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Bravo Jubilee by Charlie Owen

By Charlie Owen

The riotous 3rd novel in Charlie Owen's acclaimed seventies police series.

Summer 1977: it truly is no vacation within the solar in Handstead New city, a north Manchester overspill. recognized to the neighborhood police officers as Horse's Arse, it really is getting ready to have fun the Queen's Silver Jubilee. yet with soccer violence, rampant police hooliganism and an increasing LSD marketplace there will be a rebel going on...

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Bravo Jubilee

The riotous 3rd novel in Charlie Owen's acclaimed seventies police sequence. summer time 1977: it truly is no vacation within the solar in Handstead New city, a north Manchester overspill. identified to the neighborhood law enforcement officials as Horse's Arse, it is getting ready to rejoice the Queen's Silver Jubilee. yet with soccer violence, rampant police hooliganism and an increasing LSD marketplace there will be a rebellion occurring.

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The one-way conversation in the car petered out altogether as the driver slipped in a cassette of traditional Turkish music and accompanied the mournful wailing with his own tuneless moaning. Twenty minutes later, the Mercedes turned left on to a rutted, unnamed lane and after a couple of hundred yards of bumping and jolting turned into the still and deserted yard of an isolated farm. As the engine died, Briggs and Travers looked nervously at each other. Neither of the goons made any movement to leave the car.

Fucking hell, I've never been to London before, I don't know anyone down there. What the fuck am I supposed to do down there? ' 'What you do, Brian, is get to stay alive. You've no future here now. Everyone will know you're the grass that put the others away and got them wasted. You stay, you die. ' 'You cunts,' shouted Jones, but allowed Clarke to put a hand on his shoulder and lead him towards the CID car. 'You fucking bastards,' he continued, tears streaming down his face as he slid across the hot plastic back seat and swept empty polystyrene cups and cigarette packets on to the floor.

Fucking hell, what's to investigate? I've got cataracts and I can see what happened here. ' exploded Young. Shaking his head at the dog cop's ignorance of all things traffic, the Rat turned on his heel to join the other kiddy fiddlers standing around the Datsun in their high-visibility jackets, discussing ways to keep the road closed until Christmas. So Young, a furious Scenes of Crime officer from the other side of the county who had a backlog of jobs that would make the Grim Reaper wilt, and two pale-faced undertakers twiddled their thumbs and waited.

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