Southend U3A

May 2023

Friend Or Foe - Malcolm Fyfe

We take events and the people we meet very much for granted. Doctors prescribing potentially dangerous prescriptions, the postman delivering unexpectedly good or bad news. The nurse quietly harbouring an intention to harm the patients in her care, sometimes, unbelievably, children.

I was musing as I sat hunched up on the remnants of a carboard box I had lifted out of a waste bin earlier.

Pulling a somewhat used blanket around me to keep out the seeping chill, a pair of old goalkeeping gloves rescued from my sports bag kept my fingers warm. A tatty quilted jacket and boots completed the gear I used for observation jobs, all usually stashed in the back of my car. A woolly hat covered the earpiece jammed into my ear hissing soft static.

‘You look cold fella,’ a voice murmured, making me jump. I cursed, having failed to spot the man that had appeared, almost magically at my side. My daydreaming had made me fail to spot him; that carelessness could have consequences.

‘I said you look cold.’ This time said with a little more edge in the voice, ‘you look though you could do with a drink. You eaten?’

I shrugged, waiting for a kick that would or could preceded something a bit rougher. I kept my head down as shiver rippled through me, not necessarily caused by the cold either!’

‘You got any money? No worries, I’ll sort you out.’ That comment didn’t fill me with confidence either, feeling for sure I was going to get roughed up.’

Suddenly the legs I could see standing by my side moved away on soft padded shoes. A few seconds later a tinny voice in my ear asked, ‘You ok?’ this coming from my mate situated on a nearby roof top as part of a small team placed to catch some persistent street break-ins.

‘No problem,’ I muttered back into my handset.

‘No point in robbing you, you’re always skint,’ was the laughing reply.

A few minutes later, in the distance, a figure appeared, I spotted him as he came along carrying a cup and a boxed takeaway. Scratching my ear, I dropped my earpiece into my lap and switched off my miniature radio that nestled in its special pocket in my jacket.

Reaching me, he squatted down, putting the drink on the ground and the box on my lap. I reached out to pick up the drink.

‘Nice gloves; where did you nick those from, I wonder. There you go,’ and tucked a tenner into my now exposed sock.

He stood up, whispered ‘Good luck,’ and slipped away into the shadows.

Now, I’ve always been good at recognising faces and sometimes the voices that went with them and I was sure I recognised the accent of my newly found generous friend. Suddenly I had it, the voice. I had grown up in the rougher parts of south London, becoming friends with a lad living nearby. We had good times; why we didn’t get caught over our somewhat illegal adventures I’ll never know. Sometime, Jack had got hold of some cigarettes and we were selling them in a local pub. A few packets to the landlord as his cut, of course but one day we picked the wrong one, an off-duty copper and had to leg it. Jack was quick and so was I and we were off, skidding round a corner and slipped into the back door of a club that Jack knew his way around. That bit of luck probably saved us from trouble and maybe a criminal record that would have ended any chance of a decent career.

Eventually Jack moved away with his family and I always felt, inevitably, to a life of crime but I never forgot and always felt I owed him a big favour.

In time I joined the Met and worked my way into C.I.D. and that’s how I found my way under a blanket on cold hard ground when I should have been in a warm bed or even better, watching the football.

I settled back, enjoying my coffee and the mustard laced hot dog, just waiting and thinking of the occasional acts of kindness from strangers. I pulled out the money from my sock thinking, that’s something for mothers and orphan’s fund! Sipping the coffee, I spotted a scurrying figure walking quickly towards a small shop carrying something that looked heavy. I clicked my radio button twice as a signal to my colleague which indicated, ‘Heads up.’

On the other side of the road the darkly dressed figure paused and looked at me and I instantly knew it was Jack. Oh no mate, not you. With the realisation, my friend had turned in an instant from friend to foe.

I raised my face and Jack looked at me in in a stare of recognition, I paused and gave him a slight nod. At the same time I lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter an old signal between us as teenagers: get out of it, quick. Jack slowly raised his thumb and was gone.

That’s the one I owed you matey, even if it was years ago.

Later, having a cup of tea in the canteen my oppo looked at me. ‘Wondered what spooked him. Thought we had him.’

‘Strange that. Can’t say.’

I felt his eyes on me and he half smiled over the rim of his cup as if silently saying, ‘I don’t know what went on or why but I think you and him went back a long way – that’s one you owe me, my friend.’

Good job I’m a decent poker player.