Chapter 1

I ran up the steps of The Bank station just as the train was leaving. I managed to get on by the skin of my teeth. The doors shut behind me with a resounding clunk.

The Docklands Light Railway was a small railway that ran a tram-like service from the centre of London out through Docklands to the suburbs. The overhead fluorescent lights cast an eerie light across the carriage. I sat down; it had been a long old day. I just wanted to get back to my hotel and get fed and get watered. All I could think about was a cool beer and a nice steak with all the trimmings.

Once we had left the station, I took a good look around, on the seat opposite and to my left there were two guys and their girlfriends, all in their early twenties. They looked smart and trendy. I guessed they had been out for a meal or something. They looked like cocktail types to me...

Further down the carriage on the right was a lady in a business suit. She looked familiar, in her late thirties perhaps earlier forties and thickset. Not fat but well-built. She had short hair, cut in the Paige boy style; she was engrossed in the Metro, the free newspaper that seemed to be on every other seat of the train. The rest of the train was almost deserted; at this time of night, I guessed most people would already be home.

The train stopped at Shadwell station and the doors stayed shut, a few minutes later we pulled into Lime House station, but this time the doors opened and three young lads got on board the train. They looked Eastern European, young slim and dressed in the typical street way. Trainers, tracksuits, and baseball caps. They strutted as they walked onto the train, that hard men strut that seems to be popular amongst young lads these days.

They were very loud and boisterous; they sat two bench seats down from me. As soon as they sat down the chat started, they were giving the two young girls opposite some verbal, talking about them but not to them. Obviously, they were trying to embarrass them with sexually explicit chat. They also chatted like American black lads. I have never understood why kids do that these days.

They were typical plastic gangsters, all chat, and no action. Out to bully anyone they thought was an easy target.

“That Skinny white bitch looks like she needs some real cock,” said one, obviously the ringleader, but soon his mates joined in.

“Yea I bet the blonde whore sucks dick like a pro, bro” said one of the others.

“Bro, I Wonder if her tits are real or plastic.” replied his mate and all three giggled.

“I bet she takes it up the arse though bro!” one of the plastic gangsters laughed. “I bet she loves it up the arse.”

“Yes bro she looks the type.” his mate replied.

The girls looked at the three yobs with disdain; their boyfriends just ignored them...

Once the young lads realized the girls were not biting, they started on the guys.

“SO Bruv are you going to share your bird with us?” he said in a fake American black accent.

“Does your bitch spit or swallow?” one of the others laughed.

“Want to see your whore fucked by a big cock Bruv?” the third chipped in.

“Bruv, I bet your bitch is one good fuck.”

“Do you suck cock rich boy?” the ringleader chirped.

“Bet your bitch likes a good spit roasting hey wanker.”

The chat just went on and on and the two white guys just sat there taking it all and not giving anything back. The more they ignored the three plastic gangsters the more verbal abuse was sent their way.

I sat back and watched as the girls looked at the three thugs with evil eyes and their boyfriends looked at the floor. They were either too ashamed or too frightened to say anything to the louts.

The tirade of abuse kept up until we pulled into Blackwall station. As soon as the train stopped, the two boys and their girlfriends were on their feet and off the train in a flash. They did not look back and ignored the tirade of abuse that followed them I was pretty sure they were not getting off at that station by choice but off they got anyway.

The three thugs laughed like hyenas, obviously happy with the result of the work. There was a lot of high-fiving and fist-bumping!

The train lurched forward and at the same time, the young thugs got to their feet and headed down the carriage. They sat opposite the lady in the business suit. The chat started as soon as they sat down.

I heard them give the lady a hard time. I thought to myself, do I really want to get involved? Should I get involved? How could I not get involved?

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do; you cannot let these types win or the world would be a shitty place to live. But then the decision was taken out of my hands.

I had no time to think about it. As soon as the train started to trundle along the lads started to get more aggressive, I heard some very coarse comments and then one of the lads grabbed at the woman’s handbag. She pulled it from his grip, but she was obviously distressed.

I tucked my laptop case under the seat and got to my feet. As I started toward the thugs’ one of them made a grab at the woman’s chest tugging on her blouse. She had her mobile phone in one hand and another one of the thugs grabbed it from her grasp, I saw him tuck it into the hip pocket of his trousers.

I heard one of the thugs shouting something at the lady and then she told them in a plummy accent to piss off ... then they all joined in. screaming and shouting at her.

“At the next station, we are going to take a walk, and when we find a nice dark place you and me are going to have some fun you fat bitch,” the leader said in a thickly accented voice, “and then my boys can both have a go on that fat ass of yours.”

She told him to fuck off in a rather posh, but nervous voice, and he moved as if he was going to strike her. She screamed and he paused.

“Why don’t you leave her alone lads,” I called out, quickly moving down the carriage toward them.

The lads turned toward me as one and their looks were full of hatred.

“What’s it to do with you fat man” one laughed and they all joined in.

Sticks and stones I thought to myself...

“Call me that again boy and you will find out what it has to do with me,” I called back trying to hold back the nerves in my voice.

I was well outnumbered; I knew it and they knew it. But it is not always about the numbers, sometimes it is about the nerve, about the balls, it is about the attitude.

The leader turned to his mates and laughed it was a really false laugh.

“I think we should teach this cock sucker some manners boys!” he said.

They laughed and grunted their agreement. They smirked and made that sucking and clicking noise street kids make with their teeth. They moved toward me trying to look menacing.

The obvious leader was over six feet tall and thick-set, the others were the same height but wiry. I was not a coward and during my rugby days, I had never been one to back down from a fight. Today was different I needed to take the fight away from the woman; at least if I kept them busy, she would have a chance to get off the train.

And so, as the lads walked toward me, I slowly stepped backwards, moving back to one of the doorways. Between the rows of seats, there was little space but, in the doorways, there was much more room to manoeuvre. I stood in the gap between the doors and made eye contact with the leader.

He started making threats, telling the other two that he was taking care of me and that after that they would take the bitch somewhere and rape the shit out of her. The leader was a good few paces in front of his mates and I knew that I only had time for one or two good shots at him before they charged at me.

The leader moved, he stepped out of the gap between the rows of seats, and I took one step backwards. He was watching my right hand, I twitched it, curling, and uncurling the fingers balling and un-balling my fist. It kept his eyes busy, so busy he did not see my left fist arcing toward him. I was always taught that if you are outnumbered hit the biggest guy as hard and as fast as possible.

Put him down and the others might have second thoughts I thought to myself.

My left fist caught the plastic gangster in the ear, knocking him sideways, he bounced off the Perspex of the window and bounced back toward me, my right fist caught him on the bridge of the nose, there was a sickening dull crack, and he dropped to his knees. I looked up just long enough to see his mates rushing toward me, rushing so much they were hampering each other’s progress along the narrow gap.

I grabbed the ringleader’s hair and pulled his head onto my rising knee. His nose cracked as my knee smashed into his face. Once, twice, three times I smashed my knee into his face.

He cried out but dropped face forward, I was sure he was out for the count I was relying on it. I stepped further back giving myself more room. The first of the wiry thugs lunged toward me; something in his right hand glinted silver in the darkness of the railway carriage. Fuck I thought to myself, a knife ... it was a small blade, small and slim but it was still a knife!

I felt myself have an involuntary shiver as the carriage lights glinted off the blade. It was small but even a small knife can kill you. Knives are game-changers; they can do serious damage. They can kill...

The thug was walking toward me, passing the knife from hand to hand, uttering in a language I did not understand. He held the knife out his arm fully extended, and he waved it back and forth before me.

He was nervous, his manner was threatening but he was not eager to get stuck in. I slipped my jacket off and balled it on my left arm. Using it as a shield, I moved forward. The knifeman stepped backwards, and I moved forward, quickly closing down the gap between us. I was intent on cutting down the space the thug had to swing his knife in.

I had to take the game to him, close him down, force his hand.

“Come on then sunshine, let’s see how tough you really are,” I growled at him trying to sound like this sort of thing happened to me every day. Truth be told I was as nervous as hell but I could not let him see that.

He spat out something in his foreign tongue. His knife sliced through the air and I punched my arm out to parry his blow, his knife cut into the fabric and became entwined in the material. As he struggled to pull it free, my right fist smashed into his jaw, his face went blank and I smashed my fist into his face again this time higher up, breaking his nose. My third punch finished him; he dropped to the floor, leaving his knife still entangled in my jacket.

I kicked the jacket under the nearest seat, happy to see the knife going with it.

As soon as the second thug hit the floor, I started to move toward the third. He stood still eyeing me up and down. I noticed that the woman had stood up behind the thug, watching the action; at first, I thought the lad was going to chance his arm against me. His eyes shot from me to the lady to the door and to me.