Barred from Bar Story
Garden of the Numb chapter 11
The briefing for my legal case was due to take place over the weekend. As I made my way down Peckham Rye, the fires of my career lit the fuse between myself and society. London was burning.
“Comrade, have you seen the news?!” Saul yelled.
“It’s all happening. Fancy a beer?”
“Yes! Then let’s get out there and riot!”
“I’m on bail, but I’ll come watch.”
On Wednesday the cops had shot an unarmed drug dealer in Tottenham. When his family and friends surrounded the police station demanding answers, their anger became a contagious wave that washed through the deprived inner-city estates of London. Kids in hoods looted retail parks and high streets around Wood Green. A four-storey furniture emporium in Croydon burned to the ground. Now the insurrection was in Peckham, the riot squad backed up Rye Lane.
Saul and I crept around the backstreets, onlookers peering through a different hole in the torn social fabric. We were behind police lines when the rioters smashed up Sports Direct and Primark. The cops retreated under the railway bridge. Bangs and cracks on the helmet. A Molotov cocktail exploded on my corduroys. We threw a left onto Blenheim Grove and darted through the entrance to Bar Story before they closed the gates.
At Bar Story, in one of those strange cross-hatchings of circumstance, we were on safe ground and enemy territory at the same time. Lias had worked a few shifts and got fired for giving away too many free cocktails. Then during a screening of Twin Peaks for Goldsmiths students, I stood outside and watched the owner, Ben Sassoon, ruin the film for everybody by yelling at his staff. So on behalf of the audience, I told him to shut the fuck up. In doing so, I joined an illustrious list of South London miscreants who were barred from Bar Story.
With the streets in carnage, Saul and I enjoyed a lock-in, sipping cocktails with glazed cherries. The stereo blasted The Clash’s anthems, ‘White Riot’ and ‘London’s Burning’.
“About this court case,” I said, tugging on an eye-watering whiskey sour. “What do you remember happening?”
“Not a lot. It all happened so fast. What do you want me to say?”
“Hmm.” I scratched the stubble on my neck. “It would help if Nathan was here. Where is he?”
“Looting Tesco’s.”
“I hope he doesn’t get nicked. I need him on Thursday.”
“He’s just gone shopping.”
“Alright.” Notepad still blank. “In that case it might be better if you speak to my lawyers. They’ve asked to see you on Wednesday.”
“I thought the trial was Thursday.”
“It is, but they won’t let you testify unless they’ve spoken to you first.”
“Why?” Saul slurped.
“So they can check what you’re going to say on the stand in case you’re called.”
“Will we be called?”
“I would have thought so. You’re my only witnesses.”
“Character witnesses? I’m not sure what I can say that will help you, comrade.”
“No, witnesses. You were there, you saw what happened.”
“I can’t remember what happened.”
“Me neither. But you can tell them I was acting in self-defence. The cop hit me first.”
“Did he?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got a case if we all pull together and say the right thing.”
“Leave it with me, brother. I’ll speak to Nathan when he gets back.”
Next on Garden of the Numb: will Lester get his day in court?