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<blockquote data-quote="Eccles" data-source="post: 5798441" data-attributes="member: 5675"><p>The next witness, Jane Frobisher, lived with her husband in a farm three miles out on the other side of Beccles. As Mills drove the van through the centre of the town, there was an alarmed yelp from Norman in the makeshift laboratory in the back. He was pressed up against one of the small side windows, teeth gritted and staring fixedly at something they were driving past.</p><p></p><p>Looking out of her side, Morag could see nothing all that unusual. They were driving past a small supermarket. “What is it?”</p><p></p><p>“Clowns,” Norman managed through clenched teeth.</p><p></p><p>“Clowns?” Looking through the window she could see two clowns handing out fliers outside the supermarket; one incredibly short, the other almost impossibly tall. </p><p></p><p>“Clowns...” Norman’s teeth were now grinding tightly together as he stared out of the window in the back of the van at the two lozenge-patterned strangers. His mind span back in time…</p><p></p><p><em>“Daddy! No!” Little Norman isn’t able to reach the catch in the gate to open the chain-fence as the big red rubber mallet swung again, spinning his father around and dropping him to the floor.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>More and more big-haired round-nosed men poured out of the tiny car, adding their massive long-shod feet to the mass of people stamping and kicking at his father on the ground.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Little Norman could only watch, cry, and listen to the triumphant honking of horns and the terrible constant laughing of the clowns…</em></p><p></p><p>“Clowns. B*stards. I hate them.” The small voice hissed from Norman like an angry cat.</p><p></p><p>Neither of the two in the front of the van noticed him, of course. Mills didn’t seem to care about the clowns at all, and was glancing repeatedly into the rear-view mirrors and muttering to himself.</p><p></p><p>“Can’t be,” he was saying and looking once again. “What could they be doing here of all places?”</p><p></p><p>“Who?” Morag was clearly more interested in the muttering ex-sergeant than whatever breakdown Norman was having in the back of the van. </p><p></p><p>“The black Beemer two cars back,” replied Mills. “They’re boys from London I recognise. A couple of Billy’s lads.”</p><p></p><p>“Billy Bricks?” Morag was aghast as she named one of the most infamous family heads of London’s gangster community. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah,” grunted Mills. “I ran with him back in the day, but he’s not a friend any more.”</p><p></p><p>Morag watched the BMW in the wing mirror and saw that it was now directly behind their van, and Mills was slowing as he approached the lights at a junction. In the passenger seat of the car, gesturing wildly at the back of the van was a familiar looking man with one wrist in a sling and half a dozen pale plasters all over his face from the cuts he’d suffered as he had jumped through the window of the Travelodge.</p><p></p><p>“Why are you slowing down? Surely we want to leave these two behind? And wait – you mean that guy in the hotel was a thug? Oh shi - -”</p><p></p><p>She was pressed into her seat by the acceleration as the lights went red and the BMW was left behind them. There was a squeal of tyres on tarmac as the dark car behind them tried to pull out in time, followed by an immense collision as it drove into traffic. Looking behind, she could see the mangled front and side of the BMW as it span away from the heavy goods vehicle which had been crossing the junction. </p><p></p><p>There was a brief faint smile on Mills face as he continued to drive away from the wreckage behind him, satisfied with a job well done.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Eccles, post: 5798441, member: 5675"] The next witness, Jane Frobisher, lived with her husband in a farm three miles out on the other side of Beccles. As Mills drove the van through the centre of the town, there was an alarmed yelp from Norman in the makeshift laboratory in the back. He was pressed up against one of the small side windows, teeth gritted and staring fixedly at something they were driving past. Looking out of her side, Morag could see nothing all that unusual. They were driving past a small supermarket. “What is it?” “Clowns,” Norman managed through clenched teeth. “Clowns?” Looking through the window she could see two clowns handing out fliers outside the supermarket; one incredibly short, the other almost impossibly tall. “Clowns...” Norman’s teeth were now grinding tightly together as he stared out of the window in the back of the van at the two lozenge-patterned strangers. His mind span back in time… [i]“Daddy! No!” Little Norman isn’t able to reach the catch in the gate to open the chain-fence as the big red rubber mallet swung again, spinning his father around and dropping him to the floor. More and more big-haired round-nosed men poured out of the tiny car, adding their massive long-shod feet to the mass of people stamping and kicking at his father on the ground. Little Norman could only watch, cry, and listen to the triumphant honking of horns and the terrible constant laughing of the clowns…[/i] “Clowns. B*stards. I hate them.” The small voice hissed from Norman like an angry cat. Neither of the two in the front of the van noticed him, of course. Mills didn’t seem to care about the clowns at all, and was glancing repeatedly into the rear-view mirrors and muttering to himself. “Can’t be,” he was saying and looking once again. “What could they be doing here of all places?” “Who?” Morag was clearly more interested in the muttering ex-sergeant than whatever breakdown Norman was having in the back of the van. “The black Beemer two cars back,” replied Mills. “They’re boys from London I recognise. A couple of Billy’s lads.” “Billy Bricks?” Morag was aghast as she named one of the most infamous family heads of London’s gangster community. “Yeah,” grunted Mills. “I ran with him back in the day, but he’s not a friend any more.” Morag watched the BMW in the wing mirror and saw that it was now directly behind their van, and Mills was slowing as he approached the lights at a junction. In the passenger seat of the car, gesturing wildly at the back of the van was a familiar looking man with one wrist in a sling and half a dozen pale plasters all over his face from the cuts he’d suffered as he had jumped through the window of the Travelodge. “Why are you slowing down? Surely we want to leave these two behind? And wait – you mean that guy in the hotel was a thug? Oh shi - -” She was pressed into her seat by the acceleration as the lights went red and the BMW was left behind them. There was a squeal of tyres on tarmac as the dark car behind them tried to pull out in time, followed by an immense collision as it drove into traffic. Looking behind, she could see the mangled front and side of the BMW as it span away from the heavy goods vehicle which had been crossing the junction. There was a brief faint smile on Mills face as he continued to drive away from the wreckage behind him, satisfied with a job well done. [/QUOTE]
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