Freeman In Amsterdam 10

Mafia

Chapter 6

I have sketched all my life and being in Amsterdam was no exception so after my breakfast I sat at the window sketching the view. There was a stone bridge over the canal on the corner the girl in the window and the cobblestones. As my pen flew across the paper I knew that I was getting a brilliant picture then a voice interrupted me.

“The boys over the road do not like you making pictures of the girl” the barmaid said a sulky expression on her face.

“Too bad, they don’t tell me what to do” I replied feeling a rush of adrenaline.

“They have thrown many English people’s cameras in the dyke” she informed me.

“Well they would not throw mine in the dyke” I replied getting annoyed.

“They will do it to anyone, the boys over there. They can see you sitting at the window” she replied.

“The boys, do you mean Mafia gangsters who control the prostitutes?” I said.

Trixie had a scared look on her face and I knew that someone had told her to give me the message.

Later I went to the shop in Damstraat near the Peace Memorial that I remembered and it was still there. I stood looking at the display of weapons in the window, Samurai swords, martial arts weapons, blowpipes and especially at the huge display of knives. On a life licence in London I could not afford to carry a weapon because I could be instantly recalled to prison to continue my life sentence without appearing before any court or judge. I am a warrior by nature and found it impossible to back down if threatened like one is told to do in prison when serving a life sentence. I knew that I would feel ashamed if I did so and would be sacrificing my manhood and this was one of the reasons I had breached my parole conditions and had come here. I had been involved in violent confrontations when aggressive strangers picked on me for no apparent reason but I had defended myself using martial arts even when I had been threatened by a knife wielding thug. Most of them were easy meat for me the victor of many battles but I knew that I could get killed unless I armed myself.

I went into the shop and started to look at the huge display of knives in the display cases lining the left hand wall. As I was looking an assistant smelling a commission approached me.

“Can I help you Sir?” the assistant asked.

“Yes I would like to look at that knife” I replied pointing to a fearsome looking cutlass like weapon that I thought would scare the shit out of most.

“Yes Sir” the assistant said taking the big knife out of the display case.

“It comes with the leather underarm holster” he informed me.

I held the blade in my hand putting my fingers through the brass guard and gripping it. Suddenly I made up my mind. “I’ll take it” I said.

“Thank you, would Sir like a sharpening stone and some Buck knife oil?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that as well” I replied.

I paid at the counter after showing my passport and the assistant handed me my purchases in a couple of boxes.

I opened the holster box and strapped it on, and then the knife box and taking out the big blade slid it into the holster much to the disapproval of the salesman and counter staff and walked out of the shop into the bright sunshine of Dam square.

I felt confident now free to defend myself against any adversary, not only Dutch gangsters but any would be hit man who might be sent over from Britain to kill me. As I crossed Dam Square the dealers hissed, “hashish, coca, heroine” at me and I smiled at them and walked on.

I walked up the Damrak

heading towards the Sex Museum where I knew that some of my Sixties porn pictures were on show.

Sex Museum

Chapter 7

As I neared the museum I saw a queue outside and joined it. Everyone of the mainly British crowd was laughing and joking about what they were likely to see inside. Porn that they were not encouraged to see in Britain and as for English porn it did not exist except for the films and photos that I had been making since the Sixties, the stuff that had survived that is. The porn shops were not allowed to sell British made productions and they copied and sold American porn that was legal in the States. I paid for my ticket and ended the reverie that constantly occupied my thoughts about how I was persecuted in England and finally I had left the country of my birth and came here where I was a freeman. Also I was not on life license anymore as no other country recognized it and once you had finished your sentence the only way you could get back into prison was to commit another crime. Here in Holland the only people sentenced to life, which meant natural life, were those that had committed heinous crimes like the murder of little children. In Britain even the sex killers of children are released on parole except for notorious cases like Ian Brady the Moors Murderer who will never be released but only because I thought of the ensuing public outcry. I personally knew some very brutal child sex killers who had been paroled. One horrific case where a nonce had nailed a little girl’s hands to the floor before sodomizing her, a real evil bastard who I would have killed if I could have got away with it. I passed several mediocre paintings then a life size wax figure of a flasher opening his raincoat to reveal stockings and suspenders and a big penis. The British ladies were giggling red faced at this exhibit and I am sure that they almost pissed their knickers. I smiled and went into the exhibition of British porn photographs. Yes mine were still there “seized in a police raid” 1965 it said and so were Ivor Cooke’s, Binders and Evan Philips who was murdered before he could give evidence in a police corruption trial by two members of Scotland Yard’s Obscene Publications Squad. I knew all the Soho pornographers were artists because when we all got together we spoke about our work with pride.