Читать книгу For Evil to Flourish - Dubya Ph.D Lorimer - Страница 5

It would probably be fair to say that James Wellington, Member of Parliament, was unlikely to ever regard this evening as one of the high spots of his political career. He surveyed the venue with a jaundiced eye, taking in the public hall of a drab, grey civic centre, built back in the days when a weather stained concrete block was considered the very pinnacle of architectural design.

A thing of beauty, to be admired for generations to come.

Not.

Tonight it hosted a community forum where members of the public could voice their concerns about local issues to Wellington, Council Chairman Raymond Eades, Superintendent Alex Campbell and community police officer, P.C. Amrita Bachchan.

With government cutbacks affecting so many local jobs and services, Wellington was finding himself to be the whipping boy this evening, berated for every unpopular decision the government had made recently.

In an attempt to shift the focus to more popular initiatives, he made much of the plans to come down hard on the dole cheats and others abusing the benefits system in order to free up funds for the genuinely needy in the area, but even this was not received with the enthusiasm he was accustomed to from the party faithful.

His mood took a further nosedive when he saw the next speaker get to his feet.

Keith Boswell was his arch-rival. Both men had trained as lawyers before entering the political arena, though Wellington's firm had always pursued a considerably more affluent client base than Boswell, who took pride in the fact that he was more likely to represent those receiving legal aid.

The latter had previously held the position of local MP currently occupied by Wellington, and his narrow defeat following a recount clearly still rankled, adding to the antipathy between the pair.

But Wellington didn't just dislike Boswell because of his political views, or the fact that he was younger, taller and better looking, (Wellington had been known to sneer that Boswell was caught in a love triangle between himself, a television camera and a sun bed).

And it wasn't that he was infuriated by the fact that Boswell revelled in his self-proclaimed status as “The people's champion”, “Fighting on behalf of the poor and the weak and the discriminated against”.

Whether they wanted him to or not.

No, it was the fact that Boswell seemed to have a particular issue with Wellington, and never, ever missed an opportunity to have a personal dig at him, taking great delight in portraying him as the very epitome of capitalist greed and selfishness that made his blood boil.

'Here we go again, another Marxist rant about the poor and oppressed' he muttered to Superintendent Campbell, who was sitting on his left.

Tall and cadaverous, and with a polished dome, the Superintendent's oversized ears had inevitably led to the nickname of Wingnut amongst his men. He gave no sign whatsoever that he had even heard the remark.

As much a bloody politician as any of us, thought Wellington sourly, as Boswell began to address the meeting.

'I think we can understand James Wellington's obsession with criminalising these single mothers who failed to disclose a couple of hours working in a shop or pub to buy a few Christmas presents for her kids.'

'Or the widow letting out a room on the quiet to try to eke out her pension so that she can eat, and heat the house.'

'After all, these leeches, these...... vile parasites, are costing the country, what is it again?........ about a billion pounds a year!'

'Of course we should be throwing the book at these scavengers,' he continued, allowing more than a hint of sarcasm to creep into his tone, ' They're just a bunch of damned thieves!'

'Oh yes, I think we can imagine James' supporters in the leafy suburbs, husband and wife sitting in their designer kitchen, reading the morning paper, and being totally indignant when they read about some guy on disability allowance who 'forgot' to mention that he was fit to go back to work again.'

'A damned disgrace', they'll say, (mimicking a posh accent) 'As taxpayers,that's our money he's stealing!'

A baleful glance up at Wellington on the platform.

'They conveniently forget, of course, that since he started his small company, his wife has been paid a healthy salary as a 'secretary' while barely working a handful of days a year, her car is paid for by the company, the main shopping is done at the cash & carry, paid by the company credit card, they put a computer on a desk in the spare room so they can call it an office and claim household bills as business expenses.......'

Wellington was trying to protest that all that was irrelevant to the purpose of tonight's meeting, but Boswell was not for stopping.

'...... sticking as much of the pre-tax profits into their personal pension schemes as they can get away with, while of course, the two weeks in the Caribbean is claimed as a 'business trip', taking friends to the rugby, or a spa hotel is claimed as 'corporate entertaining', the horse box taking the kids to the gymkhana is claimed as a 'delivery truck' and the yacht goes through the books as a bulldozer or something like that!

It turns out that these pillars of society are, according to the Inland Revenue, costing the honest taxpayers amongst us tens of billions,' He paused for effect, 'Yes, that's tens of billions of pounds more in unpaid and “avoided” tax than the so-called scroungers at the bottom of the heap, and yet what does James Wellington intend to do about this “respectable” and “acceptable” form of theft?',

'Not a damned thing, because they are the people keeping him in his job, and the last thing they want is to change a system which blatantly favours the 'haves' over the 'have nots'!'

He sat down to a very satisfying round of applause while Wellington struggled to be heard as he tried to point out that guidelines regarding taxable expenses were currently being reviewed, and that entrepreneurs had to be encouraged and supported in order to promote growth and create employment. But Boswell was already back on his feet.

'I'm simply pointing out that a perfectly fair, valid and justifiable system has been so widely abused that many in the business community don't even believe that they are doing anything wrong.

It is fundamentally unfair that the pay of the ordinary man or woman on the street has been taxed before they see it, after which they pay household bills, and then they may try to run a car, and if they're lucky, there's may be something left over for a holiday. Most of these things will include secondary taxes, like VAT, fuel duty, etcetera.

Many businessmen, on the other hand, expect all of their household costs, cars, holidays, and anything else they can think of to be paid for before they start to pay any tax.'

'But you have to remember, Mister Boswell,' Wellington angrily retorted, 'That these people are creating the jobs that allows the man in the street to pay for a car or a holiday......'

'If you don't mind gentlemen!' interrupted Councillor Eades, 'Could I just remind you that we are here to discuss local concerns, not issues that can only be resolved at national level.'

The two political adversaries reluctantly backed off, and the meeting returned to more mundane matters.

Barely a mile from the civic centre, a couple in the back of a Porsche sports car untangled their limbs, and tried to get their breath back after their exertions in the confined space. She suddenly giggled.

'What is it?' he asked

'This is ridiculous at my age, in the back of a car for goodness sake!'

'Oh, feeling your age, are you? You must be older than I thought, what are you, forty five, fifty?'

'Pig! She poked him in the ribs. 'Nowhere near it!'

He chose not to say that he knew perfectly well she was forty one on March the twelfth.

After a moments silence he said,

'I'm sorry, but you know how it is, I have to be seen to be whiter than white, try not to give you-know-who any ammunition, at least until access to the kids is sorted.'

'It's okay. darling, I understand, especially with the problems at your office at the moment. I really wish you would at least let me help you there.'

'No!' Then realising he may have sounded a little harsh, he said,

'I'm sorry, but what we have is precious to me, I believe that this really could be a “Happy ever after” kind of thing, and somehow I don't want to risk....' He searched for the word, '...... tainting it by allowing my work to intrude. Especially as it could get you into trouble. We'll sort out the problems at work eventually'

He gave her a tired smile,

'I have a friend with a cottage we might be able to borrow, if you were interested?'

'I might be.' she answered coyly.

'We'll see what we can arrange then, shall we.'

She kissed him, a slow lingering kiss. He took that as a yes.

At the public meeting, Allan Ross felt he was slowly losing the will to live. The discussion had moved on to the condition of the local roads, after which every aspect of bin collection issues and pharmacy opening times had been argued over in considerable depth. Finally, though, they moved on to petty crime in the area, and he started to show an interest in proceedings.

Tall and fairly muscular, he had been brought up in the area, and was known to be handy with his fists. Not that he made a habit of starting fights, but he had been known to finish a few in his time. He therefore wasn't the type who worried much about being a target for muggers and the like. And when he walked round to the row of shops that some of the older people regarded as a no-go area because of the youths hanging around, he never had any trouble.

He didn't bother them, and they didn't dare bother him.

Nor did he regard vandalism or petty crime as much of a problem for him. Nowadays he lived in a private house in one of the nicer streets with wife Julie and their kids, Mandy and John. They had a garage at the side of the house, a nice sized garden and good neighbours. He pretended to himself that playing football for the Cross Keys pub football team on a Sunday afternoon kept him fit and healthy. Steady jobs for both Julie and himself meant they could afford a big television and holidays abroad. All in all, he was fairly content with his lot in life.

His parents, though, were a different story, still living in their old council house in Mill Street, with junkies and drunks and joyriders causing a regular nuisance in the area. He despaired sometimes at the tales they would tell him about break-ins and stabbings, gangs fighting in the street, of their fear of leaving the house at night.

Although he dreaded speaking in public, he stood up and waited his turn, until eventually Councillor Eades invited him to address the meeting.

'I'd like to know when the police and the council are going to do something to help the people in the Craigends area? My folks live in Mill Street, and they can't get peace to sleep at night for young ones riding motorbikes up and down the lane at the back of the house, fighting each other, and giving the old ones a hard time. Not to mention junkies leaving needles around and drunks spewing and crapping in the gardens.

The annoying thing is, if they do any thing to try and help themselves, they just get into trouble for it. A few weeks ago some of the neighbours got together, and built a gate across the back lane, with a key for every house in the street, so that only the ones who lived there could get in. Next thing someone from the council turned up, and tried to make them take it down because it was public land, which we managed to discover was a load of nonsense. And then the council said, “Well, you still have to take it down because it's blocking access to emergency vehicles.” Which is bullshit because it's too narrow and most of the time it's blocked anyway by kids running cars down it till they get jammed, and then they set light to them!'

When he paused for breath, Councillor Eades tried to interject, but Allan was having none of it.

'Then yesterday, two neds tried to break into a shed a couple of houses down from my folks. The guy from the house saw them, managed to grab one, and a neighbour helped to hold him down while he swore and squealed and kicked like an animal for the full half an hour it took for the police to bother to turn up, then, guess what, the police came back this morning and charged them with assault, and some crap about detaining a minor!

The fact is, the people living there are beginning to wonder whose side you lot are on exactly?'

He sat down breathless as everyone looked to the officials on stage.

Superintendent Campbell put on his most conciliatory face.

'Well, obviously I can't comment on an ongoing case, especially without hearing both sides,' he replied, But there is provision within the law for common sense to prevail, and I would hope this case could be resolved in a fair and just manner'

'Yeah, that'll bloody happen,' came a voice from the back,

'It'll be the same crap as usual, the muppets that cause the bother will get a slap on the wrist,and the victims will land in the shit!'

Suddenly, everyone seemed to have a tale of injustice they wanted to tell.

'That old guy down Cheapside Street, used to be a foreman with the council, Tom I think his name was, he were that fed up with kids climbing over his fence and wrecking his vegetable patch, he bought a dog. Next thing that happens, a kid climbs in, and gets bit in the arse, Tom got fined and the dog was put down!'

Another man was straight to his feet,

'What about the old retired guy who filmed someone vandalising his car, causing a couple of thousand quids worth of damage. When the old guy went out to confront this ned, he got a load of verbal abuse and pushed about, so he took a swing at him. Next thing, he finds himself up in court, charged with assault, criminal record, the works. And get this, a social worker came to the house to find out what compensation he could afford to pay this ned, out of his bloody pension! And believe it or not, even though he had been filmed causing the damage to the car, the ned still walked away with just a caution! You can't tell me that's justice.'

'That's like Gavin Ward,' a woman from the audience said, 'He caught someone using his ladder to climb in his window a few nights ago, and then was charged with assault for pushing him to the ground.'

Others told of teachers forced to resign over trivial incidents, of shopkeepers targeted because they wouldn't sell alcohol to teenagers, and similar stories of perceived injustice.

Finally, Allan stood again, put his arm in the air for attention.

'Just supposing I heard a noise downstairs during the night, go to have a look, and it turns out there's some guy inside heading my way. Now I know our John left his baseball bat at the top of the stairs, so I think, right pal, try coming up here, and you're getting it!

Thing is, I don't know if he has knife or something, or if there's maybe two or three of them in the house. I've got a wife and two kids to protect, and I'm scared if I warn him, it'll give him the chance to get the better of me. So I wait nice and quiet like, then I hit him as hard as I can! What happens then if he ends up in a coma? Or dead even? Am I going to prison for defending my family and my property?'

Superintendent Campbell considered his question gravely.

'My advice,in that situation, would be to make plenty of noise to let him know you're aware of his presence, chances are he'll not hang around to be caught, and, of course, phone the police. A confrontation is never a good.......'

'Phone the police!..... down the Craigends you'd be as well sending a letter, the time it takes your lot to get there!' shouted a voice from the back of the hall.

Campbell tried again,

'I can understand the anger, the urge to take the law into your own hands but it is in everybody's interest to let us do the job we're trained for.'

The man who mentioned the dog biting the youth spoke again,

'At our work, we can't go for a crap without a risk assessment and a safe method of work statement....... In triplicate.' There was a ripple of laughter.

'Now, I'm not suggesting that our burglar has done quite the same thing, but he has assessed the job, and decided the risk of getting caught or hurt isn't high enough to stop him,'

'And he must know there's a chance of getting hurt because you can guarantee, if someone broke into his house, they would get an almighty hammering! So why should we have any sympathy for anyone who deliberately chooses to put themselves in that position?'

Another man spoke up.

'There's some off these junkies, they're so off their heads you just couldn't afford to take a chance with the nutters.' There was a murmur of assent from the audience.

Allan spoke directly to his local MP.

'What about you, Mr Wellington, would you support or condemn someone who injured a burglar in their own home?'

'Clearly I could never condone the use of excessive force in these circumstances, but I would support anyone the courts felt were acting reasonably. However, a point I would make is the commitment this government is making towards the causes of crime, mainly poverty, particularly amongst the youth of today.

By eliminating the hardship many youngsters face, we can steer them away from a life of crime, reducing the probability of the kind of situation you describe occurring.' Keith Boswell jumped to his feet.

'What would you know about hardship among the young?'

'You lived a life of privilege, and didn't even know it. You probably thought everyone went to private school like all your friends, neighbours and relatives, with your skiing holidays and your trips abroad, your tutors to make sure you got to university.....'

'This has got nothing to do with my upbringing...' Wellington was trying to say.

Boswell ploughed on,

'Or if you didn't make it to university, one of daddy's friends would find a cushy job for you at their firm. The chances are that the only person you ever met who lived in a council house was the cleaner or the gardener! And yet you think you can empathise with some kid growing up on a tough estate in a household where nobody has a job! The nearest thing to hardship you ever experienced was a bad zit before a hot date, and yet, for the kids who have nothing, you even took away the slim chance they may have had to go to university. Took away the chance to make a better future for themselves, by increasing tuition fees beyond the reach of all but the middle classes.

At least some of us here have an idea about dealing with hardship, some of us know what it's like to scrape down the back of the sofa for a few pence to buy a loaf of cheap bread and a tin of beans......'

Wellington was now rolling his eyes in mock despair, infuriating Boswell even more,

'Oh yes, you can laugh Mr Wellington, the MP who had the brass neck to claim expenses for the cost of a landscaper to plant a flowerbed in his front garden displaying his party's logo in blooms! And you still seriously expect us to trust you, of all people, to do the best for our kids! I don't think so.'

'I would point out that I paid back every penny of that expenses claim.' Wellington protested.

Allan Ross decided that he had heard enough.

'This lot would put tits on a milk bottle.' he muttered under his breath before getting up to leave. As he headed for the door Chalky Whiteside caught his eye, made the universal sign for “Fancy a pint”, Allan nodded and they headed for the door together.