Heavy Duty People: The Brethren MC Trilogy book 1 by Iain Parke Page A
Authors: Iain Parke
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sticking a needle in his arm. The club was very tight on that. If we caught a member at it we’d break the spike off in his arm and kick him out. We didn’t want any junkies in the club. And so far, Gyppo had managed to hold off from scag although given the highs of his whizz habit and the lows it would produce I was starting to wonder whether he was smoking it to kill the pain.
I knew Sharon was becoming more and more worried about him. She and I stayed close, even after that evening. She told me a number of times that she was worried he was getting out of control. That he was using as much as he was dealing. That she was afraid he was going to hurt himself. Or someone else.
Crank makes you paranoid. Him and me both , I guess.
I don ’t think Sharon ever said anything to him about what I had said. And for the next three or four years after that night there was no change in our relationship. We rode, dealt, drank, smoked and fought together.
Through all of it Sharon watched Gyppo. She worried about him, we both did, but she was always there for him, except for that one last time.
She neve r nagged or whined, or tried to hold him back from doing anything that he wanted to do, however crazy or wild, not once. She rode pillion, never complaining as the speed madness took hold, or how stoned he was when riding. Her life was his. But occasionally, just occasionally, when he pushed it too far, when he came to the edge of going over the line, whether it was on the bike or drink or drugs, you could see the silent pain in her eyes and the clench of her fists curling into tight white balls.
We just couldn ’t stop you see. Gyppo and I shared the urge to roll the dice one more time, to double the stakes again each time we lost to see if we could win it all back, to ratchet up the odds just one more notch.
We always had to keep going. Until we went too far.
Meanwhile in the outside world, bike gangs were getting more serious. You only had to look at Canada, Australia or the Nordic bike wars to see that. The cops started to talk about all of us as some kind of Mafia, all into organised crime, international drug smuggling, all kinds of bullshit. At the same time, the big six were building internationally, extending their existing networks around the world by taking over local clubs. But even while this consolidation was going on there was still room for the independents, there was still a mix of local clubs like us and The Fellmen, as well as the international brands with their national charters like The Rebels and The Brethren.
But we could never stand still. There was always some pressure som ewhere and as the clubs to the south of us started to merge into The Hangmen covering all of Lancashire and South Cumbria and Dead Men Riding down in Yorkshire it became clear that we northern independent clubs had a choice to make. We would either combine into a regional club, or risk being picked off one by one by the expanding clubs eager for territory.
So in 1989, five years after first patching up, Tiny and Gyppo went for another ride to see Dazza. And this time I went along too.
*
We in The Reivers took the lead, but the merger message we brought to the other clubs made sense. There was survival in amalgamation into a regional club that would have the muscle to stand up to The Hangmen or Dead Men Riding if they looked to move North, in a way that we as individual clubs wouldn’t.
We had known the other clubs for years, other really than Butcher’s boys who by and large had kept themselves to themselves, so talks went quickly.
At the time I remember wondering if it wasn’t it a mistake on Dazza’s part, letting The Legion amalgamate, allowing a weaker group of clubs to come together to become stronger, to become numerically superior to The Brethren locally?
After all , the rules for staying top club locally seemed simple and self-evident enough. All Dazza had to do was to keep all the other clubs in the region weaker than
I knew Sharon was becoming more and more worried about him. She and I stayed close, even after that evening. She told me a number of times that she was worried he was getting out of control. That he was using as much as he was dealing. That she was afraid he was going to hurt himself. Or someone else.
Crank makes you paranoid. Him and me both , I guess.
I don ’t think Sharon ever said anything to him about what I had said. And for the next three or four years after that night there was no change in our relationship. We rode, dealt, drank, smoked and fought together.
Through all of it Sharon watched Gyppo. She worried about him, we both did, but she was always there for him, except for that one last time.
She neve r nagged or whined, or tried to hold him back from doing anything that he wanted to do, however crazy or wild, not once. She rode pillion, never complaining as the speed madness took hold, or how stoned he was when riding. Her life was his. But occasionally, just occasionally, when he pushed it too far, when he came to the edge of going over the line, whether it was on the bike or drink or drugs, you could see the silent pain in her eyes and the clench of her fists curling into tight white balls.
We just couldn ’t stop you see. Gyppo and I shared the urge to roll the dice one more time, to double the stakes again each time we lost to see if we could win it all back, to ratchet up the odds just one more notch.
We always had to keep going. Until we went too far.
Meanwhile in the outside world, bike gangs were getting more serious. You only had to look at Canada, Australia or the Nordic bike wars to see that. The cops started to talk about all of us as some kind of Mafia, all into organised crime, international drug smuggling, all kinds of bullshit. At the same time, the big six were building internationally, extending their existing networks around the world by taking over local clubs. But even while this consolidation was going on there was still room for the independents, there was still a mix of local clubs like us and The Fellmen, as well as the international brands with their national charters like The Rebels and The Brethren.
But we could never stand still. There was always some pressure som ewhere and as the clubs to the south of us started to merge into The Hangmen covering all of Lancashire and South Cumbria and Dead Men Riding down in Yorkshire it became clear that we northern independent clubs had a choice to make. We would either combine into a regional club, or risk being picked off one by one by the expanding clubs eager for territory.
So in 1989, five years after first patching up, Tiny and Gyppo went for another ride to see Dazza. And this time I went along too.
*
We in The Reivers took the lead, but the merger message we brought to the other clubs made sense. There was survival in amalgamation into a regional club that would have the muscle to stand up to The Hangmen or Dead Men Riding if they looked to move North, in a way that we as individual clubs wouldn’t.
We had known the other clubs for years, other really than Butcher’s boys who by and large had kept themselves to themselves, so talks went quickly.
At the time I remember wondering if it wasn’t it a mistake on Dazza’s part, letting The Legion amalgamate, allowing a weaker group of clubs to come together to become stronger, to become numerically superior to The Brethren locally?
After all , the rules for staying top club locally seemed simple and self-evident enough. All Dazza had to do was to keep all the other clubs in the region weaker than
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