Street Justice

Six

Episode One

We get our first look at the setting for the series, a disused Royal Air Force base in the north of England, the air bitterly cold, the hour, a little too early for some of those, twenty nine so far, standing around. The cameraman pans around, and we see three disheveled individuals, (Chaz, a rather thin, short haired man with a few teeth missing, and others blackened. Loafer and Stash, slightly less thin, though influenced by Chaz’s shell suit fashion approach) who stand looking members of the group over with disdain, whilst chatting amongst themselves. A subtitle reads, ‘The Instructors’.

Narrator: "Meet the team running the show. Three actual homeless men, Chaz, Loafer, and Stash, sent into the thick of it to take the bull by the horns, and to take no bull from the liars, cheats, and thieves in their charge."

We are now treated to a montage of some of the hustle and bustle in London’s financial district, upscale restaurants where middle aged businessmen work through their lunch hour going over facts and figures, proposed mergers, and takeover bids as they sip fine wines and enjoy the special of the day. Snapshots of gorgeous houses, gorgeous cars, and gorgeous women flash onto the screen. And last but not least, a well dressed man being helped out of a car in front of a court building, who then proceeds to raise his hands in front of his chest, thus showing his handcuffs, smiling as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Narrator: "The plan is simple, to take our thirty fellas , every one a criminal in their own right, and turn their worlds upside down. This is Street Justice, a tale of the reformed, the reformers and the hurdles they faced..."

The Houses of Parliament fill the screen, silhouetted against a grey, cloud filled sky.

Narrator: Together.

We see the face of Big Ben as it strikes one whilst darkness falls.

A title reads, ‘Day One’.

We see the undisclosed location where training will take place. Off in the distance on the main road a car turns and heads toward the main gates of the base at a slow pace.

Narrator: "Day one hadn’t started well for one of the gang who was about to get a little lesson in street etiquette from Chaz, a man, although small in stature, was about to prove that he was not one to get on the wrong side of."

The driver of the car, a Rolls Royce, a middle aged man looking every inch the type of guy who might well adorn the cover of Time Magazine as its man of the year stands next to it. A subtitle reads, ‘Stuart’.

Narrator: "Chaz might not be the go to guy when it comes to getting tips on fashion, cleanliness, or social skills, but he does understand one thing..."

Chaz’s face fills the screen, his displeasure clear. A subtitle reads, ‘Chaz-Instructor’.

Narrator: "That he’s in a position which commands respect...And being late, in his book, is a sign that that’s something you definately don’t have any of."

Stuart’s upper half fills the screen as he brushes the lapel of his overcoat with the back of his hand whilst looking rather bored.

Narrator: "Oh dear Stuart, somewhere else you’d rather be? Back at the office perhaps?"

A dark haired, middle aged woman stands at a desk packing her belongings into a cardboard box, never looking at the camera, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve in between taking a minute or two to look over a document before its fate of the box, or the wastepaper bin is decided. A subtitle reads, ‘Amy’.

Narrator: Meet Amy, Stuart’s secretary for the last ten years at B****, S******** & K****, the London based company where she worked for almost twenty years in all. Tall, elegant, and bursting with natural charm, Amy struggles to fight back the tears as she lays out a few facts about the man whom she first got to know, the man she got to admire, and the man she finally got to wish was six feet under.

Amy sits on a plush sofa in the living room of her apartment, again choosing to shy away from the camera, a tear clearly never far away.

Amy: I’d gone straight from college to work there, and right from the beginning it was a great place to work. The owner of the company, Mr. R******, was getting ready to retire, but he hung on for another thirteen years, an unlucky number it turns out, because he’d got no children, and was worried about what would happen to his company.

A man in his late thirties to early forties appears at this point with a tray of tea and biscuits and takes a seat on the sofa next to Amy. A subtitle reads, ‘Martin-Amy’s Partner/Former Colleague At B****, S******** & K****’.

Martin: "He was a gambler, who gambled with our money. I know it’s the plot from a dozen different movies where the boss uses money from the company to live the high life, but there’s nothing glamorous about being a thief, which is all that b**tard is."

Amy starts to cry, and Martin puts an arm around her shoulder, telling her that the whole thing can be put off until later.

Narrator: But Amy wants to tell her story, have her pound of flesh, and let the world know why she gave up on her dreams, her previous marriage, and as it would turn out, the only source of income she would ever have again before her untimely death just a few months after the filming of this documentary was completed.

Amy: That f**king b**tard took our money from the pension fund we’d paid into from the moment we started working there. Every f**king penny!

Amy gets up, and walks over to the window in tears, though Martin stays, watching her every step of the way.

Martin: That f**king piece of s**t thought he could make a quick profit on the stock market and get the money back before anyone knew. Oh, and of course, making himself a lot f**king richer into the bargain.

Amy looks back at the camera, her eyes red, tears running down her cheeks as she hurries to the door.

Amy: "Oh yes, and he’s a f**king sexual predator as well!"

As Amy leaves the room Martin gets up and hurries off after her.

Narrator: But Amy’s story wasn’t about to end there.

A woman sits in a darkened corner of a motel room, her voice disguised by electronic means. A subtitle reads, ‘Amy’s Friend’.

Amy’s Friend: "He spread rumors about the two of them around the office. It was all just a bit of a laugh at first, but he decided to take it one step further. If you ask me, I don’t think he should be on this program doing glorified community service for stealing money. He should be in prison for that as well as rape!"

We return to an earlier outdoor scene in what is henceforth to be known as the ‘Assembly/Living Area’, as Chaz paces in front of the late comer, Stuart, his arms folded, chin tucked in and deep furrows across his narrow brow. He stops in front of Stuart and gets pretty much in his face, baring what brown and yellow stained teeth he still has.

Chaz: Yeah, like I said like nine, yeah? And you’re only just f**kin’ gettin’ ‘ere!

Stuart: "I’m afraid I had some other, rather important matters which I had to attend to before leaving home this morning."

Chaz: And these important matters of yours are more f**kin’ important than starin’ at a row of iron pubs?

Stuart: (Laughs as he steps back away from Chaz) I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.

Chaz: (Gets back in Stuart’s face) I f**kin’ mean f**kin’...Arrgghh!

Narrator: "At this point, another one of the fellas , as they would be referred to by all but one, Chaz, the self proclaimed street poet laureate during the series, Shinji takes it upon himself to act as translator."

A grey haired Japanese man in his early sixties steps forward, bows slightly, then looks over at Stuart. A subtitle reads, ‘Shinji’.

Shinji: I believe iron pub is an attempt at a play on words, substituted in this case for iron bars...Which, in this case then translates as prison.

Chaz smiles as he struts over to Shinji, scratching his groin every step of the way, then stops in front of him and gets pretty much in his face.

Chaz: I reckon we all get the point—pub, bar, yeah? Very clever. But let me just give you a bit of advice, yeah? Don’t try bein’ too clever, ’cause you’ve got a month here before you get to go home and throw the green sweets on the back lawn. So just watch it, yeah?

Shinji: Sorry, the green sweets?

We cut to a room with bars on the windows, bedding in one corner, and Chaz lying on top of it with a smoldering joint clamped between his thumb and forefinger. All footage within what are henceforth referred to as being ‘Chaz’s Living Quarters’, is recorded by a hidden camera offering coverage of the greater part of the room.

Narrator: The bugler sounds the retreat. Man the defences, and hide the bags of weed. You have just entered Chaz’s headquarters in the old guardroom, which also serves as his private living quarters, and unbeknownst to him, is wired for sight and sound.

Antonio George, the director during this project, a grey haired man in his early sixties, takes a rare moment out from behind the camera, wanders over to the opposite side of the room from Chaz and lights up his pipe. A subtitle on his side of the screen reads, ‘Antonio George-Director’.

Chaz: ’I like it in ‘ere, it’s a bit of a home from home, yeah?

Antonio George: (Laughs a little) Apart from the bars on the windows...

Chaz: Yeah, but this ain’t like when I was inside...I can come and go ‘ere.

Antonio George: Meaning that you have the keys to the kingdom?

Chaz: "F**k that controlin’ the kingdom s**t, I’ve been put in charge of thirty f**kers what’s done wrong...And me and my lads are gonna teach ‘em who the f**kin’ boss is— me , yeah?"

At this point, one of Chaz’s fellow instructors from an earlier scene, bursts in, ranting and raving, his pock marked face red, the veins in his scrawny neck bulging out almost as far as his eyes. A subtitle reads, ‘Stash-Instructor’.

Chaz: Calm the f**k down, yeah?

Stash: (Starts rifling through Chaz’s things) You f**kin’ took it!

Chaz gets up as Stash pushes past him and throws his bedding across the room.

Chaz: "I reckon you’ve had enough ya f**kin’ paranoid little t**t."

Antonio George: Hey, hey, what’s the problem?

Stash: He’s nicked my f**kin’ gear!

Chaz: That’s f**kin’ bulls**t!

Antonio George: Nicked what gear?

Stash: I had a full bag of weed, yeah? Now there’s only half.

The level of violence increases dramatically, and continues for several seconds before Stash gives up and storms off out of the room.

Stash: (Calls back to Chaz) F**k this, I’ve had enough.

Chaz: Good, f**k off then.

Chaz takes a moment to calm down, his hands shaking as he picks up the joint, which he’d been holding in a previous scene, off the floor and has a few puffs.

Chaz: "He don’t understand, yeah? On the street, sleepin’ in a shop doorway, sleepin’...Oh, f**k it—that f**ker is never gonna get what I mean. And the f**kin’ whole lot’s paid for anyway—so f**k it."

We return to an earlier scene, a continuation of the conversation between a confused Shinji and Chaz, who remains pretty much in Shinji’s face.

Shinji: Sorry, the green sweets?

Chaz: "Right, you err—you speeka the English ?"

Shinji: As a matter of fact, yes, I do.

Chaz: Well, it don’t sound like the English we’re gonna be speakin’ round ‘ere, yeah?

Shinji: I understand that in colloquial terms, certain regions within your country...

Chaz: "Around ‘ere, from now on...(looks at the group with disdain) And this goes for the lot of ya...The answer I want from every f**ker ‘ere is whatever , yeah?"

Shinji: (Bows) Very well.

Chaz: "Wrong answer Jackie Chan ."

Shinji: I’m afraid I am Japanese. Jackie Chan is...

Chaz: Wrong answer. Let’s try again, yeah?

Shinji: (Bows a little) Whatever?

Chaz: (Looks around at the group) See that, yeah? F**kin’ on the f**kin’ ball, yeah?

We enter Chaz’s living quarters, as he breezes in, looking much the worse for wear, belches, then flops down onto his bedding. Chaz’s other fellow instructor from an earlier scene sits opposite, leaning back against the wall, a beer can in hand, giggling to himself inanely. A subtitle on his side of the screen reads, ‘Loafer-Instructor’.

Narrator: "The day before training is due to get underway, and Chaz is making himself very much at home, where, according to members of the film crew, the air is already thick with the smell of super strength lager, canabis, and urine, offering the perfect setting for Chaz to explain that even though you might be sleeping on the street , it’s still possible to love thy neighbour."

Chaz: "The way I see it Loaf, yeah, when you’re all in the same shitty boat, there is no colour, yeah? It’s like, when you’re sharin’ a needle with somebody, and it’s them what’s buyin’, you don’t ask why they’re not the same colour as you or whatever. It’s the unspoken rule."

Narrator: "An unspoken rule, which, much like all other rules , it seems, are meant to be broken."

We return to the present, and the assembly/ living area, where Chaz waltzes up to a huge coloured man and starts to smirk. A subtitle reads, ‘Joshua’.

Narrator: Meet Joshua, a native of Uganda. His crime? Selling arms. To which side? Whichever had the most cash.

Chaz: "Right then chief , so you eat breakfast this mornin’?"

Joshua: I am not a chief, for your information. However, I did have breakfast before leaving home.

Chaz: What was it, monkey brains and mangoes?

Joshua: I had freshly squeezed orange juice, wild strawberries, yoghurt—

Chaz puts a finger to his lips and moves in closer, clearly feeling the strain in his neck as he looks up at Joshua.

Chaz: "Right Shaka Zulu, let’s get somethin’ straight. If you really think tellin’ any of the civillians out there who can spare a few quid that you had freshly squeezed oranges and strawberries is gonna help you get by on the streets, you’re very much mistaken. You never let on what you’ve got, and what you ain’t , even to other homeless f**kers. It’s the first thing you learn on the streets, yeah?"

Loafer and stash look on, laugh, then turn to the camera.

Stash: Yeah, Chaz don’t have time for these t**ts givin’ him lip.

Loafer: Tolerance is somethin’ Chaz has got a lot of, yeah? He’s always said that as long we’ve got tolerance ya can’t go wrong.

Chaz starts to walk along the line of participants, hands clasped behind his back.

Narrator: "The self proclaimed mister tolerance now decides to offer some valuable advice on the best way to deal with those who might chose to be less than tolerant regarding the plight of the homeless."

Chaz stops halfway down the line, then turns and starts back the way he came.

Chaz: "Anyone asks you if you’ve eaten, you say, why , you offerin’ to pay ? If you do it right, they’ll give you a bit of spare change. But if they walk away, just call ‘em a tight fisted f**kin’ w**ker—then you’ve won, and you walk away, yeah?"

Joshua’s passport photo fills the screen.

Narrator: "And walking away, was something that Joshua knew a lot about. The place? North West Africa. The backdrop? A bloody civil war. The profiteer from all of the bloodshed? Err...Joshua of course."

We cut to shaky handheld video containing a few scenes of bloodshed and others of bodies being dragged off an African street.

Narrator: "Who is Joshua? Let’s ask one of his former associates, who like Joshua, is facing the death penalty in no less than eight African states. Referred to here only by the initial, V, he talks about the first time he ever met Joshua."

Like Amy’s friend in an earlier scene, V has chosen the darkened corner of a motel room to tell his story. A subtitle reads, ‘V’.

V: We meet on the border, a few hours before fighting broke out. He was not in charge, but he had power to say what was to be done. There was a ban on certain types of weapons at that time, but he didn’t care as long as he made money.

We return to the present, the assembly/ living area, and follow Chaz as he moves further down the line of participants until stopping at a man in his mid to late thirties with black, slicked back hair, and a suntan. A subtitle reads, ‘Pearce’.

Chaz: Did ya find a place to park it alright?

Pearce: My car?

Chaz: No ya daft t**t, ya donkey, yeah?

Pearce: (Confused) Sorry?

Chaz: El burito, or whatever...Anyway Pedro, f**k that for now...

We cut to a medium sized room with a table and two chairs set up in front of a video camera, henceforth known as ‘The Reflection Room’, where Pearce, looking somewhat drunk, sits with a can of super strength lager in hand.

Pearce: And yes, I can quite understand why he’d think I’m Spanish...Because, in a nutshell, the man is a complete f**king idiot.

We return to the assembly/ living area, and Chaz getting right in Pearce’s face.

Chaz: You f**kin’ smell that?

Pearce: (Reels backward) I assume you are referring to your pungent breath?

Chaz: That’s the smell of freedom. Of not havin’ to be told what you can and can’t do.

Pearce: "So by that you mean that poor oral hygiene is the way to personal liberation?"

Chaz: "I’m sayin’, yeah, that so called society don’t control us, yeah? We do what we want, whenever we want. You, yeah, I’ll bet you get up at the same time everyday, have a shower, eat breakfast, read the paper to find out how your shares are doin’, yeah?"

Some members of the group look around at one another and begin nodding and making comments to one another.

Chaz becomes unhappy, and looks down the line before the cameraman turns his attention to a short, stocky, Asian man, possibly in his late fifties to early sixties, who raises his hand. A subtitle reads, ‘Quan’.

Chaz: Yeah, Bruce Lee down the end, what?

Quan: No, is Quan...

Chaz: I couldn’t give a flying Peking f**k!

Quan starts to look increasingly confused before the cameraman turns his attention back to Chaz and follows him as he marches over and stops in front of Quan.

Chaz: (Smiles) Oh, yeah, Ghengis Quan, or should I say the sneaky fucker what tested that medicine on his patients what didn’t know, yeah?

Quan: Nothing has been proven...

Chaz: "Which is why you’re on this trainin’ program, yeah? I know all the shit about you already you sly f**ker."

The cameraman circles around Chaz as he looks up and down the line with disdain, then turns and starts walking away.

Chaz: Right gents, follow me, and we’ll get you some clobber an’ stuff you’re gonna need from now on.

We see the group file into a large building, where at one side Loafer and Stash stand behind a row of tables, behind them are large piles of old clothes, worn out blankets, sheets, etc, and a large amount of cardboard, newspapers, and other items.

Narrator: The gentlemen’s outfitters was now open for business, but not all of the customers were happy.

A middle aged man with a fairly large waist, struggles to fasten a pair of worn out, grungy trousers, talking to the camera as Chaz approaches to his rear. A subtitle reads, ‘Godfrey’.

Godfrey: Apparently, one size is supposed to fit all, or at least I’ve just been told.

Chaz sidles up next to Godfrey, giving him what appears to be the near heart attack inducing fright of his life in the process, then holds up a length of orange string.

Chaz: "Never fear, Chaz is ‘ere, with the good old mark one, all purpose belt, stroke shoelace, or whatever you like. (Gives the string to Godfrey). Go on then, don’t be shy. I’m tellin’ ya though, you won’t need that f**kin’ string when this is over. A month on weed, meths, and me own special diet plan will get rid of that huge f**kin’ gut...Ya useless fat