Johnny and The USed Wonz

by DaNeo Duran

  With low spirits he hardly saw beyond his feet. Despite the clear night he didn’t want to risk another soaking; neither did he want to sleep on concrete and so far it seemed he could only have one or the other.

  A figure approach from him left. He hadn’t seen that.

  ‘Aright mate?’ a chirpy voice said. ‘Where you headed looking so glum?’

  Johnny whirled round seeing an older lad smiling.

  ‘Nice coat.’ The lad’s expression intensified.

  Warning bells sounded as Johnny saw the lad’s right fist clench.

  Before he could react a weight crashed into his right hand side. Buckling, he stumbled. His judo experience kept him on his feet.

  Amidst a downpour of thundering punches and kicks he saw not two but three pairs of legs dancing around him. Such a surprised state left him without capacity to process pain as instinct drove his hands to protect his head.

  But the kicks flying to his legs caved his knees; the ground accepted his collapsing body.

  Incredibly, under the deafening storm of impacts Johnny found himself giving in to the situation and as his coat got pulled, vanishing over his head, he relaxed.

  As quickly as it started, the storm passed with one farewell boot to stomach and the recession of his attackers’ meaningless yells.

  Alone again, Johnny let out a deep groan; rich in maturity. He rolled onto his back and to his own amazement started laughing. His arms, legs and head ached but the beating had roused something inside him. Bag-ro reedoy, he thought remembering Iftekhar saying he had the heart of a tiger.

  His relaxed state connected him to his mother voice, You’re alive.

  For a moment he wondered why he’d not heard Frank’s voice too. He wriggled; everything worked so he concluded this beating ranked well below many he’d suffered in the past.

  Pushing onto his side he watched the three attackers striding the length of the warehouse. He guessed the lad now wearing his coat must be the leader.

  He had to move quickly. On already stiffening muscles he first hobbled then broke through the pain as he sprinted around the warehouse’s perimeter.

  At its far corner he put his back to the wall and peered around it. Nobody there yet.

  Seconds later the three appeared, the tallest wearing his coat.

  The cheerful lad who’d greeted him flanked the tall guy’s right hand side. Perhaps he’d be second in command especially as the third guy looked like nothing.

  That said, the third guy pulled at the tall one’s shoulder and pointed. Johnny had been spotted.

  ‘Who’s there?’ the tall guy called over.

  ‘It’s me.’ Johnny strode out to face the lads some twenty feet away. ‘I was just thinking, you’re too lanky for that coat. It looks crap on you.’

  Their strides faltered and Johnny saw two faces blanch. Be as freaked as you like but don’t you dare run.

  ’Who are you calling lanky?’ the tall guy said advancing.

  Johnny stood his ground watching as the other two hung back a beat; the third only moving after the second had covered four feet.

  The tall one continued. ‘You mope around here at night you deserve to get robbed mate—’

  ‘Don’t be calling me mate,’ Johnny said pulling his sleeves up. Euphoria swept his body high on a cocktail of overactive hormones.

  He’d have to be fast to ensure the tall guy paid for his indignation and mis-confidence in his two backup friends.

  He calculated risks as the tall guy telegraphed his intentions via a clenched right fist. The moment it raised Johnny turned to his right preparing for secondary shots from his attacker’s left. Protecting his jaw he moved such that the predicted right fist whooshed by like a derailed train. Johnny launched closing their proximity and before his aggressor could respond he slipped his protective left behind his enemy’s head pulling it into his oncoming right elbow.

  Solid bone collided with the guy’s jaw below the ear sending him to sleep where he stood.

  Feigning interest Johnny strode past the number two guy. Terrified number three offered quivering fists. A second before contact though Johnny wielded round taking care of number two.

  ‘You don’t sound so friendly now,’ he said practicing some showy moves for number three’s benefit.

  With number two’s defence gone Johnny piled him with a right roundhouse and finished him with a spinning left hook kick.

  Number three turned to run but Johnny grabbed the back of his shirt within four paces.

  Pulling him to the ground he yelled, ‘Get my coat back.’ He jabbed the guy’s ear with the heel of his hand.

  Number three complied and came back with his coat and an apology.

  ‘How old you?’ Johnny asked him.

  ‘Fifteen.’.

  ‘And this guy?’

  ‘We’re all fifteen.’

  ‘I’m extremely unimpressed; you especially. You’ve no shred of courage have you?’

  Number three shook his head.

  Johnny felt the pockets for his possessions and pulled out Miss Wilkinson’s gravy tub.

  ‘You’ve no idea how important this is,’ he said considering how it had prevented him stealing a single drink. ‘Come with me.’

  Johnny marched the older lad the width of the warehouse and pointed to where they’d attacked him.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing you must have landed five or six punches on me.’

  Number three tried to protest.

  ‘Five or six at least. Every bit of me aches,’ Johnny said. When number three didn’t argue Johnny said, ‘If I kick and punch you five or six times you’ll die—’

  He stopped short, recalling having kicked and punched the ogre down the stairs.

  ‘You owe me – mate,’ he said but doubted he deserved better than to sleep in factory doorway.

  Number three looked worried. ‘Okay.’

  Johnny looked at him. Three stood silently, waiting.

  Johnny said, ‘I need a bed for the night.’

  ‘What?’ Three panicked. ‘You can’t come to mine.’

  Johnny suddenly imagined if he did the police might be waiting for him in the morning. ‘Let’s walk before those two wake up.’

  They walked Old Kent Road. Johnny could only guess what thoughts the other lad must be having. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Shaun.’

  ‘Johnny.’

  Neither said more.

  At the point when Johnny thought he should just let him go, Shaun said, ‘My sister’s got a mate who lives at some woman’s house.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘She looks after kids who’ve nowhere else. Maybe you could stay there.’

  ‘We could try,’ he said absently, thinking again of the police. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Charlton.’

  ‘Isn’t that miles away?’ he said. He’d heard of Charlton Athletic but imagined it’d be in the midlands.

  ‘Not really.’ Shaun gave him an odd look.

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure, sounds dodgy.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Weighing the alternatives Johnny agreed to give it a go. ‘You know Shaun, you’re okay when you’re not making an idiot of yourself.’

  From a phone box Shaun rang his sister, who in turn rang her friend at the house.

  ‘You’ve got a weird accent,’ Shaun said whilst they waited for his sister to call the phone box back. ‘Are you Scottish?’

  Johnny had thought everyone else spoke strangely. ‘It’s fake. I like people to think I’m Scottish.’

  The phone rang.

  Shaun soon came out the box. ‘There’s a spare bed. We’ll need a bus. You got any money?’

  ‘I’ll have to owe you.’

  Shaun checked his pockets. ‘It’s alright. Just take it off my debt.’

  Twenty-five minutes later the two lads walked Charlton Road. They asked three people before anyone could direct them to Rannerdale Drive.

  S
tanding on the doorstep Shaun looked at his watch. ‘Half nine. I’ll introduce you to the owner and get going if that’s alright.’

  Johnny nodded looking the semi-detached council house over. ‘Is this a rough neighbourhood?’

  ‘Fairly. You’ll fit right in.’

  The door opened and a blonde haired lady in her late thirties wearing tight leather trousers stood before them. She blinked eyes heavy with dark eye shadow. Johnny liked her immediately. She looked like she could be Marc Bolan’s mother or maybe older girlfriend.

  She introduced herself as Liz.

  ‘So, which one of you’s is Johnny?’ she asked.

  ‘He is,’ Shaun said.

  She looked Johnny up and down. ‘You been fighting?’

  Shaun started but Johnny spoke over him. ‘Two lads tried stealing my coat; Shaun helped see them off.’

  ‘I see and where was you gonna sleep?’

  Johnny felt uncomfortable but Shaun cut in. ‘If it’s okay, I should get going.’

  Liz waited while Johnny walked Shaun to the end of the path.

  ‘Listen,’ Johnny said, ‘we met under bad circumstances but if this works out, even for one night, then I’m pleased we met.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I feel horrible about earlier.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Johnny said. ‘Will you be alright getting back?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Keep your head up and chest out.’

  ‘Exactly what you were doing,’ Shaun joked before moving off.

  Back on the doorstep Johnny reverted to his normal self.

  Liz invited him in and offered him tea.

  He took his shoes off and looked around the living room.

  ‘Cap of tea?’ Liz said again.

  He tired copying her accent. ‘That be lavely if it’s not too much trabble.’

  ‘Have a seat,’ she said smiling. ‘Take your coat off.’

  From the settee he spotted an upright piano. The head of a guitar poked from behind an armchair.

  Liz came back with teas and biscuits. He sipped and closed his eyes tasting for the first time in a week something other than water.

  Liz sat opposite him. ‘So Johnny, if that’s your real name—’

  ‘It is,’ he said believing it to be true.

  ‘Really? Is it short for Jonathon or long for John?’

  ‘Jonathon,’ he said picturing the lie all over his face. ‘I’m Johnny now.’

  ‘Johnny what?’

  He hadn’t thought of a surname.

  He couldn’t say his birth surname. He looked around the room again and at the tea. Despondency fogged his mind. The settee’s cushions felt warm and comfy; so much nicer than concrete or bushes. He didn’t want to go outside again but seeing his coat beside him he wondered whether he should pick it up.

  When he looked back he saw Liz leaning forwards resting her elbows on her knees her face full of concern.

  ‘Okay, I’ll call you Johnny,’ she said, her gravelly voice sounding softer. ‘You’ve been through a lot haven’t you?’

  He shut his eyes thinking of Frank.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’

  He tapped his chest. ‘In here,’ he said still with closed eyes.

  ‘She died?’

  ‘Two years ago. My brother too; last week.’ He cautioned himself to stop giving away details.

  ‘What about your dad?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘And where did you live with your brother?’

  Johnny opened his eyes and stared at her. He felt his eyebrows pulling together. How many more of these questions did she have?

  Liz looked him square on. ‘Are you on drugs?’

  ‘No.’ Why did everyone ask him that?

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘You ever been drunk?’

  His nostrils flared. ‘Never.’

  Liz narrowed her eyes. ‘Your dad drink?’

  Johnny said nothing.

  ‘I see,’ she said and after a moment said, ‘I don’t do this for free you know. The authorities pay me. But they can only do that if they know exactly who’s staying her. Full name details, you understand?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But, assuming you behave, I’m not going to turf you out. It’s the weekend. You’ve got till Monday to decide what you want to tell me. If you can’t trust me by then we’ll have to arrange something else. Now drink your tea and I’ll show you the room. It’s still full of stuff from one of the last kids. She done a bunk you know a few days ago.’

  ‘Thanks Liz,’ he said half listening.

  He rested his head on the settee’s arm.

  Saturday 04th May 1974

  Johnny became aware of sunlight dazzling his eyes. Turning away he surveyed his surroundings finding himself on Liz’s settee with a pillow and blanket over him. A crack in the curtains beaming sunlight waking him before 6am according to the clock on the mantelpiece.

  Fetching his gravy tub from his parka he went to the kitchen and drank tap water whilst overlooking Liz’s back garden.

  After washing his tub and last night’s teacups he needed to pee. Not wanting to disturb anyone upstairs he found the backdoor key.

  The bright morning had evaporated most of the dew from a lawn overdue for mowing. After watering the privet hedge he spotted a rusty manual mower and he figured he’d make himself useful.

  The contraption felt like it hadn’t moved in ages. He put his weight behind it and cut a line down the middle of the lawn. Turning at the privet he looked at what he’d done and wondered if he shouldn’t have started. He and Frank would take turns to cut the lawn with their manual cylinder mower so he knew to cut straight parallel lines.

  After two more stripes the gearing loosened and before long he needed a rake. The garden had a locked shed so he guessed he’d have to wait for Liz.

  He stood in the middle of the lawn and began practicing martial arts routines.

  Two hours later a man’s voice said, ‘Good morning.’

  Maintaining his kung fu posture Johnny spun round seeing a man in T-shirt and leather pants at the backdoor. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Liz’s fella, Graham. You Johnny?’

  He nodded and copied his accent. ‘Were you here last night?’

  The man nodded. ‘Turned up after you went sparko on the settee.’

  They shook hands.

  ‘I need a rake,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Have you done all this with that old thing?’ he said laughing and pointing to the mower Johnny had leant against the wall.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘There’s an electric one in the shed – with a grass box. Still you done me a favour. Liz’s been asking me to do this for a fortnight.’

  Liz appeared at the backdoor in a new blouse but same leather pants. ‘You had breakfast Johnny?’

  He shook his head and followed Graham inside. He guessed Graham would be a few years Liz’s junior though his black ponytailed hair had some grey.

  The three sat at the kitchen table and Graham poured him a bowl of Corn Flakes. ‘I’ll let you pour your own milk.’

  Reaching for the milk jug Johnny stopped unable to go on.

  Liz watched, teapot at her hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He looked at her and Graham. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  She put the teapot down and gave him the warmest smile he’d seen in ages. ‘Eat your breakfast.’

  He learnt that as a registered foster carer Liz only housed girls. After he’d fallen asleep she’d phoned to let Social Services know that she had an un-vetted anonymous boy staying with her and wary of this she’d called Graham over.

  After breakfast she made Graham rake the lawn whilst Johnny helped her wash up. She told him that she still had a divorce to settle with another man.

  ‘Wasn’t your husband a nice man?’ Johnny enquired.

  ‘He was actually but he ran away to Spain with another man.’

  ‘Oh.’

>   ‘He wasn’t gay. He just didn’t like coming home to me anymore.’

  Johnny looked at her with astonishment. ‘Was he mad?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter I got Graham now. He watched you doing kung fu stuff. You might have to teach him.’

  ‘There’s a lot of moves to learn.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’

  ‘So who else lives here?’

  ‘Samantha. She doesn’t get up till late. She’s sixteen; in her last year of school. I take it you were attending a school?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where would that have been?’ When Johnny looked at her with pleading Bambi eyes she said, ‘Oh dear, this is going to be difficult.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s alright. Take it easy. We’ll sort it out on Monday.’

  ‘Thanks Liz.’

  Liz left Johnny downstairs but soon returned with Samantha.

  ‘I saw you on the settee last night,’ she said.

  Johnny felt embarrassed and suddenly aware how his hair might look.

  Samantha reminded him of Sonja: gorgeous, stacked, out of his age range and too cool for him.

  She turned away and switched the kettle on and he sighed inwardly. He stopped gawping the moment he noticed Liz watching him.

  ‘And that’s why I don’t foster boys.’

  Johnny blushed again.

  ‘So you’re Diana’s brother’s mate?’ Samantha said absently throwing teabags in a pot.

  ‘Shaun – not really. We only met last night.’

  ‘What are your plans for today?’ Liz asked her.

  ‘None.’

  ‘You not going into town?’

  ‘Wasn’t reckoning to.’

  ‘May I sit down?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Liz said.

  He left the kitchen hearing Samantha scoff, ‘He’s polite isn’t he?’

  A second after he sat on the settee Graham appeared. ‘D’you want the tele on?’

  He stared at Graham. TV, the very idea seemed almost decadent. He would have loved to have watched TV but for one thing.

  Though stammering he asked Graham about the guitar next to the piano.

  ‘You play?’ Graham said reaching behind the armchair.

  ‘I can do some stuff.’

  ‘Was that kung fu you were doing on the lawn before breakfast?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll show you some moves if you like,’ he said not able to concentrate on anything other than the emerging guitar.

  ‘I would like. I’ve always fancied learning.’

  ‘Wow, what is that?’

  ‘A copy of a Gibson ES-335.’

  Graham said checking the tuning. He lifted the piano lid and played a E.

  Johnny forgot himself, almost licking his lips with the anticipation of holding the guitar.