Free Skinhead by Richard Allen

on the head, hearing the crunch of bone against axe handle, and kicked into the ribs.
    Tony watched blood flow from the ripped head of his target. That made two for him. The other wasn’t moving now. A few fast belts with his tool and several well aimed kicks had taken care of him. He glanced down the incline, saw Billy mounting the girl, and yelled joyously. He kicked his second opponent in the face, slammed the tyre iron down on the bloody head again and vaulted the fence.
    â€œMe next, mate,” he yelled, watching Billy penetrate the half-stupefied girl hippie. Her jeans lay on the beach, her thighs pimpled with cold, her buttocks bruised by the relentless rocks that formed this section of the shoreline.
    Joe wanted to keep kicking the hippie but, somehow the pleasure had ebbed since the other ceased to fight back; since the unresisting body had stopped moving. He turned away in disgust to seek another fresh target for his rage.
    â€œBloody fools,” he yelled, catching sight of Billy and Tony. He glanced down the road, saw a familiar car starting to enter it from the direction of the marina. He jumped the fence and raced downhill. “Get out of the bitch!” he hollered at Billy, tearing his mate from the girl’s nakedness. “Fuzz...”
    â€œI ain’t finished it yet,” Billy wailed, eyes wild and staring at her nudity. God how he loved thick pubic hair! She had the thickest covering of any bird he’d ever stripped.
    â€œYou’ll be finished if the fuzz get you,” Joe snapped. “Come on – run!” He started running along the beach, seeing Don slither and fall as he followed in their wake. He didn’t care if Billy had to run with it out – that was his fault for trying to do two things at once!
    *
    The train took its time leaving the station. Joe felt on edge, seated at the window, straining to see if the fuzz were coming down the platform. At last, as the wheels began to catch, he breathed a sigh of relief.
    â€œBleedin’ lucky, mate,” he told Billy. He saw Preston Park flash past as the train gathered speed. “Christ, can’t you ever go on an aggro without trying to find a bird to fuck?”
    Billy sulked. He felt worse than he had earlier. He had a bad case of “lover’s balls”. If only Joe had let him have just another couple of plunges...
    â€œDid you see it, Joe?” Tony asked.
    â€œYeah, so wot... she’s no different from other birds.”
    â€œJeeze, she had...”
    â€œShuddup,” Billy growled. “I know wot she ’ad.”
    Joe grinned. He’d expended his hatred. Now, he could afford to vent a little spite on Billy. “Tell me about ’er, Tony,” he said deliberately. “Was she hairy...?”
    Billy tried to close his ears as Tony delighted in describing the girl in intimate detail. He couldn’t help overhearing how Tony had viewed his hasty mating nor how he had looked when Joe dragged him off the bitch. He wished the fuzz had caught the others and let him finish. He’d have to find a bird when they got back to Plaistow or else he’d have an awful night of it again...

CHAPTER SEVEN
    For four days of every week Joe worked for a coal delivery merchant. He never worked a Tuesday, but that was tomorrow and his reasons did not bear thinking about until...
    He hated Monday almost as much as he hates hippies. He had read the Mirror ’s account of the young thugs who had viciously attacked five hippies in Brighton and tried to mass-rape the girl with them. He had read, with a high degree of pleasure, how the four male hippies were in serious condition in Brighton hospital and that the girl had been released after getting stitches in a head wound. Fortunately, the description issued by the police would fit any skinhead in London so he didn’t think they’d ever trace the mob from Brighton.
    His mate on the delivery lorry was a man of about forty