that,” Motcombe went on. “Now Jason’s no longer with us, I’m afraid we’re left to rely on your rather more pedestrianprose style. But you can do it, Ray, I’m sure you can. You know the kind of thing I want. Outrage, yes, but make sure you emphasize the reason this all happened, the underlying causes, what we’re all about. And make sure you mention the Pakis’ names. We’ll send each of them a copy. If they know that the entire National Socialist Alliance knows who they are, that should give them a fucking sleepless night or two. Okay?”
Ray smiled and nodded.
“And print extra copies. Next, I’d like Geoff and Keith to start working on a memorial concert for Jason. A big bash. You’ve got the contacts, so pick some appropriate bands, four or five of them, rent a large space and make arrangements. Soon as you can, okay?”
Geoff and Keith nodded and scribbled some notes.
“Now, as soon as I find out the details about the funeral,” Motcombe went on, “I’ll be contacting several members to accompany me in a tribute of honour for our fallen hero. For make no mistake about it, Jason Fox is a martyr, and his murder should provide us with a rallying point. We’ve got a chance to turn adversity into fortune here, if we choose to seize it. By all means let us grieve and mourn our lost comrade—indeed, grieve we must —but let us also, as he would have wished, use his death to spur us on to greater things, to faster growth. You all knew Jason. You know what he stood for. Let’s do credit to his memory.”
A few of them nodded and muttered their agreement, then the Brighouse cell-leader asked, “Are we gonna crack some heads open, then?”
A number of “ayes” went up, but Motcombe shushed them again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “That’ll be taken care of. In time. But for the moment, we’ll just publish their names and leave it at that. Let’s think of the long-term mission, and let’s use our golden opportunity to gain a bit of public sympathy. Think of the hundreds of blokes at home just sitting on the fence right now. They know we’re right, but they don’t want to make that final move and admit it. Something like this could increase our membership tenfold. Nice, pure, Aryan lad, with his whole future ahead of him, murdered by Paki immigrant scum. That’ll turn a few fence-sitters in our direction.”
Several members murmured in agreement. “But we can’t leave Jason’s murder unavenged, can we?” one of them said. “They’ll think we’re weak.”
“Sometimes you have to postpone your vengeance for the greater good, Mick. That’s all I am saying. And there’s strength in that, not weakness. Believe me. There’ll be plenty of time for revenge down the road. Remember, the bastards who killed Jason got away with it because our corrupt legal system is on their side. But what would happen if one of us got picked up for clobbering a Paki right now? Eh? Answer me that one.” No-one did. They all looked as if they knew the answer already. Motcombe looked at his watch. “Now, I’ll have to be on my way soon, I’ve got a lot to attend to, but there’s no reason why you lot can’t stay and enjoy a wake for Jason if you like. You’ve all got your orders. Meeting adjourned.”
Then Motcombe tossed back the rest of his orange juice. Unlike the others, Craig had noticed, he never drank alcohol or smoked. People got up and moved around the room, some of them heading down to the bar to buy more pints. The last Craig saw of Motcombe, he was walking out of the room with two Bradford cell-leaders, an arm draped over each one’s shoulder, deep in quiet conversation.
Liked his private meetings, did Nev, keeping the left hand and the right hand separate. Whatever he was talking to them about or asking them to do, you could bet it would have nothing to do with what he and Craig had been talking about over the past few weeks.
Craig tossed his cigarette out of the window into the rainy
Ray smiled and nodded.
“And print extra copies. Next, I’d like Geoff and Keith to start working on a memorial concert for Jason. A big bash. You’ve got the contacts, so pick some appropriate bands, four or five of them, rent a large space and make arrangements. Soon as you can, okay?”
Geoff and Keith nodded and scribbled some notes.
“Now, as soon as I find out the details about the funeral,” Motcombe went on, “I’ll be contacting several members to accompany me in a tribute of honour for our fallen hero. For make no mistake about it, Jason Fox is a martyr, and his murder should provide us with a rallying point. We’ve got a chance to turn adversity into fortune here, if we choose to seize it. By all means let us grieve and mourn our lost comrade—indeed, grieve we must —but let us also, as he would have wished, use his death to spur us on to greater things, to faster growth. You all knew Jason. You know what he stood for. Let’s do credit to his memory.”
A few of them nodded and muttered their agreement, then the Brighouse cell-leader asked, “Are we gonna crack some heads open, then?”
A number of “ayes” went up, but Motcombe shushed them again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “That’ll be taken care of. In time. But for the moment, we’ll just publish their names and leave it at that. Let’s think of the long-term mission, and let’s use our golden opportunity to gain a bit of public sympathy. Think of the hundreds of blokes at home just sitting on the fence right now. They know we’re right, but they don’t want to make that final move and admit it. Something like this could increase our membership tenfold. Nice, pure, Aryan lad, with his whole future ahead of him, murdered by Paki immigrant scum. That’ll turn a few fence-sitters in our direction.”
Several members murmured in agreement. “But we can’t leave Jason’s murder unavenged, can we?” one of them said. “They’ll think we’re weak.”
“Sometimes you have to postpone your vengeance for the greater good, Mick. That’s all I am saying. And there’s strength in that, not weakness. Believe me. There’ll be plenty of time for revenge down the road. Remember, the bastards who killed Jason got away with it because our corrupt legal system is on their side. But what would happen if one of us got picked up for clobbering a Paki right now? Eh? Answer me that one.” No-one did. They all looked as if they knew the answer already. Motcombe looked at his watch. “Now, I’ll have to be on my way soon, I’ve got a lot to attend to, but there’s no reason why you lot can’t stay and enjoy a wake for Jason if you like. You’ve all got your orders. Meeting adjourned.”
Then Motcombe tossed back the rest of his orange juice. Unlike the others, Craig had noticed, he never drank alcohol or smoked. People got up and moved around the room, some of them heading down to the bar to buy more pints. The last Craig saw of Motcombe, he was walking out of the room with two Bradford cell-leaders, an arm draped over each one’s shoulder, deep in quiet conversation.
Liked his private meetings, did Nev, keeping the left hand and the right hand separate. Whatever he was talking to them about or asking them to do, you could bet it would have nothing to do with what he and Craig had been talking about over the past few weeks.
Craig tossed his cigarette out of the window into the rainy
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