, probably to stop the muzzers and the soap-dodgers from nicking stuff, you know what they’re like.’

      ‘So where did you go?’

      ‘Down the alleyway and onto the street behind.’

      ‘Did Tommy and Mr Brandon follow you?’

      ‘No, we split up at the war memorial. Bellies is too fat to run, СКАЧАТЬ