Serial of ‘The Free’. Ch 15 Homosexual Sinners

out every Friday


Act Two

Chapter fifteen

Homosexual Sinners  

-‘God will not forgive you my son.’-

 -‘Oh bloody hell. Oh heck, come on.. Come on!..’-

Dermot clenched and unclenched his fists, nearly writhing with frustration. Really he’d only been waiting half an hour, smoking three Marlboros in the driver’s seat of a white Ford, converted to run on CO2-free ammonia. At the back of the pub and restaurant carpark. A common enough car with false plates.

-‘Why me? This is crazy. Why me?’-

He was too important to be risked like this, in such petty political hooliganism. Why him? If money were no object.. A test of loyalty? The sacred oath?… More like a test of idiocy.

‘Where is he? Oh my God I can’t do this. I can’t, I mustn’t risk myself.’-

His thoughts whirled round again. Maybe he was being set up. Was he a pawn in the plots of the new young leaders? His chapter was de facto controlled by the well funded Brother-Hood. A bitter young leader had demanded a bloody oath.

Dermot ground out the fag, then gave in to the urge to light another.

The bitter young Supremo,Killian Bate, had humiliated him in the meeting. –‘Don’t tell us you’re a friend of teenage faggots?’-            ref 12 fighting fascism

Had forced him take on this menial role. His own group, Love and Happiness, had been exposed the year before, branded as assassins and extortionists in the lying Pools media, infiltrated by these same CoOp gangsters.

He was grinding his teeth. How he abhorred waiting. Rapped his knuckles hard on the dash.

Killian was blooding him, of course… and it was an easy safe operation… Yes, he had to do it of

course… and later he’d command a whole network.

But risking him was just so bloody stupid…

He must go through with it nevertheless. The kudos he’d get, oh yes!… But…

Dermot had a technique that controlled his nerves. Regulating his thoughts and his breathing, sipping water from a bottle.. He slightly opened the window to let out smoke, and spotted Sam, coming at last through the few parked cars.

Excellent, he recognized him from the photo. Carrying the fold up yellow umbrella, yes, fine. Blue jeans, grey T shirt, brown hair.

Fine, could be anybody at all. A useful nobody.

He put on his own crash helmet and got out of the car, taking Sam’s helmet and walked slowly to meet him, pulling up his scarf and half closing the visor.

Now he was calm, and followed his instructions to the tee.

-‘God will not forgive you my son.’-  he said to the young man. –‘Trust in the love of your Saviour.’-

  -‘Yeah and to hell with you too father.’-

He held back in a rushing wave of hate.

‘No need for any aggressive swearing now… and your name?’-

  -‘You know I’m Sam already.’- He took the other helmet. –‘Let’s go and do the job.. But I need to see the cash.’-


Dermot breathed deep, pointed to a NH3 adapted Honda 250 parked not five meters away. Strolling over and opening the carrier box, he passed Sam some black cotton gloves. The same as he wore himself.

-‘This is the bike.’-  he indicated.

‘Stylish bastard. And what about the five hundred up front?’-

  -‘First I brief you, then we drive over there. I give you your advance. We do the job. Then I pass you the three thousand and drop you off here. Not bad for a few minutes work, okay?’-

 -’Got a light mate?’-  Sam had produced what looked like a fat joint.

Dermot fished in his pocket and handed him two quality push button lighters. Rubbing them with his new gloves. And controlling the urge to remark on fire bombers who don’t carry lighters.

-‘Okay son. Now this is just the second in a series of actions, designed to foment public fear. Our unfortunate duty is to put a brake on a tidal wave of sin. You too, my son, have borne witness to the rampant collapse of respect for our institutions and moral values. Such methods are highly regrettable of course.’-

-‘Bla dee bla dee bla bla bla. Because people won’t be guilt tripped into giving you their money anymore. Just spare me the drivel okay?’-

-‘You would do well to start now to speak with respect. If you would wish to collaborate in future, in my sacred mission.’-

Sam took the hint and shut up. There was a silence. A tipsy looking couple had appeared and were getting into the only other car left. Dermot glanced at his fake Rolex, good, it was after two in the morning.

-’You saw all the video cameras round the restaurant, I suppose?’- said Sam with a scheming grin. Dermot’s mind flashed wildly.

-‘We won’t even be seen doing the job.’- he whispered fiercely–‘And there’ll be nothing to connect it with this place.’-

Sam shrugged, inhaled through clenched teeth and blew out smoke.

-‘I came in through the hedge. They have no record of my face’.- he said. Ostentatiously scratching his arse-hole.

But Dermot had driven in. And of course he had bought cigarettes in the bar. How incredibly stupid! Shit, they hadn’t even mentioned cameras. Why not? And now Sam knew some way to identify him perhaps. Had hinted he had power over him already. Shit shit shit!..

Meanwhile the other car had unparked, was lurching out the gate.

-‘Obedience and humility. We are called upon to hold back the raging tide of corruption. In this case, open homosexual fornication!…..’-

Dermot lapsed into reciting Deuteronomy. Flecks of spittle flew.

While his eyes became fixed inexorably on Sam’s left hand, which was now absently cupping and squeezing his testicles.

 -‘We must fight harder to beat back the breakdown of moral control. Till the Holy tide turns back in our favour. For in the final analysis we work for God the Father, for the good of all, my child. Don’t you see?’-

Sam was gritting his teeth and taking it.

-‘For thou shalt firebomb gay youth clubs.’– he let slip out, almost adding ‘and rape little kids.’-

-‘Our Lord used violence himself! In Jerusalem, when He cleansed the Temple of Corruption! When He…’- Dermot was almost exploding.

-‘Okay okay I’m on your side remember. Let’s give the wankers a fright… Just tell me what I have to do, all right.’-

Control. Control. Dermot managed to control his righteous wrath, and focused back in on the job in hand.

-‘Right look here in the carrier. In this bag. Three liter sized bottles of a Molotov mixture. You rip off the little plastic bags to get at the fuse. See. It’s a piece of cake. It’s a back door, over a wall from a bit of park. Nobody round at this time of night.

 First one you throw against the door. Second onto the rubbish bins in the yard. Third just in case, okay? Then you scatter this bag of leaflets, they’re here. Hop on the back of the bike and we’re off. Easy as rhubarb pie. Just keep calm and you can’t go wrong.’-


Five minutes later. They are parking by a lake-sized muddy puddle, under a wide leafy horse chestnut tree, behind the former West Burfield Community Center.

 -‘I’ll keep the motor running. The Gay Club entrance is just behind that wall. We keep our helmets on.’-

 -‘Hold on a minute. This place is part of a Free Pool now. Sure thing there’s people inside, no way man, look! This place is a Pools Social Center now. It’s a hornet’s nest!’-

Sam isn’t sure his protests can even be heard, what with the motor and the helmets.

-‘There’s CLAN gangs hanging out here! They’ll chop our bloody heads off! Look there’s bikes parked there out front as well…’-

 -‘Oh my Christ.’–  Dermot is thinking. -‘Now I’ve got a chicken on my hands.’-

He has taken out the envelopes and now hands Sam the one marked 500, as instructed.

 -‘Two minutes work, plus your silence always.’-

Sam stows the envelope and takes out the carrier bag. Puts his mouth close to Dermot.

 -‘How do these things work then?’-

 -‘I told you, light and just throw hard so they break and burn. Keep them upright always, they say.’-

 -‘Alright. I’ll just bloody do it then. Obviously you know even less than me.’-

 -‘God bless you my son.’-

 Now Dermot himself is suddenly doubting. They had assured him the place would be deserted. Only now was he realizing he’s being set up by rival Supremos.

Sam walks casually across the patch of grass to the wall, as if to take a leak. Cursing under his breath.

His heart beating so wildly that he has to gasp for air.

Peering over the wall he sees the metal door, and a small empty yard. Every square meter of the place is totally graffitied. There are lights however, coming from two small opaque barred windows.

Sure there are people inside, but it’s too late to worry


He takes out the first bottle. Rips off the plastic wrapper. Tries to light it..

But he cannot work the lighter with his gloved and shaking hands.

Oh shit! He pulls off one glove with his teeth. Click.

A fierce flame shoots up from the bottle. What the hell is in it?

And he flings it over the low wall against the metal door.

The bomb ignites with a whoosh as the bottle breaks.

Spouting yellow flame and black smoke.

Sticking like napalm to the door and round the frame. Then the second explodes in the rubbish containers.

Sam is jumping up and down to see better.

Now giggling and elated.

He chucks the third, without lighting it. Crash and whoosh against the door as well.

The door swings wide open. A bald figure leaps out through the smoke and flame.

Followed by a second man. Whooping with terror.

And a third, Jon Cunner, blunders out

Blinded by toxic smoke, he half collides with the door.

Falls over a bin and rolls through the sticky flames. Twisting with yipping shrieks..

A woman is trying to smother the flames with her jacket.

Then an extinguisher is spouting foam.

And a fire alarm begins to wail away.

But Sam has already turned and run immediately. Forgetting the bag and the leaflets. Dropping a glove.

-‘There he is!’-

-‘Careful, careful..’-

-‘There’s a bike.’-

Sam has sprinted for the bike. Splashing like a manic goose through the big puddles.

There is just enough time. But two blokes are over the wall!

Dermot is revving the engine. Pausing a moment.

Then, calculating he could be personally at risk, he suddenly revs and roars away.

Squirting wet excrement in his brown corduroy trousers.

Sam is running so fast he almost catches the bike anyway.

-‘Stop. Stop. Come back.’- He twists wildly to check his pursuers. His foot clips the corner curb.

And he falls headlong, onto the concrete street.

He rolls, his helmet clacking on the road. Goes for his knife, but thinks better of it.

As the motorbikes take off, pursuing Dermot.

Sam sits up, raising his hands in the air, as the youths close in.

-‘Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.’- he splutters.


NEXT EPISODE HERE  .Serial of The Free. Ch 16. Spot a Shit-On..

PREVIOUS EPISODE HERE  Serial of ‘The Free’. Ch 13/14. Maxie in the Ragwort Free (

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