Essex Boy by Steve 'Nipper' Ellis; Bernard O'Mahoney

road. I had decided to drive to a gym and pull up in the car park where I knew there would be several witnesses to whatever occurred thereafter.
    When I eventually stepped out of the car, a police officer handcuffed me and informed that I was under arrest for wounding with intent, robbery and aggravated burglary. I made no reply and was taken to a police station where I found Tate occupying the bench in front of the desk where suspects are processed.
    ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Tate called out. ‘Say fuck all, Nipper, the best brief that money can buy is already on his way down here.’
    We both denied the allegations and were bailed to reappear at the police station in two weeks so that an identity parade could be arranged. The officer in charge of the case had wanted it to take place much sooner but finding several men of Tate’s size and stature at short notice proved to be impossible.
    That night we sent people to Rob’s house to talk to him about the health issues giving evidence against us would raise, but they were informed by neighbours that he was under police protection at a secret location. Undeterred, we decided to apprehend and educate Rob when he attended the identity parade. Two hours before we were due at the police station Tucker, who had insisted on involving himself, parked his car where he could see everybody that came and went. Tate parked his car near to the police car park entrance and I parked my vehicle adjacent to the exit. Confident that we would be able to trap Rob when he left the police station, Tate and I went inside to take part in what we thought would almost be a formality.
    Anybody who met Tate would remember him; he was certainly the biggest man I have ever seen in my life. It wasn’t so much his height, it was his sheer body mass. Without hesitation Rob identified Tate as the man who had assaulted him but he failed to pick me out of the line-up. I can only assume that Rob wasn’t able to focus after Tate’s first punch had landed. Even if he had, I am sure that the television set being wrapped around his head would have played havoc with his memory. When we left the police station, Tucker was waving manically and pointing to a vehicle that was exiting the car park. Realising that the driver was Rob, Tate and I ran to our vehicles and sped after him down the street. Soon we were hurtling along the A12 towards Colchester. Rob by this time was aware that we were following him. I could see his head turning around to look at us in an almost pecking motion and then back to navigate the road ahead. I tried to overtake him but he made a sharp left and disappeared up an exit slip road. Tucker and Tate managed to turn off and continued to pursue Rob into Colchester town centre.
    As Tucker and Tate were forced to slow down in the traffic several police cars boxed them in and ordered them from their vehicles. They both denied chasing anybody and said that they were visiting the town for lunch.
    ‘You know that we know the score, so get in your cars, turn around and disappear,’ one officer told them.
    That same week, Tate, Tucker and I were contacted by Rob’s brother-in-law, who asked us to meet him at a local gym. He explained that Rob was truly sorry for ringing the police but he had only done so because he thought that he was going to be killed. As for robbing Adele, it was total nonsense. They had agreed a fee for her services but later she had demanded more and snatched Rob’s money from his wallet. Rob had grabbed Adele’s mobile phone and simply said that she could have it back when the money that she had stolen had been returned.
    ‘He’s terrified, he thinks he’s going to die. If he drops the charges and disappears, will you please promise not to look for him?’ Rob’s brother-in-law pleaded.
    Tate pretended to think about the proposal for some time, and after muttering, ‘I don’t know’ several times to himself, he finally agreed to spare Rob’s life. Almost weeping