The sun disappeared from the horizon, the moon then rose. I immediately changed into my suit. I went through my secret exit to the roof-top. I checked my radio. The night’s task was to observe a group of youngsters in Catford in South London.
I arrived at my destination, and there was a group of ten males in their early twenties of African origin. These boys dressed similarly to the youngsters in Bromley; they wore their hoodies, baggy trousers and trainers which were mostly grey. Yet, these youngsters did not wear any signs upon their backs. Their ideology was initially unknown, but after further inspection, easy to understand; it was the pursuit of money.
I checked my radio again. I found a signal from a mobile phone. I followed the signal, which was a de facto conversation between an elderly man and a middle aged man.
The elderly man ragingly stated, “This time you need to be careful, Stevens… because someone came to my garden and hurt my Diablo! You better watch your back. If not, your payment will be gone! And it will be gone with your other privileges. Is that understood?!”
The middle aged man responded submissively, “Yes, Sir. We will watch our backs. If we indentify any threat, then we will ensure that this individual will remember your name.”
The elderly man enthusiastically and sadistically responded, “Yes. Yes. That is exactly what I want you to do, Stevens.”
Stevens clearly responded, “Yes, Sir. Your wishes will become my actions.”
The conversation ended. Now, I had more names, more doubts and more jigsaw-puzzles to fit into the whole picture. At the time, I thought that knowing more was better than knowing less, but later I realised that was a mistake. The more information you know, the more you realise that you do not want to know it. However, because of the amount of knowledge you have, it is almost inevitable that the cycle will repeat itself and the thoughts that you tried to suppress, will again, inevitably return. Thus, you need to help others to survive this cognitive mayhem too in order to make any sense of this chaotic reality and to keep yourself sane.
My observation post was undiscoverable. None of these amateur gangsters would be able to locate it. I looked on as the local gangsters crowded onto a closed alley behind a block of flats. It was an ideal location for the exchange of drugs and weapons. Hence, I waited patiently for an exchange to occur.
Then, the similar blue van which I saw the night before, appeared upon the main street, not far from the closed alley where the youngsters gathered around. Then, the car drove directly towards the closed alley. Before entering the alley, the van’s lights switched off. The van was invisible within the darkness of the night.
When the van entered the alley, I intuitively felt that this van was filled with the same sort of men that appeared the night before; in Bromley. And my instinct was not mistaken, my lack of action would help no one, especially the local gangsters, who were merely youngsters. Therefore I waited for more information to act upon.
The van entered the alley rapidly. Two youngsters collided instantly with the marauding van. Other members of the gang spread around the alley; some even tried to run towards the main street. At the same moment, the doors of the van opened and ten men with batons marched outwards from the van. These men immediately chased the youngsters.
Within five minutes most of the youngsters were captured by these brutal men. There was only one youngster left, who attempted to escape to the main street. Then, I heard a similar voice to the voice of the middle aged man which I had previously heard through my radio. This time, the man commanded the biggest man within their legion, to chase the last remaining youngster.
This youngster was a bold man, but he failed to run away. The baton of the giant man who was pursuing him, smacked upon this youngster’s spine, which led to further attacks from this barbaric giant. The local gangster tried to crawl towards the main street, whilst the barbaric man executed further blows upon him. The boy looked longingly towards the main street.
The brutal man said viciously in his simplistic voice, “What are you looking at?”
Then, the brutal man turned his malevolent gaze towards where the youngster had previously looked upon. The barbarian saw a thin figure in a long leather jacket. The cold look of the barbarian transformed into a harsh gunshot. There was the clatter of high heels before he pulled the trigger, but these became silent, after the gunshot. The youngster yelled in great distress. The giant then smacked the boy’s head and dragged the unconscious boy into the van. The van disappeared.
I did not want to chase the van, someone else needed my aid. And it was the woman that had laid down upon the cold, solid floor after the gunshot. I later identified her as Monique Paul.