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Jack Elgos Presents - The Reunion

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The NNMC (No Name Motorcycle Club)
They once were a gang of young, strong, fit and fearless bikers. But, that was over thirty years ago.
Their Reunion looms ever closer. The year now is 2010:
Sometimes life throws you the odd bone - these guys caught one.
Looking forward to a long overdue reunion - they had a simple plan, to take one last ride together.
Five grumpy middle aged ex-bikers set out to find fun and adventure.
Characters include:
The motorcycles
A small time jobbing builder
A tobacco smuggler
A coal miner
A very dodgy sounding Jamaican
A schoolteacher
An old friend, the drug dealing Dutchman
A bunch of very nasty Neo Nazis + their German skinhead mates and, a long lost, buried Nazi treasure trove.
The Reunion is an all action read, all adventure book, with plenty of moaning and complaining.


Extract from - The Reunion

1945 Germany - Berlin:

The Fuhrer's dreams of a Thousand Year Reich were crumbling by the hour as hoards of fearsome Soviet soldiers began taking a vicious stranglehold on the city. These were the final, and very violent, days of World War II - but the carnage was far from over.

As the Battle of Berlin raged during the final major offensive of World War II, the Red Army advanced through the city, forced to fight house by house and street by street. The relentless hoard of Russian troops swept stubbornly forward, heading for the centre of town; heading for Hitler's chancellery. As May approached the Third Reich found itself seriously depleted, but they were far from finished. Hell reigned down across the entire city of Berlin.

2010 Pontefract, West Yorkshire: Knocker and the house clearance

Alan, better known by his lifelong nickname of Knocker for no good reason that anyone could remember, stood shivering in the cold wet drizzle of another damp English day. He took a deep breath and momentarily held it. Doing his best to ignore the feelings of dread and sadness, he slowly turned the key and pushed open the creaking front door of the run-down old council house.
He walked slowly inside and a wave of dry, warmish air hit him full in the face.
'Bloody Hell Dad, I can still smell you in here,' he whispered, tilting his head slightly backwards as he inhaled the familiar scent.

Deep down he hadn't wanted to face the truth, and he still couldn't really believe it. He'd always imagined his Dad would live forever. The old feller had rattled along for so many years that the thought that he would ever actually pop it had rarely crossed his mind.

Memories: Some really nice ones - and a couple - well, not so much

Inside the house he closed the door and leaned back onto it, now standing and smiling a little, as the pleasant thoughts of his younger self, Mam and Dad ran through his mind.
A few minutes later, as he took a seat in Dad's favourite armchair, he closed his eyes as the fond memories of his father's deep and comforting voice came flooding back to him.
The years began melting magically away.

Once again he found he was eleven years old, and he could hear his Dad patiently explaining. 'Not just yet son. You can have it when you're a little older, because this is something special; very special indeed.'
'When Dad? How long Dad? What is it Dad?' he heard his young voice as it ran through his head.
'On your sixteenth birthday son. I reckon you'll be big enough by then.'

Over the following years the young Alan repeated the question with the arrival of each birthday, 'Am I old enough now Dad? Am I big enough now?'
Harry's reply was always the same. 'I said sixteen son, remember? I'm afraid you'll have to wait just a bit longer.'

Knocker sat, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and exhaled slowly. Holding onto Dad's prized Kensitas ashtray, which had been a gift from the Ex-Servicemen's Club, he reclined back into the deeply padded chair and closed his eyes once more. His head filled with memories of that special day. He could clearly see himself as the fresh-faced sixteen-year-old boy he had been. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table holding a parcel wrapped in some very fancy looking red and white striped paper.

'Today, Dad, is it today?' he cried out in an excited voice.
'Aye lad, I reckon it is,' Harry replied with a gentle smile, as he passed the precious parcel over into his son's eager hands.

Knocker shuddered as the memories of his youthful impatience ran through his mind. Though the feelings were exciting and tingling back then, he felt deeply ashamed now. In his mind's eye he could see himself tearing and ripping open the package.
He cringed a little more as he saw his reaction to the contents all those years back. Young Alan sat, attempting to conceal his utter disappointment, as he finally opened up the parcel and, at long last, was able to gaze down on - some sort of old knife. And a very tatty looking one it was too.

'It's from the war. I brought it back with me,' Harry proudly explained to the youngster.
'Oh wow, Dad. It's a real er, um - war knife.' He attempted to sound as excited and enthusiastic as any thoroughly disappointed and devastated sixteen-year-old boy could.
'It's not just any old war knife you know, Alan. That is a genuine Nazi SS dagger from World War II. Look, can you see that little eagle and swastika on its handle?'
'Oh yeah, Dad, I can see it. That's so cool. So is it mine to keep then?' asked Knocker feigning excitement and wonder.
'Aye son, that it is, but you must promise to be really careful now, you hear? It's very sharp and could be deadly.'
'Thanks Dad, thanks a lot. I promise I will and I'll keep it forever,' he swore as he crossed his heart.

A single teardrop ran slowly down his cheek, as the burning memory of that day once more reignited in his mind. 'Good God, I'm so bloody glad I still have that old knife - somewhere,' he thought as he opened his eyes and sat glancing about the living room. 'Really bloody glad.'