Padrick - 8. Chapter 8

As soon as the news of Moira's murder became known, by ones and then twos, Tilley's mob sauntered into the Crown. At first they were quiet, conversing in low whispers and banding together to share their common grief. Being Freddie's cousin Moira was popular, and to each person it was a personal loss. Of course the rumour mill was in overdrive; details were sketchy, and basically the only news and details they had was from reports in the paper. The twelve o'clock radio news bulletin shed no further light on the tragedy.

By three in the afternoon the pub was crowded and noise levels reflected the crowd's rising anger. The outpouring of grief morphed into an avalanche of fury and then onto revenge; revenge not only for this outrage, but also against the maiming of Mickey Grainger. Revenge became the focus, and as the alcoholic consumption increased, everybody expressed their own ideas on the form such reprisal should take. As the hours wore on the cry for vengeance became unstoppable. It was as if the murder became a catalyst for exorcising tensions that had developed and had lain festering; festering, just waiting for a spark to ignite into physical violence.

This was the atmosphere when Freddie entered the pub.

Around four, he arrived looking drained and distraught. He had been at the mortuary all morning and he came away a shattered young man. Moira had been close, and to Freddie she was the big sister he'd never had; in fact she was the only family he'd ever known. In an age-old ritual, he was plied with free beer which was supposed to dull the pain but only succeeded in intensifying his rage; to an unspoken question he described,

'(slowly and softly) She were cut real bad. She wus cut all over; if'n she hadn't died from bein' cut she woulda died from blood loss. . . . (long pause) God, her face . . . by the look on her face she died in agony and terror. I'll . . . (rising anger) . . . never forget that face; I'll never forget the pain and suffering written all over her pretty features. WHY! WHY! . . . WHY? (the whole pub fell silent) . . . someone's has to pay for this! Someone's gonna pay by bein' kilt; someone's kilt my Moira and I'm gonna avenge her. . . . (a long silent pause; everyone strained to hear what Freddie was saying) . . . . '

Out of the crowd someone said,

'WHO FREDDIE; Who d'yer reckon done this?

'THINK . . . think who's been wantin' t' take over our territory? Who d'yer think wants Missus Tilley sent back t' Old Blighty[1]? . . . (pause) . . . Who gets most outta seein' Tilley gone? Eh? EH? . . . I'll tell yer, BLOODY FUCK'N KATE LEIGH . . . . THAT’S WHO! BLOODY KATE LEIGH AND HER WHOLE FUCK'N GANG!'

The silence was overwhelming. At last . . . . At Last a name, an identity, a focus; somewhere, something on which to direct their rage.

Freddie stood up and challenged,

'WHO'S WITH ME? . . . WHO'S WITH ME TO AVENGE MICKEY GRAINGER AND OUR MOIRA?'

Just then another voice was heard,

'But what about that Emilee Harrington; she wus part of Missus Leigh's crew an' she wus kilt just like our Moira? That don't seem as if Missus Leigh is responsible!'

Suddenly bent forward and using his knuckled hands, Freddie leant of the table almost knocking his beer over . . .

(Indignantly) 'YOU THINK NOT? How 'bout that wus just a cover; a cover I reckon. I reckon that the Harrington girls' death had nuthin' to do with us folks but she cunningly used the poor girl's death to cover up her evil intentions . . .'

There were mumbles of 'MAKES SENSE' . . . 'I'M WITH YOU Freddie' . . . 'RECKON SHE DONE THAT' . . . 'YEAH, WHAT A BITCH' . . . 'YA CAN'T TRUST DEM POMMIES . . .' then, a single voice . . . '

. . . 'What ya reckon we do 'bout it Freddie? Reckon we'se all with ya Freddie! What ya got in mind?'

Still leaning against the table, Freddie faced the group which by now was completely under his control. Raising his voice he shouted . . .

'BASH THEIR FUCK'N HEADS IN; THAT’S WHAT! ABOUT TIME WE PAID ALL THEM FUCKERS A VISIT AND SETTLE THIS MATTER ONCE AND FOR ALL! . . . . I SAY, LETS GO GET 'EM LADS AND SETTLE THIS OUR WAY!'

There was a general uproar at Freddie's outburst. Suddenly men were looking around for any weapon they could find. The cricket cabinet was raided and blokes armed themselves with bats, stumps, cricket balls and any other instrument they could get their hands on. Quite a few carried Guns and these were tucked away to be used only as a last resort.

It was past six o'clock in the evening and outside it had grown very dark. Torches and simple oil rags were found and set alight as the group coalesced into a mob and started out for Crown Street.

* * *

At some time during the afternoon, as the clamour of the pub mob became more strident, persons loyal to the Kate Leigh mob slipped away to alert their fellow gang members. By the time that the mob started to move, Kate's gang was fully apprised of the danger. In an abandoned warehouse which the gang's used as an unofficial home, feelings were running high; in fact there was a sense of relief that the festering hostility would be resolved, and in blood if needs be.

The unofficial leader was an unsavoury cretin called Jack (Jocko) Cree whose rap sheet included rape, suspected murder, grievous bodily harm, theft and blackmail. He came to Kate straight out of jail where he served a sentence for forgery. Taking a shine to him, Kate gave him a job and asked him to 'keep the boys in line'. This he did very well, because to look at he was intimidating. The result of a youthful knife fight left him with an ugly scare running from his left ear lobe down to his lips; he looked as if he had a perpetual sneer. He was physically fit; standing just over 6 foot he was superbly muscled, without an ounce of fat on his body.

As the warning reached him that Tilly's vengeful mob was on the way, he jumped up on a wooden box and shouted,

'THEY'RE CUMIN' LADS; THEY'RE ON THE WAY SPOILING FER A FIGHT! LET'S GO GIT 'EM; ARE YOU'SE WITH ME?'

The mob of about 30 misfits responded with,

'YEAH JOCKO, WE'SE WITH YA!' and 'LETS FUCK EM UP GOOD!' Followed by 'LET'S DO 'EM IN BOYS'.

With plenty of time to obtain weapons, they had accumulated an armoury of baseball bats, clubs, truncheons and . . . guns. The stage was now set for a dreadful confrontation.

***

'Missus, Missus! Ya gotta stop 'em; they'se gonna kill each other and my Tommie is wid them. He's gonna be kilt, I jest knows it!'

Tilly and Big Jim were startled by the sudden intrusion of one of the girls. In confusion they looked at the young girl Janet who had stormed into the front parlour wearing only a skimpy petticoat. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wide with fear; she looked so dishevelled it was almost comical. Big Jim was quick to recover.

'What the hell is you'se talkin' about Janet; who's gonna kill who?' . . . and then Tilly,

'Janet, fer shit sake, yer undressed; go and put on a dress 'fore busting in on us. Can't ya see we'se having a quiet cuppa 'fore we get the day started; go on get outta here and put on a proper dress.'

'Mister Jim (ignoring Tilly) the lads are all steamed up 'bout Moira and Freddie has revved 'em up to go hunting the Leigh gang. They'se carrin' sticks, and bats and some got guns.'

'GUNS! (Tilly shouting) did ya say Guns? Fer Christ sake Jim, get up and do something. Ya knows how I feel about Guns. Someone's gonna get hurt or maybe kilt and we'll have the cops all over us.'

'Shut up Tilly, (standing up and turning to Janet) tell me all that ya know; I need to get the full story before I go runnin' on a wild goose chase. Slow down and tell me everything.'

'Well, best I know is that the lads gathered at the pub to mourn Moira bein' kilt and of course they started drinking heavy. They was pretty pissed and revved up by the time Freddie came back from . . . from . . .'

'(Big Jim interrupted) the morgue Janet . . . the morgue. I knows he were there all mornin'.'

'I guess so. Anyways as soon as he came in the pub he started to knock back beer like he was dyin' of thirst. Soon he became loud and real shitty; started blamin' Missus Leigh's blokes for killin Moira and attacking Mickey . . .'

'(Tilly cut in) He blamed that she-goat, that slimy witch (turning to Big Jim) maybe he knows something that we'se don’t Jim; whatya reckon? Could she and her gang be the cause of these attacks?'

'OF course not! . . Think Tilly, she lost one of her own girls . . . ummm. . I think her name was Emilee . . . no, no that’s bullshit! Freddie's wrong; he's just trying to work off his own pain by blamin' Katie Leigh. No, it's bullshit! (Turning to Janet) how long ago did they leave the pub Janet and in what direction?'

'Well I just saw thems goin' along towards Crown Street . . . 'bout 40 or so, includin' my Timmy and some weres real pissed off like; Freddie was out front and he looked real grim, sort of like a devil. He had his pistol in his belt (turning to Tilly) I reckon Missus he's gonna use the piece on anybody who gets in his way.'

'HOLY JESUS! Jim, get out there and stop them 'afore it's too late. This is bad, bad, bad. C'mon Jim I reckon I'll go wid ya.'

'No! No you won't; if this gets ugly I don’t want you getting hurt. I share you'se feeling though; this is bad, we could have a disaster on our hands. Hey, what about Kate Leigh, don't yer think you should talk to her and try and get some sanity into her bunch; she's probably just as scared as we are?'

'Never! If she can't control her boys then what's the point of talkin' to her.'

He just looked at his wife with a whimsical smile and hurried out.

***

Big Jim Devine hurried along Palmer Street and decided to take a short cut through Spence lane into Eaton Street, which connects with Crown Street. His mind was in turmoil; for some time he's been aware of an undercurrent of tension in the gang, primarily as a result of Mickey Grainger's mutilation. Every day that the culprits remained at large seemed to intensify the primordial rage felt by the boys; the bloody cops seemed to be baffled. He knew he could reason with Freddie as the little guy always looked on Big Jim as a benefactor . . . if not father figure; on the other hand, Freddie could become irrational if he had to deal with an emotional issue.

At the end of Spence Lane he turned right along Palmer Street and crossed over into Eaton Street.

By a quirk of fate, both gangs determined to use Eaton Street as a pass way to each other’s territory. Jocko Cree and his gang rounded into the street travelling East and had only proceeded a few meters when unexpectedly they were confronted with Freddie's mob travelling West. Momentarily there was confusion at this sudden confrontation; both leaders halted so abruptly that those in the rear ranks stumbled into the front ranks. Slowly and cautiously the two sides closed the distance between them until no-mans-land had shrunk to about 20 meters.

Like two ancient armies they first stared at each other silently, that is until someone started to make derogatory remarks which escalated into vicious insults. The verbal stoush continued for some time with cries of 'POOFTER'; 'COWARD'; 'MURDERING SHIT HEAD'; 'YOU'RE DEAD JOCKO'; 'YOU'RE MINE DOG SHIT'; 'GUTLESS YELLOW MONGREL'; 'NANCY-BOY'; 'YER MISSUS IS A WHORE' . . . and worse.

Slowly the distance closed to about 15 meters but no one wanted to be the first to attack. Instead, they were simply content to hurl insults at each other. It was at this point that Big Jim stumbled into Eaton Street. Sensing that it wasn't too late to stop bloodshed, he forced his way through his gang and reached Freddie who was busy trading insults with Jocko Cree.

'Oho lads, here's the big chief come to rescue his children from the big bad wolf; what's up Jimbo, the missus given you a leave pass to go outside and play? Seems I heard ya likes getting' yer cock sucked off by any young lad . . . the younger the better.’

‘. . . and they tell me Jocko that when you’se were inside, ya loved to ‘ave a big black coon[2]shove ‘is cock up yer arse; hear tell that you’se hollered for more . . . ya couldn’t get enough.’

This brought gales of laughter from Freddie’s mob and threatening growls from the other side. Jocko now spluttering with rage, snarled back at Big Jim,

‘That’s a dirty lie and you’se knows it! You really are a piece of scum Jim, yer no better than that slut . . . .’

At that moment, someone threw a cricket ball[3] that hit Jocko in the face . . . and hell broke loose.

The two sides slammed into each other using any weapon they had to inflict bodily harm. It wasn’t long before gang members of both sides were seriously wounded and blood flowed from open gashes, deep cuts and slashes. It was primeval; no quarter was asked and none given. In some cases, the identity of assailants was confused and men began to strike out at anybody around them who was perceived to be a danger. The violence escalated until gang members were laying on the ground or just staggering around blindly . . .

. . . and then the first shot rang out . . . and a fusillade of shots were exchanged.

No one could say who fired first, it really didn’t matter; the temper of the mob was beyond control and everyone just tried to survive. Those with guns just blindly added to the carnage.

Adding to the horror was the noise of battle. Intermingled with the sound of gunfire were the cries of the wounded, the yelling of uncontrolled rage, plaintive pleas for mercy, and above all the primeval sounds of males at war.

. . . and the smell. The smell of voided bowels, the smell of urine as bladders emptied uncontrollably on the ground, the smell of blood . . . and the smell of fear.

Eaton Street evoked invoked biblical Armageddon as blooded bodies lay grotesquely where they fell, the smell later causing even jaded police officers to retch, and as the violence subsided an eerie silence descended over the scene.

Soon the road called Eaton Street would be referred in later years, as the site of the Battle of Blood Alley.

***

The news reached Police Headquarters as soon as the battle commenced but it took time to assemble a force to investigate. Within a short time, all members of the Special Force were contacted and told to proceed to Eaton Street quickly. Paddy and Giles were with the first law officers on the scene. As they pulled up at the entrance to Eaton Street, the sight that they witnessed was beyond any experience they’d ever encountered.

Stunned and speechless, they just sat in their car for several minutes; neither spoke as they tried to relate to the tragedy. Giles was the first to speak.

‘Jesus Paddy, what a shambles, it’s like me old man used to tell me about being in the Great War, y’know about the dead and dying in the trenches. This is just plain bloody awful; I ain’t never seen nuthin like this before. How the hell are we supposed to make a report? I don’t know where to start.’

Like Giles, the gruesome scene transfixed Paddy; his brain refused to accept the carnage that confronted him. He’d seen violence before, what copper hadn’t, it was part of the job and you were just trained to ignore the shock and get on with the job of being a police officer. He stirred as Giles spoke.

‘Hey look at that, there’s a couple of young’uns walking through the scene. We can’t allow them to corrupt the crime scene; let’s go Paddy, you escort them away and I’ll start to sort this mess out.’

Following Giles comment, Paddy looked towards the other end of the street and saw what Giles referred to; Billy and young Simon were walking among the bodies trying no doubt to identify faces. He assumed Billy was trying to find his dad Mickey; probably OK for Billy but Simon was too young to be on the scene. He hurried over.

Billy and Simon were indeed looking anxiously for Mickey Grainger; neither had any experience in the bloody scene before them. Billy being a lot more street wise tended to shut out the horror and concentrated on finding his dad . . . assuming he was in the fight. On the other hand, Simon was only there to give Billy support should he find his pa.

‘Jesus Simon I ain’t ever seen nuthin like this before. I reckon I’ve seen fights and plenty of stouches before but nuthin like this. I’se scared Simon, I’se scared I’se gonna find me da all dead. I feels sick . . . I can’t look any more Simon . . . I’m gonna . . . .’

At that point, Billy doubled over and vomited up the contents of his stomach; he was still retching when Paddy arrived. He waited until Billy had stopped vomiting and gained some essence of control before asking,

‘Billy, get the lad out of here quickly . . . it’s no place for any sane person let alone a young’un. Go on take him back around the corner and come back, if yer up to it. I’ll need yer help to make some ID’s. (Then as an afterthought) Are you OK boyo, I’m mean yer not gonna be sick again are ya?’

‘Nah I’m OK, but I'm worried about me Da; the bloody idiot would follow the boys inta hell if'n they asked him. Promise you'll call me if'n ya finds 'im . . . please Paddy.'

'That I'll do . . . that I promise boyo; I understand how ya must feel.'

'Jesus Paddy, I reckon I’ll need a belt of whiskey after we’se finished. . . Promise?’ (Paddy nodded affirmatively) C’mon matee (turning to Simon) let’s get ya outa here.’

‘Just see that he’s OK. I’ll start looking for yer Da and anyone still injured; the ambos will be here soon . . . I hope.’

Paddy started at the east end of the scene and began looking for anyone injured. It was a ghastly scenario; thankfully, there were many still alive among the dead and they could be heard moaning softly as they writhed in pain. Most of the deaths were caused by gunshot. Shortly Billy joined Paddy and they began to examine faces more closely. After a short wander, Billy expressed sorrow.

‘Hey Mr. P, I’se been off with most the guys here; look there’s Mattie Spicer, I was givin him a blowjob just last night. Now he looks near to dead. An there’s Tiny . . . um . . . don’t know his udder name; he’s jest known as Tiny because he’s got the biggest cock you’d ever want to see. All of eight inches on the slack and a powerful nine when he gets hard. Made me real proud to take the whole lot up . . .’

‘Shut up Billy, (as Paddy continued walking) have some respect for these poor fools; they don’t want their dirty secrets to be aired at a time like this. Show some respect.’

‘Yeah sorry boss, I get carried away when I’m a bit upset. Seems I’se can’t shut me mouth . . . hey what’s up Mr P? . . . ‘

Paddy was just a couple of yards from Billy looking at some of the gunshot bodies, when all of a sudden he seemed to freeze. He became rigid as he stared at one of the bloody gunshot victims; then he seemed to slump as if suddenly his vital force drained away. He began top utter despairing sounds,

‘KEN? KEN? . . . . What’s . . . KEN? . . . why? How? (Choke) . . .’

Sensing something bad had happened, Billy raced quickly to where Paddy stood transfixed looking at a particular body and muttering,

‘KEN . . . KEN . . . ‘

‘Don’t know who’s yer callin Ken Mr P, that here's Freddie the gunman and he looks real dead. Good riddance to a real bad’un; worlds a lot better off with the likes of him gone . . . .'

At that time Giles at the other end of the street, was talking to some of the Ambos who’d just arrived. Some instinct made him look up in time to watch Paddy sag to his knees and fall down. Simultaneously Billy made eye contact with Giles and waved him to come over quickly.

On reaching the boy, Giles was appalled to see the change in Paddy; he looked to be in deep shock with pupils fixed and dilated, and making only unintelligible baby sounds. He turned to Billy,

‘What happened lad, what brought this on; I’ve never seen Paddy like this . . . quickly, tell me’

‘Well all I knows officer, is that Mr P came to this body here who he kept calling KEN, but we all knows him as Freddie the gunman; works fer Tilly and is a nasty piece of goods . . . well, he was anyways. Why’se this happened? Why has Mr P gone gaga?

Something stirred in Giles’s memory; something that Paddy had let slip about seeing someone. However, right now he needed to get help for Paddy.

‘You’re Billy . . . right? Then hop over to the ambulance people and tell them to come quickly; just say that an officer is down. They’ll know what to do.’

‘OK, but he’ll be OK won’t he? (sniffling) We’ve been close like and if anything happened to him I’ll . . . .’

‘I understand lad; now be a good fella and go fetch the ambulance guys.’

When Billy scampered off, Giles grabbed hold of Paddy and held him close, whispering

‘It’s OK boyo, it’s OK buddy, I’m here now; I don't know what's happened but and I’m (giving Paddy a tight hug) gonna look after you. Take it easy now; we'll get you to hospital right away.'

By this time Paddy had deteriorated alarmingly. His breathing became shallow and it was obvious he was in deep shock. The only sounds he made were a repetitive, strangled cry off,

‘ . . . Ken . . . Ken . . .'

Soon an anxious Billy arrived with a pair of ambulance bearers and in a few words Giles explained what had happened. With professional skill they checked Paddy’s vitals and prepared him for a stretcher.

‘What's your take Walter (reading the guy's name tag); how bad is he? I know you can’t give a complete diagnosis right now, but you must have some opinion based on your experience.'

‘Well from the looks of him I'd say he’s had a severe shock, a shock so severe that his brain, unable to deal with the reality of the situation, has retreated into itself. . . . .’

‘but . . . . (Giles interrupting) will he be OK? Both the lad (indicating Billy) and I are close friends of his and we're worried. This isn’t the Paddy we’ve known; I’ve never seen him like this before.’

‘Yeah I've seen plenty of shock cases; if you don't treat the patient right away the situation can be serious. Look, when we get him back to hospital, he’ll probably be given a sedative to help him come out of the shock. I’m pretty sure that he’ll respond quickly; he looks to be in good physical health, so the prognosis, I'd say is good. Now stand aside and let's get him into the ambulance and into hospital. Hey . . . officer?? . . . (addressing Giles)’

‘ummm . . . Giles.’

‘Yeah . . . I’ve never seen a trauma scene this bad; never seen so many bodies just strewn about with no obvious cause. Do you know what happened?’

‘Yeah, it's bad Walter; we don’t know yet what caused the stoush but we’re working on it. It’s a fucking mess alright!!’

'Reckon I’ve seen some bad incidents but this . . . this is beyond the pale. Anyway, we’re off to get this lad fixed up.’

Giles turned to face Billy who had been listening anxiously.

‘Tell me what you know Billy; tell me what you and Paddy have been doing. You must have some idea as what caused Paddy to collapse.’

‘I dunno Mr G, I just don’t know . . . . I reckon I should tell you’se that I’m a homo. I reckon you’se knows that Paddy is like me an’ Simon . . . hey?’

‘Yeah I do lad; we’ve been close friends since we were young boys. He let drop that he’d met up with someone but didn’t tell me his name; judging by his collapse, I’d say that this ‘Freddie’ bloke is the one. Jesus, what a shock he must have had.’

‘Yeah . . . but why did he take up with a piece of shit like Freddie the Gunman; it don’t make sense Mr G . . . . it don’t make sense. I’m scared Mr G . . . real scared. Mr P has been real good t’me. No one has ever been kind to me like Mr P done. I thinks I love ‘im.’

‘Yeah, Paddy is an angel; he always was there to help people with their problems and tried to set the world to rights . . . . Ummm . . . . had you and he ever been intimate?’

‘What intimate? If yer askin have we had sex well, I ain't gunna say anything except that we'se been close . . .'

ouch!

'. . . but it was good’ not rough and we’se did feel sumfin for each other. If’n it comes out that he’s a Homo then I reckon all those churchies and narrow minded snobs will come down hard on ‘im. Please Mr G don’t let the bastards find out who he fucks; it would be mighty cruel. Those bastards don’t know nuthin.’

Giles was surprised he had a reaction to Billy’s confession that he and Paddy might have had sex; but it passed as quick as it came. He turned to Billy,

‘Look lad . . . help me with my investigation if you would. I guess that you’d know most of the folks in both gangs and your help in identifying casualties would be appreciated.’

Why did I feel jealous when young Billy admitted that Paddy might have been physical?