by Ian Woodhead
“Can’t you stay?” he asked.
“I’ll see you later sweetheart I promise, besides, I’m not the only one who’s craving your attention.”
Damien turned around; Alan was stood by the door, playing with the hem of his cream jumper. Where the hell did he appear from? He wasn’t there a second ago.
“Hi Alan,” she said. “Are you coming out with us this afternoon?”
He just looked at his feet and told her that he had other plans. She smiled at him then kissed Damien again. She squeezed past Alan. “I’ll leave you two boys alone then. Alan, if you change your mind, you’re very welcome to join us.”
Alan nodded once then continued to look at his feet.
Damien waited for the door at the bottom of the stairs to shut before walking up to his bookshelf. He picked up the glass, noting that the inside of it was now coated with a film of tiny yellow crystals. He thrust the glass into his brother’s hands.
“Are you now ready to tell me what the hell is going on? For a start, why don’t you tell me how you cured me?”
“It wasn’t a cure, I’m insulating you. Now hush up little brother, we have monsters to talk about.”
Damien lost it. “I don’t want to hear about your pissing video games!”
Alan staggered back, dropping the glass.
“Just tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”
Alan just stood there, then looked up and grinned. Damien turned his back to him, he’d had enough. Alan tapped him on the back of his shoulders.
“You dropped this in my bedroom.”
He passed him a small box. It was a mobile phone, it wasn’t his but it looked familiar. Damien flipped opened the handset and looked at the image displayed on the screen. It was a picture of a severed ear.
Chapter Five
He glanced behind him as he hurried along the woodland path. Arthur Wright knew those brats were still following him. Arthur may have been getting on but he wasn’t blind. Was that a flash of orange he saw nipping behind the trunk of that ancient oak? Of course it bloody was.
It shamed him to admit that the confrontation with those kids a few minutes back had really intimidated him. Arthur held out his hand, wincing in disgust at the noticeable shaking.
“I hate being old.” He muttered.
He looked in abhorrence at the mobile phone sat in the palm of his other hand. Arthur had almost called the police. Since when did he start running to the Old Bill just because a feral pack of snot-noses called him a few nasty names?
If Arthur hadn’t been so caught up worrying about his sister’s threatened visit then he may have noticed them before they could spring their surprise. Four young teenagers leaped out from behind a bank of bramble bushes. He thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Arthur was beside himself with anger.
What pissed him off more than anything was how they reacted when he gave them a bloody good bollocking. Arthur expected them to run off after he’d given them a piece of his mind but no, they’d just stood there, smirking at each other. It wasn’t until the largest boy, some scruffy kid, no older than fourteen suddenly pelted it down the path when the others followed suit.
He dropped the phone back into his inside pocket, next to his wallet. It would stay there too; Arthur wished he hadn’t brought it now. He hated mobile phones.
His eldest son had given him the bloody thing for his sixty third birthday. God knows what Neil must have been thinking buying him that. Arthur then remembered the half concealed smirk that Neil’s bitch of a wife gave him just before his son handed the present over. Helen obviously thought he was too old to embrace new technology, too old and over the hill. She thought that he was just a doddering old idiot and was no doubt just waiting for him to die so she could get her hands on his stuff. She wasn’t the only woman who had their beady little eyes on his possessions; his sister was just as bad. Well, they both had a bloody shock coming to her when he did pop off; he was going to donate everything he owned to charity.
Did those bloody kids see him as a doddering idiot, an easy target? He hated getting old just as he hated the fact that he had to retire. Those kids wouldn’t have tried it on when he’d had the butcher’s shop in the high street. They would have run off all right, but running home crying for mummy, saying that the nasty butcher had threatened to carve them up with his sharp knife and put them in a pie.
Arthur stopped and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. He no longer had the knife but he did have his walking stick. He used the solid ash length of wood to draw wavy lines through the leaf litter. If they did come back, he would have no reservations about wrapping his stick round their bloody heads.
He ran his hand through his remaining hair then stared in hatred at a couple of grey strands, wrapped around his chunky fingers. It didn’t seem like five minutes ago, since he’d had a luxurious mane of thick brown hair; along with his squat but powerful frame, Arthur used to be a force to be reckoned with. The top of his head may now look like it was coated in wispy smoke and his once powerful muscles were now covered in a layer of fat but he definitely wasn’t the frail pensioner that those kids obviously thought he was.
“Angus!” He shouted. “Where the bloody hell are you?”
Something moved at high speed through the undergrowth on the other side of the path. There were two short, sharp barks.
“Angus! Come here right now!”
He was chasing squirrels again. This was Angus number two. He had been a present from the bloke who ran the pet shop when Angus number one had died six years ago. He’d had Angus number one for ten years and he knew for a fact that if he was still alive, those kids would have shit themselves. Angus number one was an ex-police dog and he hated kids. Unlike this Angus; when those four kids jumped out and demanded cigarettes, the little wire-haired, black and white terrier ran around their feet with a stick dripping in saliva lodged in his mouth. He only moved away when the oldest one tried to kick him.
He didn’t bother calling his dog again, there was no point. He’d come back in his own sweet time, when he had caught and torn apart whatever he was chasing.
God, he was tired, it was just his pride and self-esteem that hurt, but he was developing a stitch underneath his ribs. He spotted a tree stump a bit further on; he could sit on that while he waited for his dog to come back.
Arthur walked through the ancient woodland, his ears attuned to the sound of the woods. He told himself that he was listening out for his dog but in reality Arthur was still convinced that those kids were still behind him. He eased himself onto the tree stump and rubbed the back of his legs, he’d have to have a good hot soak tonight. If he didn’t, he knew his joints would seize up, leaving him shuffling about like a cripple all the next day. Arthur was about to curse the gods again for making him old when he saw something, a flash of red hurtling between a couple of trees. He knew it! The little sods had been following him.
He maintained a tight grip on his stick. This was one retired butcher who wasn’t going to be intimidated by a bunch of snot nosed brats. He wasn’t even going to stand up. The kids weren’t even attempting to conceal themselves now, all four swaggering towards him as bold as brass they were. Each wearing the same identikit yobbo uniform; even the girl, could she not see how ridiculous she looked? He thought she could be such a pretty little thing if she donned a dress, had a perm and softened that hard, sneering face.
The eldest boy and the girl started collecting stones off the ground; it wasn’t hard to see their intent. The two younger boys dawdled behind the girl, hitting the tree trunks with large sticks. Arthur still didn’t get up, they wouldn’t dare start throwing those stones and this was Holburn for crying out loud not the Bronx.
The eldest boy stopped, he offloaded his stones to one of the younger ones then slouched closer to Arthur.
“My girlfriend has taken a fancy to your stick,” he said. “I’m willing to swap it for this one.”
The girl giggled. Was he being serious? He looked at
this boy who wouldn’t even start shaving for another few years, standing there like the world owed him a living or something. The boy put his hand into his pocket, fiddling about with something; Arthur doubted that it was loose change.
“He ain’t gonna answer you. I bet the old bastard’s deaf.”
“Oh don’t worry. I’ll make the cunt talk to me…”
It had been a long time since he’d been sized up. This little shit actually fancied his chances. Arthur almost laughed out loud until the pains in his legs reminded him that he was sixty six and the prime of his life had been decades ago. The boy took his hand out his pocket. The hand now contained a flick knife. The blade snicked open.
“Throw your stick over here and I won’t cut you.”
Arthur knew the sensible thing to do was to just do it and hope that he wasn’t lying. That wasn’t going to happen. There was no way that he was going to give up his fiftieth birthday present from his wife just because some kid showed him his pig sticker.
“You shouldn’t threaten people with knives unless you mean to use it. The police have already been called.” He started to get up. “The best thing you can do...”
He didn’t finish his sentence; the girl ran over and pushed him back down then tried to snatch his walking stick off him. Arthur responded by grabbing it with both hands and pulling back. She didn’t expect the old man to be so strong.
Forty years of working in the butchery trade made sure that his muscles were almost as strong as the animals he used to cut up. It may have been a few years since he’d worked behind the counter; he hadn’t lost that much muscle. Surprised, the girl let go and the walking stick snapped forward and hit her full force across her shins. The girl yelped and fell to the floor.
Arthur saw the expression in the boy’s face change from shock to fury so he took the only avenue that seemed open to him. He stood up and raised the stick above the crying girl’s face. The boy stopped in mid run, the knife almost slipped from his fingers.
“Drop the knife you little turd, or I’ll open up your pretty girlfriends face.”
The two boys spun round and fled. Arthur was disgusted with himself for doing this but what else could he have done? The boy wouldn’t be just satisfied with just stealing his walking stick, the little bastard would try to beat him to death with it as well for making him look a fool in front of his mates.
The girl was no longer sobbing. She must’ve been bloody terrified. He daren’t look at her for fear of taking his eyes off the boy and she would see the shame in his eyes. For one horrible moment, he thought the boy was going to call his bluff. He raised the stick a little higher.
“Drop that fucking knife!” he shouted.
The boy switched the knife to his other hand then threw it down, it stuck in the ground cutting a leaf in half. Arthur relaxed and lowered the stick.
“Good boy.”
The boy looked down at his girlfriend then sniggered.
“Told you he’d be a laugh didn’t I?” He strode over, picked his knife out of the ground and wiped the dirt off the blade onto his jeans. Arthur raised the stick again; the boy didn’t even look up. The girl chuckled beneath him, then rolled away, stood up and brushed the leaves and dirt off her track suit bottoms. She limped over, kissed the boy who pushed her behind her.
“My legs hurt like a bastard, Adrian.”
He whirled around, “I said no names you dumb bitch.”
Arthur lowered his arm, unsure of what to do.
There was something growling in the undergrowth behind the tree stump. Oh great, his dog was coming back to save him.
“No more games mister. Throw me your stick.”
The two boys had returned, they each had an armful of rocks. The girl picked one and threw it in the air and caught it.
“Give him a countdown, Adrian; I want to see if I can break his nose.”
“I said no fucking names.” he said through clenched teeth.
She pouted. “We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t remember, then.”
That was the last straw; he’d had enough of these playground games. So the boy was eager for violence? Well that was fine by him. Arthur placed his walking stick on the ground.
He marched up to him and backhanded the boy, the knife sailed through the air. The boy fell into the arms of his girl who failed to catch him. The two boys dropped their cache of stones and ran. A big black bruise was already showing on the boy’s cheek.
Arthur guessed that judging by the disbelief showing on the boys face that he’d never been hit by an old man before.
“You don’t look so hard now little boy. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The boy stared at him, contempt still evident in his eyes. He then spat at Arthur. The old man shook his head.
“Whatever.”
He tried to sneer at him then his eyes flicked to something behind Arthur.
“No fucking way…” His voice was a whisper. Adrian scrambled onto his feet then followed his girlfriend who had fled seconds before.
Arthur took two ragged breaths and shut his eyes. Perhaps his son should have bought him a Taser for his birthday instead. Good lord, he felt like he’d just been mauled by a pack of wild animals. He was surprised that he felt no guilt about hitting that boy but he knew that he’d have to report this before those little bastards told someone their distorted version.
Angus was sniffling and growling, it sounded like he’d found a large branch to kill. He’d pick Angus up and make his way to the exit. Arthur turned around, opened his eyes and saw why the other kids had run off.
Angus had dug up the mutilated corpse of a naked boy and had dragged it back to show his master. One leg and his ears were missing. Arthur staggered back, tripping up over the tree-stump and hitting his head on an exposed root when he hit the floor. He welcomed the darkness with open arms.
Chapter Six
The old plaster tumbled through the air before landing in a puddle of stale lager leaking out from a squashed can. The fat grey pigeon didn’t seem to mind that its dubious prize had just acquired a new flavour. It waddled past the can and picked up the disgusting plaster in its beak. The pigeon’s companion wasn’t impressed. It didn’t go for the plaster; instead it attacked the other pigeon by pecking the back of its head.
Damien thought Tony was going to choke on his Frappuccino.
“Do you want to put a bet on who wins?”
Tony stared at him, his top lip covered in coffee froth. “Ok, I’ll put a tenner on the mutant.”
“What?”
He pointed at the scruffy little pigeon, ripping down and feathers out of the other one.
“It’s only got one leg.”
Damien hadn’t noticed. “Whatever, prepare to lose cash.”
He picked up a cigarette end out of the ashtray on the table and threw it in the general direction of the scrapping pigeons. It smacked the one with the missing leg on the side of its wing and they both flew off. The cigarette landed in the pool of lager. Damien took another sip of his drink laughing at the surprise showing on his friends face.
“You owe me a tenner, buddy.”
“Not fair, you never said anything about the use of weapons of mass destruction. That poor pigeon will be in therapy for months now.”
As much as Damien wanted to continue this bullshit conversation, he knew he’d have to tell him sooner or later. It would have to be sooner. She had only gone to get a top up. Then there was the business with Alan, Christ, and talk about a double whammy. Damien dipped his finger into his drink and flicked it at Tony.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
“You’re really a woman and you want my babies?”
“Shut up you idiot, I’m serious.”
“So am I, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”
Damien dipped his finger back into his drink.
“I’ll flick you again if you don’t behave.” He glanced towards the coffee shop, Jen was still getting s
erved, and she’d be back in a few minutes. He had no idea what she was planning to do with this lad who attacked her, she wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t pursue the conversation; Jennifer had given him that look. He just hoped she knew what she was doing.
“Do you trust me?”
“About as far as I can throw you Damien. Are you going to tell me why you look like you’ve just shit yourself?”
“Jen’s found something out. A lad from London has moved up here. Jen knew him, he’s bad news.” Oh crap, this was harder than he thought. Well, enough with this pussy footing around, he’d have to tell him straight.
“He’s worse than bad news, Tony and she ordered me not to tell you the truth.”
Tony was nodding; he laid his hand over Damien’s.
“I know.”
Jennifer pushed open the glass door with her back while balancing three cups in her hands, another few moments and she’d be at the table.
“I’m not an idiot, Damien. Do you really think that I didn’t know what that fucking animal tried to do to my little sister?”
Tony tightened his grip, his hand was going numb. The huge man sitting in front of him,crushing his bones together seemed like a stranger. Where did that amiable, good humoured bloke he’d known for over two years go?
He fixed Damien with a look that made him feel like a rabbit caught in headlights. “Plans are in place for that dirty little cunt.”
Jennifer was almost at the table, she was struggling with the cups.