Heavy Duty Attitude (8 page)
As word spread through the pack, The Brethren quickly began to gather together for whatever was about to go down. As we waited I was aware of a continuing undercurrent of aggro from the local charter who had formed up as a separate bunch a little way apart from the Freemen charter and most of the other ride ins who were stood behind them.
Wibble seemed to either be oblivious to it, or to be letting it slide off him as if it was beneath him. That seemed to me to be a dangerous game to play. If you were really secure, distain could be a powerful weapon against your enemies, something that said to them and others that they were of so little account that nothing they could say or do was worth notice or action.
But on the other hand, ignoring insolence, insubordination and indiscipline in the ranks could easily be seen as a sign of weakness. That Wibble was too insecure to take action and that the local charter was flexing its muscles.
But before I could think any more about it I felt a stiffening of anticipation sweep through The Brethren around me as they fell completely silent at the first distant sound of an unmistakable noise.
What the hell was this? I wondered to myself as out of the corner of my eye I saw Brethren hands freeing for action. The UK Brethren were all here I knew, so unless it was a big overseas contingent coming in, this wasn’t going to be more of their brothers who were turning up.
Suddenly the single packing made sense. Oh God I thought, they’ve been expecting something, as nervously I started to compute likely escape routes from what was now clearly a Brethren welcoming committee waiting for these new arrivals, whoever they were, and wondered how easily I could fade backwards into the crowd if the bikers made a rush forward.
If so, this would mean only one thing.
Trouble.
People would get hurt, I thought. And that could very well include me.
Jesus, I thought. The Rebels? The number one enemies, invading The Brethren’s number one event. This was going to be serious trouble, civilians were going to be in the firing line and I was right in the middle of what was going to, in the next few minutes, turn into a war zone.
The Rebels were all single packing as well I realised, as their bikes pulled up in a rank parallel to the row of Brethren Harleys. There were no old ladies along for a party day out with them either. This was a group here about serious business.
As their engines coughed and died and the dismounting Rebels began to arrange themselves beside their bikes into a line facing the two packs of Brethren, there was absolute silence all around me.
I recognised Stu, The Rebel’s president, from a photograph. I’d never managed to get him to agree to an interview. If anything, The Rebels were even more tight lipped when it came to journalists than The Brethren.
Stu took off his gloves and calmly stuffed them into his lid which he perched on the end of his handlebars before he turned to face the waiting Brethren. He was tall and slim, with sharp, swarthy, almost French looking features, a neat clipped goatee beard and dark grey hair pulled back into a ponytail that streamed down his back to between his shoulder blades.
I had a sudden vision of how he must have looked to Billy Whizz, what, fifteen years ago now or so, appearing at the door of a hotel room in Glasgow like an angel of death. All eyes were on him again now as alone, he stepped decisively forward from the line and towards the Freemen group of Brethren.
At his approach, Wibble stepped forward as well, until the two men were standing face to face a few yards apart in a small no man’s land separating the rival gangs.
It seemed as though everyone was holding their breath as I began to slowly sidle backwards to mingle in with The Brethren crowd. I didn’t want to get hurt, I knew riots could become very ugly situations very quickly but I did want to have my camera handy in case I could get a chance to use it so I snuck my phone out of my pocket and flicked open the lens praying that no one would notice.
At last, as if they had both made some kind of final decision at the same time, Wibble spread his arms and advanced towards Stu who did the same. Was this some last parlay before the mêlée I wondered, some last posturing exchange of insults and threats before the first punch was thrown and the riot began?
I held my breath and broke my gaze away for a second or so as I swiftly looked around me, scoping the exits and calculating and recalculating at lightning speed my likely escape routes. The two sides would rush each other I decided, swinging with whatever weapons they had to hand. I would just let The Brethren sweep forward either side of me I decided, fade backwards until I was at the rear of the pack and then turn and bolt. So long as none of The Rebels reached me in their own rush and none of The Brethren went into such berserker rage that they began attacking anything in sight, I thought I might just have a chance of getting out of this alive. I knew I might have to negotiate more Brethren heading towards the fight from elsewhere on the field but they wouldn’t be interested in civilians fleeing the scene. They’d be too intent on piling in to help their brothers with whatever implements they had snatched up on the way.
Christ, so long as I don’t run into Thommo’s crew, I thought.
Then came a sight I never thought I would see.
The two of them, Wibble from The Brethren and Stu from The Rebels, came together for a slow and solemn back slap hug. They stayed clasped together for what seemed like an eternity but could really only have been a matter of a few seconds and then broke apart again, hands and forearms clasped together in a rock steady biker handshake.
‘Welcome to our event –’ he announced quietly so that everyone in those circles could hear, ‘brother.’
‘Thanks – brother,’ replied Stu, never breaking Wibble’s gaze, ‘we’re glad we could come.’
Christ, I felt a whoosh of breath as if I’d only just remembered how to do it, and a surge of both relief and realisation at the same time. So this was what Wibble had been planning, I thought. And of course, now they were here, it all made perfect sense. In many ways it was the natural culmination of the trading links that Dazza had first set up and Damage had then consolidated between the clubs. From being bitter enemies in a long running war, the two rivals had gradually been mutating into being strong, if still mutually suspicious, trading partners across the patch divide and with engagement, as is the way of the world, eventually would come the start of diplomatic reconciliation.
All around me I could feel the tension easing. It hadn’t gone altogether by any manner or means, but its nature had changed. Neither Stu nor Wibble would think this was easy, or any kind of a done deal. Long held enmities and grudges between the two clubs weren’t going to be made to disappear overnight. There were too many years of feuding and too much bad blood had been spilt for that on both sides, so both leaders were going to have to keep their troops on a tight leash to start with to make it a success. But it was definitely détente, if not glasnost.
Wibble walked Stu across to the Freemen to introduce him to his officers. I was still there, hemmed in by the big men in the crowd around me. Stu had obviously clocked me from my lack of a patch, and I can only assume that Wibble had let him know that I was going to be there as Stu stuck out his hand towards me, and with surprise I shook it.
‘Here to cover the big event, eh?’ he asked.
‘Err yeah, something like that,’ I mumbled.
Was there more to it though, I wondered for a second. It seemed more than just reporting, it was as though I was here witnessing. I was obviously known to both clubs. Had one or other, or both, wanted me here as a sign of good faith on both sides?
But before I could think more about this and what it might mean, I noticed that Wibble was looking hard at the local pack who were off across to my left. But it was more than just looking, he was staring them down.
I could sense the seething hostility coming off the local charter, barely being kept in check. The urge to pick up an iron bar and swing it was still running strong.
But the Cambridge crew were separated from Stu and the cautiously advancing Rebel contingent behind him, some of whom still not sure they weren’t simply walking into an ambush and were preparing to deal with whatever came, by a screen of Freemen and their loyal ride ins.
Now I understood why there were so many Freemen here today. Wibble had arranged it. They were there to keep the peace and ensure that The Rebels were not attacked. And I guessed that Wibble must have been checking on security arrangements when we had first arrived. Making last minute checks with his officers and crew so that everything was going to go down the way he wanted it to, and making sure the local chapter got the message to behave themselves or else. And Thommo hadn’t liked it.
So they staged a cheesy photograph for me, the two leaders of what had until just now been clubs at sometimes deadly war, smiling and shaking hands for the camera while their troops fraternised around them.
‘Oh don’t worry about him, he’s fine,’ said Stu smiling broadly, ‘the boy’s are looking after him. They’ve fixed him up with the run of the bar and some honeys so I guess he’s enjoying the hospitality…’
The Guardian
Monday 3 August 2009
Peace Party Gets A Rocket
Six deaths as bikers’ party attacked with anti-tank rockets and automatic weapons
The Brethren MC’s annual charity Toy Run is the highlight of their year and their premier public event. Even more so on Sunday as this year it had been chosen as the venue to announce a historic burying of the hatchet. The Rebels, The Brethren’s main rivals in the UK, had been invited to attend for the first time ever to formalise peace between the two clubs. But someone obviously had other plans, as shortly after The Rebels’ arrival at lunchtime on Sunday, the event was attacked with three anti-tank missiles, before the showground was raked with gunfire.
Police believe the attackers were lying in wait in woods to the east of the site at Little Framlington Rugby Club, from where the firing took place, and then escaped using getaway vehicles parked in a lane behind.
The area has been sealed off while forensic specialists comb the area for clues and it is understood that two stolen vans which may be linked to the attack have been found burnt out some five miles away but no weapons have been recovered so far.
The police have appealed for bikers present at the event to provide any information they may have which can help with their investigation but they are reporting that few have yet done so.
Inspector Treaves of Cambridgeshire police who is heading the investigation said ‘We know that traditionally so called “outlaw” motorcyclists have always refused to co-operate with the police, but we would urge all bikers who were at this event and who might have any information that could be of assistance to come forward.’
At an unprecedented joint press conference, the presidents of both The Brethren and The Rebels, until yesterday widely thought to be two of the fiercest rivals in the outlaw motorcycle club scene, denounced the attack as an assault on the freedom of bikers everywhere and spoke about their ‘dead brothers’. But they both declined to comment when pressed by reporters on whether their members would be co-operating with the police in their enquiries.
The names of the dead were released by police today. Adrian Christianson (42) of West London, Jonathan Hodge (30) from Northumberland, and Nigel Jones (51) from Birmingham, are all believed to have been members of The Brethren. Richard Taylor (46) from Liverpool is understood to have been a member of The Rebels, while local people Martin Gillingham (45) from Ely and Mary Woods (26) from Wisbech are not believed to have been connected with either club.
‘It’s too early to say,’ commented Inspector Treaves when asked whether the attack might be connected with the announcement by the two clubs, ‘Although we would not want to rule out any line of enquiry at present.’
He did however call on both clubs to exercise restraint. ‘Emotions will obviously be running high after this unprovoked attack but we in the police warn members of both clubs not to think about taking the law into their own hands.’
