A Right Old Fiasco in Borrington

by M W Foolster

  Obviously having had enough of the pleasantries, it's now the turn of the other one to speak. Glaring menacingly at Gabriel as he barks out instructions in a deep, gruff voice, ,

  “We want your tobacco arsewipe. An will take that fuckin sarnie an all. Well, whad you waiting for? Fuckin hand it over.”

  Gabriel has a decision to make, if he caves in now he will be seen as easy pickings, but the confined space will make it difficult to defend himself.

  The guy with the green tattoo growls,

  “You fuckin deaf mate? Cough up. Now.”

  His accomplice adding,

  "You a thick mother or what. Got a fucking death wish?"

  The tattooed guy is closer. Decision made. Gabriel launches himself forward. He doesn’t want to break any bones in his hand so catches him square in the mouth with his elbow, and sends him flying backwards. The surprised accomplice, having finally become aware of what’s happening, attempts to hit out at him. But Gabriel easily avoids the slow punch. Grabbing him by the ears, Gabriel head butts the thug in the face, grinning to himself as the guy goes down like a sack of spuds. A strong hand suddenly grabs at his arm and swings him around. Gabriel ducks, feels a fist glancing across the top of his head as he powers a strong punch of his own into a paunchy gut. The guy wilts. Another powerful punch, only this time to his groin, and the tattooed guy is soon sliding towards the floor. Gabriel leaps backwards just as the door flies open. Frenchy appears, a look of surprise in his eyes as he almost falls over the two bodies blocking the doorway.

  He starts kicking out at them viciously,

  “You stupid bitches, think you can come in here and soil my boudoir. Mine? Get your sorry arses out of here and you best pray that Ray don’t get to hear of this or you will be feeding through a tube for the next six months.”

  They stagger from the cell, leaving a trail of blood dripping behind them. Frenchy, eyes still blazing, shakes with rage,

  “Believe those bitches. Fucking cheek of them. You ok?”

  “Yer man. Got lucky, but thanks for...”

  Frenchy waves away his gratitude.

  “Save it. Probably should have warned you but had other things on my mind earlier. Boy trouble.” Winks at him. “It was bound to happen, what with you being a newbie. You did the right thing, they needed to be taught a lesson, because if those bitches had seen you as a soft touch, they’d be at your throat the whole time.”

  Throws something across to him, Gabe catches it. Finds himself looking down at half a chocolate bar and can’t help but smile. “Thank brov.”

  “My pleasure, babe. Figure I owe you that much. Now tell me all about life on the outside. What I been missing?”

  3pm, doors unlocked. Frenchy informing him it's Sosh which means that he can go socialise with the B wing bitches. Gabriel's hesitant, but Frenchy explains it's important to be seen, avoid eye contact with anybody, act chilled, unconcerned. Maybe avoid the showers though. He gives him some nice smelling soap, tells him to play safe and wash in the cell for now. The noise is what hits Gabriel first, it's deafening, he wants to walk straight back into the cell but forces himself to take Frenchy's advice. A couple of enormous black guys catch his attention, both looking as they they've just stepped out of a Mr Universe contest, suddenly become aware that he is staring at them. One beckons him over, a fierce expression plastered across his face. Gabriel, angry at himself for having already ignored one of Frenchy's warnings, reluctantly approaches the two heavyweights.

  The guy looks down his nose at him, a harsh tone to his voice.

  "What's with you boy?"

  "Gabriel."

  "I didn’t ask your fucking name. Whad's with all the staring blaad, you got a problem?"

  "No man. I didn't mean nothin’ by it. I swear. Is just like I do weights, the gym an shit but have never seen anyone as big as you in my life. You guys look like you could go win the Nationals, way bigger than that Manc guy who won it."

  Gabriel desperately hoping that the flattery will pay dividends, and fortunately for him, it does.

  "No shit. Gabriel, is it? Man, so you reckon we are at that standard yer? Whad you say Dwayne. This here brother cool?"

  "Guess so, Josh. So you go an like watch the Nationals blaad?"

  Gabriel spends the next ten minutes discussing the NABBA, World and Mr Universe body building comps. They tell him to book some Gym time. Do some training with them. He agrees enthusiastically, not as though he has any choice. On the way back to his cell, catches sight of the pig eyed bullies from earlier, their faces now puffed and swollen. He senses that they’ve been watching him, but this time it's their eyes that drop floor wards.

  Relieved to be back in the cell, Gabriel collapses down on his bunk, the door’s locked thirty minutes later. A few hours have passed by and it's dinner, but at least that proves to be more palatable and he actually enjoys the sponge desert. Barely forty five minutes later the doors are locked again, only this time he’ll be banged up in the cell for the night.

  “Not going to be the strong silent type, are you Gabe? Will get real lonely and boring in here if that is the case. So come on, tell me something about yourself. Why you in here? Doubtless you are innocent, every con is. So enlighten me? Framed? A miscarriage of justice. Heard it all before but humour me. What crime have they banged you up for that you didn’t commit?”

  Frenchy erupts in a high pitched giggle before continuing.

  "Come on Gabe, spill."

  Frenchy is now sat in the chair opposite cleaning his toe nails with a filed down metal spoon. Gabriel guessing it’s the same sharp point he’d felt against his neck earlier.

  “Can’t really make that claim man. I am guilty of sorts. Resisted arrest after some security guards thought I’d been on a shoplifting spree. They grabbed me from behind and well, I lashed out and here I am. Will be for the next six months.”

  Frenchy digging away furiously at the inside of his toenails, briefly looks up at him.

  “Six months? You lucky bitch. Refreshing you're so truthful though, will give you that. But gotta say babe what with you being so honest an all, you are definitely in the wrong place."

  Gabriel winces at hearing yet another high pitched screech of laughter, but shrugs his shoulders and grins. Frenchy's expression becoming more serious as he asks.

  "This is all new to you, right Gabe? So am guessing you ain’t ever done any prison time before?”

  “No man, never. But I was on probation mind. Had a, well a run in with a few… Well let’s say people and it sort of got outta hand.”

  “Now that is more like it. Sounds sexy big man. Gang related? Tell Frenchy all about it.”

  This time Gabriel has to laugh, the guy is growing on him.

  “No man. Nothing like that, was like road rage.”

  Frenchy squeals with laughter again.

  “What? Road rage. Are you serious? How disappointing. What did you do, run over somebody's foot?”

  “If only. No, was like, approaching a slip road to the M25 from Croydon and some crazy fucker cut me up, drove right across me, smacking down on their fucking horn at me. Forced me to brake hard, swerved all over the road you know and ended up on a grass verge. The car didn’t even stop, just like carried on. So kinda saw red at that point and well finally caught up with the arsehole in Birmingham.”

  “You did what? You followed it all the bloody way to Birmingham. From Croydon? For real? What the hell happened?”

  “Easy enough following the car, only an old banger. Tailgated it all the way even if it did like keep swerving between lanes. An’ when it finally got off the M6, well, the driver sure tried their damndest to lose me. A crazy fucking maniac behind the wheel. And man, the passenger was no better, kept like, well lobbing tins outta the car. Soup tins would you believe. Lucky the windscreen didn’t shatter, but broke my wing mirror. The driver kept like breaking sharp, drove up on the pavement, crazy fucker, and I only just managed to keep up with the car. Shit, they made some real sharp t
urns and even went the wrong way up a fuckin one way street to lose me. Believe that? But I wasn’t having any of it, and well, it finally came to a head at some traffic lights. The crazy fuck tried to mount the pavement but couldn’t get past a phone box. I leapt out and…”

  “What, like a mass fight?”

  “Err... Well, no, not exactly man. I was like approaching the door an’ it swings open fast an’, an like it caught me seriously hard in the nuts. Went down on one knee in agony. Next thing these two old grannies are outta the car and started beating me with bottles. Was, like, well, stunned, you know, so just like knelt there trying to protect my head. Then the police turned up and, well, the grannies are like all sweet an’ innocent. Say I have been chasing them, trying to run them off the road. Said all they had done was to drive within the speed limit an’ that I had terrorised them because I wanted to get past. Believe that. Man… Before I know it am charged and like end up on probation.”

  Gabriel can hear Frenchy cackling loudly with laughter beneath him,

  “I am so going to like you, Gabe. That is just brilliant. Here.”

  He throws another bar of chocolate up to him.

  “Thanks, man. Where do you get…?”

  Frenchy, still giggling, interrupts him.

  “Never you mind. Ask no questions, receive no lies. Got to say, was impressive how you dealt with those fuck heads earlier. Should have known those shits would make a move, saw them hanging around on the landing earlier. A right nasty pair. Darrel, he is the bitch with the weird tattoo on his neck, is a right head-case. He is so into sodding football is enough to bore anybody totally shitless. Don’t get me wrong, haven’t got a problem with watching those guys running around in their skimpy shorts kicking a ball. Especially the olive skinned Mediterranean players, the Italians really do it for me, and those sexy tanned legs sure do get my attention. Phew. In fact, promised myself I might just go renew my City season again if I ever get out of here."

  Gabriel is taken aback by that revelation, "You had a season ticket? For Borrington City?"

  "Well don't sound so surprised, you bitch. Went to every home match with my dad, not as though I had much choice really, what with me being his only son and him being a fanatical City supporter. Do like a good ball game though. And always wanted to go leap in that giant bath with them after the game.”

  Gabriel grimaces as the high pitched laugh yet again cuts straight through him.

  “Getting back to Darrel, now he really is a vicious thug babe. Got told he ran with a group of notorious hooligans called the bollock bashers. Nice name, ehh? You ever heard of them?”

  “Yer, man, have as it happens. All over the papers a while back after the riot at the City match. A couple of Caulston boys ended up in the hospital, one in a coma for months if I remember right. And the City Firm took credit for it. Sick fucks. Then all the talk from the politicians about stamping down on it hard, followed by mass arrests throughout Borrington. Were like loads rounded up from that posh estate in Knarlswood, right? And then came the shock waves what with so many of them having come from your so called ‘nice’ families. Man, a lot of them in well paid jobs an all. An’ wasn’t like one of them the son of a prominent councillor? Then came the stink in the media cause hooligans are supposed to all be violent little shits like me from the rough estates.”

  “Well, some were Gabe, was a large crew arrested on that shitty estate in Addlington. Not that I am saying you are a violent little shit.”

  They both roar with laughter.

  “So that how Darrel ended up in here then, Frenchy?”

  “Well, there’s no doubting he definitely fits the stereotypical image the papers were looking for. None too clever a bitch, never done an honest day’s work in his life and always in trouble. But no, babe, he was banged up on a burglary charge at the time, otherwise am sure he’d of been in court with the others. Anyway, just weeks after getting released he was back with the Addlington bollock bashers, at least what was left of them, and from what I’ve heard, was given the responsibility for getting those grotesque calling cards printed. Anybody with half a brain would have used a home PC, printed them discreetly, right?. But that stupid fucker only goes into a professional printing shop on the high street and orders 500 of them. And so the police are like ‘thank you very much’, and he is tagged for observation. But it gets worse. Apparently, the bollock bashers arranged a fight with another firm of hooligans on the site of the old brewery. Was all over the social networking sites and of course, the plod soon got wind of it because Darrel had been tagged. The hooligans got wind of the fact that the police had got wind of it and it all got called off. Only nobody thinks to tell Darrel. And. And...”

  Frenchy can’t contain himself any longer and explodes into hysterics, desperately trying to finish his story but is unable to talk. Gabriel then bursts into laughter at the sound of Frenchy’s high pitched squeal, which he now realises is a pretty good imitation of a seal. The Arf.. Arf... Arf just keeps getting louder. Gabriel, now doubled up on the edge of the bed, is rocking with laughter and loses his balance. He falls heavily, catching the side of the chair and sending Frenchy flying. The pair of them lay helpless on the concrete floor, Gabriel clutching at his now bruised ankle, Frenchy sprawled out on his back with his legs still across the upturned chair. And both with tears streaming down their faces. The cell full of Arf... Arf... Arf, as the metal flap is lifted, a pair of eyes peering in at them, a stern voice shouting,

  “What is going on in there?”

  Frenchy battling hard to reply, and in a very high pitched voice, “Fine. All fine. Funny joke.”

  Flap slammed shut.

  The pair of them eventually manage to struggle back up on to their feet, albeit with some difficulty. And all of ten minutes have passed before the laughter subsides. Gabriel, if somewhat gingerly, clambers back up to his bunk. And Frenchy, having righted the chair, sits back down heavily, still clasping hold of his stomach. But finally, they manage to compose themselves.

  “Frenchy, man, are you trying to kill me or what?”

  “Sorry babe. Where was I?

  “That dickhead Darrel, at the old brewery.”

  “Yer. Yer, that’s right, the brewery. So Darrel and four of his mates from the Addlington crew didn’t know that it had been called off, and neither did the other firm. So all five of Darrel’s mob, including that donkey who was with him earlier, Alijah, went driving in through the entrance to the old brewery. Leapt out of the car, and Darrel, always wanting to be the top man, went charging around the corner with a baseball bat. The others following close behind. And went smack, bang, wallop into near on twenty guys from this other firm. Got the crap smashed out of them but somehow managed to break free, and went legging it back to the car with the other firm chasing them down. But then they were confronted by another group charging in the opposite direction. And all hell broke loose. Punches were being thrown, bats were being swung, only it..”

  Frenchy starts to giggle again. But is determined to finish this time, and bites his bottom lip.

  “Only that other mob turned out to be the plod. The other firm weren’t so stupid, saw something wasn’t right, turned and legged it. Darrel and those silly bitches with him were finally restrained. All five ended up in court pleading not guilty, claiming it was self-defence. Threw the bloody book at them. And that photo of him looking like the missing link, along with that headline. Oh, come on Gabe, you must remember it now?”

  And he does remember, the pair of them speaking it aloud together.

  “Is this England’s Most Stupid Hooligan?”

  And both explode into uncontrollable laughter.

  Any humour is quickly forgotten as a blood curdling scream has Gabriel leaping from his bunk. Almost collapses on top of Frenchy as his ankle gives way.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Chill, Gabe, is only Dumbnuts. He is like that all through the night but you get used to it. Has all these mental issues, a paranoid schizophreni
c, real bad that he is even in here, but they keep him medicated. The guy needs help not prison, but guess that is the way it goes nowadays. Is ok during the day. Anyway, he suffers from nightmares and is convinced something is trying to possess him, so come the night we all suffer. Near on throttled his old cell mate one night, a guy called Rick. What was it Rick said… Yer that’s right, that Dumbnuts claimed to of seen the demon in his eyes. Just got to learn to shut the noise out, or you won’t get any sleep.”

  Gabriel stretches back out on his bunk. Ribs still sore from the laughter and his ankle throbbing. Frenchy talking, him listening.

  "Look, need my beauty sleep babe so am gonna crash. Remember, you need to learn how to shut out the noise."

  "Not easy, Frenchy."

  "No, but you will get used to it."

  "Thanks man, for everything."

  Frenchy is definitely growing on him, and there is no doubting that he has a good sense of humour, even if a little too kinky at times for his taste. He hadn't been much older that Gabriel when he'd been given the life sentence. Frenchy insisted it had been a 'crime passionnel' and that elsewhere in Europe, he wouldn't even have received a prison sentence. Of how he’d been employed in a trendy bar in Borrington, Butner’s, both him and his partner Frederico. It’s where they'd met. The Cocktail Kings is how they'd been described in a review in the Borrington Informer, and they'd both been so very proud of that accolade. He’d been working the bar on what had was a quieter night than usual, and they'd needed some change for the till. Normally he'd phone through to the office, get whoever was monitoring the CCTV to bring it through, but with the bar being empty, decided to go himself. He remembers walking into the office, and then everything becomes something of a blur. Was as though he'd watched somebody else committing the murders, stabbing both Frederico and the female who he'd found having sex with him across the office desk. He knows it sounds insane, but he really doesn’t think he was responsible for his actions. Even his solicitor had agreed, temporary insanity had been the defence plea but the jury didn't buy into it, and here he is six years later.