Monday, February 27, 2017

Retiring from the mob

I am beginning to get some inside information on the owner of The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium. It seems he has a little side business that involves relocating troublesome people. The word is anyone can disappear without trace, just an overnight trip to the Norfolk marshes or the fens, and problem solved, no body, no evidence, no crime, just another missing person statistic.
I delve a little deeper. The victim is lifted straight off the street and delivered "gift wrapped" to the man. Who armed with only plastic sheets and a cornishman, relocates the body to somewhere very quiet. This is all done in the dead of the night. The only time his white van ever moves.
The Police are not particularly concerned about a missing drug dealer, a wannabee drugs baron. They move about enough anyway. They upset people and do a runner. So if they're reported missing it's another problem gone from their patch. So they just do the paperwork and sit on it. Everyone is happy except perhaps the poor guy who is buried on the marsh.
I had a friend, a retired fixer for some London gang. He used to drive the van to the Romney marsh, where people who had transgressed the unwritten law were disposed of. He assured me they were all "bad uns" and not one of them a "civilian". In fact he was very proud to tell me that of the many places in "The smoke" "civilians" were safest in a mob ran bar. They had the least trouble. Safer than going to your usual East End boozer. My friend was a big fella, his hand shake could crush bones in your hand. He drank whisky like water. he boasted that back in the day money was never a problem. He had the smartest suits, the best shoes and everything tailor made. he wanted for nothing.  I enquired about his "retirement". He didn't retire. No one retires from the mob without permission and then they are still on call. My friend had to disappear into hiding. So now bothered by old age and arthritis he tends his garden growing his beloved Sweet Peas and orchids keeping a very low profile. Money is tight nowadays and the suits are all gone. But he's happy now except for the arthritis that makes him swear. If you didn't know his back story you would think you couldn't meet a nicer more gentle kind of guy. He now lives in east Anglia where it's very flat and from his house he can see people coming from miles away.  But I don't suppose he will ever be called back in for duty. Not at his age. Anyway his Sweet peas and orchids take up most of his time these days.

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Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Heroin chic

Over the weekend the police raided the Smack crack and Cocaine emporium. It was a big exercise. They gathered together the cream of the British Police and hit the place hard and fast. They found nothing. The guy was clean as a whistle. His new modus operandi requires he never has any stock. he buys to order and delivers same day. Nothing ever comes home and there are never any drugs in his house. The police are visibly disappointed. Their intelligence told them this guy is a major dealer, he is. But there is no evidence. As they wound down the search  and prepared to leave Mr Dodjeeasfuk made a  big thing of trying to shake hands with the police officers with a big smile, "No hard feelings then?" "You're just doing your job"  and "Thanks for swinging by " Etc etc Some just turned their backs on him. Others reluctantly shook his hand.

Meanwhile Mr Dodjeeasfuks neighbours daughter has acquired a grey pallor. Her normal chubby face is now gaunt and thin, her whole look is Heroin chic, She has dyed her hair black to accentuate her ghostlike features. I can only guess who her supplier is. OR has she become one of his runners to fund her new habit. She is unemployed, unemployable, having been sacked three times in the last year for thieving from various shops she worked in. Taxis are on constant stand by, to take her, or members of her family, places. The money must come from somewhere.

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