by the two huge warders as he stood in the dock to hear the charges against him.
The day went badly. The witnesses for the prosecution were wheeled out and led through their carefully rehearsed evidence. The driver of the hijacked truck, his mate whoâd been badly beaten, bystanders and coppers. The evidence was overwhelming. It should have been a simple job. Something the chaps could deal with blindfolded. The Mail were stupid. They never learned that everywhere there were sharp eyes watching for cash on the move. Sharp eyes that saw a pattern and sold to the likes of Eddie. The vans moved thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands of pounds to branch post offices every Thursday morning in front of the weekend, where the public cashed in their giros and pensions at the counter, even though The Mail pleaded with them to have the money transferred direct to their bank accounts. In London a lot of people didnât have bank accounts, even in this day and age. Besides, they liked to feel the crinkle of cash in the purse or pocket, so money was always flying around in big red armoured trucks. But armour is only as strong as its weakest part. And the weakest parts were always the humans inside the vehicles. Underpaid and often resentful, they were the links in the chain that parted easiest. But for once the human was more resentful of the robbers than his employers, and he paid dearly for his loyalty.
âIt was only fucking money,â said Eddie, after the event. âJust print some more. Anyway it wasnât his dough. Silly cunt.â The silly cunt in question being the driverâs mate, a young man from Camden Town named Billy Liquorice.
The armoured van was driving down The Great West Road when three motors joined it. In front went first, a Ford Cosworth for the getaway driven by Robbo, a white Transit truck driven by Eddie, to block the road, with Joseph literally riding shotgun armed with an AK47, and behind, a Bedford tow truck to rip off the back doors with Connie at the wheel. All four had Tony Blair plastic masks hanging round their necks, and at the pre-arranged spot all four pulled them up over their faces. At 9:10 precisely Eddie slammed on the brakes of the Transit and cut the Mail van off as Joseph jumped out and pointed the machine gun at the windscreen of the van. âSwitch off,â he screamed and fired a single shot at the engine compartment, as Connie spun the tow truck round in a tight circle. A woman in a Range Rover behind him tooted her horn, but at the sight of Tony Blair glaring back at her, and the sound of the shot she dived into the passenger well of the SUV and stayed there.
Now, if all had gone smoothly, the driver and his mate would have been forced out of the van as Eddie connected the tow-truckâs hook to the handles on the back of the money wagon. But Billy Liquorice would have none of it. Even as the driver literally wet his trousers, Billy shoved him against the driverâs door, got behind the wheel, slammed the van into reverse and drove back into the tow truck, then attempted to by-pass the Transit. The armoured vehicle slammed into the back of the trannie and stalled, and Joseph switched the AK to full automatic and fired through the passenger door of the van. The glass was supposed to be bullet proof, but the AK was loaded with armour piercing bullets and the side window imploded, covering Billy with shards of glass which almost cut his throat. He was lucky a bullet didnât blow his head off. So was Eddie, as heâd have been up for murder instead of the charges he faced. The tow truck had been pushed back into the bonnet of the Range Rover with enough force to ram the steering wheel back and inflate both air bags, narrowly missing the driverâs face as she peered over the dashboard. Both radiators fractured sending clouds of steam into the morning air. When the gang heard sirens they abandoned the job, the trannie and the tow truck and made
The day went badly. The witnesses for the prosecution were wheeled out and led through their carefully rehearsed evidence. The driver of the hijacked truck, his mate whoâd been badly beaten, bystanders and coppers. The evidence was overwhelming. It should have been a simple job. Something the chaps could deal with blindfolded. The Mail were stupid. They never learned that everywhere there were sharp eyes watching for cash on the move. Sharp eyes that saw a pattern and sold to the likes of Eddie. The vans moved thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands of pounds to branch post offices every Thursday morning in front of the weekend, where the public cashed in their giros and pensions at the counter, even though The Mail pleaded with them to have the money transferred direct to their bank accounts. In London a lot of people didnât have bank accounts, even in this day and age. Besides, they liked to feel the crinkle of cash in the purse or pocket, so money was always flying around in big red armoured trucks. But armour is only as strong as its weakest part. And the weakest parts were always the humans inside the vehicles. Underpaid and often resentful, they were the links in the chain that parted easiest. But for once the human was more resentful of the robbers than his employers, and he paid dearly for his loyalty.
âIt was only fucking money,â said Eddie, after the event. âJust print some more. Anyway it wasnât his dough. Silly cunt.â The silly cunt in question being the driverâs mate, a young man from Camden Town named Billy Liquorice.
The armoured van was driving down The Great West Road when three motors joined it. In front went first, a Ford Cosworth for the getaway driven by Robbo, a white Transit truck driven by Eddie, to block the road, with Joseph literally riding shotgun armed with an AK47, and behind, a Bedford tow truck to rip off the back doors with Connie at the wheel. All four had Tony Blair plastic masks hanging round their necks, and at the pre-arranged spot all four pulled them up over their faces. At 9:10 precisely Eddie slammed on the brakes of the Transit and cut the Mail van off as Joseph jumped out and pointed the machine gun at the windscreen of the van. âSwitch off,â he screamed and fired a single shot at the engine compartment, as Connie spun the tow truck round in a tight circle. A woman in a Range Rover behind him tooted her horn, but at the sight of Tony Blair glaring back at her, and the sound of the shot she dived into the passenger well of the SUV and stayed there.
Now, if all had gone smoothly, the driver and his mate would have been forced out of the van as Eddie connected the tow-truckâs hook to the handles on the back of the money wagon. But Billy Liquorice would have none of it. Even as the driver literally wet his trousers, Billy shoved him against the driverâs door, got behind the wheel, slammed the van into reverse and drove back into the tow truck, then attempted to by-pass the Transit. The armoured vehicle slammed into the back of the trannie and stalled, and Joseph switched the AK to full automatic and fired through the passenger door of the van. The glass was supposed to be bullet proof, but the AK was loaded with armour piercing bullets and the side window imploded, covering Billy with shards of glass which almost cut his throat. He was lucky a bullet didnât blow his head off. So was Eddie, as heâd have been up for murder instead of the charges he faced. The tow truck had been pushed back into the bonnet of the Range Rover with enough force to ram the steering wheel back and inflate both air bags, narrowly missing the driverâs face as she peered over the dashboard. Both radiators fractured sending clouds of steam into the morning air. When the gang heard sirens they abandoned the job, the trannie and the tow truck and made
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