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boots on, I had a really bad cut on the underside of my right foot.

2. Move the dustbin out of the way.

I had received a phone call from John asking if I wanted to work the weekend.
The venue was a pub down in Sunbury where there would be two of us to look after the governor down there. Pete was having the weekend off and so for the first time my back was going to be watched by a total stranger. Obviously the most important thing in this game is being able to trust the person you’re working with. Working with people you don’t know can be very costly. You have no idea how they are going to react when situations get ugly.
And believe me if you decide to work on the door you will have plenty of opportunities
to get into ugly situations. I arrive at the venue with more than a little trepidation, as I open the door I am approached by a tall lean fella with a Kiwi accent.
“Hello mate I’m Chris.” He says in a friendly manner.
My initial level of apprehension was now almost completely gone. Sometimes you meet someone and almost immediately you know whether or not they are up to the job. The pub was unfortunately situated in the middle of a large council estate, it was a traditional old fashioned looking place complete with a smelly threadbare beer stained patterned carpet and a light brown nicotine coated ceiling. The D J was setting up his “disco” equipment which consisted of a turntable which sat upon what looked like a modified ironing board flanked on either side by some D I Y flashing lighting units. The landlord was a short arse mouthy little git and absolutely fitted right in. I don’t know who was worse him or the punters, you would have been hard pressed to find a place with a more concentrated amount of scumbags; it was wall to wall with attitude. You have to use your loaf a bit in places like this if you give one of these punters a slap you’ll probably end up fighting everyone in the pub, what a dump I thought as I looked around. Basically the people that frequented the place just wanted to cause us as much grief as possible, so they could get up to their dubious activities, drug dealing and violence seemed to be the staple diet of these folks.
Nice crowd.
We had nothing too serious to deal with though, just the usual mindless comments that you have heard a hundred times before.
“What are you fucking Bouncers doing in ere”?
“You fink your so fucking ard”
“I’ll av you mate” “I’ll do you up a treat old son”
“You’re a big bloke but that don’t bother me because I know people”.
And my all-time favourite-
“I’ll come back and do you mate, and I’ve got guns as well.”
     
     

 
    CHAPTER THREE

The Peacemakers

A couple of days later the office rang me and asked if Pete and I would come down for a chat, they were going to offer us a more permanent venue. The venue was in a very affluent part of west London where you can rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Ironically it was a place we had contacted a while back. It was a beautiful town during the day, with its large picturesque green where tournaments and pageants were held a few centuries ago. Clusters of delightful little Antique shops and cosy little pubs led you down towards the river where the Kings and Queens of England had once made a home for themselves.
After six o’clock once the shops have battened down the hatches for the night, the place takes on a different kind of feeling. Hordes of youngsters and all kinds of weirdo’s come out of the woodwork and descend upon it.
The place we were going to work at was a pleasant looking bar with half a dozen sturdy looking brass lamps hung above the large windows illuminating the name of the place accompanied by a green sunshade above the front doors. We arrived a little early so we decided to go for a coffee in the nearby restaurant to kill some time. After about fifteen minutes we decided to show our faces, Joyce greeted us at the front doors as we arrived; she was a