Johnny Two Two Kebabs - The Prequel E-Book

Johnny Two Kebabs

• Herausgeber: Johnny Two Kebabs
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

On 15th June 2011, an extraordinary event took place in Brixton, south London. On that day, an Irishman devoured two doner kebabs in a mere 1 minute and 59 seconds. What made this feat even more remarkable was the fact that he had already indulged in 13 pints of lager. Now, in a riveting account, the true story of the events leading up to this accomplishment is recounted by the protagonist, 'Johnny Two Kebabs.'
In this 'prequel' Johnny invites us into his world. Learn how he came to be known, among other things, as the 'conscious vigilante.' This is not just the tale of a gastronomic achievement. It is the story of a man, fuelled by a fervent sense of justice, tracking down and bringing to justice a dangerous armed robber. This is the story of Johnny Two Kebabs.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2021 Kieran Mc Kenna

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For Paloma

Thanks to

Patricia Mc Kenna, Jaakko Tulkki, Pete Bartlett Photography, Geraldine Mc Kenna

CONTENTS

Who Is Johnny Two Kebabs?

A Note From The Editor

1. “Trust No One Believe Nothing”

2. “Code Of Ethics”

3. “Why Did Dogs Sniff Each Other’s Arses?”

4. “An Lámh Dubh”

5. “The Hammer And Sickle”

6. “Inveterate Scammers”

7. “Starting Over We Decide The Science”

8. "Conspiracy To Defraud"

9. "What The Fuck Is A 'Burrito?' "

10. “Verbal Judo”

11. “New Romantic”

12. “Well The Fucker Had It Coming To Him”

13. “Thee,” “Thou,” “Thy” And “Thine”

14. “He Had His Head Between The Thighs Of Two Males”

15. “Ali-Baba-Sex-Guru-Pants-Scammer”

16. "He Wouldn’t Give You The Steam Off His Piss”

17. “A Spasmodic Movement”

Books By This Author

WHO IS JOHNNY TWO KEBABS?

There has been much speculation in recent years as to whether Johnny Two Kebabs really exists. Is it true that on 15th June 2011 after drinking 13 pints of lager, he polished off two doner kebabs in 1 minute 59 seconds? Is Johnny Two Kebabs just an urban legend? Is the song that was written about him and for which the video appears on the internet just in the tradition of Irish blarney and storytelling? Were the comics which mysteriously appeared on the Internet in 2020 just fake news? Now, for the first time, Johnny reveals the truth about his rise to fame in south London and the manner in which he operates as a ‘conscious vigilante,’ driven by an unquenchable desire for justice and righteousness.

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

As Johnny’s editor, I have been entrusted to prepare his memoirs for publication but, in fact, there has been little for me to do except correct some minor spelling errors. This first ‘prequel’ is of huge importance as it describes in detail the feat which led to Johnny’s rise to fame. It is a riveting narrative and a compelling read.

The only commentary I need to make is to remind the reader that Johnny tends to refer to himself in the third person. So, instead of saying, for example, “I don’t like Brussel Sprouts,” he will often prefer to say “Johnny doesn’t like Brussel Sprouts.”

My hope is that readers will find Johnny’s narrative as enriching as I have.

Kieran Mc Kenna

JOHNNY TWO KEBABS - THE PREQUEL

JOHNNY TWO KEBABS

BOOK 4

JOHNNY TWO KEBABS

CHAPTER1

“TRUST NO ONE BELIEVE NOTHING”

Although Johnny didn’t really consider himself to be a gambler he spent a lot of time in betting shops. He made it his business to bet every now and then, especially if he had a reliable tip. However, Johnny knew that no tip could ever be 100% reliable. He was well aware that there were a thousand tricks to conceal the reality behind the appearances in gambling. After all, one of the guiding principles of his life was, “Trust no-one - believe nothing.” As his father used to say, “Remember lad, in a country like Ireland, where even if someone tells you it’s raining, you still have to look out the window to confirm it - you can trust no-one, not even your own father.” “You’d know best about that,” Johnny had replied but he had to agree with his father, the safest course of action was to always be extremely circumspect. Everything needed to be rigorously tested to see whether it had even a grain of truth in it. This was part of Johnny's philosophy and it had served him well over the years. Johnny considered himself to be a scientist and he approached gambling like any other subject - as something to be examined objectively before he could decide whether it would work to his benefit or not. Over the years he had, in general, not done too badly with his flutters, this was because he was well informed. He knew quite a few people who were involved in horse racing and he kept his eyes on the sporting news. He wasn’t a big sportsman himself although he had played rugby for a short time in his school in Dublin back in the day.

That morning, he was in O’Reilly’s bookmakers on Brixton hill. The owner, Paddy O’Reilly, had started his shop many years ago. It was difficult to compete with the big bookmaker chains but O’Reilly had done well. He knew Johnny and while they were both wary of each other they would be cordial as each one had a certain amount of respect for the other. Johnny had placed his bet and was sitting down to watch a race when in walked “BlackJack.”

He was a guy that Johnny and the staff of O’Reilly’s knew only too well. BlackJack grunted at Johnny, he stopped and looked at the odds being offered for the race about to start. He hung around the counter pretending to look for something in his pocket and then as soon as they were off he tried to place a bet. Of course, he had been waiting to see how his horse had started. It was an old trick and sometimes it would work with the younger staff who would accept the bet - but not today. The lad behind the counter said he couldn’t take bets after the race had started as the boss had warned him not to. BlackJack started getting nasty and menacing but the lad wasn’t having it. BlackJack huffed and puffed and just as he was leaving the premises the race finished and Johnny let out a “yessss” as his horse had come in first. Blackjack turned towards Johnny, he felt it like a personal slight that Johnny’s horse had won. He said to him, “So the loser wins for once,” Johnny turned and looked BlackJack straight in the eye and replied, “No, BlackJack you didn’t win you didn’t even get to play.” BlackJack was furious but he knew better than to mess with Johnny, he just looked him up and down contemptuously, then he left slamming the door behind him.

Johnny went back to his task of studying the form of the horses running in Cheltenham that day. He did this by reading the horse-racing pages of the sports newspapers which were pinned to the wall of the bookmakers. He was in the middle of studying this when all of a sudden the door burst open and a man with a stocking over his face burst in, he was armed with a sawn-off shotgun. He ran up to the counter and pointed the shotgun at the young clerk, “Gimme the fookin' money,” he shouted. The poor lad behind the counter had gone pale and seemed to have lost his voice with the shock of the intrusion. The man jumped over the counter and opened the till which he emptied into a bag he had with him.

“The safe, get that fookin' safe open,” he shouted. Indeed, there was a small safe behind the counter underneath the cash register. The lad pulled out the keys with shaking hands and gave them to the robber. He was quick, he opened the safe and had the entire contents in the bag within seconds. All this time Johnny hadn’t budged. There were three other customers in the shop and two of them had got down on the floor and put their hands on their heads while Johnny and another guy were still standing. Then the robber shouted out, “Gimme yer fookin’ wallets or I’ll fookin’ kill ye.” The guys on the ground and the other man standing fumbled in their pockets and produced wallets and even some notes and loose change. Johnny just stood there, he didn’t think the robber had meant him aswell but the robber approached Johnny shouting, “Gimme yer fookin’ money, who do yez think yez is, quick.” Johnny was astounded, was he really talking to him? Did he not know who he was? Then Johnny struck, he tried his old martial arts technique of spitting directly in the eyes and aiming a kick to the groin. Unfortunately, however, the robber was lightning quick in his response and he evaded both of these manoeuvres, he raised the shotgun above his head and smashed Johnny on the forehead with the butt of the gun.

CHAPTER2

“CODE OF ETHICS”

He had only been knocked out for a few seconds. When he woke up he could hear voices chattering excitedly. At first, he wondered what had happened and then it all came back to him. He sat up against one of the walls. A nasty bruise had appeared above his left eye, otherwise, besides an ache where he had been hit he felt OK. The sound of sirens and general commotion could be heard. It was a few more minutes before he attempted to move. He got up and walked slowly towards the door but when he reached it a man in uniform stopped him. “Please sir, let us take a look at that wound, sit down here,” and he pointed to a chair. It was a man from the ambulance brigade it seemed that an ambulance and the police had arrived at more or less the same time which seemed a bit strange to Johnny as, in his experience, it was always, fire brigade first, police second and ambulance last when something happened in London. A young woman had appeared now at his side and was rubbing his face with soft cotton. She was also wearing the ambulance uniform. “How are you, Johnny?...I mean Mr Two Kebabs... sorry.” She blushed. She obviously knew who Johnny was but that wasn’t surprising, Johnny was used to female attention.

“I’m feeling a little peckish,” Johnny replied.

“You need to come to the hospital with us Mr Two Kebabs we have to check that you are all right, we will need to keep you under observation,” The girl said.

“If you wanna keep me under observation you can, love, but you’ll have to come back to my place to do that,” Johnny said.

“Oh dear” ... She had gone red again. Suddenly another stronger voice said. “All right, Two Kebabs, we will wanna talk to you.” It was one of the cops.

“Seems like everyone wants a bit of Johnny today,” Johnny declared. “Well, you’ll have to wait your turn. I’m talking to the young lady here.”

“Oh, Johnny,” she had turned pink once again.

“I probably shouldn’t do this but I will,” she said and she wrote a telephone number on Johnny’s arm with a black ball-point pen. Johnny stood up, he was experiencing hunger pangs and he thought it was also high time for a couple of pints. A detective stopped him.

“Oi, you’re a witness to a serious crime, we need to talk to you.”

“Am I under arrest?” Johnny asked.

“No, you are not under arrest but we want to talk to you to get information on this incident” The officer said.

“Well, Johnny is not giving interviews right now, you’ll just have to arrange it for a later date.” Johnny knew he’d probably have to talk to the police but he didn’t want to talk to them at that moment. He had answered the detective in a dismissive tone, largely because he wanted to impress the ambulance girl but also because he wanted to gather his thoughts. He was reminded of what Cardinal Richelieu had once famously stated: “If one would give me six lines written by the hand of the most honest man, I would find something in them to have him hanged.” Johnny felt that this was applicable as much to the spoken as the written word. He knew it was best to keep one’s trap shut as much as possible around the police, so he preferred to have a little think first.

There had been something about the whole robbery that bothered Johnny. The “perp” had a “Northern” accent, but Johnny suspected that it was false, that he had been imitating a “Northerner” as most people would naturally suspect an armed robber of having his origins in that part of the country. He felt that in some way BlackJack was involved and while Johnny was rarely wrong about this type of thing he would never divulge this sort of information to the police. That would be against Johnny’s “code of ethics.” As far as Johnny was concerned, “grassing” on someone was one of the worst things anyone could ever do. Even if BlackJack had planned or carried out the robbery and despite the fact that he didn’t like him, Johnny would never “grass” to the police on anyone.

CHAPTER3

“WHY DID DOGS SNIFF EACH OTHER’S ARSES?”

A badge with NYPD written on a gold plaque was hanging from his neck, he was “working homicide.” Johnny’s “piece” was in his hands and the safety was off. He was instinctively following his training. He kicked open the door and lying there in front of him was one of the Marcello family. It looked like Gino but, of course, it is difficult to identify someone when half their head has been blown off. “By the looks of it, with a pump-action shotgun,” Johnny would later testify. He went into the next room, he knew the killer was still here, he could smell it. Now as they stalked each other through the house it was cat and mouse, it was like a choreographed performance. It was, in fact, a type of dance, as Johnny would later say, “I asked him to dance with me - the dance of death.” Then he saw a woman approach him, he opened his arms to protect her and instead of the feel of a warm feminine body, he found himself with a corpse in his arms. They started spinning round and round and round........ Johnny woke up in a sweat, he had dozed off after an afternoon in the “The Auld Sod” his local pub. His head was still a bit sore from the blow he had received. He had some serious thinking to do. It wasn’t the fact that O’Reilly’s had been robbed or that Johnny had taken a blow. No, it was the simple, undeniable fact that the robbery had occurred on “his” turf, on “his” watch. How dare they...how fucking dare they? It was no longer just a simple question of armed robbery or even of assault, it was the principle. Whoever had carried out the robbery, was now in Johnny’s debt and it was not just a simple monetary debt. It was what Johnny considered to be a “blood debt,” a question of honour that could only be settled by the drawing of blood. In a way, Johnny felt like a “Gentleman” whose honour had been impugned and who now thirsted for satisfaction, either in the form of a public apology or through a duel with the weapon of the offended party’s choice. If it were Blackjack this would mean that a final showdown, one that Johnny had often imagined, would at some point be inevitable. If the robber felt that Johnny suspected he knew who he was, Johnny’s life could even be in danger. Johnny, of course, couldn’t care less about danger, “bring it on,” was his attitude. Johnny even liked the idea of being in danger. He had always believed that in order to tackle evil, one had to “take the fight to the enemy.” “Kill or be killed” was his motto. Johnny, “the hunter,” unlike “men” who liked to stay in their “comfort zones,” welcomed the risk.

Maybe he had inherited this trait. He remembered how his mother back in Ireland was known to be a good, pious, church-going woman. However, when she read the newspapers or watched the news, she would always focus on the most heinous crimes that had been committed in Ireland and abroad. Of course, it didn’t surprise him, as Johnny well knew, some of history’s most vile despots have made a great outward show of piety, as people often like to feel that their leaders are god-fearing church-goers. Underneath her outward display of shock and outrage, Johnny knew that deep down his mother loved reading about gruesome crime, in fact, the more horrific the better. She would describe in detail a crime that had occurred and how she hoped the police would soon catch the culprit, to which Johnny would add, “Yes, catch the culprit, please, but not too quickly, let’s see if he butchers anyone else first.” Johnny would often egg her on at the dinner table by saying things such as, “Did anyone read about that serial killer they have arrested in Russia? Terrible... just terrible what he did to his victims.” This would start his mother off. First, she would bless herself then she would start lamenting the world we live in, with the lawless running around free to rape and murder. She always seemed to know all of the gory details of the crimes and sometimes she also seemed to know of details which hadn’t even appeared in the press but would later come out. She would even, at times, guess who the culprit was and what motivation they had. “I know it was the mother-in-law, she was jealous of the son's wife.” When he was younger, Johnny had imagined that maybe she was a type of “seer” someone who could lock into a highly emotionally charged event and “see” what had happened from afar, a sort of “remote viewer.” But, he had long since concluded that no, in fact, she just delighted in the macabre.

Yes, in some ways, Johnny was like his mother, he liked the action, he lived for the fight. If an armed robber were operating on “his” turf, he would have to hunt him down. If nothing else, it was just embarrassing. What if he targeted “The Auld Sod” or “Achmed’s” next? These were establishments on the Brixton street that was commonly referred to locally as “The Strip” after the main street in Las Vegas, Clark County, Nevada. This was where it all happened, this was Johnny’s territory and he didn’t want outsiders marauding around bringing trouble to “his” area.

Johnny picked up his socks and sniffed them, he was going to track down this armed robber. Johnny believed that he had an especially acute sense of smell. Maybe he had been born with it, or maybe it was because he constantly practised. He believed that a sense of smell was the most important of all the senses and that he was able to smell guilt off a “perp.” Johnny knew that guilt, like fear, could be detected through the olfactory sense. After all, why did dogs sniff each other’s arses? The answer to this question was that dogs, like humans, have sweat glands or “apocrine glands,” as they are more formally known and these glands emit pheromones which transmit comprehensive information such as mood, sex, age and also mating information. Dogs have a large number of these glands and most are concentrated around the anus and genitals and this is why they like to have a good sniff around these parts when they meet a fellow canine. Johnny knew that dogs possessed about thirty times more olfactory receptors than a human and that they also had a much more developed “vomeronasal organ” called “Jacobson’s organ” which is situated at the top of their mouths. Johnny knew that a lot could be learned by sniffing an object and dogs gained much information not only by sniffing each other’s arses but also by smelling human crotches. People often feel embarrassed when a friend’s dog sniffs this area but actually the dog is just being friendly and trying to glean information. In fact, for a dog, sniffing someone's crotch is like making "small talk." Dogs can learn much from people by smelling this area, they can know, for example, if someone has had “intimate relations” that day or even if they are ovulating or have a venereal disease. This is why dogs are used not only to detect bombs and drugs but also for certain illnesses. Hounds can also know a person’s sexual orientation and a good deal about their recent sexual history from a good sniff. Johnny was a firm believer in the “power of smell.” He would know if he wasn’t well by the odour that his footwear emitted. He was also known to some of his intimate circle to be something of a “healer,” a practitioner of his own brand of “alternative” medicine and sometimes Bucker or one of his other friends would come to him with a health issue.

Johnny’s method of diagnosis was quite simple, he would ask the patient to take off his socks and he would give them a brief sniff. The different odours would alert Johnny to deficiencies of certain elements and also if other matter were present in excessive quantities. The mixture of the perspiration from the feet with the dead skin cells which the body naturally sheds would create an aroma which would also indicate the presence of certain chemical interactions in the body and in this way, Johnny would be able to detect certain ailments with near 100% accuracy. On one occasion, he had diagnosed a case of antibiotic resistant gonorrhoea in Bucker which was treated by an experimental new-generation drug. Nevertheless, Johnny felt that nature had gifted him with his acute sense of smell mainly so he could use it to sniff out wrong-doers. Johnny would track down the armed robber operating in "his" territory. He would sniff him out and bring him down. This was Johnny’s town, this was what he did.

CHAPTER4

“AN LÁMH DUBH”

Blackjack (whose real name was David Benton) had got his name from being barred from many of the betting shops in south London. He was always trying it on, he would try to put bets on just after the race had started, he would harass the younger staff, he would drink in the shop and generally make a nuisance of himself. Consequently, when he got barred from most of the big bookmaker chains, some of the regulars were delighted and had joked that he would now only be able to play the “BlackJack” slot machines in “The Auld Sod.” After observing BlackJack for a while, Johnny had become convinced that not only was BlackJack a gambling addict but also that he had, in a bizarre way, become “addicted to losing.” The reason Johnny thought this, was the way that BlackJack gambled. It was illogical. Johnny believed that deep down BlackJack suffered from extremely low self-esteem and that for this reason he didn’t really want to win, or else something in his make-up made him feel that he didn’t deserve to win, so, in effect, he would sabotage his own efforts. In a way, It was a terrible situation for a man to be in and Johnny, for this reason, although he would never say so, actually pitied BlackJack. An example of his “self-sabotaging” behaviour was “The Union Jack Treble.” This was a bet that O'Reilly’s used to promote quite aggressively but Johnny, like many of the other serious punters, knew that this was a rookie’s bet.

The “Union Jack Treble” was a selection of nine horses that one put on a betting slip that was in the form of the Union Jack flag. There were three horizontal treble bets, three vertical and two diagonal which followed lines like those in the shape of the Union Jack flag. This made up 8 treble bets - a treble bet is a bet that three horses will win in three separate races - but they must all win, if any one of the three horses loses the bet is lost. It is very difficult to pick three winning horses as every gambler knows but of course, it is not impossible. The "Union Jack Treble" offered 8 triple bets but the problem, as Johnny and all serious punters knew, was that if the horse in the middle of the Union Jack lost, four of the bets had automatically lost. For this reason, Johnny avoided this bet and instead would prefer to either bet one simple treble bet or a “patent” which is a bet where one chose three horses and which comprises seven separate bets, three single bets, three double bets and one treble. BlackJack, however, favoured the “Union Jack Treble.” Johnny had even spoken to him about this but BlackJack had just guffawed, he would never admit that Johnny was right and he was wrong. He said to Johnny that his solution to this was just to put the horse that he knew was sure to win in the centre, even if the odds were pathetically low. Johnny just shook his head at this arrogance. So, BlackJack put “the horse he knew would win” in the centre. But, Johnny had never seen him accurately pick a winner, no matter how much he studied the form in the papers or followed the advice of so-called “tipsters.” It was pathetic but Johnny considered that he was, in fact, talking about someone who was suffering from a type of illness. It was heartbreaking at times to see the way BlackJack tried every trick in the book but he never seemed to win anything and the frustration in his manner was palpable.

Strangely enough, he was able to keep up appearances in the local pub buying rounds and generally showing off but Johnny knew the stress on him must have been unbearable at times. In Johnny’s opinion, BlackJack was also a sort of “half-assed” kind of guy. He always wore a smart shirt and black leather jacket which even Johnny had to admit looked quite sharp but with this he would always have on a pair of cheap tracksuit trousers and trainers on his bottom half. He drove a motorbike but it had obviously been resprayed and it was an odd, hybrid-looking machine, not in a cool way but in a sort of thrown-together-in-a-scrapyard-from-second-hand-parts kind of way. Not only that, he had good posture, he always walked with his back straight and his head held high, but at the same time, he would have his hand down the front of his tracksuit trousers and appear to be sort of “groping himself.” In many ways, even down to his name, BlackJack reminded Johnny of “An lámh Dubh.” This was a guy he had never actually met but his father had told him about. He was a fellow who lived in Ireland, he was from the “Gaeltacht” (the Gaelic-speaking area) in County Kerry. He was a bloke who was notorious for stealing meat off other people’s plates. He would do this by causing a distraction and when his victim’s head was turned he would swipe the meat. He was so quick that there was never any evidence of his crime. Until, one day, old Fran O’Halloran caught him trying to take a bit of steak off his plate and stabbed him in the back of the hand (hand in Gaelic is lámh). Apparently, his hand turned black from the stab wound and from there on after, he was known as “An Lámh Dubh” meaning “The Black Hand” or “The Black Handed One” (Dubh meaning black in Gaelic). Everywhere he went, from that moment on, people knew who he was and what he had done to deserve the name “Lámh Dubh.” To this day, in parts of County Kerry, to be known as a “Lámh Dubh” is to be known as an unscrupulous scoundrel.

BlackJack was also the leader of a small “gang” in south London but Johnny would just laugh at that. In Johnny’s opinion, the “gang” was really just some maladjusted types who thought they were in some 1950s American film. Johnny pitied the lot of them, he knew they were jealous of him and he also knew they didn’t like him. If they had the chance they would be quite prepared to do him harm but Johnny knew that that would never happen for one simple reason: Fear. As far as Johnny was concerned as long as fear was stronger than a man’s other desires he would never cross the line to drive him to action and Johnny knew they were afraid of him and why shouldn’t they be? After all, he was Johnny Two Kebabs.

CHAPTER5

“THE HAMMER AND SICKLE”

He could feel the Browning 9mm in its holster against his hip - his hand was resting on the butt - there was a round in the chamber. He had received a call from the chief constable at Scotland Yard. Everything else had failed and now they had come to him for help - they had come to the bounty hunter. When the conventional failed, they’d call in the Maverick, they’d call in Johnny. Yes, he was a type of bounty hunter, it was just that for him - justice - not money, was the bounty.

Johnny stood outside the closed door of a terraced house in a rough working-class area of London where the tightly-knit community were proud of their humble origins. “Come out here, or I’m a-comin' in to get you,” Johnny shouted. His free hand was holding the large buckle of the belt around his waist, just above his crotch. Johnny briefly reflected on why he was there and the reason he was taking on this role. Why was he doing what he was doing? Well, Johnny believed that one wasn’t “born” a man, no, one "became" a man by doing “manly” things. There was complete silence. “If you come out now, I’ll go easy on you." Silence. Then the door opened very slightly, people ran for cover, even hardened officers jumped. Johnny remained immobile in his wide-legged stance. He was here to see the business through, he was here for justice. "Come out slowly with yurr hands on yurr head," Johnny commanded. The door opened a little more. The tension was almost unbearable for the crowd that had gathered. Johnny hadn’t moved a millimetre, only a very close observer would have noticed a tiny twitching in his trigger finger. Suddenly an old woman appeared from behind the door.

“Can I help you, love?"

“Oh, I’m very sorry madam. Is Crowbar there with you? Are you his mother?”

“This is number 37, love, 'e lives at number 31." Just as he was waking up, Johnny realised that he was at the wrong door because the top of the number seven had broken off...that was why it had looked like number 31.

He woke up bathed in perspiration, his whole body ached. He reckoned it was a sort of delayed reaction to the events in the betting shop the previous day and the bang he had received on his head. Moreover, he had also imbibed a large quantity of lager the previous night, and it had all conspired to make him feel pretty lousy. “I’d better get a drink inside me, it’s the only real cure in this situation,” Johnny thought to himself. Although he had only gone for a quick drink in "The Auld Sod,” he had ended up spending the better part of the day there. He had seen his friends the Bolshevik Brothers and they had introduced him to a business associate who was visiting from the United States. His name was Brad and he had a smile that revealed perfect, brilliant white teeth.

The Bolshevik Brothers often seemed to bring their “business associates” to “The Auld Sod” to meet people, particularly when they were involved in selling a new idea or product. Johnny was not surprised that the brothers were involved in another scheme to make money. Some people might have been surprised to learn that two guys who professed to follow a Marxist-Leninist philosophy would be so entrepreneurial but Johnny was used to these contradictions in his friends. One day, Johnny had been inside the plush apartment that the Bolshevik Brothers shared. Beside the huge plasma TV screen they possessed, there was a picture of the hammer and sickle. Johnny had wondered how they had the nerve to put that on their wall. While they had probably seen a hammer, neither had surely ever used one and the sickle which was supposed to represent the humble agricultural worker was an object which would have been completely alien to either of them. They both knew nothing about the countryside or agriculture. Johnny remembered clearly how George had been astonished to learn that almonds grew on trees and didn’t come from the ground like potatoes.

Johnny liked the brothers well enough but he sometimes wondered, was it wise to trust people who took as their inspiration the rabble who had slaughtered not only the last Tsar of Russia but the entire Romanov family? It seemed to him that their ethos was much closer to our “transatlantic friends,” as Johnny called the Americans rather than to any communist state. Johnny cast his mind back to the time they had brought a guy over from the United States who was selling a vitamin supplement that apparently stopped people from ageing. According to this fellow, ageing was just in the mind and we had all just convinced ourselves that we were getting older, whereas, in fact, we were simply wrong about this and that it was all just a result of our “received belief system.” The guy, in Johnny’s opinion, had been a cross between Ronald Mc Donald and "The Scammer In Chief " (as Johnny called Donald Trump).

"Yes, your friends 'reached out' to me," Brad stated, "they had an 'abundancy issue' and they wanted to 'take ownership' of it, so they came to one of my workshops in New York and then they helped me to set one up here. It’s just 'awesome' to be here." To Johnny’s mind, Brad seemed to not only speak in a strange way but he also dressed in a very eccentric manner. He was wearing what Johnny referred to as a pair of "Ali-Baba-Sex-Guru" trousers. This was a pair of purple-striped, very loose-fitting trousers of which the crotch drooped down below the level of the knees. He also had an earring in each ear and it seemed as if he were unable to talk to someone without touching them. Johnny was convinced that he was a guy who preferred the boys to the girls until he announced that on his next trip to London he would bring his wife with him

"So, what are you selling?" Johnny asked.

"Well, I’m not really 'selling' anything per se. I’m more trying to honour my clients' 'process' and 'co-create' abundance with them.”"

“And how do you do that?” Johnny asked.

"Well I run an 'abundance workshop.' Anyone attending it is guaranteed to see all of their wishes and dreams fulfilled."

“That sounds great,” Johnny said a little sceptically.

"Yes, of course, one must be coming from a place of 'authenticity' in order for it to work." Brad continued.

"And where’s that?" Johnny inquired.

"It’s a place inside of us, the answers always come from inside of us, not from outside, Johnny."

"So could you give me a few more details?" Johnny asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, yes, I suppose I could. I have a system which is called win-win financing which 'empowers' you financially." Brad launched into an explanation,

"Let’s start with financial planning, imagine with your income you need about 40% for rent or your mortgage, if you’re lucky enough not to have this expense then you can spread this surplus out over some of your other monthly expenses but then you still need to put about 20% towards food and drink and another 15% towards training and education and also maybe10% for clothing. Utilities take up about another 12%. Then you should put 8% towards leisure activities and finally, and this is very important, at least 10% towards charity." Johnny had been calculating while Brad had been talking, and he had come to a very obvious conclusion.

"But that’s 115%," Johnny said.

"That’s right," Brad answered, "If you have enough faith, the extra 15% is automatically covered by 'the universe'." Johnny gaped at him as he continued. "And the price of the course is covered by that extra 15% so, in fact, the course is free. Brad smiled as he said this.

"So, is it a sort of 'Spiritual Ponzi scheme,' then?’” Johnny asked.

"Of course not, this is a legitimate opportunity for anyone who wants to 'live in their abundance' and not be limited by old-fashioned, outmoded paradigms," Brad replied.

"But how can the total of one’s outgoings be 15% more than what one has?," Johnny asked.

"To be frank, Johnny, I think you might not have the necessary faith to profit from this system maybe you need to learn to have faith."

"And how could I do that?" Johnny enquired.

"Well I run a course on faith management, maybe you’d like to sign up for it, it’s quite reasonably priced."

"How much is reasonable?" Johnny asked.

"How long is a piece of string?" Brad replied, "How much is a glass of water worth in the desert?"

"Could you give me a rough idea?" Johnny insisted.

"I can give you a 'ballpark' figure. No, I'll tell you what. I'll give you a special deal 'cause I like you, Johnny. I’ll give you our introductory offer of $200 per month for the full six-month course." Brad stated enthusiastically.

"You must be joking." Johnny guffawed.

"This is your first step in learning about faith, make a down payment and the rest will come. If ye only had it like a mustard seed." Brad said.

"I’d rather have the mustard than the seed." Johnny replied.

"Ha, ha, well Johnny, at least have a think about it, I’m sure we’d enjoy each other's company." Then, he gave Johnny a firm handshake and just as he was turning to leave, he rubbed up against him and Johnny briefly felt something long and hard in the "Ali-Baba-Sex-Guru"pants.

CHAPTER6

“INVETERATE SCAMMERS”

Johnny was standing in front of the mirror with a banana stuffed down the front of his trousers. He was pulling it out again and again, he was becoming frenzied, each time trying to go faster and faster. Johnny would regularly do this in front of the mirror. He desperately wanted to try to "draw" more quickly than his reflection. He still had dreams about packing everything up in London and moving to the US to become a full time "bounty hunter" or law enforcement official. If ever Johnny went to the U.S. to live the dream, he would model himself on "Dog." Johnny didn’t watch much television but he had watched every episode of the reality show "Dog - The Bounty Hunter." Johnny loved the show and how it depicted the work of the "Bounty Hunter," how they served their communities. Although Johnny didn’t, in general, like the "Yanks" and he considered them to be "Inveterate Scammers," there were certain things about American society that he admired. For instance, he had been told that Sheriffs were elected in the US. Johnny thought that this was fantastic and undoubtedly if that system existed in the UK he would be a Sheriff. He had also heard that to be a Sheriff in the U.S. one had to have been born there. He wondered if maybe he married a US citizen, would that make him a "natural-born American." The path of the "badge and the gun" constantly beckoned, so he figured it was best to keep practising. If he did go to the States he wanted to be the "fastest gun" in the whole country. Suddenly, while he was putting the banana back down the front of his trousers, it broke and he got banana all down the front of his crotch. "Ah shit," he said, while at the same time the doorbell rang. He opened the front door and there was the girl from the ambulance crew who had been at the bookies the day of the armed robbery. She looked down and saw the mess on the front of Johnny’s trousers, quickly Johnny rubbed some of the banana off and said, "Banana can be messy." She gave him a pitying look and then said, "Johnny, I need to talk to you."

"Sure, come on in and make yourself at home." He replied.

"I can’t now, I’m in a hurry. Could we meet in 'The Auld Sod' tonight?" She said.

"I guess we could, at what time?" He asked.

"Would eight o clock be OK? I’m so sorry, Johnny, to call on you like this, I was hoping you would contact me but I know you are a busy man."

"No problem, if you feel you can behave yourself, I’ll meet you tonight. By the way, what is your name?

"Gill" she said.

"Ok Gill, see you later."

Johnny had supposed she would turn up sooner or later, she had written her phone number on his arm the day of the robbery but Johnny had a policy of practically making a woman beg. It always worked and here was proof of the effectiveness of his policy yet again.

When eight o’clock came around, Johnny had already been drinking in "The Auld Sod" for a couple of hours. Gill arrived at the appointed time and all heads turned to look at her as she entered the bar. She was wearing a short dress and looked stunning.

"Sit down Gill," Johnny gestured to the chair next to him, "or else you can sit on my lap and we’ll see what comes up, hurr, hurr." He said with his natural boyish charm.

"What would you like to drink?" He continued.

"I’ll have a gin and tonic, thanks. I need to talk to you, Johnny, I think you may be in danger." She said.

Johnny just snorted, "Me in danger? I live for danger, Gill. Of course I’m in danger, a guy like me will always have enemies, those that oppose me that can’t live by 'my' rules, the jealous, the mean- spirited and those that just want to make a name for themselves by tackling the big boys." Johnny stated.

"Yes, but the other day, after seeing you in the bookmakers, we had another call where we picked up a guy who had been badly beaten. He said, 'tell Johnny to watch out' and then he lost consciousness. At the hospital, the doctors put him into an induced coma and he hasn’t woken up since but I’m sure he meant you, Johnny." Gill was practically in tears as she related this to Johnny.

"Well, will I have you to tend to my wounds?" Johnny asked.

"Oh, Johnny, I couldn’t bear it if anything should happen to you." She said.

"Hah, whoever it is, it’s them that needs to be careful, they should be afraid...they should be very afraid. Johnny’s investigation is now underway and when he has drawn his conclusions he shall act decisively and then our friend, whoever he is, will have to face justice. He will have to face Johnny's justice. He will have to face Johnny Two Kebabs."

"Oh, Johnny, just please be careful, I beg of you."

"Ok, you know, maybe you should check me out physically just in case anything happens, to see if I have any 'pre-existing' conditions.'" After the minimum of small talk (Johnny wasn’t big on small talk) they ended up going back to Johnny’s. The investigation was going nicely.

CHAPTER7

“STARTING OVER WE DECIDE THE SCIENCE”

"So, to be honest, I don’t know for sure who it was but I have my suspicions about BlackJack." Johnny was talking to his friend Bucker in "The Auld Sod." Bucker, like Johnny, was from Dublin, they had both been living in London for a few years. They had met just after they had moved there and they had discovered that they both shared a common mistrust and dislike of the English and as Johnny liked to say, “No friendship is stronger than one based on shared prejudice.”

"Well, it’s true that BlackJack probably needs the cash but I don’t think he’d have the balls for that kind of robbery," Bucker said. “Anyway, why do you suspect him?” He asked.

"It was the way he made a bit of a scene a short time earlier as if it were a distraction and also I thought the robber was imitating a northern accent, it sounded very strange even for a "Northerner." It sounded like it wasn't his real voice and it just reminded me of BlackJack." Johnny replied.

“Well nothing would surprise me of that scum-bag but I think it’s unlikely.” Bucker said.

“Anyway, let’s keep our eyes and ears open, Bucker.” At that moment, Brad appeared. He immediately started telling them about a new investment opportunity. It was about a company called “NovaSci.” Brad seemed to be around more and more often and it appeared that he had made quite a few friends and acquaintances in south London.

“So, this organisation believes that all science to date is more or less wrong and that it’s always biased, as whoever finances the research has a vested interest in the results. So the 'mission statement' of the 'NovaSci' organisation is, 'Starting Over We Decide The Science.' We will decide which science is right and which is wrong and we will only promote 'right science' but we need to be able to finance the organisation.” Brad said.

“Yes, but you just said that organisations that finance research have an interest in the results of that research, what about your organisation surely it is researching research?” Johnny said.

“Ah, but that’s different, we promote science objectively, so our interest is not in promoting any one particular science. There are so many things today that people are ignorant of, for example, did you know that man is the only animal that drinks the milk of another animal - the cow? Man is the only animal that does that.” Brad declared confidently.

“Yes, but man is also the only animal that has put one of his kind on the moon, I mean have you seen any giraffes organising space exploration ventures, Brad?” Johnny replied.

“Very amusing Johnny but this is people’s health we are talking about. Did you know that it is a fact that if you take vitamin C, vitamin D and vitamin B and ah yes...

zinc, then you can’t get any viruses? Brad continued.

"Really, that's science is it? So tell me, who decides which science is 'right science’?" Johnny asked.

"We do, the company ‘NovaSci,’" Brad replied. However, by this time, Bucker and Johnny were hungry and not in the mood to further debate scientific research. They decided to make their way to Achmed’s kebab shop to order a couple of kebabs. Achmed, as it turned out, didn’t seem to be there. Yusuf, Achmed’s cousin, was replacing him that day, this had the effect of making Johnny a little anxious about the preparation of his fare. Johnny didn’t particularly like Yusuf but for that matter, he didn’t like Achmed either. Having said that, he had more trust in Achmed to prepare his kebabs. Johnny watched Yusuf like a hawk and sure enough, Yusuf was going “light” on the “meat.” Johnny had to correct him. “Put some more meat on that what do you think I am, a vegetarian?” Johnny said.

“Ok boss, anything you say, boss,” Yusuf replied. Then, of course, Johnny had to be certain that the condiments were added in suitable quantity. The Chilli and Garlic sauce served a dual purpose in the doner kebab. To the English palate, the blend of the spices tasted quite agreeable but not only that it also served to disguise the real taste of the “meat.” The sauces were cheap to make and tended to mask any unsavoury taste from the gristle or animal organs that had been mixed with bones and other elements to form the “reconstituted meat” that made up the kebab’s filling. Also, as sometimes happened, if the lettuce had wilted a little or the tomatoes were a bit “over-ripe” the sauce would disguise any unpleasant taste and cover up any dodgy- looking bits. The fact that many of the customers had “whetted” their appetite with between 8 to 12 pints of lager beforehand meant that complaints about quality were few and far between. But Johnny wasn't an ordinary customer, Johnny was a type of VIP customer, in fact, Johnny was the nearest thing that Achmed’s kebab shop would ever see to a rock star. Johnny, moreover, considered himself to be a sort of rock star even if he didn’t play an instrument or write songs. A song had been written about him, so that made him a bona fide rock star.

Yusuf was by now getting a bit nervous, both Johnny and Bucker were watching his every move like a pair of Border Collies. His hand was visibly shaking as he lifted the spoon up with the chilli sauce in it and started to ladle it onto one of the kebabs. He put a spoonful in it and Johnny just grunted, not a grunt of satisfaction, no, it was a grunt that signified that he wanted more. With each spoonful, Johnny gave a little grunt. The grunt transmitted his message to Yusuf who continued to spoon the chilli sauce onto the kebab until Johnny gave a sigh of satisfaction. Then, with the garlic sauce, the same thing, Johnny continued grunting with each spoonful until he was satisfied that there was enough garlic sauce on the kebabs. Then, finally, he made an audible noise of satisfaction and Yusuf turned his attention towards Bucker. Bucker was less subtle than Johnny, he came from a less privileged background, he was from inner-city Dublin. “Put some more of that sauce on it, you scabby little fucker Yusuf.” He ordered.

“Yes, boss, I’ll put more, boss.” Yusuf replied.

When Bucker was satisfied that his kebabs were ready, he followed Johnny to "his" table at the back of the kebab shop. Neither Johnny nor Bucker stood on ceremony, they vehemently attacked their kebabs while others just watched, amazed as all four kebabs seemed to disappear as if in a vanishing trick. Johnny wasn’t exactly a health fanatic but he believed that chewing food too much was a bad habit. He viewed the digestive system as one giant muscle which had to be exercised to be kept in shape. It had to have solid food and chewing the food too much made it just become slush and as Johnny would say, “If muscle has nothing solid to work on, it atrophies.”

CHAPTER8

"CONSPIRACY TO DEFRAUD"

What sort of character would carry out an armed robbery in "his" town? This was a question Johnny had been asking himself all morning. A cold, calculating risk-taker? Someone foolish enough not to care a toss for the consequences of his actions? Johnny knew he would have to start his investigations where the whole thing had started.

O’Reilly’s Bookmakers attracted an eclectic clientèle. All types came in through the doors. There were the regulars who would come in almost daily to place a bet or two and have a chat with their mates and maybe down a can or two of super-strength lager. Then there were people who had for whatever reason got it into their heads to place a bet that day. There were sometimes people who believed that they had developed or learned a “system” that guaranteed they would win, generally these types didn’t last long in the game. There were also professional gamblers who would sometimes go to O’Reilly’s but O’Reilly, like other bookies, didn’t like the professionals. The problem with professionals was that unlike the vast majority of betters, they often won more money than they spent, so bookmakers felt that they could do without them. Of course, it was not always possible to know who was a professional and who was not but bookmakers tended to spot them and even shared this information among themselves. Then there were the gambling addicts who, like Blackjack, made a lot of bets but rarely won anything. These people were the bread and butter of the bookmakers. Sometimes one of these would even win. Every so often, for example, an accumulator bet would win.

An accumulator bet, as the name suggests, is a bet placed on several different horses in different races. To illustrate, it could be for six horses, so, for example, someone might place a bet on a horse in the 2.10 p.m. at Catterick at odds of 2/1 and then if this horse won, the winnings would be placed on the next horse in the next race e.g. the 2.30 at Chepstow and so on for six separate races. These bets very rarely win. It is practically impossible to pick five or six winners. However, from time to time, one of them would win and when this happened it ensured fantastic publicity for the bookmakers who would make a great show of presenting the cheque and making sure everyone knew there had been a big win. This, of course, showed people that it was possible. That the one in a million chance did exist. That gambling wasn’t just for mugs. It was almost worth the bookies paying out simply for the publicity that was generated.

The world of horse and dog racing and the gambling world in general has always seen some very clever punters and naturally, numerous scams. Arbitrage betting, for example, is something that many bookies are not fond of (although today this is much more common online than in betting shops). Arbitrage betting is when opposing bets are placed on the same event. In some ways it is like “hedging” the idea is to exploit the difference in the odds offered by different bookies. Both “hedging” and “arbing” (or arbitrage betting) are complex strategies used by the professional gambler. Of course, the idea as always, is to win more than one has staked. With the rise of online betting new opportunities have arisen for the very sharp punter as usually it takes longer for physical betting shops to change odds than it does for online sites, this leaves a difference in odds for a short window of time that can be exploited by a punter. Both "hedging" and "arbing" are entirely legal but there are also numerous types of illegal scams, many of which are meticulously planned. One for which the bookies are on constant lookout is a “ringer” scam. This is where a horse is replaced by a much superior one that looks almost identical. Hence, it is a “dead ringer.” The “Flockton Grey” “ringer” scam is a famous example. In 1982 a race was held at Leicester in which the horse “Flockton Grey" won at the very generous odds of 10 to 1. However, the distance and ease by which “Flockton Grey” won immediately aroused the suspicions of the bookies. The race had been for two-year-old horses whereas “Good Hand” the horse which had been used to replace “Flockton Grey” was, in fact, a three-year-old and therefore enjoyed an enormous advantage over the other horses. It all ended badly and after a police investigation, the trainer and owner were tried and convicted of fraud. Doping, of course, is another thing that has always taken place. At the beginning of the 1900s in the United States, a gang made a fortune by doping poorly performing horses using cocaine. This almost inevitably turned them into winners. Today, doping is more difficult as testing is stringent before and after races. For these reasons, bookmakers have to be aware of all the different types of scams. Naturally, the schemes that we know about are just the ones that have been found out and there may have been countless others that have just never been discovered. Johnny was reflecting on these different scams and how the world of gambling attracted all types and that they all had one thing in common - they all wanted to win money, they wanted money through chance, not through good, honest, hard work. For this reason Johnny thought that the armed robber was probably a gambler and it would be reasonable to suspect that he was a client of O'Reilly's bookmakers. He was slowly but surely narrowing down his list of possible suspects. Johnny worked, like Sherlock Holmes, by using a system of deductive logic, he used science and logic in his suppositions. It was in this way that he would corner his man and bring him to justice. He made his way over to see his friend “Slapper.” She had agreed to meet him at a café near her house. Slapper was probably the most intelligent person Johnny knew and he wanted her help in tracking down the armed robber. “A man aged between 20 to 35, from around the Brixton area, who lives at home with his mother.” Slapper said. Johnny had asked Slapper to try to draw up a psychological profile of the armed robber.

“How do you know that?” Johnny asked.

“To be honest I don’t 'know' it but from what you have told me that is what I would expect.”

“Couldn’t it be a woman?” Johnny asked.

“From what you said, it was a male voice.” Slapper replied.

“Yes, but couldn’t that be faked?”

“It’s more difficult, in general, for a woman to fake a man’s voice than vice versa and also women are less likely to be involved in violent crime.”

“I guess so,” Johnny said.

“So how could I get a list of people fitting that description in Brixton?”

“Well, that might be possible by using the electoral register or something like that but the suspect might keep a low profile and not be on the list, maybe a good idea would be to find out who the police suspect.”

“Johnny doesn’t like dealing with the police.”

“Yes, but the police may know who has carried out similar crimes and who has been released from prison recently etc.” Slapper said. “Well, they want to talk to me anyway, so maybe I will go down and question them. Thanks, Slapper.”

CHAPTER9

"WHAT THE FUCK IS A 'BURRITO?' "

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