"Sleep of the Guilty" (circa-1967)
Jimmy Boyd was a hard man. Towering over most people at six feet tall his casual persona hid the physical, threatening and violent tendencies that earned him his reputation.
The long white scar running across the left side of his neck was given to him by a nightclub doorman, just before Jimmy got the better of him. After Jimmy had finished with him his injuries were so bad an ambulance had to rush him to the nearest hospital.
Jimmy had an opinion that was without compromise. You either agreed with him or you were wrong. He drank his whiskey by the bottle rather than by the glass and if you were to ask him how he ever managed to get through life, he would be the first to tell you that he had a lot of help from his best friend, Jack Daniels.
Some people called him 'the butcher.' Others called him 'scar face.'
But nobody would ever dare say it to his face.
Frank Brand said Jimmy was a fearless maniac and probably the reason why he had his blood-type tattooed on his right arm, the day he joined the British Armed Forces.
Jimmy's wife, Sandra never used any of these names. She just called him, 'that fucking arsehole.'
Before joining the army, Jimmy lived with his parents in a modest council house in a working class area of Gateshead. He was only fourteen when his father fell to his death whilst erecting scaffolding on a multi-storey building. After the funeral he refused to go back to school. He told everyone that he would get a job and look after his mother.
Jimmy never lived up to his mother's expectations.
From the age of fourteen he spent most of his teenage years in and out of young offender's institutions. Although most of his offences were for minor thefts and ant-social behaviour, when he was eighteen he spent nine months in prison for GBH.
Like most young offenders he avoided rehabilitation and acquired a hatred for authority. When he was inside he spent most of his time either boxing or pumping iron in the gym.
The only three things that prison gave Jimmy Boyd was independence, a reputation and an amazing physique.
The night Frank Brand called into his local pub and offered a lending hand to Jimmy Boyd, it forged a bond of friendship between the two men.
Jimmy was already punching and kicking at two men on the floor while a third man swung punches at the back of his head. And even though he was outnumbered, he fought like a man possessed.
That's when Frank decided to make the fight a little more even.
After placing a firm arm around his throat he pulled the third man away, dragging him like a rag doll until he was clear of the action.
After feeling the brutal force of Jimmy's violent temper it wasn't long before the three defeated men escaped through an exit door at the side of the building.
After an exchange of hands and a beer at the bar, Jimmy told Frank that the three men had bullied and beaten him through his early school days. Lifting his glass to his mouth he confessed that being a skinny kid with a stammer and his hands and face covered in warts, he was a prime target for bullies.
Fortunately, by the time he reached his teens his stammer had gone and so were the warts.
Jimmy Boyd had suspected for some time that his wife was having an affair with someone she worked with at the local council office.
Desperate to find out the truth about his wife's infidelity he constantly racked his brain, hoping he could resolve the situation before the army sent him on his next tour.
There were lots of rumours and speculation about Sandra's infidelity. Jimmy was a little naïve at first, but after a little snooping, he soon discovered that his suspicions were correct.
Sandra was having an affair with her boss, a married man in his mid-forties. In his remit as Housing Manager he was responsible for the maintenance, allocation and subsequent letting of all council houses, so there was no surprise when Sandra and Jimmy were unexpectedly offered a fully modernised council house, only a few hundred yards from his mother.
Not long after they were married, Sandra fell pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy.
In the early years of married life they struggled emotionally and financially but there were times when the strain became unbearable and after too many arguments and physical abuse their future together looked increasingly doubtful.
Jimmy had blackened Sandra's eyes so many times you rarely saw her without dark glasses. But for the sake of their son they made the best of a volatile relationship. They gave up sharing a bed together and although they slept under the same roof, they both led separate lives.
Jimmy first became suspicious when Sandra started to wear sexy underwear and about twice a week she would go out in the car and wouldn't return until the early hours of the next morning. Whenever Jimmy questioned her, she always had a reasonable explanation and a girlfriend that was always willing to provide her with a watertight alibi.
Although their marriage had reached the end of its life and a divorce offered the best solution, Jimmy's male chauvinistic attitude wouldn't be compromised until he knew the truth about Sandra's affair.
He also knew that the only way he was going to know for sure was to catch her red-handed with her lover.
And that's when Frank Brand came up with a brilliant plan.
Mark Brand had just turned eighteen and like all open-minded teenagers the availability of money was at a premium, so when Jimmy and his brother Frank offered him a substantial amount of cash for a few hours of his time, he immediately accepted.
On a blistering hot August evening, Jimmy Boyd opened the boot of his wife's car and helped Mark to crawl inside. The plan was that he would remain inside the boot and hopefully catch Sandra having sex with her lover.
Lying on his side in the foetal position he tried to adjust himself to his new environment. Jimmy smiled and threw a packet of chewing gum, hitting him on the side of his head.
"It's going to be a long night, so put it in your pocket in case you get hungry later," he sniggered sarcastically, closing the car boot. "And good hunting."
The sound of the engine followed by a squeal of rubber confirmed that Sandra had pulled out of the drive on her way to her liaison.
Aware that he probably had a long night ahead of him he tried to manoeuvre his body in an attempt to get as comfortable as possible, although he quickly realised that the boot of a Ford Cortina Mk1 was never designed for human cargo.
It was dark, hot and uncomfortable and there was that distinctive smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes that you always associate with garages.
As he shifted his weight in the tight enclosure a sense of claustrophobia suddenly fed his panic. He knew he had made a wrong decision.
But it was too late. It had gone too far. There was no going back.
He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth.
After travelling for about twenty minutes the car pulled to a halt. The sound of the passenger door slamming shut and the muffled sound of a male voice signalled that their night of misbehaviour was about to begin.
As he willed his eardrums to capture a slight hint of their conversation the doors suddenly opened and they both stepped out of the car.
In the uncanny silence he held his breath, listening for sounds, trying to figure out why they had left the vehicle. His only thought was that they had decided to go for a drink until it was dark enough to prevent any unwanted spectators.
As the minutes crawled by with tedious trepidation he cursed himself for his stupidity.
After almost an hour of muttering profanities, the ensuing silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the driver's door opening. Only this time Sandra was alone.
Clouds of cigarette smoke began to drift inside the boot and although the unhealthy environment urged him to cough, he made sure he resisted the temptation.
With her heart beating at the speed of sound and her foot pressed hard against the accelerator pedal, Sandra followed her lover to their final destination.
When the car pulled to a halt the door opened and a man climbed into the passenger seat. They talked for a few minutes but again their conversation was vague.
Their night of passion quickly got underway, two impatient voices groaning out their pleasure through a fanfare of squeaking springs, breathless gasps and muffled promises.
A detached observer alone in the darkness, a packet of chewing gum his only companion, breathing in air through his nose, a furtive voyeur waiting and listening, easing into his dutiful role as private investigator,
After a brief moment of unnerving silence the rear doors opened and they both climbed into the back seat of the car. This time the action really got heated.
In no time the car was rocking back and forth to the motion of two people fucking through a chorus of pledges, promises and crude obscenities, Sandra's pleading voice echoing in curses inside the car.
"YES! YES! Fuck Me Harder. Fuck Me Faster."
