Animal

by Paul Jones

  The parka man nodded obediently and slunk off. Boss Man then turned back to Razor on the punchbag and growled at him, ‘come one Raze kill that bloody bag.’

  Razor, his white T shirt soaked in sweat and looking like a second skin on his flabby body gave him a toothless grin and detonated another big right into the bag with deep humph.

  *

  Still wearing her dressing gown, Donna McMurphy eased herself on to her couch with a coffee and a fag to watch her favourite TV programme, ITV’s This Morning. Today was her only day off, all the house work chores had been done, and her husband Norman, who had been made redundant six months ago, was out looking for work.

  Donna was forty-six years old, not much to look at now, but in her youth she had been a bit of a looker. Unfortunately, being a heavy smoker all her life, the nicotine had starved her once creamy-smooth skin of its precious oxygen, and had now left it lined and pasty. Her eyes, too, were once bright and sparkling like polished gem stones, but now looked more like eggs in a pickled jar.

  Tragically, there didn’t seem to be anything in Donna’s life at the moment worthy of bringing any luminescence back into those baby blues of hers. The recession was hitting everyone hard, repossessions were reaching an all time high, the cost of living was becoming near impossible. Then you had council tax, and water rates hikes, privatised fuel bills, just basically out-and-out doom and gloom.

  However, in Donna’s case, the recession seemed to be the least of her problems at the moment. Not so long ago, she had found out that her husband Norman had been hiding a terrible secret from her, he was a compulsive gambler. And during one mammoth betting spree, he had squandered away most of their life savings. In a panic, he had foolishly borrowed cash from a dodgy loan shark to replace the money he had lost, so his wife would never know. But what he didn’t expect was the crazy interest rate the lender had put on the loan, and now he was expected to pay back about three times the amount.

  Having dug himself so deep in debt, he found himself backed into a corner and couldn’t get out. So, Norman had to come clean to his wife, and all hell broke loose. Yet, now, they were unable to meet the exorbitant repayments of the loan. And as a result, their lender was beginning to lean on them quite severely, even resorting to intimidation and blackmail. Donna and her husband were now completely lost and at the end of their tether.

  Back in her living room, she took a sup of her sweet coffee, the warmth and the taste momentarily relieving her of the burden of her problems.

  The front door bell rang making her pause in mid-sip. The gripping dread stirred in her chest like a serpent waking from its sleep. Surely to God, not him, not now? She fretted. What if I pretended to be out, would he go away? No, probably not she thought. Knowing him he would more than likely wait on the doorstep all day for his money.

  She closed her eyes, and took some deep breaths to work up the courage to answer the door. Finally, she climbed off the settee and trudged off as if she was going to the gallows.

  When she answered it, she almost cried with relief at the welcoming sight of an attractive young lady standing there. The woman was about early twenties, wearing a chequered coat and jeans, and smiling while she chewed gum. To Donna she looked like Cheryl Cole from the pop group Girls’ Aloud.

  ‘Hello, would you be Mrs Donna McMurphy?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘My name is Karen White I represent a small group of people who may be in a position to help you with your problem.’

  Donna leant curiously against the door’s edge. ‘Problem?’ she questioned.

  ‘Yes, I understand you are being harassed and terrorised by a certain debt collector who you owe money to?’

  Donna became concerned. ‘Who are you? What…’

  ‘Please don’t be alarmed. I’m here to help you.’ Karen explained. ‘Like I’ve said, I belong to a group whose main objective is to try and help vulnerable people like yourself who are being hounded and exploited by the criminals of society.’

  Donna looked a bit nonplussed.

  Karen continued. ‘Now I know you’re probably thinking that it’s none of my business, and how do I know about your predicament, but the fact remains that you don’t have anyone else to turn to, do you?’

  Donna felt uncomfortable with this. ‘I really don’t think…’

  Karen politely raised her hand to hush her. ‘I’m not going to go into the whys and wherefores, all I’m going to say is that if you want this particular loan shark off your back we will do it for you. Obviously for a reasonable fee, of course, but I guarantee that in the long run you’ll be saving a lot of money. There’s no contract, no extortionate payments, just a one-off fee based on the task that needs to be performed.’

  Donna shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. There was definitely something shifty and sinister about all this, yet on the other hand the thought of having that despicable lender off their backs for good was a very alluring prospect indeed.

  ‘I really need to think about this, and discuss it with my husband. I mean I don’t want us to get into any more trouble than we are already. Isn’t what you’re saying actually illegal?’

  Karen smiled shrewdly. ‘It’s like you’ve just said, you’re already deep in the you-know-what, so how much worse can it get?’

  ‘I understand that, but there are legal ramifications to what you’re saying.’

  Karen stopped her again.’ Mrs McMurphy, look around you, look at the state society has become because of the so called justice system you and everyone else depends upon. If you honestly think that the law will sort all this out for you, and can protect you from those kind of people, then you don’t need us, and we’ll be quite happy to wish you good luck.’ Karen pinched the lapels of her coat like she was making out to leave.

  Donna fidgeted with frustration, she was crying out for the help that was being offered, but still she couldn’t find a voice to accept it.

  ‘Listen?’ Karen reached into her pocket, and handed her a slip of paper.

  ‘Here’s our number! If you change your mind give us a call. Thanks for your time.’ She smiled and clacked off in her River Island high heeled shoes.

  Donna looked down at the mobile number and leant her head against the frame of the door. She thought long and hard about what the lady had said, and the words law and justice system echoed loudly in her mind.

  Would it be worth going to the police after all? What if they were unable to do anything to help her? What if the loan shark got wind of her going the police? Would he seriously carry out the threat of burning down her house? Of course, then it would become a police matter, but by that time it would be too late anyhow. What if this woman, Karen White and her associates were her only chance? Maybe, maybe not?

  Indeed, time was running out and Donna was becoming more and more desperate for answers. Thwarted, she closed he eyes and scrunched up the piece of paper wondering what the hell to do.

  CHAPTER 11

  It was front page news in most of the local newspapers:

  “YOBS TARGET ONE STOP STORE.”

  During the last month, popular West shore mini-store has been plagued by a wave of crimes committed by youths disguised in hoodies. These crimes include damage to the store, thieving stock, and threatening behaviour towards the staff members. As a result, the owner of the shop, Mr A. Jameson now feels great concern for the future of his store and the safety of his staff workers.

  ‘Oh, it’s been absolutely terrible! I don’t know what’s happening to this community anymore. These bloody youths probably aged between 16-17 years old and cloaked in their hoodies just come in and go straight for the boxes of lagers and blatantly try and walk out with them. They don’t even attempt to hide what they’re doing. And when you confront them, out come the knives and they threaten to cut you. A member of my staff has already been beaten up by a gang of four who he valiantly tried to stop stealing some fags from behind the counter.


  ‘Because of that incident, some of the staff have refused to work because they are too frightened. The other day, I threw one lad of about 12 years old out of my shop for trying to nick some Snicker bars. That evening, I got a brick through one of my poster windows. Obviously, they’re all part of the same gang.

  When asked about what measures the police had taken to combat this, Mr Jameson conveyed his frustration.

  ‘What a waste of time that is! It takes them at least an hour or so to arrive at my store, and what good is that? As if the little thugs are going to hang around waiting to be caught. And even when they do arrive, all they can do is take a statement and advise me to keep a diary of the incidents. And… oh…yes, don’t try and tackle the youths yourself otherwise you might be liable for assault. I might be the one liable for assault. Can you believe that?

  ‘So they seem to be able to get away with smashing up my store, attacking my staff, stealing my stock, and all they get is reported. Yet if I dare to hurt any of them while they’re committing any of these crimes, then it’s me who will end up in court, not them!

  Just further proof that that today’s justice system protects the criminals and penalises the victims.’

  When this reporter contacted the Llandudno police station to investigate the matter, they issued a statement as follows…

  ‘We take every reported incident very seriously indeed, and together with the assistance of Mr Jameson we aim to resolve this particular problem as soon as possible.’

  Copy end.

  As for the police getting around to “resolving this particular problem,” Mr Jameson decided that he wasn’t going to wait that long, and intended on doing a bit of DIY himself.

  Friday early evening, the beginning of what many big-drinkers call the weekend booze-up, Mr Jameson was forced to do the late night shift at his shop himself. And the reason for that was because all his staff had now refused to work the weekends because of all the trouble.

  Serving the last customer in the store, Mr Jameson was loading some groceries into a plastic bag for some portly gentleman waiting with a fiver in his hand. As he added up the items on the till, Mr Jameson knew in the back of his mind that once the man had left, he would be alone in his store again. After totalling the cost, Jameson took the money off the man, and handed him his change with a polite “thank you.” The man grabbed his bag of shopping and marched out of the store. Yet the second the automatic doors had closed behind him, they swished back open for three teens dressed in black parka jackets with the hoods pulled down to hide their faces.

  Mr Jameson switched onto red alert.

  ‘Hoods off lads,’ he ordered, but they just ignored him, and headed straight for the alcohol aisle, while the third stayed behind to guard the entrance.

  Jameson’s heart began to race as he eyed them through the convex security mirror at the end of the aisle. All he could hear was a rattling of bottles, then the two lads emerged each holding a pack of six lagers. Realising they had no intention of paying for them, (even if they could prove they were old enough to buy them) Jameson raced from behind the counter to stop them.

  ‘Hold it right there,’ he cried, blocking them off, but the third member keeping watch by the door, pulled out a hunting knife.

  Jameson’s face grew with alarm, and he backed away. The two holding the lagers strode on out of the store, cackling smugly to themselves into the chilly night air. Standing his ground, the knife youth flashed the blade at Jameson menacingly.

  ‘Yeah, and if you say anything else to the police or the papers, we’ll cut you up.’

  Jameson’s fear turned to astonishment at hearing such a threat coming from a child as young as this. Christ he couldn’t have been any older than fourteen.

  Backing away still brandishing the knife, the youth turned at the door, and fled with his accomplices.

  Jameson was rooted to the spot, self preservation preventing him from going after them and getting stabbed, these days anything was possible. Giving it a minute or two, he worked up the courage to have a peep outside, and as he did, he caught sight of the two boxes of lagers stacked neatly against the poster window. Stumped by this, he scratched his head, and while he still had the chance, he reached down and took them back in, half expecting at any second for the youths to dash around the corner and jump him. When this didn’t happen, he stood in the doorway doubly confused, and moaned to himself that there wasn’t much point in phoning the police now.

  About a mile away, inside the dark interior of the van, the three young offenders from the store, sat wide-eyed like frightened kittens stuffed in a cardboard box. Sitting on guard eyeing them as a potential late supper were two panting Rottweiler dogs. Holding on to their leads was a man in a balaclava, and in the front of the van were two other disguised men. For now their destination was a secret.

  ‘Let us go,’ cried the oldest member of the teen gang, a tall hook-nosed kid. ‘My dad’s gonna kill you when he gets hold of you.’

  Beneath the black balaclava, a creepy little voice spoke. ‘I really don’t think so.’

  The middle-oldest of the trio, a chubby-faced brat sounded like he was going to cry.

  ‘What do you want? You better let us go.’

  Their captor didn’t answer them, but stared coldly back at them. The thought of what he was planning to do to them only adding to their fears.

  Eventually, the van came to a stop, the location unknown, but outside it was complete blackness.

  The youngest of the trio began to sniffle, the strain of what might happen to them becoming too much too bear. Balaclava flicked on the open door light, and shifted into a more comfortable position.

  ‘Boys I want you to meet Jake and Tyson. Jake and Tyson haven’t eaten all day, and believe me they have a very big appetite. At the moment, all their thinking about is meat. Warm meat, cold meat, any meat, and because I love my dogs to bits, I have to make sure they get fed.’

  The sniffles of the youngest member grew into hiccups of panic, while the older two bravely clung on for now.

  ‘This recession is killing me, honestly,’ Balaclava told them. ‘And I’m finding it extremely difficult to find money to buy food for my babies here.’ He patted their bony skulls, and they stopped panting to sniff their master’s hand.

  ‘You see, boys, this is the only way I can feed my pets.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Hook-nosed kid raged. ‘There’s no way you’re gonna feed us to them.’

  ‘Why not? You’re just a couple of nobody’s going around stealing and terrorising people, who’s going to care?’

  ‘Our parents, and our friends.’

  ‘Really? Well, let’s just say that amounts to a dozen or so people that you already know. But what about the rest of the town, who else is going to care about a few naughty kids who were only known for beating up innocent people, stealing, and threatening them with knives? I think most of them would say good riddance. I know I would.’

  ‘Bugger off!’ The oldest one called his bluff.

  Balaclava turned to his dogs, who up until now had sat there very controlled, very calm, and well behaved. He began making little whistling sounds to them and the two dogs, reacted with guttural snarls and growls. He continued to wind them up until he had got them into a frenzy. They frothed at the mouth and bared their teeth, their eyes blazing like the devils. The three kids tried to flinch from the animals, and back as far away as they could against the rear doors. Balaclava simmered them down again, and showed the kids the lead he was holding.

  ‘Now if I let go of this, there will be no stopping what these two will do.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ said Hook-nose.

  ‘Shut up.’ Chubby shoved him in the arm.

  Balaclava set his dogs at ease. ‘Right, the only thing that is going to stop me from leaving you three alone in here with Jake and Tyson is your names and addresses, plus the names and addresses of everyone in your little gang.’

  Bal
aclava tapped the arm of his accomplice sitting in the front who passed him over a mobile phone. He held it up to the youths ready to take their photographs. ‘Say cheese, and don’t any of you dare to try and hide your faces or I’ll get my dogs to rip your arms off, and then we’ll start again.’

  All three of them sat there like frightened lambs going to the slaughter, and Balaclava clicked the photo button sending out a flash of light.

  ‘By the way, should the info you give me turn out to be false, the police will have these pictures anyhow, so they’ll be able to track you down. And, urm, I’m going to keep the hunting knife as a souvenir, besides you’re too young to be playing about with knives.’ He tapped his jacket pocket where he put the knife securely. ‘Last but not least, if we hear of any of you lot letting so much as fart off anywhere near that store I swear to you, you’re dog food. We’ll get you, even if we have to break into your house at night. So watch out.’

  The three kids sat there with billiard ball eyes not even making a whimper.

  Balaclava pulled out a small note pad and pen. ‘Right then, who’s first?’

  *

  The next morning, winter sunshine filtered through a blanket of clouds as a young lady in high heels and a chequered jacket clacked into the one-stop store. Under her arm she carried an A4 sized envelope, and she waited for Jameson to finish serving an old lady with a terrier in tow. As the old woman passed her on the way out, the young lady gave her a chewing gum smile, and clacked over to Jameson. The package she was carrying was placed on the counter, in front of him.

  ‘The names and addresses you required, plus identification photographs of the culprits,’ she said.

  Jameson took out a bulky envelope from his own pocket, and handed it over to the young lady. Discreetly, she slipped it inside her coat, and flashed him a grateful smile. ‘You shouldn’t have any more trouble, but if you do, you have our number.’ She nodded and turned to leave.