On the Run

Chapter I

Six years ago.

The judge cleared his throat and coughed, staring at the teenager in the dock of the Crown Court. "James Prutton, you are found guilty by this court of armed robbery, contrary to the Theft Act 1968. You have been a career criminal and a community nuisance since you were twelve and I am not disposed to show you leniency despite your relatively young age of sixteen. Your crime was a vicious and violent act against a peaceful community and you perpetrated a wicked and terrifying crime that has tormented your victims. Furthermore, we note that you have shown no remorse, and have not been prepared to cooperate with the Police to either recover the stolen goods or to locate the other perpetrator."

The sixteen year old in the dock wiped his face and glanced up at his family sat in the public gallery. There was no denying fear was etched on his face and the judge looked at him. "I have read the pre-sentence report and have noted your nineteen previous convictions. I therefore have no alternative but to commit you to a significant custodial sentence of ten years and one month."

"Ten years?" A blonde woman cried from the gallery. "You tell him Jamie. Who did this with you." Jamie stared at the judge who admonished the mother, reminding her that she was in court and such interruptions were not permitted. She sat back down and dried her eyes. Oliver sat speechless in the gallery as he watched his twin brother be sentenced to a youth prison and felt his arm be squeezed by his crying mother. He looked back to see his brother's girlfriend wiping her eyes and purse her lips together, rubbing her face. She threw her brown hair back and ran her hands through it.

"Sorry," she mouthed at the convicted criminal and Jamie looked up at her, blowing her a kiss as he was led away, down the stairs. Tara Prutton sobbed, her blonde hair falling over her hands and she stared down on the court and then spun around to face her son's girlfriend.

"This, this your fault," she told her, getting up and pushing her hands into the face of the teenage girl. "Ya did this."

Emma shook her head. "No," she cried and stepped backwards to avoid the flailing arms of the irate mother. "No I didn't."

Tara climbed up onto the chair and swung her arm at Emma who was backing away from the irate mother. "You fucking liar," she screamed as two court officials opened the door to the gallery. "You led 'im on. He's got ten years, you fucking beetch. Ten fucking years." Emma pushed the blonde mother away and court officials descended on the two brawling women. "Ya did it with 'im, right?"

Emma shook her head and Tara glared at her with her dark brown eyes and brought her hand up, slapping the teenager as hard as she could in the face. "You fuckin' liar." Emma shrieked and with as much force as the off-balance girl could muster smashed her fist into the face of Tara Prutton, who lost her balance and fell off her chair and against the wooden trim of the gallery.

Oliver cried out, and Emma backed away into the arms of a court official while a policeman grabbed Tara, her face leaking blood from where she had fallen against the furniture. The two women were forced out of the gallery, lead away into the exits screaming abuse at each other as Oliver looked dazed; what had just happened?

He stood there, motionless for a moment and then looked at the emptying court staring at him. He was in shock; he brother had been sent to prison and his mother had just been arrested.

"Hey kid, you OK?"

Oliver bit his lip and looked down at the reporter filing her pencil into her notebook. He nodded and the woman got up to shake his hand. "Chrissy Fuller, press."

Oliver shook it and muttered under his breath that he was "Oliver."

"I know. I've been watching you through the trial. Bet it's not easy seeing your only brother put away like that." Oliver shook his head and the reporter flashed her beautiful smile. She glanced over at the door to the public gallery. "You fancy a coffee? There is a coffee shop just outside and I want to speak to you. Tell me what James was really like?"

Oliver hesitated and the reporter took off her glasses and then looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, before placing the spectacles in her breast pocket. Oliver glanced at her large breasts and she pushed her chest out slightly. "I'm not sure—" Oliver muttered and wiped his eyes.

"Listen kid, Jamie is going to be all over the papers tomorrow now the reporting's been lifted. He is going to be big news and my editor wants to me to write about him. But I want more than that. I want to see the real Jamie Prutton 'cos he dain't look a bad kid. Help me, or my editor'll do a hatchet job."

Oliver licked his lips and sniffed. She stared at him, and pulled her blouse down a bit further, watching his expression shift. He nodded without uttering a word.

Chrissy guided the reluctant teenager to the small café and sat down in the corner with him, buying him the largest hot chocolate the small café served, along with a cookie. She clandestinely unbuttoned her top two buttons in the queue, and then flicked the Dictaphone on in her handbag as she put the tray on the table.

She looked into the tearful eyes of Oliver. "It's OK," she said soothingly, touching his shaking hands and rubbing them gently. "Tell me about James. What is the real James like?"

Oliver hesitated. "Jamie, he umm. Well he ummm."

"The whole world is going to see that he is one of the youngest people ever convicted of armed robbery, and that he has a string of convictions, what's the truth, Oliver? Why does he get involved? Is it problems at home?"

Oliver took a sip of his hot chocolate and rubbed his nose before speaking in a quiet voice. "He doesn't read too good, he's no good at school." Oliver paused and stared at the chocolate chips in the cookies and gave a brief shrug. "Teachers said there was no point in him coming to school so he stopped going. I mean I don't mind school, it's a bit shit most of the time but some of the work's OK but he just hated it."

"So you blame this on the teachers?"

Oliver shook his head. "No, I blame it on him. He was fine at home, he'd be the nice guy, always looking out for me." Oliver bit his nail and then looked back at the reporter. "When a few of the lads got a bit heavy with me, Jamie sorted 'em out. He was cool. I mean he got suspended 'cos he beat 'em up in school, like. But he only did it 'cos they were beating me up. But after that they chucked him out of the army cadets; drinking and smoking at camp. He got caught screwin' one of the gals as well, proper lost it. And he went to shit as he had nowt to do – nathin'. And then Mum started shoutin' at 'im. So it all got a bit shit at home for 'im. He went out with the girl you saw up there. He stopped doin' CDs and the like in the 'igh Street, and well he moved onto bigger things."

"The warehouse in Mill Lane?" The reporter asked.

Oliver shrugged. "Yeah. Emma wanted a new PlayStation for her birthday. He told me she said he could have a blowjob every day if he got her one. But 'e got caught. Mum just went crazy and he stormed out and did the Post Office."

"With whom?"

Oliver snorted. "I dunno. I could give ya ten names, they'd all be as likely."

"Not Emma Wallis then?"

Oliver shrugged and took a sip of his hot chocolate. "No idea. I reckon Ian, he was always 'anging around and he 'ad guns an' all. But Jamie wouldn't tell the filth so whoever it was got the money and Jamie got jail."

Chrissy licked her lips and tapped away. "Tell me about your family?"

Oliver peered into his chocolate. "There's nowt to tell," he said and then proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes telling all his family's secrets to the reporter. He felt he could trust her as she was nice and understanding and watched as she listened to everything he said.

Chrissy was lovely, Oliver thought and she even gave him a lift home in exchange for a recent photo of Jamie.

* * * * *

"Where's that fuckin' toe-rag?" Jamie asked with a smile as he came through the lounge door and greeted his twin brother. Jamie pulled out a torn piece of newspaper from his pocket and held it out, entitled "The teenager robber: The truth." Oliver groaned.

"I know," Oliver said, looking at his brother who had bulked out in muscle considerably since he had last seen him, as well as maturing considerably in the face and having his hair cut short. "She was so nice."

Jamie glanced up and read from the paper. "'James Prutton, known to his family and friends as Jamie, had been arrested nineteen times before being arrested for committing this armed robbery. A perpetual truant, Jamie struggled at school unlike his twin brother Oliver who is set to get at least five good GCSEs.' And I love this bit ... 'allegations of violence have also been levelled against Jamie.' You spake to a fuckin' reporter didn't you?"

"Ahh well, sort of," Oliver muttered and Jamie grinned. "She was so lovely at the time."

"Ya fucking retard."

"Twas sixteen," Oliver replied instantly and Jamie just chortled, patting his brother on the back.

"Well apparently I was a dangerous nutter and well scary. That gets ya respect inside, ya know. Big respect. So well done bro."

Oliver forced a weak smile at his brother who returned a pair of quizzically raised eyebrows. He had not seen Jamie since the day he was sent down, although he had written to him an almost weekly basis; Oliver found prison too daunting to visit and Jamie had to contend himself with the odd trip from Emma for a couple of years, as well as trips from his Uncle and his mother.

Tara entered the lounge and looked at her son; she had been parking their car at the end of the road after picking Jamie up from the prison where he had served his custodial sentence. "Ya stayin' 'ere, ya go straight, ya 'ear?" Jamie was told firmly by his mother.

"I ain't goin' back to jail," Jamie replied instantly and then helped himself to a lager from the small pile in the corner of the room.

"Ya better not," Tara told him. "And tomorra, straight down to job centre. Ya get ya-self a job, like?"

Jamie rolled his shoulders and snorted. "Yeah, I know. You've been mitherin' me since I got awt."

Tara screwed up her face but didn't respond and walked over to get herself a drink from the pile of beer cans. Jamie celebrated his "coming out of prison" with his Uncle, mother, brother and half the street, as well as a Fish 'n' Chips from the local takeaway before going upstairs to the bedroom he still shared with his brother, slightly tipsy.

It was decorated just as he left it, and he opened his drawer to see clothes that would barely fit him, or still be remotely fashionable and scooped them onto the floor..

"Feel weird?" Oliver asked as he came into the room. Jamie turned and looked at him. His brother had aged and matured, he had a well defined sideburns and a manicured beard. His brown hair was styled fashionably and he had bulked out slightly; he had grown up from being a geeky sixteen year old and at the mercy of every bully in the inner city school they went to. He looked and dressed well.

"Fook yes," Jamie replied, slurring his speech. "You ain't a ugly weak shit any more, right?"

Oliver shrugged. "Was I before?"

Jamie nodded, and then saw himself in a small mirror; he looked tired and he looked downtrodden, nothing like his brother. For a split second he envied Oliver and watched as has twin brother changed into some shorts and slid under the covers of the duvet. Jamie ran his hands threw his short hair and sat down on his bed, throwing off his tracksuit bottoms and T-Shirt. "Hows ya working?"

Oliver yawned. "Good. Just working on reception at moment, answering calls and stuff. But it's fifty quid a day."

"Fook. Decent money," he replied and stretched his 5ft 11in body in the rickety bed. "I got dole office tomorra, bet they try and chuck me on a course."

"You said you did a trade in prison," Oliver told him and Jamie grunted.

"Useless it was, bloody useless. I learnt sweet F A."

"What do you want to do?" Oliver asked and kicked the wall with his bare feet. "I can see if they got any work at my place."

Jamie smiled. "I wan me dole; I wan the pub and then I wanna get laid," he replied with a grin. "I got years of catching up to do."

Oliver grunted and Jamie gave a wry smile; Oliver had always hated talking about girls to his brother as it was the one area of life where Jamie was, and always had, been more successful than him. It had taken Jamie all of six hours to remind Oliver of his failings.

* * * * *

Jamie sat down at the desk and stared at the middle-aged woman complaining about her computer. "Bloody things," she muttered and he forced a smile. He had only come in to "sign on" but had been told he had to have a meeting with a counsellor before he could claim anything which would be a week away.

His protestations led to the manager offering him an appointment that afternoon as they had had a cancellation and Jamie had reluctantly accepted to be interviewed by "Mary" who was sneering and clearly not wanting to do this any more than Jamie did.

"I hear that you have just been released from prison," Mary said with a disapproving air to her voice. "Which was a long sentence and that you are looking to get back into work."

Jamie grunted. "I just wanna sign on," he muttered and Mary looked up. "Get me dole."

"It's called Jobseekers Allowance," she told him as if she was a headmistress chastising a naughty school boy. "But we need to have you seeking a job before we can give you it."

Jamie sniffed. "Look, I 'ad a look on your noticeboard, like. And you ain't got nothin' for me."

Mary tapped away at her computer for a moment. "So what did you learn whilst you were inside?"

Jamie sneered. "Nuttin'. Did nothin' for years. Except I found me dad and gave 'im a batterin'," he replied with a smirk and the woman snorted.

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, met him. First time. Nasty little fucker," Jamie lied with a smirk and tapped the desk with his fingers. "I mean, how else would I meet 'im. Lazy little cunt."

Mary recoiled at the use of the expletive and glared at him. "Please don't use that language," she asked and then straightened herself. "I mean, what trade?" Mary asked in a patronising voice and then squeaked. "I mean, what did they teach you inside?"

"Oh woodwork, or somethink."

"And that is something you want to pursue. Excellent, as ..."

"No," snapped Jamie. "I couldn't do it. It's fuckin' bollocks."

"I told you not to swear at me," she said firmly. "Or I will terminate this interview. You need to tell me what do you want to do then? What skills do you have?"

"Nowt," Jamie replied.

"GCSEs?"

Jamie shrugged. "No," he muttered with a sneer. "Got sent dawn 'fore me exams, dain't I?

"Can you cook?"

Jamie shook his head and screwed up his face. "No. Now can I have me dole?"

The woman sighed. "I don't give you benefits. It comes from another office. But they won't process anything unless we have completed this form."

Jamie gave a sigh and rubbed his dirty hands together. "Ya messin'," he muttered in annoyance and then slipped his hands inside his tracksuit bottoms, to idly grope himself, an action that was not lost on Mary who rubbed her nose and averted her eyes, staring at the screen.

Jamie left the office after an hour thoroughly dispirited; he was sure it used to be easier to claim benefits and what with the promise of several courses he didn't want to attend, he was feeling that life outside wasn't nearly as easy as he had hoped.

Instead, Jamie idly walked up the hill towards the estate he lived on and stopped at the park; he knew Emma used to live on a small flat in a tower block that had since been condemned and was awaiting demolition.

He wandered into the local newsagents opposite the desolate building and called out to the gentleman behind the counter. "Hiya mate. I'm looking for an Emma. Emma Wallis. She live 'round 'ere, still?"

"Depends who's asking," came the response and Jamie smiled.

"And old friend," he replied furtively.

* * * * *

"Hiya babe," Jamie coolly said to his ex-girlfriend as she walked past. He wiped his hands on his tracksuit bottoms and looked at her. "Remember me."

"Well I am not likely to forget am I?" Emma replied back and looked at him. "You look good for someone who has just spent a third of his life in jail."

He nodded towards her bandana that was tying her hair back and her athletic physique. "You look pretty good for someone who got all of the money and none of the sentence."

Emma's face flashed a smile. "Well I wasn't stupid enough to get caught, was I? I told you to be careful and not go shooting ya mouth off. Ya had to tell everyone, and to take the woman's necklace and keep it. Fuckin' amateur."

Jamie snorted. "Yeah, twas sixteen then. Word is, is that you've made a nice little packet while I've been gone." He jumped down from the wall and put his hands on her waist, but Emma pushed them off, her face turning angry.

"You ain't touching me Jamie. And yeah I've made a bit of cash, but ..."

"You owe me," Jamie said firmly. "I want my share of the post office job."

Emma gave a waspish grin. "Certainly. You do know that all the twenties we nicked, well they aren't legal no more. They like Monopoly money."

"I want my share. I did porridge and got extra 'cos I didn't grass ya up; you owe me."

"But even if ya had, they had nuttin' on me. I had me house raided anyhow 'cos I was a known accomplice and they found nothing," she said with a smile. "I got thrown out 'cos of that but they got fuck all 'cos I ain't stupid to keep shit under me mattress."

"I still could have dropped ya in it. Ya owe me, babe. Ya owe me big time."

Emma shrugged. "Meb-bee. But ya didn't 'cos ya know I'd have buried ya alive if ya had," she teased, mimicking Jamie's colloquial tone of voice.

Jamie grunted and looked at Emma. "And I ain't had a shag for six years," he told her, grabbing his crotch and looking at her. "You can give me one for old time's sake."

Emma pursed her lips. "Really? A good looking guy like you with cute buns, I thought they'd all be queueing up to have a go inside."

Jamie sneered. "I ain't into that, babe. And we got seven grand away. I want my three an' 'alf."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "You know the score. We might 'ave got seven, but we ain't going to clear more than four when it is washed. Twas stolen money, so when it is been 'round I've got less than four."

"OK I want me two grand."

Emma snorted. "Six years inside for two grand. A fiver a week. Fuckin' pitiful."

Jamie took a deep breath. "I heard you are making proper money now. Two grand'll be nothing to ya."

Emma glanced at him and then gave a grin. "Actually, I've been waiting for you to find me 'cos if you want I got a job lined up," she told him. "I have the place, I just someone to do it with."

"Me?"

Emma smiled and then looked at him. "Yeah, if you've got the bottle. 'Cos I ain't got no partners any more. And I need some inside information from someone, and need ya to help me get it."

"Who?"

"Your brother."

Chapter II

"Listen up," Emma said as she passed a bottle of beer to Jamie, who gave a dramatic sound of appreciation and then looked at the small table in her flat. "This guy is Jaroslav Doszak, not a very nice Ukrainian living up in a big house in Warrington."

Jamie looked at a photo of a man and another of a house, cut out from a newspaper article and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Now he went on trial for sex trafficking and got off; those are from his trial last year. Word is, is that he runs the cocaine around Cheshire, brothels in Liverpool. He also runs a double glazing company from his house, and I reckon he channels his cash through that so it looks legit."