The Billy Can Bomb

Chapter Five


Kevin and I weren’t the only two people that night with their thoughts and feelings aflame. The police had decided to open a file on us. Of course, the Inspector believed Kevin’s non-involvement, that was obvious, but years of experience and a wary suspicion of human nature, and a belief in his powers of intuition, led him to suspect Kevin wasn’t being completely honest. With me he knew I had nothing to hide: I wasn’t there, unlike Kevin. Rollins knew Kevin would need someone to share his innermost thoughts with and the Inspector guessed it would be me.

Rollins wouldn’t be so stupid, nor waste time, to tail the boys in the car park, one of whom was unknown, nor re-interview Kevin, but he would make discreet enquiries. He’d first talk to the school, ask who the boys’ friends were, and where they might possible be. Somewhere, Rollins guessed, a network existed, some hidden connection he’d discover, some connection unknown to Kevin and me. His job was discovery, and as sure as his name was Rollins he’d find out - to his satisfaction and to the grief of criminals who he suspected had targeted our area for drugs.

Dave Williams’ lost sleep too. He’d recognised big Kevin alright, how could he miss him, and knew he’d have told the police. Kevin, however, hadn’t recognised his friend, Dean Madgeson, and if he kept his cool and calm nobody need know his identity. He’d face out the police and deny ever being there, but it would be stupid to use Dean as an alibi. Madgeson would have to use someone reliable to back up whatever fiction he’d devise to cover his tracks.

Dave had long ago given up living with his parents. He’d flitted around and had a series of addresses, either with friends whose parents asked no questions, or sharing squats which he used to sus out first, then break into before letting others know there was a suitable flat to “sell”. Dave made quite a bit of cash doing this; it gave him friends and introduced him to those who wanted drugs. It also gave him an elusive quality, knowing it would be difficult for the police to track him down. He knew he’d need to be extra clever from now on: keeping off the streets for a while, well, at least during daylight hours.

Dave’s father had deserted his mum when he was seven and she’d relied on a series of “uncles” for money to keep her family housed, fed and clothed. Dave despised both parents: his father for leaving him and his mother for not caring. He’d begun to experience troubling doubts, not so much about his own life, more the people he’d recently started to mix with. These weren’t the usual small time hoods, using crime as a sideline to make extra cash, but those whose life was devoted to professional crime. Yet, whatever doubts Dave had he couldn’t allow them to trouble and plague him now. He was getting sucked into a new life and couldn’t avoid it any longer. At seventeen his actions were making up his mind, limiting his choices, and if he was to protect Dean and his accomplices by denying he’d ever met them, he would. He couldn’t turn back now: circumstances had forced him to chose crime.



Chapter Six


Kev phoned me on Saturday saying he didn’t want to chat too much over the phone, other than he needed to talk “urgently about last night”, suggesting “the sooner we meet the better”.

“What about MacDonald’s down the High Street”, I said.
“Give us a break Billy”, replied Kev, “why not meet at the small Italian cafe, you know, where they do real coffee and cakes”.
“Yeah, cool idea Kev”, I replied.
“OK Billy boy, we’ll meet, say 11.30?”
“Yeah, that’s fine by me”, I said adding, “shall we cycle?”
“No, we’ll walk I think, don’t have to worry then about getting the bikes nicked. You know the neighbourhood”.
“Yeah, not safe enough to leave your aunt’s cat alone”, we both chorused laughing. And hung up.

Kevin was already there munching into a thick chunk of fruit cake whilst a frothy coffee steamed above the clean table cloth.

“Yo! Billy, over here”, Kev shouted as I walked in, looking a bit tired, if not a little sheepish.
“You look worried man”, Kev said, as I sat beside him after ordering tea and a bun at the counter.
“Yeah I am”.
“No, Mr. Capaldi”, Kev shouted to the owner before I got comfortable, “can you make Billy’s the same as mine. I’m paying Billy, so shut up!”

“Yeah, I’m a bit worried. You sounded mysterious when you phoned earlier and anyway I couldn’t sleep thinking of what happened last night. Are you sure you won’t be in danger?”
“I don't know”, said Kev, before proceeding to explain his initial treatment by the police, “and I ‘aint telling my Dad, he’d go ballistic. I think we should try and sort this out ourselves”.
“Are you sure?”, I replied a little nervously, “you know what the police told us. Both of us”.
“Yeah, I know Billy”.
We talked more and agreed that lots of our mates and other kids we knew of, were being offered drugs and taking them, though, as yet, not that many.

“Do you think we should ask for drugs and then get to know the big dealers around here Kev?”, I asked.

“No!”, Kevin replied quickly, “I wouldn’t ask anyone for drugs, it could backfire on us”.
“What ‘da mean?”, I asked.
“Imagine the police picking me up. You know how they pick on Black people and blame us for all sorts of bad things”.
“Yeah, I know”.
“So, we need to start asking questions, being nosy, being subtle. We need to find out where Dave Williams’ is hiding, not asking for drugs. I never did like Dave at school”, Kev said, “but I think he’s OK basically”.

We chatted on a little more, taking silence by eating the cakes and sipping the rich strong coffee.

“Mr. Capaldi, two more cappuccinos please!”
“Are you sure Kevin?”
“Yeah! Don’t argue!”, he replied.

Then, as the second cup was being drunk and as my interest was waning, Kevin let drop his bombshell.
“Billy”, he said, moving closer to me so not to be over heard. The cafe was filling up now by lunch time shoppers wanting a quick snack.

“I think I recognised the guy sitting in the car”.
“But you didn’t tell the police”.
“I think the guy sitting in the car was the bloke who threatened you two years ago. Remember, when we first met”.
“Couldn’t forget, could I. But are you sure?”
“I’ve a good memory for faces and even though it was dark in the car park the car door was open and the interior light on”.
“You didn’t tell that to the police, did you?”
“No, but I’m 100% convinced it was the bloke who pinned you outside Mrs. Gilpin’s”.
“Should we go and talk to Mrs. Gilpin?”, I asked.
“No, that’s too hasty, and obvious. She wouldn’t give us a straight answer anyway”.
“That’s right Kevin”, I replied, “remember how she told us we shouldn’t ask questions”.

We talked a little more, gradually winding down our conversation and moving onto football and music, and the long summer holiday which was getting closer, and the cycle trip we were planning.

“I’ve an old army tent of Dad’s”, I told Kev, “it’s a bit battered, but it’s light and sleeps two, just. Oh”, I quickly added, “and a couple of sleeping bags”.
“Yeah”, said Kev, “and I’ve been looking at maps and think we’ll need to get a train to Chester, approach Wales that way”.

Kev paid the bill and we left together.
“I’ll talk to you on Monday Kev, after school”.
“And we’ll look at the maps of Wales I’ve got at home”.
“I’ve got to go shopping for Dad, and do some homework Sunday. See you. Take care”, I told my mate.

With that we separated and were swallowed up by the sea of busy shoppers.

The Billy Can Bomb

Chapter Four


My Dad tapped gently, but rapidly, on my bedroom door. Dad always made it a point never to burst in on anybody unannounced, and I would have felt hurt and undermined if he didn’t respect my privacy.

“Yes dad?”, I answered, detecting a sense of urgency in his normally calm voice.
“Billy, Mr. Knight’s on the phone, sounds as if Kev, after he left, got involved in some trouble and now the police are questioning him in Lower Breck Road station”.
“OK Dad”, I replied, “I'll chat to him”.

Mr. Knight explained he was going immediately to the station, asking if I would join him, “you might be able to explain to them what you and Kevin were doing before this alleged trouble”.
“Yeah, that’s OK Mr. Knight, I’ll do that”.
“I’ll pop over to your place and pick you up”.

“Dad”, I said, “Mr. Knight wants me to go with him to find out what’s happened to Kev. Is that OK with you?”

“No problem. You know me and the police, best to keep a clear distance from them, but if you’ve got to talk to them there’s no choice is there? But look after yourself and don’t say anything you’ll regret."
“Should I?”, I asked quizzically.
“That’s for you to decide Billy”.

Within twenty minutes I was sitting in a back room of the station, Kev opposite a CID Inspector and me next to Mr. Knight.

The Inspector explained what had happened and how he realised Kevin wasn’t involved in wrongdoing.
“Well, that’s what I expect of my son, officer”, said Mr. Knight, “he’s been brought up correctly”.
“But we need to ask why he was there. Where he was before and what he hoped to gain from his own, how shall I put it, private investigations”.

I explained Kev had helped me with my maths and why he’d taken a short cut.
“Yes, yes, we believe you son”, the Inspector said to me, and then continued, “but why did you stop Kevin?”

Before Kevin could reply his Dad said, “Inspector, I’ve always taught my son, all my children, to help others. I was raised that way myself and see no harm in it”.

“No neither do I Mr. Knight”, replied the Inspector, “but we need to know more clearly what was going on”.

“I’ve told you sir”, said Kev, looking at Inspector Rollins, “you’ve got my statement. Dad, I can’t answer any more. I can’t tell him any more than I know”.
“OK Kevin”, the Inspector said softly, “our problem is that we received a phone call some ten minutes before we arrived. An anonymous tip off that some men were attempting to sell drugs in the underground car park, so we need to know if it was you, or even Billy, and if it was, how did you know what was going on”.
“Looks like to me”, butted in Mr Knight, “that my son, just by chance, happened to get involved like the Good Samaritan, and now finds himself in deeper that he expected”.

“That’s right Dad”, Kev exclaimed, “the man who grabbed me knows my face now. What’ll he do to me?”
“He doesn’t know where you live, does he?”
“But Dave Williams’, the boy I saw, who used to go to my school, does!”
“Yes son”, the Inspector replied, “we’re tracing that up. We didn’t get a clear description of him nor of his companion. Did you recognise his friend Kevin?”, asked the Inspector.
“No. Never seen him before”.
“Would you recognise him again if you saw him?”
“No, I don’t think so. Well, not to be 100% sure I couldn’t. I only recognised Dave in the dark because of his strange hunched shoulders and lanky walk”.

“Is there anything else you want to know Inspector?”, asked Mr. Knight.
“No, not at the moment. If you do see this Dave Williams’ character with anybody else you might recognise, tell us immediately. Don’t go getting yourself involved again”.
“No sir”.
“Oh yes, your bike. It’s in the station yard”.
“C’mon young people”, said Mr. Knight, let’s be taking you back. Thank you Inspector”.
“Good night sir. Goodnight boys”.

I couldn’t sleep that night. My mind was a whirligig of thoughts and emotions. What had Kev stumbled upon? What’ll happen if he’s recognised? Will Kev’s life be in danger? Will the men in the car park keep trying to push drugs? Was this just a small part of a bigger operation or a one off? And, more importantly to me, what was Kev feeling?

Kev didn’t tell everything to the police. Though not accused of any wrong doing he felt he had, especially when the police told him he’d been nicked without any proof and was manhandled into the car. He didn’t tell his father that, though he was ready to tell me. His temper, his anger, had been fired and he knew he wouldn’t take police advice nor keep clear: he would ask questions. There was also one other thing that began to nag him. One of the men in the car seemed vaguely, strangely familiar, something that gnawed at the back of Kevin’s mind. Something most definitely for my ears only. It wasn’t until the early hours, as the birds began to sing and warble into life did he find sleep. “Good job”, he finally said to himself, “it’s Saturday tomorrow”.

The Billy Can Bomb

Chapter Three


The noise and commotion didn’t just strike Kev, they shook him, sending a shiver of panic and fear through his body. Instinctively he slowed his bike, gently pulling the brakes so as not to make a sharp squeal and draw attention to himself. As slowly he began to ease himself into something he didn’t quite comprehend.

“Easy does it Kevin boy”, he murmured to himself, unsure what next to do. The commotion became louder, a bin was pushed over clattering its filthy contents over the concrete. He heard four, maybe five, people arguing. The underground car park was black as pitch, the night had now closed into its darkness. Kev, despite his confidence and physical size, felt uncertain; whether to cycle off, or investigate the increasing noise.

“What are the police paid for anyway”, Kevin thought, “it’s their job to sort out grief”. Part of him was excited, “wicked, man!”, he kept saying to himself hiding his turmoil with bravado. Answering himself, as if searching for a solution to his dilemma, said, “it’s not my area. I don’t live across the road. Leave this dump to itself!” Then he remembered me: “it’s Billy’s home too, I sleep over at his place. I know what’s going on”.

And all the time gently freewheeling down the concrete ramp, past a few car wrecks, avoiding, as much as possible, shards of broken glass glinting from a shaft of light.

Instead of merely hearing people arguing he could now see them. Dark hulking shapes, big men, by a car, its engine sweetly ticking over almost noiselessly. “That’s expensive”, Kevin thought. By the car stood two youths. “I think I recognise him”, said Kevin to himself applying a name to the body shape in the shadows.

The cycle was coming to a halt after running out of momentum. Gently braked, it finally stopped. Kevin, astride, to keep it balanced, quickly swung his leg over the cross bar and rested the machine against a filthy concrete wall.

He could see all of them all clearly. Two men inside the car, two outside leaning against it and the two youths, his age, maybe a little older, but not by much.

“Yes”, he thought to himself, “it’s that kid from my school who was expelled last year for fighting”.

He couldn’t quite hear all that was being said, but sufficient to get the drift. The young man, whom he knew, was talking excitedly saying he didn’t want to do it, but his friend kept telling him, “C’mon, Dave, think of the money, think of the clothes, the clubbing, the girls we could pull”.

The two men outside the car began to move menacingly closer to the boys, and, as if to make their point fully understood said to them, “you won’t let us down will you? We don’t want chickens in our operation”.

Kevin thought one of the men turned to look in his direction and quickly moved back to the shadows in the process knocking over his bike to clatter eerily in the near empty cavern. “Damn, oh hell”, he mumbled to himself.

“Who’s there?”, a voice said sharply, “I thought you two boys guaranteed no one would be here?”
“But we did, we did, honest!”

One of the men started to move in the direction of where Kevin had pushed himself flat into the darkness. His heart pumped wildly, ready to explode, threatening to project his body into the open. The car began to move slowly, lights off, towards another exit. Kevin felt relieved, “safe now”, he thought. The two boys had vanished when suddenly Kevin felt a thick, powerful, heavy arm around his throat and saw a man’s right hand flick open a long thin blade.

His deep, rasping breathing as he struggled to loosen his assailant’s grip, his wild anger driven by panic on seeing the vicious knife, ended when a police siren shattered the futility of his struggle. The man loosened his grip and Kevin slumped to the ground choking and exhausted. His companion had turned heel fleeing towards the car now revving its engine full bore. The doors slammed and they were off.

Kevin, on the dusty ground, was being hauled up by two extremely large police officers. Another he saw giving chase to the two boys who had been hiding behind some large garbage containers.

“OK son, you’re nicked. We’re taking you down to the station”.
“Here, Mike, take his bike will you. Put it in the boot”.

Chapter Two

That was, as I’ve said, a couple of years back. Kevin is still my best friend and is doing brilliant at school: sports and all the writing stuff he needs. Me? Well, I get by I suppose. Always hand in my work on time, well, mostly, and get fair to good grades. But I never excel like Kevin does and I was never in the top stream for anything. The only thing I can do better that Kevin is ride my bike faster than him, especially up hills. You see, Kevin is a little too big and heavy for humping his weight up hill, whereas I’m dead skinny so find it easier to defy gravity. And that’ the only time I ever get in front of him. Kevin seemed to grow even larger and I seemed to stay the same size. Dad told me not to worry and always said the same thing, “there’s good stuff in small packages”. I think I knew what he meant and it helped me a bit.

Dad still had the job with the do it yourself company and with a bit more money coming in, and a generous staff discount, had begun to smarten the flat out if its pokiness. Even Kev was impressed by the my room with all its new fittings, a pine wardrobe and bunk bed so that he could sleep over. Kev’s sisters had both finished university, one had a job in a bank and other had started teacher training.

Where I lived though, had, in the few years since we met, got really rough. Not that I didn’t feel safe, I know most of the kids and Kev, well, he feared nobody. It’s just that bad things started to happen. Lots of the flats Dad said, were squatted, so the new occupants didn’t pay rent. When the council evicted them they smashed up the flat out of spite. Stupid if you ask me.

Lots of guys at school began to bunk off and the older kids I knew to talk to didn’t seem to work: though they were never short of cash. To make things worse I lost my paper round when Eddie decided to go back home to Ireland, saying it was safer there than in “these mean streets”. Mrs. Gilpin was upset at me losing the little job, but Dad told me not to worry about it, even though the extra cash it brought in was useful.

The local newspaper was full of stories about drugs, gangs and crime amongst young people. Me and Kev avoided all these things but that’s not to say we knew nothing about it because we did: the guys who sold them, the users, and the kids who were getting hooked. We saw the kids under the blocks of flats, dark hidden corners smelling of sick and oil where the tenants were supposed to park their cars. Only a fool would do that ‘cos they’d be vandalised and smashed mighty quick. Kevin started to avoid even jogging past those places, and me, with my paper round gone, didn’t have to bother. Even though I could use them as a short cut on my bike I wouldn’t any more. Guess we knew all of these things from a distance.

But one night Kevin got into trouble with the police and that changed everything.
Kev had spent the evening around my place helping me understand some maths I just couldn’t get the hang of.

“Look Billy”, he said to me, “maths is about following rules. I don’t know why it works, but it just does. All you need to do is know the right rules to work out the problems”.
But I couldn’t understand how Kev worked out the area of a circle and then a cylinder.

“And who’s this bloke Pye”, I kept asking.
“It’s a rule, like crossing the road, looking right and then left, only it’s to do with numbers”.

We went through it a dozen times, and like I’ve said, Kev was good at everything, and I still couldn’t really understand it. Though I was getting there, I kept trying to convince myself, I couldn’t understand fitting square meters into circles: didn’t make sense to me.

“Imagine the squares are made from rubber”, Kev said, “that can go into any shape; triangles, cylinders and circles, and then bounce back again to squares. It’s still the same area”, he said, “no matter the shape. Look Billy, think about it”.

The only thing I was thinking about then was to give my mind a break. We had a coffee, listened to some music and Kev began to talk about our holiday idea cycling in Wales. I’d get the better of him there, I secretly thought to myself.

When Kev decided to leave he wheeled his bike out the flat and rode it along the corridor and that was that. He left about 9.30, just as it was getting dark and because he’d no lights, decided to take some short cuts.