Dead Joe — The Legend Builds

Me and Kes were on tea break at work. Dagenham docks. A right hole of a place. It stank of oil, wood and damp air. We had Larry Roberts with us. Our shift supervisor.

—You fuckers gonna finish tha’ off-load tonight or wha’?

—Yeah, if I can keep me forks for long enough, said Kes.

—Wha’ d’yer mean?

—Fuckers from dispatch keep comin’ over, wantin’ to use me counterbalance.

—Do they? Tell ’em to piss off. I said so.

—Righ’, I will.

—Do it, yer gotta get them trailers emptied. Mornin’ shift ’ave to hook ’em up and get the buggers out of ’ere.

—Righ’, no bother, Larry.

—Did yer see tha’ newbie on dispatch?

—Oh yeah, Larry, the big bugger? I said.

—Yeah, ’im. Fuckin’ oddball or wha’?

—Ask ’im where the bodies are buried, Kes laughed.

—’Ere lads, while I’ve got yers.

We waited. I had no idea what was coming. But Larry was looking a bit twitchy.

—Yer know the way management are restructuring an’ tha’?

We both said nothing. We looked at him, waiting for the next bit.

—Well, I’ve told ’em you two are a good partnership. So, as it stands, you’re gonna be the only full-timers.

—Wha’? Kes was staring at him.

—Yeah. Everyone else is either gettin’ laid off or offered part-time.

—Why, Larry? I asked.

—What d’yer think, lad? We ain’t doin’ well. They need to cut costs.

—Wha’ abou’ the shifts?

—They’re gonna bin ’em. Have you pair workin’ 07:00 to 16:30.

—Tha’s a contract change, Larry, I said.

—Yeah, top marks to the fuckin’ genius over there. You’ll get new contracts—

—New contracts ’ave to be negotiated, said Kes.

—Yeah? Yer wanna try tha’, do yer? ’Ere’s ’ow it would go. Accept your new contract. Or fuck off.

—Blimey.

—No chance of a pay rise, then? I knew the answer.

—Fuck off, Alfie. Yer lucky to still ’ave a job.

We all said nothing for a while. Munched our sandwiches and drank our brews. Then Kes walloped the table, making me and Larry jump.

—Fuck it! I’ve got it!

—Wha’? I asked.

—I know who that new bloke on dispatch reminds me of.

—Who?

—Dead Joe.

Larry did a sharp intake of breath.

—Do you pair know ’im, do yer?

—We see ’im around, said Kes.

—Yeah? Steer clear. Tha’d be my advice.

—Why, Larry? I asked.

—I’ve ’eard things about ’im. He ain’t all what he seems. Let’s put it tha’ way.

—Seems alrigh’ to me.

—Yeah, but Alfie, you’re a fuckin’ soft lad, ain’t yer? Trust me. Steer clear of ’im.

We both nodded. I already knew I wasn’t going to. I was even more intrigued now.

—D’yer know anythin’ about ’im, Larry?

—Well, Alfie, lad, I know this: the story goes tha’ the bloke is fuckin’ lethal. They reckon he’s ex-army or summat.

—Righ’. Go on, Kes was fixated on Larry.

—Well, some nobhead junkie stopped ’im and tried to take his wallet. Dead Joe told him to fuck off.

Larry paused. Took a sip of his tea.

—The junkie pulled a blade. Dead Joe grabbed it, stuck it straight in the junkie’s eye. Then walked off, calm as yer like.

—Is tha’ true?

Larry shrugged.

—It’s wha’ I’ve ’eard. Like I said, stay away from ’im.

Then he scowled at us both.

—Talkin’ of which, stay away from tha’ new lass in the office an’ all. Tha’ Kimberley one. She don’t need the likes o’ yer pair letchin’ at ’er.

—Fuck off, Larry. As if we would, Kes was grinning.

—I’m tellin’ ya. She is the niece of one of the directors.

—Ooh, even better. A bird wi’ money. ’As she got a nice car?

—Kes, fuck off. I’m tellin’ ya.

—You jus’ want to do all the letchin’ yerself, Larry.

—There’ll be no letchin’. Now, drink yer brews and get back to work.

Me? I was thinking about Dead Joe. And a junkie with a knife in his eye.