Larry Fernetti moved with his family from Florida and had been living in Hornchurch, Essex for about three weeks. His employers, Sudor Industries, sent him to England as a trouble-shooter because the company branch in Northeast London was operating at a loss. It was Larry's job to turn the branch's fortunes around.

Moving house is always a stressful time and moving house to another country many more times worse. However, it all seemed to go fairly smoothly for the Fernetti family. The company had found them a nice house to rent and enrolling his two children, twelve year old Ellen and Troy, aged nine wasn't the hassle they had feared. As for his wife, Stacey, once she accepted that the local supermarked didn't have one aisle dedicated to selling a hundred different brands of baked beans, she was okay.

As for Larry, most of the people at his new workplace were accepting of him. The only resistance to him being there came from a few militants on the shop floor who feared he was either going to cut jobs or close the factory down. But once he assured them that he wasn't going to make anyone redundant, they were more accepting of him. For Larry and his family, relocation to the UK was going swimmingly.

Within three weeks at being at the Northeast London branch, Larry was already starting to turn things around for the company. After the third stressful but very successful week, some of his new colleagues suggested they all go to the pub after work to celebrate. Going to a traditional English pub was something on Larry's 'to do' list while he was in England. He just hadn't had the opportunity to do so yet. He had to admit, he didn't even know where his own local was. Once he got the okay from Stacey, making the promise that he wouldn't come home drunk, he graciously accepted the offer.

When the day was over, Larry wasn't the only one who felt the need for a drink. Graham, who had invited Larry, showed way more enthusiasm. He watched as Graham rounded up as many people as he could who were willing to come. Larry admired his colleague's youthful motivation. Graham couldn't have been more than thirty, tall, he stood about six feet one and athletically built. He had also learned that Graham had been a good cricket player and even played for Essex County's second team. Larry, on the other hand, was forty-one, only five foot eight and beginning to experience some of the changes that middle age brought with it.

Graham led the happy throng consisting of Larry, two young men Graham's age, a gentleman even older than Larry and two young ladies who couldn't have been past their mid-twenties. After negotiating a neighbourhood of terraced housing, they came to what looked like a house on its own planted in a spacious car park, This was the Hillside Tavern. To Larry, the pub might as well have been a large house, it looked like nothing out of the ordinary. Only the large sign in front bearing its name gave anyone any indication of otherwise. Inside, however, he could see it was different. There was a large bar in the centre of the place, which was surrounded by a number of tables and chairs. He spied a pool table in the back and against one wall was three one armed bandits. It was now crystal clear he was inside a pub.

The rest of the party sat down at two tables to the left of the large bar while Graham took everyone's order for drinks. However, in Larry's case, Graham would get him to try one of the beers on tap to let him experience the range of beers on offer. The second the drinks arrived, all the stresses of the week vanished and the revelry commenced. Larry very quickly relaxed in the company of his new friends. One drink led to another and Graham's friend Tony encouraged him to sample another great English beer. Larry felt it rude to say no.

Even with the good time they were having, the group couldn't avoid not noticing the three men who came in very loudly. The elder of the three, who looked like he could have been the father of one of the others, was shorter than his younger companions but very stocky. His very close cut hair allowed the tattoo of the Union Jack on the left side of his head to be viewed by all. The younger white male was tall, well over six feet and except for that, looked like the older man. The young black man was the same height as his white contemporary. His muscular build was more obvious, even under the loose fitting clothes.

“This place looks fucking dead!” exclaimed the young white man at a higher than necessary volume.

“We'll just have to liven it the fuck up!” his black friend proclaimed at the same level of volume.

Larry's party did its best to ignore the loud, obnoxious swearing of the three men who came into the pub. For the most part, it was working as the second round of drinks washed down and removed any awkward feelings. When all were finished, Larry felt it was his turn to buy the next round of drinks. As he approached the bar, he did his best to ignore the three men who were still swearing away by the bar. He thought nothing about it when he gave his order to the barman who looked even younger than the two loud guys. Larry was more worried about getting the order right. While he waited for the order to be filled, the elder man came over to where he was standing.

“Are you American?” he asked Larry. The man's breath gave away the fact he had been drinking long before he'd entered the pub.

“Yes,” Larry answered politely.

“Hey lads, we have a Yank here,” the man said to his two younger companions.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by all three men. “What are you doing in England?” the younger white man asked menacingly.

“I work for Sudor Industries,” he answered, again trying to be polite.

All three men seemed unimpressed with this attempt or his answer. “We don't want fuckin Yanks around here!” the young white man barked.

This was followed by, “Why don't you fuck off back to America?” from the black man.

“Is everything okay here?” inquired Graham with Tony at his side coming in like the cavalry.

“Yes,” the elder man reassured, “We're just getting acquainted with our new American friend.”

Graham threw him a look, which doubted his sarcasm. Nothing more was said as the Larry's two mates helped him carry the drinks back to the table. However, they had reached about halfway when the young white man's voice rang out, “Be seeing you Yankee.”

No further thought was given to the encounter as the spirit of comaraderie engulfed the small party. Everyone contributed to the friendly atmosphere and Larry became more relaxed in his surroundings. He thought nothing more of the encounter at the bar. Nevertheless, when the next round of drinks came up. Graham was insistent that Larry didn't go to the bar. The three men were still there continuing their loud, obnoxious behaviour.

Sometime after the round of drinks was purchased, the three men raucously announced their intention to leave. “This place is dead!” stamped the young white man.

“Yeah, too many foreigners,” added the black man.

With that, the trio exited the the pub. No one at Larry's table would miss them. They went back to listening to their new friend tell them about his native country. Being from Florida, he was asked about Disney World and told them he had been there. The two young ladies seemed to hang on to his every word. Likewise, he enjoyed his friends telling him about his new country. Several times, probably enhanced by the drink, Graham told Larry not to judge all English people by the three men who were in earlier. After one of those times, Graham had to explain what a wanker was but each time, Larry reassured his friend he wouldn't.

After one more round of drinks, the happy gathering decided to part. As they were leaving, Graham, Tony and a third man named Derrick invited Larry to join them in another British tradition of going for a curry. Larry had to politely refuse on the grounds that he knew there was a cooked meal waiting at home for him.

The full effect of the five pints of beer he drank hit him like a lorry as Larry began walking into the cool, damp London night. He tried his best to hold himself steady while he walked but he found he couldn't fully stop himself from swaying to and fro. He was glad no one was on the street as he probably would have been a great source of amusement. That gladness increased ten fold when the train station came into view. Quickening his pace, he was determined to reach his goal. That was why he never noticed the three dark figures emerge from a side road.

“It's that bloody Yank!” a voice rang out. Even in his current intoxicated state, Larry knew it was the older thug from the pub. Before he could react, all three surrounded him. Thrusting his face into Larry's the younger white thug growled, “Your mates aren't here to help you now.”

“Look, I don't want any...”but before he could get any more words out, a well placed kick to the middle of his back sent him forward into the young man in front of him. The young man grabbed Larry by his jacket and brought his head forcefully onto Larry's nose. Blood gushed out like burst dam. But before he could do anything about it, all three men rained down punches and kicks upon him. In an act of self-perservation, Larry threw himself to the ground curling up into a ball. That didn't stop his attackers from trying to use him as a football. He couldn't tell how long his ordeal lasted and drifted in and out of consciousness at least once. He only knew they had stopped when the young white man's voice yelled, “How do you like that, Yank?”

Every part of his body hurt, the pain so intense, it took him ages before he finally managed to struggle to his feet. Furthermore, he had to constantly spit out the blood that was still steadily flowing into his mouth from his nose. When he finally got to his feet without fear of falling down, a sharp pain in his right side followed by a shortness of breath led Larry to conclude that his ribs had been broken. Taking out his mobile phone, he wasn't sure who to phone first. Stories of UK ambulances taking hours to get to him influenced him to take a taxi to the hospital. After the taxi was booked, Larry phoned Stacey and explained what happened, mainly out of fear that he would lose consciousness during the ten minutes he had to wait for the taxi to arrive.

“Oh my God!” Stacey exclaimed when Larry told her what had happened. He told her everything he could remember and she kept him talking until the taxi came.

“You look terrible mate,” the taxi driver pointed out when he saw Larry get in the cab.

“I was attacked,” was all Larry could respond with.

The taxi driver wasted no time getting his wounded fare to the hospital as fast as he legally could. After Larry paid the fare, the driver assisted him into the Casualty Department of the hospital. What happened after was remarkable in Larry's eyes. All the American scare stories of six hour waits for one overworked doctor because of socialized medicine were debunked in his mind that night. He was seen almost straight away, probably owing to how bad he looked. His cuts were cleaned and the bloody nose was fixed. He was also glad to hear that his nose wasn't broken. He did have to wait awhile for x-rays, which confirmed his ribs were broken. Once they were set, he was given strong painkillers and eventually found a hospital bed.

His five day stay in hospital was like any stay in such a place, mostly boring. Graham visited him three times and on each visit, he apologized to Larry for leaving him to walk to the train station alone. He said he should of known those thugs would follow him and do this. Larry assured his friend that it wasn't his fault.

The police visited sometime the next day and took down all the details Larry could give. They were very professional and reassuring, although he wasn't very confident that his attackers would ever be caught. Mainly because London was such a big city and crimes like this seem to go to the back of the line for more serious crimes. Therefore, he tried his best to push the whole affair out of his mind and carry on as normal.

In the weeks that followed, Larry tried his best to do just that. He was glad, however, that he followed his wife's advice and contacted victim support as he got a lot of help and understanding from it. Work colleagues were very supportive and Graham and Tony eventually stopped apologizing for leaving him to walk on his own that night.

One evening, Stacey answered a knock on the front door to two uniformed police officers. They politely asked to speak to Larry, so they were invited in. Sitting down with the couple, the taller officer announced, “Mr Fernetti, we believe we have caught the men who attacked you.”

Seeing the surprised look on Larry's face, the shorter and younger officer added, “We need you to come down to the station to make a positive identification.”

Barely able to contain his excitement, Larry grabbed his coat and followed the two officers. He was driven to the police station near where the attack occurred. During the car journey, he was bursting inside to ask all sorts of questions, especially how they were caught, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Upon arrival at the station, he followed the officers inside. After some waiting, he was shown into a room. There, on the other side of a one way mirror, stood the three men who had callously and viciously attacked him. Their faces would be forever engraved in his memory.

Six months passed before the trial date, during which he received more good news that the attackers were being charged with a hate crime. The police and prosecutor believed that the three men deliberately attacked Larry on the grounds he was American. However, the news didn't stop his bouts of manic/depressive thoughts throughout the six months. The manic thoughts were his joy at the prospect they were going to be brought to justice. Depressive thoughts were about the worry that some sly defence lawyer would get them off.

Larry didn't know whether to cheer or cry with joy when he heard all three defendants plead guilty to causing grievous bodily harm. It turned out the prosecutor was correct. The numerous witnesses who saw the men harass him in the pub were too many for any defence lawyer to refute. However, the biggest break came when the crime lab found traces of Larry's blood over the men's shoes and trousers as well as the jacket of the younger white man. He dared to think that it was all over, but he was soon found wrong.

“My clients are pleading 'not guilty' to committing a hate crime, the defence barrister declared.

It shouldn't have come as a big surprise to Larry when his attackers pleaded 'not guilty' to the hate crime. After all, he was sure they would plead the same to the attack. For him, the guilty plea was a bonus and he just had to wait it out and put his faith in the British legal system.

Things seemed to be going well from Larry's point of view. The prosecutor called Graham, Tony and the barman from the Hillside Tavern to the stand. All of them testified to how the three men went after Larry because of his nationality. What really surprised him was that the defense didn't challenge their testimonies very much. Therefore, he felt confident when he was finally called to the stand.

“Can you tell the court in your own words, the events of the evening in question?” the prosecuting barrister began. “Start from when you went to the bar.”

“I went to the bar to buy a round of drinks for my work colleagues, while I was doing so, those three men came up to me and that one,” pointing to the eldest man, “said,'Hey lads, we have a Yank here.'”

“What happened next?”

“The man standing next to him said, 'We don't want fucking Yanks here.' and the black man told me to fuck off back to America.”

“Did you provoke them in any way?”

“No, I tried to be polite,” Larry indicated.

“Why do you think they left you alone, after that?”

“Because Graham came over to the bar and asked if everything was alright?”

Changing tack, the prosecutor then said, “Let's move on to the attack. Mr Fernetti, why don't you please tell us what happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Larry began, “Well, I was walking to the train station, when I heard a voice shout, “It's that bloody Yank.” Then, before I knew those three men came from out of nowhere and surrounded me. That one,” pointing to the younger white man, “stuck his face in front of mine and said, 'Your mates aren't here to help you now.' Right after, I was kicked from behind, that man head-butted me on the nose and then repeatedly punched and kicked all the way to the ground.”

“Why do you think they singled you out that night?”

“Because I'm American,” Larry stated plainly.

“No further questions.”

Larry braced himself for the cross examination. He watched the short man, whose head seemed to be engulfed beneath his wig, come towards him. Stopping short of the witness box, he began, “Why did you say you didn't provoke them?”

“Because I didn't,” Larry responded firmly.

“Really, so are you saying that you didn't call my client, Mr. Sombote,” indicating the black defendant, “a nigger?”

“What, no!” came the answer from a very surprised Larry.

“All three of my clients will testify that you did, are you absolutely sure you didn't, even under your breath?”

“They're lying, I'm sure I didn't.”

“Mr. Fernetti, how much did you have to drink that night?”

“Five pints of beer.”

“Five pints, and you can say for sure that you didn't call my client that word.”

“Yes, I can.”

Looking at the witness more sternly, the defense barrister suddenly asked, “Will you please tell the court where you come from in America?”

“Florida.”

“Florida, would you say there is a lot of racial bigotry in Florida?”

Perplexed at where these questions were going, Larry answered, “I suppose there's some.”

“Isn't Florida in the Deep South?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn't Florida a slave state?”

“Yes, but that was over 150 years ago.” He threw a glace at the prosecutor, his expression asking why he wasn't objecting to these questions.

“Wasn't there controversy in Florida over blacks being denied the right to vote?”

“Yes but....”

Interrupting, the barrister drilled home, “You drank five pints of beer, you come from a Southern State known for its racial bigotry and you want us to believe that you didn't call my client, Mr. Sombote, a nigger?”

“Yes, I do.”

All three of Larry's attackers testified that Larry had called the black man the 'n' word. However, the prosecutor might have had some success in showing both inconsistencies and rehearsed answers in the three men's testimonies. The younger man also divulged that his cousin had been killed in Afghanistan but an American helicopter in a friendly-fire incident and that was why he had some ill feelings towards Americans. The prosecutor never challenged the validity of his statement. When the last of them stepped off the witness stand, Larry could only hope that the jury believed him and not them.

The defense barrister wasn't quite finished. He called a woman named Elisha Barnett to the stand. Larry watche in great wonder who she was as the stocky looking woman with a man's hair-cut made her way to the stand.

“Tell us your credentials, please, Miss Barnett.”

“I work for the Commision for Racial Equality,” the woman answered.

“What is your specific job with the commission?”

“I specialise in hate crimes.”

“Are you familiar with the attack on Mr. Fernetti?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you consider the attack on him to be a hate crime?”

“No, I don't.”

“And why not?”

“Because he's a white American and white Americans don't come under the Racial Equality Act, so it can't be considered a hate crime.”

“Why is that?”

“The Act was established to protect racial minorities and white Americans aren't considered a minority.”

“Is that all?”

“No, if the victim did call the one man a nigger, that would be the hate crime. While I can't be sure, we do know that Americans commit hate crimes all around the world and their police indiscriminately shoot black men.”

The prosecutor came forward. “Miss Barnett, do you think Mr. Fernetti deserved what happened to him?”

“No and they pleaded guilty to that attack.”

“Do you think it's okay for them to attack someone just because he's American?”

“No, but it's still not a hate crime.”

“So, you think it's not a hate crime to attack someone because they're not of the right nationality?”

“No, only non-white persons can be victims of hate crime.”

Larry wasn't particularly surprised when the jury declared the attack on him not to be a hate crime. He did receive some consolation when the two white men were sentenced to two years in prison and the black man, eighteen months. He concluded that the jury must have believed that he called the black man that racist name or at the very least, believed the woman who said it wasn't a hate crime.

As he was leaving the courtroom, Graham heard a young man tell a group of his friends, “I told him to tell that story about his cousin being killed by friendly-fire. I bet the jury bought it.” While that proved to Graham that the young white man made the story up, he knew it would be counted as 'heresay' and inadmissible. Therefore, he decided not to tell it to his friend. Larry had suffered enough.