Product Description
The story of a gang of teenage motorbikers in the 1960's.
Who murdered Sandra Wilkinson.
The workshop was in darkness when I arrived which was strange because Eddie usually left the lights on to deter anyone breaking in. I stopped outside the double doors at the rear got off my bike removed my helmet and walked to the doors to unlock them but the padlock was missing, one of the doors was slightly open, I banged on the door.
“Eddie, are you there? It’s me Steve” I shouted.
There was no reply. I heard someone moving around inside so I push both doors open wide to let the light from my bikes headlamp shine in. I could see Eddie’s Enfield stood over by the far wall. A crow bar lay on the ground just inside the doors so I bent down and picked it up, thinking that if it was a break in then I could use it to defend myself.
“Eddie” I shouted again, fumbling for the length of string that hung from switch that was just inside the doors.
The fluorescent lights flicked a few times before bursting into full light, at that moment I felt a terrific pain go through the side of my head and everything went black.
Town End Cafe, aka Club 77 was not a club as such, in fact it wasn't a club at all; but a back street cafe. The 77 came from the address of the cafe 'No77', the club was actually a gang of young teenagers who rode motorcycles and dressed the same, leather jackets, ice blue denim jeans, motorcycle boots with white fisherman's socks turned down over the tops and white crash helmets with the number 77 on the side.We met at the cafe not to do anything special, just to hang around and brag about girls and bikes.The table and chairs had all seen better days, they had all been damaged at some time, even patched up and repaired they still bared the scars of many an inconsiderate customer, especially us.
Who murdered Sandra Wilkinson.
The workshop was in darkness when I arrived which was strange because Eddie usually left the lights on to deter anyone breaking in. I stopped outside the double doors at the rear got off my bike removed my helmet and walked to the doors to unlock them but the padlock was missing, one of the doors was slightly open, I banged on the door.
“Eddie, are you there? It’s me Steve” I shouted.
There was no reply. I heard someone moving around inside so I push both doors open wide to let the light from my bikes headlamp shine in. I could see Eddie’s Enfield stood over by the far wall. A crow bar lay on the ground just inside the doors so I bent down and picked it up, thinking that if it was a break in then I could use it to defend myself.
“Eddie” I shouted again, fumbling for the length of string that hung from switch that was just inside the doors.
The fluorescent lights flicked a few times before bursting into full light, at that moment I felt a terrific pain go through the side of my head and everything went black.
Town End Cafe, aka Club 77 was not a club as such, in fact it wasn't a club at all; but a back street cafe. The 77 came from the address of the cafe 'No77', the club was actually a gang of young teenagers who rode motorcycles and dressed the same, leather jackets, ice blue denim jeans, motorcycle boots with white fisherman's socks turned down over the tops and white crash helmets with the number 77 on the side.We met at the cafe not to do anything special, just to hang around and brag about girls and bikes.The table and chairs had all seen better days, they had all been damaged at some time, even patched up and repaired they still bared the scars of many an inconsiderate customer, especially us.
