An Unlikely Hero

by P. F. Ford

  An Unlikely Hero

  by

  P.F. Ford

  Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

  Edited by KT Editing Services

  © 2013 P.F. Ford

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Free Novella Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Free Novella Series:

  Other Books by P.F. Ford

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  It’s funny how you can live just 10 miles away from a town for 20 years and never have a good reason to visit. And then because you never visit, you grow to assume that it must be a nothing little town with nothing to offer. That’s what I used to think about Tinton… until I came to live here.

  To be fair, it isn’t the sort of place you’d go out of your way to visit. But don’t get me wrong; there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this place. It’s just that if you were to drive down the High Street, you’d probably think you wouldn’t have missed anything if you had stayed at home.

  I mean, just look at me right now. I’d just been away for a couple of days and driving around the town now, I got the feeling that nothing could have happened while I’d been away. But do you know what? That’s exactly why I’ve fallen in love with this little town.

  There might not be anything spectacular about it but it’s honest, decent, and full of good intentions. That’s how I try to live my life, so I like to think we match each other pretty well.

  Being late September, it was dark even though it was barely 8pm. I was just doodling along the High Street thinking how this was the perfect little town for me, barely doing 20 miles an hour, when two drunks suddenly emerged from an alley on the right and lurched into the road. I slammed on the brakes, although I was in no danger of hitting them – silly sods.

  As I screeched to a halt they clutched hold of each other and drew back hastily from the road. One did a mime to show me what a wanker of a driver he thought I was. The other gave me the universal sign of the finger. Then they both fell about roaring with laughter. Oh well, I guess nothing’s really perfect.

  I followed the road around to the left, and there, like an oasis in a desert, was the familiar sign I was looking for.

  The Cask was my local pub. Occupying a prime spot on the right-hand-side of the street, it was considered by many to be the best pub in town, with a selection of real ales few could match. There was a bank to its right and a shoe shop to the left. I crawled past. It was evident that even this early, it was busy inside.

  I parked my car in my usual spot just down the road behind the shops, and two minutes later I was inside, elbowing my way to the bar.

  When I’d first arrived in the pub a couple of hours ago it had been busy enough, but now it was 10pm and it was Friday evening. Outside it was dark and quiet, but inside it was lively and noisy. For many, the evening had only just got going. The beer was flowing and the jukebox was blasting out something dreadfully nondescript. I suppose someone, somewhere, in among the crowd must have actually been enjoying it, but I couldn’t even identify a tune. I guess that shows my age.

  I winced as a particularly off-key note penetrated the haze that always seems to engulf my brain after a couple of hours drinking with Dave Burnham, the landlord. Both sound and vision were beginning to get a little blurred, a sure sign it was time to go home.

  I slid carefully from my barstool and began to weave my way through the throng. The crowd and the noise reminded me why I usually hang out in the much quieter back bar, and for a moment I wondered what I was doing in here; then I remembered I had only popped in to collect my keys – two hours ago.

  Halfway through the crowd, a large, wide back with massive shoulders blocked my path. It was Dave. At six feet two and fifteen stone of muscle, he had the boyish good looks of someone much younger than his forty-eight years, and girls half his age came into the pub just to flirt with him.

  I carefully tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’m off, mate.’

  ‘What, already?’ He grinned. ‘When did you become a lightweight?’

  ‘Ha! I always was, as you well know. Way too noisy in here for me. Makes me feel old.’ I surveyed the young faces surrounding us. ‘I’m sure half this lot must still be at school.’

  ‘You’re just starting to feel your age, you poor old thing. Older customers usually stick to the back bar. It’s much quieter, and it’s where the classy customers hang out.’

  I decided to ignore his sarcasm and continue my journey. He clapped me on the shoulder as I squeezed past. A petite dark-haired girl dressed in jeans and a well-padded jacket had been sitting at one of the tables near the door for the past two hours. I’d noticed her when she had arrived earlier and I figured some lucky guy must have a hot date. But she’d bought her drink and then very quietly and unobtrusively chosen an out-of-the-way table and sat with her back to the door and to the room.

  She had managed to make her drink last two hours now. At first, she had turned every time the door opened, presumably in anticipation of her boyfriend arriving, but now she seemed to have given up on her date and was immersed in a book. She must have had amazing powers of concentration to be able to read with all this noise going on.

  Just as I was about to pass her table, a hefty, ugly-looking guy burst through the door. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd and then settled on the girl. With her back to the door, she hadn’t seen him arrive. She was on the move now, but not quite quickly enough.

  He took one pace and grabbed her by the shoulder as she rose from her seat. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to tell me this was most definitely not the guy she wanted to meet.

  ‘Take hands off me,’ she spat, jumping to her feet and brushing his hand away.

  I couldn’t place her accent, but I figured Eastern European. The guy said something I didn’t catch and lunged for her again. Small but nimble, she easily dodged to one side and kicked him hard on the shin. This provoked an angry snarl and he made another grab for her.

  Now I’m no hero and this guy was a real giant, twice the size of me. Maybe it was just the beer talking, but you don’t think about that when there’s a girl in distress, do you? Well, anyway, I don’t.

  I had to shout above the noise of the jukebox and the crowded pub. ‘Hey, mate, she asked you to leave her alone.’

  The ugly guy stopped for just a moment and then he turned to face me. He looked me up and down like I was some sort of bad joke. ‘She is no lady, and this not your business. Better you keep nose out.’ He flexed a huge fist. ‘Or else…’

  Have you ever noticed, whenever there’s a tense situation in a crowd like that, the music stops and everyone goes quiet? Like it had been scripted? Well, that’s exactly what happened right then.

  Standing in front of me, flexing his fists, the guy seemed even bigger. I really didn’t want to have to fight anyone, and the sensible thing to do would certainly have been to run away, but for some reason (probably the beer) I just had to reply. ‘Or else what?’

  ‘Or else I punch your feck head in.’

  In my befuddled state I thought to myself Feck? What the hell’s feck?

  It’s we
ird what goes through your head in situations like that. There I was, about to get flattened, yet all I could think was should I tell him about his mispronunciation? Or should I perhaps mention the missing ‘ing’? I mean, I don’t want to be pedantic, but even if he insisted on ‘feck’ it should be ‘fecking’ head. In the end, I decided it wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. At his size it was probably best to let him pronounce his swear words any way he wanted.

  The hush that had descended on the pub seemed to get even quieter. Everyone had turned to look: those at the back struggling for a better view, while those closest were desperately trying to retreat out of the way.

  Oh shit, I thought. Here we go.

  ‘Oi,’ roared a huge voice from behind me, breaking the silence. ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’

  I became aware Dave was standing next to me. The ugly giant didn’t seem quite so confident now there was someone nearer his own size to deal with.

  ‘I said “what d’you think you’re doing?’’’ demanded Dave. ‘Who do you think you are coming in here upsetting my customers? Now get out. Go on, sling your hook.’

  For a moment, the giant seemed to be weighing up the odds, then, like a ghost, a huge Rottweiler that had been casually scrounging food from besotted customers appeared at Dave’s side.

  The big guy stared at the dog and took a step back.

  ‘Look,’ warned Dave, with an evil grin. ‘We don’t have fights in here. This is why.’ He pointed at the dog, whose lips curled back to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. ‘See, he’s smiling at the moment. You don’t want to make him angry, now do you?’

  It looked as though the dog had swayed the odds in our favour.

  ‘I am sorry. My mistake’, mumbled the giant. Holding his hands up in a placatory gesture he backed carefully towards the door. ‘No make trouble,’ he said, backing away to the door. ‘See. I go now.’

  As he reached the door he glared at me. ‘You will regret,’ he said, and then he was gone.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding, and put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. ‘Wow! Thanks, mate,’ I said, sighing. ‘I think you saved me from a good hiding there.’

  ‘You think?’ He looked at me as though I was mad. ’And don’t kid yourself. I wasn’t saving you, I just don’t want my pub smashed up. If you’re going to go around picking fights with people, don’t do it in here. And for God’s sake pick on someone your own size. He would have killed you – and you don’t even know the girl.’

  He looked around. ‘Where is she anyway?’ he asked.

  I turned to look, but she was nowhere to be seen. ‘She must have slipped out while no one was looking. You’d have thought she would say thank you, at least.’

  He gave me that look again. ‘Say thank you? When she could slip away from that moron without being seen?’ He sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh well, at least no one got hurt. You’d better go home before you cause any more trouble, and take care on your way. That thug might just have meant what he said.’

  I headed for the door. ‘Don’t fuss,’ I said. ‘I’m only going round the corner. I’ll be fine.’

  I was running on adrenaline until I got outside and the fresh air hit me. Whoooh, steady on there, boy. I took a couple of deep breaths, but I was okay really. I figured once I calmed down I’d be pissed enough to be mellow, but with enough about me to find my way home in one piece.

  Tottering a little unsteadily to the left and then to the right, I made my way carefully down the street and then right along the alleyway past the shops. Sophia’s Tea Shop was the end one of a row of half a dozen shops tucked away down the alley. I took another right after the tea shop and stopped.

  The door to my flat should have been lit up just a little way along the side of the shop. But the outside light was off and the entrance was in darkness. Oh, bugger.

  It was annoying, but there you go. It was probably a blown bulb. I could sort it out in the morning. I groped my way to the door and began to fumble for my keys. I knew I had put them in one of my pockets.

  As I fumbled around, I promised myself this was not going to happen again. No more drinking with Dave. I was going to have such a headache in the morning. At last, I found my keys and started trying to feel for the keyhole.

  The first blow landed across my kidneys and slammed my face into the door. I remember thinking what the ffff...? And then I collapsed in a heap on the ground. Oh God, that really, really hurt.

  Someone was bending over me. A voice hissed in my ear. ‘Hurts doesn’t it? Now you know what it’s like’.

  Then more blows began to rain down. I tried to protect my head with my arms, but I was too slow and there was a loud crack as something, maybe a baseball bat, caught me across the back of my head. Suddenly I understood why they call it seeing stars – there were hundreds of the bloody things! And then they began to fade, and everything slowly turned black…

  Chapter Two

  I opened an eye and quickly shut it again. The light was blinding. I tried to figure out where I was and how I had got there, but all that happened was my head started to hurt. I instinctively knew I was in hospital, but how the hell I had got there I had no idea. And why oh why did my bloody head hurt so much?

  Gingerly, I opened my right eye. The good news was that I obviously wasn’t dead, despite the pain in my head. I opened the other eye. Or, at least, I tried to open my other eye, but there was a dressing covering it so I had to make do with just the one eye for now.

  I was in a curtained cubicle. The quiet hum of activity going on beyond the curtains told me I must be in the A&E unit at the local hospital. I tried to sit up but was immediately overcome with a feeling of nausea. Shit. Best lie still then.

  My head was beginning to itch but when I tried to lift my right arm to scratch it, there was more pain. I realised my arm was in a sling. What the hell had happened? My head, my eye, my arm ached – and I seemed to be covered in bruises. I could hardly move a muscle without some sort of pain.

  ‘Oh, you’re awake then?’ A gap appeared between the curtains and a cheery-voiced nurse popped her head through. ‘You must have a tough skull,’ she said, admiringly. ‘I thought you were going to be out all night.’

  ‘It certainly bloody hurts,’ I groaned. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me that,’ she said, smiling as the curtains closed behind her. ‘You were found lying in a heap in an alley in town.’

  She folded her arms and looked into my eyes. I don’t think it was love, so she must have been looking for signs of concussion.

  ‘You’ve taken quite a battering. You’re covered in bruises, your right arm’s cracked just below the elbow, you have five stitches in your right eyebrow, and twelve stitches in the back of your head. Apart from that you’re fine, but you must have really upset someone.’

  ‘You make it sound as though it happens every day.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You’re our first serious assault in months. Are you sure you don’t know what happened?’

  ‘I remember leaving the pub to walk home, and trying to find my keys in the dark.’ I struggled to remember. ‘And then something hit me, and I can’t remember after that.’

  ‘Well, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I would guess you had a meeting with a baseball bat. Or, more precisely, with several baseball bats. You’re lucky you don’t have a fractured skull.’

  ‘It hurts enough as it is,’ I said. ‘I guess I should say thank you for patching me up. When can I go home and get out of your way?’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, at least not until tomorrow. You have a head injury, so you’re going to be here for a while yet. And the police are coming to talk to you.’

  ‘Police? What do they want?’

  ‘Assault,’ she said, sternly, ‘is not something we can ignore. We have to report it, and you should want to report it. You can’t let people go around doing this sort of thing.’

  She fussed around me fo
r a moment or two. ‘Just rest,’ she said. ‘I have to go. We’re pretty busy out there. I’ll pop my head in every now and then to make sure you’re ok.’

  I drifted in and out of sleep. I wasn’t sure how long for. When I woke up, I suddenly became aware someone was sitting next to me. Carefully, I opened my one good eye. The person was on my left, so I had to turn my head to see.

  A weary-looking police officer was watching me.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘Morning,’ said the officer. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Well, I have to admit I’ve felt better, but at least my bloody head seems to have stopped hurting so much.’

  ‘That’ll be the painkillers. It’ll hurt like hell when they wear off.’ He seemed to be warming to his subject. ‘You’ve had a good kicking that’s for sure. Best one I’ve seen in ages. You must have...’

  ‘...really pissed someone off,’ I finished for him. ‘Yes, I have noticed that. And what do you mean “best one I’ve seen in ages”?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just that we don’t get that many assaults so they tend to stick in your mind.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

  ‘5am. Nearly time to go home. And I’m really looking forward to it – what a shit night.’ He heaved a sigh.

  ‘Bad one, huh? Well if it’s any consolation, my night hasn’t been the best either.’

  ‘No. Quite.’ He looked guilty. ‘I’m sorry. That was a bit insensitive of me.’ He fumbled in his pocket and finally produced a small notebook and a pencil. ‘So what can you tell me about what happened?’

  ‘Not very much, I’m afraid. All I can recall is leaving the pub, walking home, trying to get my keys from my pocket, and then getting clobbered. That’s it. Not much help is it?’

  ‘How many assailants? Two? Three?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ Then I had a thought. ‘I suppose they’ve taken my wallet and phone?’

  ‘Well, that’s the funny thing,’ the police officer said. ‘It wasn’t a robbery. You still had all those things in your pockets when you were brought into the hospital. In fact, it was a call made from your phone, by a young lady, that alerted us to the crime in the first place. Presumably the young lady was with you. Maybe she saw something?’