Writing for Fun
Capture - Gerry Miller
April 2014
One minute I was carefree and as happy as I thought that I could possibly be. On the way in I had even given the local homeless guy in the alley a fiver. Then it all changed – one little phone call and one huge bit of larking about. I knew I was done for the minute Abby rang and said I was on the six o'clock news. Heaven help me what had I been thinking off, but first I needed to check on what Abby had said and there it was.
I had been passing through Liverpool Street station and I watched as a television crew were filming, the passers by all started to dance and play about. I was caught up in the rhythm and with the beat, I had found myself in the middle of the crowd and performing (badly I might say) and then the mike came my way. I sang out loud and clear and the crowd cheered me on. I suppose living life in the shadows I suddenly found the freedom and fun intoxicating. I loved performing again and I ached with the missing of it. I came home on a great high but watching the captured film it showed my face as clear as day. Even my school teacher of thirty odd years ago would have recognised me!
I went to the toilet and threw up, my stomach churned and I could feel the sweat running down my back. There was no safety here now; I knew they would be coming for me. I tried to rationalise the situation but self preservation said it was time to run, it would not be long, a day or maybe two if I was extremely lucky. I poured a strong whiskey and sat with pen and paper in hand. Slowly my list grew getting a new identity was straight forward a few simple changes to my appearance and I could then visit to my safety deposit box. First though I would clear out some money from my current account but would not be able to get it all in such a short time. If I moved any significant amount as sure as night followed day they would trace it and me. I turned the heating up I was shivering with fright and had become complacent and sloppy, if I did not move quickly I would die and not in a pleasant way.
I had not trusted the police to provide me with a new identity; my common sense had told me even then. I knew that someone would eventually sell me out, so on the day I finished testifying I disappeared into the ether. The flashbacks haunted me and I prowled restlessly around the flat collecting the minimum of bits and pieces. Then as dusk fell I went round to the local shops and prepared for an identity change. The tell tale signs of a forthcoming migraine started to show themselves. Sick to my stomach and so cross with myself life had become so good and now being stupid I had buggered it all up.
I made a couple of calls at the local phone box and the reek of stale urine made me retch. I threw up again and eventually returned home, via the cash machine. The message light flashed on the phone three missed calls two from friends and one a work colleague saying they were surprised at seeing me, such a fat roly-poly, singing so well on the news. Little did they know - so little could they tell? I carried on ticking items off my list as I carried out the many and varied tasks, my fat suit was taken off and put in the black sack, pony tail cut off and I shaved my head to a number two. All the hair went into the sack together with the cheek pads. God it was feeling so good to become slim again, it was so good not to feel so clammy.
I left the entire fat wardrobe hanging there and sorted out my emergency slim size wardrobe. I selected some casual smart clothes and dressed quickly. All the rest I packed tightly into one small suitcase. I heard a creak on the staircase and froze, but hearing next door Jane call to Tipsy her cat I relaxed. It was only three hours since the broadcast had been shown, but I was sure the word was out. I turned off all the lights, pulled back the curtains and sat watching from the window. I noticed the skip down the end of the road and very quietly sneaked out and deposited the black sack. Sneaking back quietly to the flat the only noise was the snoring of the homeless guy in the alley. Time for another whiskey but I knew that this would have to be my last; being drunk I would never stay alive.
The Krays had always said that they would get me and I had very kindly given them a bloody route map. At last the watched clock reached twelve o'clock I picked up the unsealed envelope my case and keys and quietly left my flat forever.
I returned to the cash machine where I could draw out some more money and then placing my card in the envelope with keys and a short note I sealed it up. Back down the side alley the homeless man was comatose and breathing heavily. I tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket and was away in a jiffy. I kept to the side streets well away from any big brother cameras. Eventually I reached Charing Cross Station I hailed a cab and checked into Brown's Hotel and on a mixture of Migraleve and Nytol I was soon asleep.
I woke up late and with a hangover, I was not used to Whiskey, Nytol or Migraleve. I ordered breakfast in my room and then went shopping. Department stores and a few small shops solved my wardrobe problems. Next stop was the bank and I accessed to my safety deposit box. When I had first went underground I had spent time in planning a variety of futures and now Harold Brown was to come to the fore.
The new passport, bonds and cash were placed into my briefcase, the driving licence photo was a little more realistic than the passport photo but I did look like an ageing Harold Brown. The wonderful thing about staying at a classy hotel is that they will do almost anything for you. The concierge could not have been more helpful and in a few short hours my flight to Paris was booked, a limousine would collect me tomorrow at 9.30am. I dined in my room that night and promptly the next day I stepped safely into the Limo; 'Paris here I come!'
I did wonder what was happening with the old homeless guy but I did not have to wonder very long. I had stayed but a few days in a small Montmartre hotel and reading the English papers my eyes caught an article. The heading was small and really not very eye catching 'Explosion in Pimlico'. My stomach churned I was shocked and saddened it had happened so quickly. One man and a neighbour's cat had died. The poor old sod had little chance to enjoy the new life my little windfall I had given him.
I gave out a huge sigh hopefully now they would think I was dead and I would be able to have another life, after all I was the innocent. I checked out of the hotel and entered the Gare du Nord soon I was on the train to Calais. Where was I going? You might well ask and really all I can tell you is it would be everywhere. I walked up the gangway of the boat and was soon firmly ensconced in the crew's quarters. How was I going everywhere? The container ship's horn sounded and my long slow trip to Australia was just beginning. I shared a beer with the rest of the crew that night and inside my head I toasted my escape. 'Rot in hell Ronnie and Reggie better luck next time!'