Copyright © 2008 by Arthur Croasdell

The right of Arthur Croasdell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988




The Marijuana Man





CHAPTER ONE–THE EVICTION

DAY ONE

Bob just sat, waited and watched. He had plenty of patience. What Bob didn’t have was the inclination for a ‘regular’ job. He was quite happy just ducking and diving. He settled slightly lower in the seat of the little car and studied the greyness of the weather that was the order of the day. A dull damp day was just the thing to keep most folks off the streets, which was just what he needed. He did not want any ‘rubber-neckers’ to keep an eye on him.
He was never going to be very comfortable dressed as he was. His legs were the worst problem. He was wearing his padded leather motorcycle trousers concealed underneath an ordinary pair of chinos, so as not to attract too much attention, and he was wearing his heaviest boots. On the back seat of the little car was his motorcycle jacket, not the leather variety that normally springs to mind, but a colourful modern one with all the integral body armour, as this is very effective protection should you fall off your motorcycle, or if someone tries to give you a good beating! Lying underneath his jacket, discreetly hidden from view, was his motorcycle crash helmet and a baseball bat.
Bob was feeling almost invincible, like a living version of ‘Robocop.’ All he needed to complete the effect was a ray gun!
He didn’t have a ray gun. What Bob had was a secret weapon, something that was going to give him the laugh of the year. It wouldn’t be very amusing for anyone on the receiving end of his little surprise, but it was Bob’s idea of great fun. It was a little package that he’d dreamed up whilst fooling around in his garden shed. His inspiration had come from one of his many holidays in Spain, where he had been to a ‘Mascletà.’
A Mascletà is a uniquely Spanish thing, a firework display with a difference. These events are held in the daytime, using sound fireworks, extremely loud firecrackers. The louder the noise, the more the crowd respond with wild appreciation. The British army are capable of make bangs equally as loud, using something called a ‘stun grenade,’ also known as a ‘thunderflash.’
Having witnessed a Spanish Mascletà, which Bob felt was something akin to being in a war zone, Bob decided it would be fun to take a few samples home to play with. He knew that an opportunity would arise where he could find someone or something to frighten almost to death!
That occasion had now arrived. He had already wired together three of the loudest Spanish firecrackers that he had, into a loose string. He then connected a length of ‘quick-match’ to the assembly and placed it in a plastic shopping bag, leaving the end hanging out of the bag and easily accessible.
Bob looked down at the home made ‘bomb’ nestling in the passenger foot-well and smiled with eager anticipation. He knew his plan was going to be great!
He wondered if this was the right time of day for such an escapade. Perhaps he should carry out this kind of thing as a dawn exercise? No, he discarded his thoughts almost immediately, as he had done on previous occasions when contemplating his plan. He knew he would be too conspicuous at an early hour, and it was not his style, he preferred to keep a low profile. This was the right time to do it, 10 o’clock on a damp Monday morning.
He watched the ‘Earthmother,’ as he had dubbed her, arrive back at the hotel carrying a bag, probably containing breakfast for the rest of the tribe of hippies. Her long flowing dress was dragging on the wet pavement, and her floppy hat was pulled well down over her eyes.
She could have been quite pretty once, but now it was difficult to judge under the hat covering the long unkempt tresses. Bob thought that perhaps she would look much better emerging naked from a steaming shower, dripping water all over the place. He just could not take a real fancy to her in her present state.
There was, of course, the rest of the little gang who probably did fancy her. There was the tall one who Bob had deduced was probably the leader, a conclusion arrived at as much from the fact that he was significantly taller than the others, as well as from the body language on the odd occasions that he had seen them all together. She was probably getting ‘it’ from at least one of the boys, but there was another young female of around fifteen summers as far as Bob could guess, who would be competition for a mate, but would she see a fifteen year old as a serious threat? She was a woman and probably would. There were one or two other girls who also added to the competition. There could be some interesting rivalry at bedtime, thought Bob.
‘That’s enough thinking for now, let’s get on with it,’ he decided. As far as he could tell, they were all inside the disused hotel so there was no need to delay any further. The leader was there, but whilst he was tall, he had no weight of muscle on him and was not going to pose a serious threat. ‘Yes, get him sorted out first, do it quickly and decisively and I’ve won.’ decided Bob. He chose to sit a few minutes longer just for good measure.
Bob was good at waiting; he was going to be well paid for doing so. During the waiting period, he considered the opposition and how best to deal with them. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, they were just a bunch of vagrants who had taken over an empty hotel, - squatters to give them their correct legal definition. Being squatters, they were the kind of people who were inclined to scrounge and steal rather than work, they were always broke and under-nourished, none of them big lads. The biggest, the one who seemed to be the leader, was no bigger than 5ft 10 and around 11 stone, this was no match for Bob. At 6ft 4 and sixteen stone of pure muscle, Bob was fighting fit. Thirty-four years behind him and enough sense to work out how to deal single handedly with a small war without losing his temper, and enough physical strength to prove it. He just needed the right moment to strike and he figured that moment wasn’t too far away.
He thought that at the worst, he might have to hand out a bit of a thrashing to a couple of them and the others would just melt away. All that was needed was that it should all be done very quickly.
The hotel was boarded up, but vermin like that always find a way to get in, and with the weird English laws, once they had taken up residence of an empty property, it was mighty difficult to get rid of them if you stuck to legal means. They would have established ‘squatters rights,’ the result of a strange law that would not have been tolerated in other countries. Having ‘found’ an empty building and gained entry without using force or causing damage to the property, they are entitled to stay, and getting rid of them is time consuming and expensive if the owner wishes to do this without breaking the law. There are times the British seem good at shooting themselves in the foot, and this law just seems to be one of those occasions.
Bob had no intention of sticking to the legal niceties, a quick bash round the ears with a baseball bat was more his style.
He was an expert at getting rid of squatters; he had done this many times and was always looking for this sort of situation. His methods were always very questionable, but even the police regarded squatters as vermin.
Bob had seized the opportunity when he heard of this bunch of dead beats living in a closed up hotel, and wasted not too much time looking down the lists in the town hall to discover the owner. A discreet phone call informed him that the owner, a Mr Ron Williams, was mightily pissed off at his unwelcome guests, so Bob immediately arranged a meeting with the man, and at 10am on a bright sunny morning Bob was ushered into the hotelier’s office.
“Looks like you need me,” Bob grinned. “I reckon you could do with your hotel back, you must be more than a bit grumpy with a pile of money like that locked up. After all, you can do sod all with that hotel while you have squatters in there. You need them out and you need them out with no fuss.”
Mr Williams sat quietly for a minute, his gold tooth glinting in the morning sunshine that streamed through the office window. With his grey hair and smart suit, he looked quite dignified. “You’re a cheeky bastard, but I like your style. Yes you are quite right, I do want them out but I don’t need any drama; I really don’t need any fuss with the law. The legal eagles reckon it will take some time to get them out but it can be done. Perhaps I should just bide my time and just be content to work within the law”.
“Bollocks!” said Bob. “You don’t look that green, you’ve got too much money to be stupid, you need them out like yesterday.” Bob glared at him across the desk. “It’s a hotel and summer will be come and gone before they are, and the loss of summer trade will cost a small fortune, not to mention the cost of all those suits in court, AND you may lose.” Bob sat quietly and waited whilst the man contemplated his navel.
“There is also the fact that the guy with the hotel next door wants to expand and wants to buy your place to do it.”
The hotelier looked stunned. “Proper smart arse aren’t we?” he said.
“Did you want a tosser to work for you or someone who knows what they’re at?” asked Bob.
Williams nodded his head slowly and smiled. “Very true” said he, “I suppose I might just as well pay you as the legal crew. But I might pay you and then you let me down, you might not get them out.”
“You may well pay the legal boys a small fortune and they will let you down. You know what they’re like, they never want a quick result, they just want the arguing to go on so they can bleed you dry. You have not a clue how much you will pay, nor do you know if they will be successful. If they do succeed, when will they actually get these vagrants out so you can have your hotel back?”
Bob smiled as he was getting nearer to his punch line. “You might end up paying them and they still might not get your hotel back for you, you know how stupid British law is regarding squatters and their rights.”
Bob grinned. “Stop worrying.” he said. “This is what I will do for you. I will persuade them to leave and you will have no fuss. If they leave and you have had no stick from the boys in blue after seven days, you pay me.”
Bob paused for a moment and then continued. “If you get any drama, deny everything and I won’t be here asking for money.”
Bob waited whilst his words sank in and Williams had a few moments to consider before he continued. “I need a little more time to dig out the information I need, then I think I can look at moving them on in about five days from now. That would leave you with a hotel that you could do as you like with by about the twenty-sixth of the month.” Bob sat on the corner of Williams’s desk and nonchalantly said, “Remember, no win, no fee. Just like they say on the telly.” He chuckled at his own wit.
Williams sat quietly, chin resting on his chest, and did a quick calculation about when he could move forward with the rest of the deal. He looked at Bob, “You'll want paying of course.”
“Of course. No drama, and the job done quickly and neatly. You pay on completion. You will pay me three grand seven days after they move out without fuss. You will pay CASH! There will be no excuses of any kind! There will not be a receipt from me either!”
Williams looked as though he was about to have a heart attack.
Bob continued after a moment. “Having reached the happy state of an empty hotel, you will need me to ‘baby sit’ the place for a week or three just to make sure it stays empty, and that will cost you £500 a week extra.”
Williams remained silent but the calculating look was back in his eye.
“You might want to have a ‘baby sitter’ for a little longer until you get some staff moved in, or until you sell to that nice man next door.” suggested Bob.
Williams spent a little time arguing the price with Bob, but Bob had thought long and hard about what the job was worth. Put the price too high and the proposal would not get serious consideration, too low and Bob would be working too cheap. Bob had considered every move that Williams might make before going to see him.
Williams finally agreed, “O.K. then, £3000 cash and five hundred a week to look after it until I can put my own man in and with a little luck the squatters will be out next week”.
Bob rose from his seat and sauntered round the desk. He stood close to Williams, and looked down on the man as Williams looked up at the towering hulk of Bob. “Just in case you are wondering,” said Bob, “don’t get any ideas that you will avoid paying me when I’ve done my thing. Nobody avoids paying me, ever. Do you understand me?”
Williams’s neck was hurting, it was a long way to look up, and yes, he could see Bob’s 225 pounds of muscle and his point of view.
“O.K.” said Bob heading for the office door. “I’ll be in touch in a few days just to make sure you haven’t changed your mind. If you change your mind after that, I shall charge you £100 per day for mucking me about”.
“Give me your ’phone number before you go.” asked Williams.
“Piss off” said Bob as he left.

DAYS LATER

Roxanne was nice and warm and comfortable in bed but figured that if she didn’t get up, she might starve. The worst thing about being a squatter was the shortage of food. ‘Christ almighty!’ she thought, ‘I’ll bet no one’s ever seen a fat squatter.’
It was great not having Ma and Pa around to say ‘don’t do this, don’t do that’. She could smoke a reefer, or screw as much as she liked, screw the lot of them. All her mates were still going to school and here she was living the life of a ‘grown up’ It was usually her who was getting screwed, it was almost as if she was born with a healthy sexual appetite. She certainly had one now and didn’t seem to mind if it was Alan or the boy sleeping alongside her, Kevin who was doing the screwing. “Of low moral fibre” her probation officer had said; trollop was the word used by her father. ‘Fuck ‘em!’ she thought.
She didn’t fancy Tom. He might be the leader of the little group, but she wasn’t going to do ‘it’ with him, he was much too full of himself, whereas Kevin was twenty, and whilst she thought him a bit old, he knew how to do things to a girl.
She reached a hand out to her side and felt Kevin; he was as usual, erect and ready to climb aboard at the slightest encouragement. She opened one eye and took in the scene around her. God, the room was a mess, they had moved from one room to another, but each time it got too scruffy to live in, even by their low standards, they just moved to another room.
Roxanne looked across to where Caroline sat smoking and watching. Caroline had the air of a woman of the world, and at twenty seemed old to Emma. ‘Another few years and that could be me.’ she thought. Roxanne’s friend Emma was sitting with Caroline, quietly searching through Caroline’s ‘shopping’ looking to see what Caroline might have ‘acquired’ on her morning trip. Sometimes Emma went along with Caroline but only watched, never thieved anything.
“Go on then, wake him up and give him one, we need the entertainment, we’re bored.” said Caroline. Emma giggled
Roxanne released Kevin from her grasp. By now he had a king sized erection but he just got unlucky. Roxanne didn’t mind being watched at times, especially if she was stoned, but this early in the morning she just didn’t fancy an audience.
“Got any food?” she asked.
“Yea! I managed to thieve a bit, I was out bloody early to get it though and I’ve only just got back. You should try it some time, getting up early that is.”
“Fuck off!” retorted Roxanne. “You’re starting to sound like my mum.”
“Keep your temper”, said a voice that belonged to Alan.
Handsome Alan, who was no great shakes in bed, was sitting by the window watching the rain. Emma thought he was nice to be with, but still needed to learn how to please a girl.
Roxanne raised herself onto one elbow and looked over her shoulder at Colin who was busy studying a comic that he had scrounged from somewhere. ‘I thought he couldn’t read.’ reflected Roxanne, ‘He’s a bit thick, he can probably just about cope with the pictures so long as they have naked women in them.’
“Where’s Tom?” she asked.
“Dunno, he’s around somewhere, why?” said Alan.
“Well, I’m getting up in a minute and I don’t like him looking at me when I’ve got no clothes on. He always looks at me like he wants to shag me.”
“What’s your problem? The rest of us do, shag you that is.” Alan laughed at his own wit.
There were other members of the group sitting around, nobody seemed to give a damm about privacy and the bedroom just seemed to be one more meeting place
………………………………………………………………

Bob got out of the little car, reached into the back for his coat and quickly slipped into it, making sure it was zipped up after he had stuffed the base-ball bat down the front. He was carrying his crash helmet, and his gloves were in his pocket, with his polythene shopping bag in the other hand. He crossed the road and went quickly but quietly down the alley alongside the hotel.
He soon reached the door that the squatters had originally forced open to ease their passage. He fitted his crash helmet, put on his gloves, rescued the baseball bat from down the front of his jacket and pulled the zip back up to close himself off from the world. He was now armoured as well as anyone could get without resorting to a bulletproof vest or a tin suit!
He opened the door and entered the hotel. He found that he was in the kitchen lobby and moved forward through the kitchens proper. Just as he expected, these vermin had turned the place into a slum. He heard voices in the distance, upstairs probably, but very faint. He elected not to be rushed, and carefully searched the downstairs first. The bar was a disaster area. There would have been no booze here when this bunch arrived, maybe it was just because they had a bar room mentality that they had used it as a social gathering point. Now it was in a mess like this, they would have chosen another social centre rather than clean up behind them.
He made his way very quietly up the stairs, keeping to the sides of the staircase to minimize any tell-tale creaks. He really wanted to surprise them all, preferably all in the same room at the same time. He wondered if he could get that lucky. He moved very quietly now; this was a three-story hotel of around fifteen bedrooms, not one of the mega giants, so the squatters would never be that far away. He turned right at the top of the stairs, as he had figured that whilst animal instinct would make them seek the high ground, perhaps they would be too lazy to go all the way to the top of the building.
The first room he went into showed signs of occupation, with an unmade, filthy bed, bottles of soft drink and remnants of stale food lying around. A discarded feminine tee shirt and a pair of briefs told him that this was a female’s room. He wondered momentarily about this bunch, a female sleeping on her own didn’t seem natural to him but he knew that of the squatters that he had seen, two were girls of around fifteen years and one about eighteen and the fourth around twenty. The remaining five were a fairly pathetic bunch of young men, but there were five of them and if they were brave enough to put on a united front, maybe Bob would have a problem. He doubted that this would be the case. Perhaps this room belonged to the younger element. God knows what her parents would think of this lot if they could see it.
He went out into the corridor and silently moved on to the next room, listening all the time. The crowd of squatters seemed to be all in a room at the rear of the building where they would draw less attention to themselves. The nearby toilets and the fact that the fire escape was on that side of the hotel would also make that room attractive to them.
Bob paused outside the room and took a deep breath. He reminded himself that this was all just a game of confidence. He had to appear more confident than them in order to win. Let’s face it, he had more to win than they had to lose; that was the way he saw it! Odds of around ten to one didn’t tell the whole story!
Bob felt the adrenaline rushing around his body. These things were always exciting, well, he thought so. He looked down at the carrier bag with it’s bit of quick match showing over the edge.
He had spent enough time practicing and knew that he would have three seconds between lighting the fuse and all hell breaking loose. He lit the fuse, dropped the matches, changed the bag to the right hand, opened the door with his left and launched the packet into the room and slammed the door shut.
One second was all he had to wait before the fuse reached the explosive package.
Roxanne, still leaning on one elbow, saw the door open and the package fly through it. Just for a moment, she wondered what kind of a gag one member of their little band was pulling before Armageddon was here.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
One huge kick at the door and it flew open. Bob passed through it like an invading monster stepping into hell!
The room was thick with acrid smoke and the girls were screaming. The boys were in disarray, and in a totally stunned state.
Just for an instant Bob must have looked like ‘Robocop!’ He grinned as only Bob can. “O.K. guys, is everybody awake now?” He shouted in an effort to be heard over the crying of the girls.
Bob looked at them. ‘What a pathetic bunch of individuals,’ he thought. He could take in three of the girls at a glance and four guys. That left two unaccounted for. There were a few beer cans lying around and Bob thought that he had interrupted a drinking session judging by the smell. One of the boys was in bed and the youngest of the girls was with him. Bob pondered that perhaps they don’t mind an audience! The whole gang looked stunned!
“What do you want?” asked one of the boys, slowly regaining his composure.
“I want you lot out and bloody quick about it!” said Bob.
“Sod off!” said the brave one stepping up closer to Bob, while one of the other lads made a move to follow his pal.
Bob heard a slight creak of a floorboard behind him. Suddenly, without warning, Bob punched the larger of the boys just above the heart, very hard. Without waiting to see the result, he rotated a few degrees to the left and dealt a similar blow to his companion, despite the body that had leapt onto his back and was now trying to get an arm around his neck. Bob almost ran backwards until he ran into the wall. This was the irresistible force meeting the immoveable object. Bob’s sixteen stone frame had used whoever was on his back as a battering ram in an endeavour to demolish the wall!
There was a groan and a crash as the latecomer fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Bob looked at him and surveyed the other two challengers before he decided that his problems were over.
“Bastard!” sobbed the elder girl, whilst her younger co-squatter burst into tears. The other young man looked about ready to fill his trousers with something unpleasant.
Bob’s confidence was growing rapidly; his three “victims” were paying attention but showing no sign of wanting to continue the fight.
“Sit down, shut up and listen.” said Bob. “You guys are on the move ’cos I want this hotel, so you lot are out and you are out NOW!” Bob studied them for a minute and considered his next move, which should avoid a lot of problems.
The pathetic group of squatters took a few minutes to gather their wits and eventually they were ready for the next stage of Bob’s plan.
“This is what I’ll do just to prove I’m not a total bastard.” said Bob quietly. “I’m going to give you the address of another squat and a hundred quid to go with it. It looks to me as though you could all do with a good dinner, at least you’ll be able to buy one then.”
Bob spent some time explaining that he had somewhere else for them to stay, and that he would give them £50 now and the same again a week later providing that they stayed away from the ‘Caribbean Hotel.’
The alternative was that they could all go to hospital after Bob had handed out a severe beating to each of them. “Anyone want to argue about it? No? Good! So you’ve got ten minutes to pack and when you leave, one of you can wait in the street for any absent friends so you can redirect them.”
Bob accepted no protest nor looked like he wanted to take any prisoners. He knew it was important to dominate the situation totally.
A short while later when the pathetic little party had assembled at the back door of the hotel clutching their plastic bags, Bob appeared waving a small handful of money. He singled out the leader of this pathetic group of vagrants and gave him a fierce glare.
“What’s your name?” asked Bob.
“Tom.” was the sullen reply.
Bob held out a handful of notes. “There’s fifty quid Tom, the others have seen me give it to you so you don’t get it all to yourself, you’re to share it. Got that have you?
Tom took the money “Don’t forget to share it out, don’t forget what I said about not coming back and I’ll see you at your new squat next week with the rest of the money, providing you all stay away and stay quiet, OK? Now push off!”
Bob went back inside and spent a short while rummaging round the hotel. What a bloody mess they had made, no respect for anyone else’s property. God knows where some of this stuff had come from, they had obviously been doing some shoplifting and general thievery to eke out a meagre existence. The very idea of working never occured to them.
Bob spent a moment to consider his own work, £3000 to get them out plus possibly three weeks at £500 to keep them out, less the hundred quid he’d given them (a wise choice he thought), would leave him with around £4400 for his efforts and the tax inspectors would get none of it. Good game, he thought.
He started a more careful look through all the stuff the squatters had abandoned, and collected together some of the more interesting items, while one corner of his mind considered what he might do with it all.
Some would be left for the official clean up squad and some he would “liberate” for his own use later, like perhaps the passport and one or two other “goodies” that included a couple of pre-pay mobile phones. He assembled a large box of oddments that he felt he could afford to take home, and a similar box that would be better off in his storage unit that was untraceable to him. The rest he would leave to the owner. Let him have the decision of how to dispose of it. If it goes wrong, Bob can always blame Ron Williams! He just had to watch his back very carefully.
Bob dumped his two boxes of ‘goodies’ into the alley at the side of the hotel, and making sure that he could get in the official way (the front door) he then secured the side door through which the squatters had gained entrance, before chucking the boxes in his car and driving away to his private little store.
It was an hour later that a now beaming Bob sat at home with a drink in his hand, having a little celebration all on his own. His ‘naughty bits’ were stored in his discreet lock-up, his ‘safe bits’ were at the back of the house in his little workshop, and now it was time to pick up the phone and tell Williams the good news!

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