CHAPTER 6

MEETING THE WICKER MAN

Its Tuesday morning, and my girlfriend has gone to work. Fred rings my doorbell. When I open the door and see him, he looks like shit and is really twitchy.

FRED: Fucking hell what’s taking you so long to answer the doorbell! I haven’t slept for fucking days!

ME: What?

FRED: That powder was fucking strong I had, gotta take less next time. What you doing, hurry up!

Fred is really twitchy and sweating. He keeps looking at his watch, and starts swearing at pigeons, he then puts his hands in his pockets, in out, in out, then taking them out and shaking his hands.

He Looks in his wallet, he puts it away, gets his wallet out again, puts it away, looks at his watch, lights a cigarette and takes the longest puff I have ever seen someone take in one whole deep breath leaving just a stub at the end.

Woah! So, this is a speed withdrawal, and maybe he doesn’t realise it, or that his wife (Lyn) had given him some additional speed.

ME: Just gotta get my car keys,

FRED: Cum on let’s go now, cum on quick,

ME: Where we going?

FRED: Gotta see Major! Get some weed, need to slow down, FUCK!

We get in my car and Fred instructs me stop at the top of the street. We are near the main road now. We both get out and enter a council estate and go up one level and knock on one of the flats doors.

FRED: Major can be a bit crazy, and can say some strange things, but he is ok most of the time, he’s just come out the scrubs (Prison)for GBH (Grievous bodily harm)

So, am I about to meet a friend of Fred’s who is a nutter? or a looney? or I am about to be stabbed by someone who doesn’t want Fred at his door because he is swearing at pigeons and mumbling away incoherently.

The door opens, and a hairy bare-chested man dressed in army type Khaki underwear, army socks and army boots, sporting a tent pole penial erection presents himself. 

Note: I don’t know why Major had an erection and answered the door, this man was a nut, and you don’t ask a nut who collects old sharp surgical instruments why he has a “hard on”.

FRED: YES! YOUR IN, GOOD! I need weed,

MAJOR: If you want some smoke, I’m all out, we will have to go and see the “Wicket”,

So, who is Major, and who is the Wicket?

“Major”, is a career criminal, that Fred only associate’s with when he needs to be up or down (or sideways) with his drug requirements.

As we all drove over to Clapham in South London to see this guy called “Wicket” and score some weed, Major, divulgated his life story to me from the passenger seat of my Ford Granada (Fred was in the back seat)

He had been in borstal as a youth and learnt his criminal trade there. He had done armed robbery with a de-commissioned  gun, he had handled stolen goods, had been a reasonably unsuccessful cat burglar after falling off a roof and breaking a leg, been a bouncer for at an illegal gambling club, and now just fresh from prison with twelves kids (Really! He showed me a wallet full of photos. And all by different women) he had become a notorious drug dealer in South East London.

My personal portfolio of meeting dodgy unstable underworld figures who knew where I lived and wanted to be my friend was worryingly growing…

As we drove though Peckham and into Clapham, Major often wound down his window and started yelling at people as we drove past. Everyone seemed to know him. He turned around to Fred at one point and said to him…

MAJOR: If you see that fucking Tinker! let me know, I’m going to jump out the car and stab the cunt!

FRED: OH! Ok Major!

I think, I hope we don’t see Tinker today…

He directs me to a council estate where we park in a bay. I ask him if the car is Ok where its parked. Meaning, that I’m not blocking in anyone here, am I?

Major answers…

MAJOR: Your car is safe here, once they see it’s me getting out, no one will touch the car!

We walk across the cark park and go up the stairs to the top group of flats which have open public walkways. We go to the end flat.

The front door is open, we follow Major into the dark flat. In the flat reggae music is playing on an old record player, the room is filled with the obvious smell of cannabis.

The window curtains are pulled closed, and on one armchair and a three-seater settee are men all sitting down smoking and passing the Herb.

The “Wicket” is sitting in the armchair, strangely, the armchair is right in the middle of the room and facing the kitchen.

MAJOR: Ok, Man, this is Fred, you seen him before, and me driver man, here he is, Leo,

WICKET: What you need,

MAJOR: Some of what you is smoking, some black, some go, blues, O and C, same sizes mounts, as before,

We all just stand there, just looking around. Cannabis smoke fills the room, we listen to the music, nodding at each other, standing on the spot, like gangsters…

I am thinking to myself we are, “The Notorious surgeon Major”, “Fucked up shorty the Fred”, and “what the fuck am I doing here if the police turn up”.

We are standing around for about ten minutes. Then wicker asks in a deep craggy voice…

WICKET: Would anyone like a cup of tea?

MAJOR: No thanks, we all right,

FRED: Naw, fine thanks,

ME: I’m ok,

A woman appears though the kitchen doorway which has strings of red plastic beads hanging from the top of the doorframe. She hands Major a full looking plastic Tesco’s shopping carrier bag. Major gives her a wad of money from his sock. We leave the flat and go back to the car. And I feel hungry.

ME: How’s he get that name? Wicker?

MAJOR: Behind the curtain in his flat is a telescope, he watches the cricket in the cricket ground across the road.

ME: The cricket ground. I get his name, Wicket!

MAJOR: Yeah, and Wicket is one of the main distributors in London,

As we get in the car Fred is asking Major for a smoke. Major makes sure Fred gives him some cash first then rolls a large joint for him. It’s lit and shared between them.

FRED: Fucking need this, fucking needed this,

As we go down Peckham High Street there is a need to open all the car windows, weedy cannabis smelling smoke bellows out of the car as we stop at traffic lights.

Fred and Major are both slumped down in their seats. I look right and see a policewoman who is looking over at us, she starts walking towards the car.

ME: Major, there’s a copper coming over,

Major pulls himself up and looks over and out of my window. He then waves at the policewomen who smiles back and walks right past the car, and all with the smell of weed wafting out of the window in a non-existent breeze. And we probably have fifteen years’ worth of prison in the bag on Majors lap.

MAJOR: Yeah, I know most of the coppers round here,

I don’t ask how…

We get back to Majors flat after listening to him give a not so rememberable recital on the various bloody fights he got into over the years.

Fred got his much needed weed to calm himself down from the speed overdose, and I had a large whisky and an early night followed by awful dreams and nightmares.