Flash Fiction
After
watching out for the parakeets in Bradenham Gardens and listening for their
shrill call, their verdant green plumage bright high among the winter non
growth of tree. I sloped, not like an ordinary member of the Earl’s Court of
Miracles but I was the leader. Like the escaped parakeets, our job was to stay
one step ahead of the privatised law. The Metropolitan Police had been
privatised and now each little London canton had their own elite, hand picked
security squad. This mob did not read you your rights before kicking your head
in, in the back of the black Mariah or down the end of the darkest alleyway. I
sloped past Marks & Spencer’s, I limped passed the Co-op and I dragged my
leg behind me past Sainsburys. The only people who worked in these stores were
security who were linked via satellite walkie talkie to the privatised snatch
squads. Everything inside these super stores was now robotic artificial
intelligence. The voice “Unidentified Item in the Bagging Area” was that of
Donald Trump. Those dressed like me were easily picked out on the infra-red
CCTV, a cordon had been built around Kensington High Street. The vagabonds of the Earls’ Court of Miracles
were like zombies compared to the automated barbie dolls and action men
parading up and down outside Harrods. London had always been two different
cities, the citizens just pretended that it was all one. Doing the Lambeth walk
in a Chelsea Tractor was difficult ‘but doable darling on the school run’. Me
and my chums had not been privately educated in the little nurseries around
Notting Hill, the mothers swerving their prams and little Tarquin and Nigella’s
eyes were shielded from ours. Our eyes bled with the injustice that we were
living. Our eyes bled when we viewed the opulence of Park Lane and Mayfair
through the railings the other side of Hyde Park. We made ourselves scarce in
the day but by night we would give the scurrying rats a fright and a run for
their money. Night-time was ours; we would skirt the Victoria Coach Station to
see what wide eyed bunny rabbits were knocking about. Some of our hooded ghost
members would haunt the night buses. Cameras can’t pick up dead matter you see.
The Number 11 was always good for pickings. Some Tourists realising that you
could ride from Fulham Library all the way to Liverpool Street Station taking
in all the sites that the London Bus Company offered for 1000 times the amount.
Central London would be empty without the tourists. We could take over then,
maybe for that is our plan. France is our inspiration and this is indeed a tale
of two cities. There is too much inequality here. The Powers and Principalities
have decreed that we must take back what is rightfully ours.
I
couldn’t do this alone; I didn’t have the vision; I did not have the third
sight required. I needed a Fagin to my Artful Dodger. I found him. He was in
his late sixties, early seventies and he had a little dog, a Jack Russel
terrier he called ‘Patch’. This man was walking wisdom and I had to keep him
apart from the rest of the gang. Freddie the Vulture I would call him. He would
swoop. Before I knew it, Patch was on my shoulder barking into my ear.
“You
got to define your enemy son”, he would say. “It’s no good having this generic,
they, them”
“Generic
Freddie?”
“Yeah
generic, are you thick or something?”
Freddie
was the only person in the whole world who I allowed to talk to me like that.
“Yes
Freddie, I am thick because I only went to a Secondary Modern School, unlike
you”
“Don’t
hold that against me son, I’m one of you now and I can help you”
“You were
one of them though so you know how their minds work Freddie”
Freddie
nods and looks down at Patch. He gives him a little Scooby Snack.
“Right
listen and listen good because you might never see me again. My age and angina,
I could be plucked into God’s bosom at a moment’s notice so listen up and
listen good”
I
listen good.
“Christmas
Day is the only day that some of these poor sods have off. It’s the only day
that Earl’s Court Tube Station pulls the shutters across. So, you want to get
the Bus Drivers and the Tube Drivers on side. You affect the Transport
infrastructure of this fine city and you are halfway there. Then you want to
take control of the food supply into the city. Every supermarket has got its
own supply chain, its own lorry drivers that drive through the night. This is
where your Gang come in. Some of your boys need HGV licences, they need to
infiltrate the supermarkets and on the designated day that the transport
infrastructure is hit, that is the day that the food supply starts to dry up.
That is also the day that ‘A Plague’ is announced on the National News. You
need the Toffs to stay indoors. Yer posh wont risk coming out of their des res
if they think they are going to inhale some junk wots gonna kill em”. You need
multiple attack points. If you have televised pictures of an attack on the
water supply as well up at the Lea Valley Reservoir. Something like ‘Thames
Water hit by Terrorist Attack’ If you get the population panicked, I tell you
one thing, they won’t be headed to Buckingham Palace to save the Royals. They
will start a pogrom to Margate.”
With
that Freddie the Vulture picked up Patch and I never saw him again but his
words resonated. Spread panic among the populace he said. We couldn’t do it all
at once. It would need a drip feed approach but the world was doing that
already. The news media were doing that for us already. Members of ‘the
Miracles’ were using their time in the Libraries of London well. Everybody
thought they were watching You Tube or playing games but they were gathering
information. They were relaying it back to us at the meetings. We were staying
under the radar that was the important thing. The best thing to have happened
to us was the breakup of the Met because none of these privatised security
firms were talking to each other. There was no joined up thinking. So, if they
picked a member up in Deptford, they wouldn’t know about it in Holland Park
which was dusty for us because we could bring the New Cross and Deptford
Massive across West then. I’m only telling you this because I trust you. You
know, like Freddie the Vulture, I might get taken but I know I won’t be going
to god’s bosom and neither will he. It’s into the Devil’s Armpit we’ll be going
and all because we won’t sign up for the programme, the conditioned programme
that we’ve all been programmed to follow since school. So, I’m still in charge but if I fall in the
line of duty, you need to take over right? It’s the law of guerrilla warfare.
If we weren’t so fucked up by drugs and alcohol and years of disfunction and
abuse then we could take this lot. I’m telling you we could take em.
Now if
you’ll excuse me, I’ve got parakeets to feed.
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