by M W Foolster
“Right then. Well, don’t keep our guest waiting, send the little shit in.”
Gabriel jerks backwards in surprise as Pot Hole Ron is literally slung across the room, and slides to a stop at Ray’s feet, Craig following close behind.
“A little Frenchy birdy tells me you have not been totally honest with me, Ron. Now, I want you to take your time in answering this. Think very carefully. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Ron sits on the floor, shaking his head and looking petrified as he stares up at Ray.
“So, correct me if I am being a bit dense here, Ron, but from what I can see, the £20 credit on the new sim card that I trusted you with seems to of disappeared into thin air.”
Ray smacks Ron across the side of the head with the mobile.
“And what’s more, it ain’t even the same fucking number on this sim card. That weird or what? And could only have happened somewhere between here, and the cell of my friend sat over there."
Thrusts a stocky finger in Gabriel’s direction.
“Like I said, maybe I am being thick because in my mind, that suggests it ain’t the same sodding sim card that I gave you to deliver. This mobile.” A cowering Ron is sent sprawling as the mobile is yet again smashed against the back of his head. “Ain’t been used. No call, texts, no nothing. And the sim now in it, well, ain’t even got a sodding pounds worth of credit on the poxy thing. So, ain’t that a fucking mystery, Ron?”
“I swear to you, Boss, I dunno what you mean. He must of switched it himself. I swear it on my girls lives.”
Ray sneers down at him,
“You ain’t got no girls, you lying fucking muppet.”
He nods at Craig, who boots Ron in the stomach. Ray’s eyes now blazing.
“I am a reasonable man, Ron, but...”
Shaking with rage, and no longer able to control his temper, he throws the mobile at the wall, shrieking
”BUT I CANNOT TOLORATE FUCKIN LIARS!”
Ray winks at Craig, who then grabs Ron by the neck and drags him to his feet. Ray gets hold of Ron’s forearm, and forces his hand down on a metal table. Tears rolling down Ron's cheeks, desperation in his voice.
"I swear it, Boss, I would never lie to you, he stole it. It's him. He’s the thieving fucker, not me. I swear it. Please, Boss, I am begging you, don’t do this."
Ray yelling at Gabriel,
“Right son, you heard him. Called you a fucking thief. So unless what he says is true, you best pick up those fucking secateurs and chop off this wanker's fucking finger.”
Veins bulging from his forehead, his callous grey eyes boring into Gabriel's, Ray is almost daring him to refuse. Slowly getting to his feet, Gabriel looks down at the green secateurs that Ray had dropped in his lap earlier. A bead of sweat tricking down his forehead, his head spinning from the whisky, Gabriel takes a deep breath and attempts to compose himself. And he’s in no doubt as to what the consequences will be for him if he doesn’t go through with this. But still he hesitates. Ray isn’t bluffing though, and if he doesn’t do as ordered, it will be his hand they have hold of next. Wants to turn and run, to escape this nightmare… But that isn't an option. No choice. Decision made. He grits his teeth, ignores Ron’s screaming and opens the secateurs. Ron’s little finger is now inserted between the blades just above the knuckle. Closes his eyes.
“STOP SON!”
Blood pumping in Gabriel’s ears, emotionally detached from what is happening, he snaps the handles together tightly. The piercing scream brings him back to his senses. Both Ray and Craig back off, can but stand and stare down at Ron who’s now stretched out on the floor, sobbing as he clutches at his hand. Ray pats Gabriel on the back,
“Fuck me. Was only supposed to be a wind up. Wanted him scared is all. Still, shit happens.”
He breaks in a rasping laugh,
"Well, don’t just stand there Craig. Pull your fucking finger out.”
More rasping laughter, followed by a coughing spasm.
“Get him outta here, and make sure he knows to keep his mouth shut fucking tight. Got it?”
Craig nods, “Yes, Boss.”
“Wait.”
Gabriel must suddenly seem very intimidating judging by the apprehensive expression on Craig’s face. Dropping the detached finger into the empty whisky cup, he passes it to Craig.
“It was a clean cut, so they should be able to sew it back on.”
A fresh plastic cup topped up with whisky, Gabriel gulps it down noisily in an attempt to calm his nerves. Riddled with guilt, trying to justify his actions in his own mind, but still convinced that he didn’t have a choice.
“Fuck me, son, that was something. Normally just flash them in front of the wankers, and that is enough to get them pissing themselves. Still, they had to be christened sometime.”
Craig’s fellow bouncer pokes his head around the door, casting a wary look towards Gabriel.
“Five minutes, Boss.”
“Thanks. Look son, we still have a lot of talking to do. Catch up with you later, right?”
Gabriel nods, and heads towards the cell door.
14 Borrington Library
Jason dashes down the narrow stone steps leading to the staff entrance, the heavy wooden door already unlocked, relieved he isn't the first in. He's met by the strong aroma of fresh coffee wafting over from the staff room, smiles to himself, they all know what his priority will be. The kitchen itself is an eyesore, furniture and fittings still dating back to the 1970’s. Supposedly beige walls although the paint is peeling so badly in places it’s hard to tell, dark parquet flooring that dates back to when the library first opened in 1920, some rickety homemade kitchen cupboards, the worktop still covered in a blue and white floral laminate. A formica table with its discoloured chrome legs, and at least 40 years old, with a couple of wobbly plastic chairs pushed up against it. The only natural light comes courtesy of a small barred window above the sink, not that the thick frosted glass allows that much light into the room. But at least they now have some comfortable seats to stretch out in. After him constantly begging and pleading with the then head of libraries, Charlotte Hume, she'd finally relented and agreed to release the funds for some new armchairs if nothing else. Drops his sports bag to the floor on entering the kitchen. He sees Jasmine first, wiggling in front of the mirror as she attempts to adjust her tight black skirt. Not that anybody ever calls her that, she has always been called Jazz. Her perfect complexion, the golden skin inherited from her Chinese mother as she's constantly tells them, and her long shapely legs from her father who'd been well over 6 foot tall.
"Looking good, Jazz."
"More than I can say about you, Jay, you look like crap. So what was it last night?”
"Don't ask."
"I am asking. You are ok, right?"
"Yer fine."
Almond shaped hazel eyes peer out at him from the mirror. She turns to look at him, a long hard stare. Hands on hips, her jet black hair brushed back into a pony tail. And then she breaks into the South London street slang they're all accustomed to, rhythmically gesticulating her hands from side to side as she talks.
"Whad was all that about yesterday then, blaad? ‘Bout bein’ sensible an’ dat? How you was gonna get an’ crash early. Then you out again like last night an’ here we are again, innit? With you looking like crap. So whad you reckon about this here wasteman Tam, he like full of shit innit?"
They both look across at Tamera who is desperately trying not to laugh.
"I hear whad you sayin’ gal. Whad you reckon on doin’? Deprive the wasteman of that there coffee you made him?"
"You go girls, give him hell," Jessica, her American accent still very evident despite having lived in the UK for over ten years, is sat in the far corner, sipping green tea from a mug. And all three of them burst into hysterical laughter at watching Jason make a desperate lunge towards the mug of coffee, suddenly looking concerned that Jazz might take Tammy's suggestion seriously. Tammy looks up at Jason and
flashes him a huge smile. She might only be five foot tall, but her explosive personality more than compensates for her lack of height. Forever smiling, and always so bubbly, she's a little bundle of energy with an incredibly infectious laugh, but woe betide that you should ever upset her. Despite being in her early twenties she looks far younger, and much to her disgust, she's constantly being asked to show an ID card whenever they're on a night out. Wearing her hair in an Afro, not that you're ever quite sure what to expect because she changes her style weekly, she's now looking up at him with a pleading look in her eyes,
"Look, Jay, I kinda need a favour…"
"What is it now, Tam?"
“Well, it's like this. Mum's still working her shift at the hospital and it's an inset day at the school so…" she trails off, hesitating.
"So? Spit it out."
"Well... Hmmm.. It's just that Mum don't want Lewis an’ Leroy left home alone, you know. Can they stay here until she finishes her shift? Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"
Not as though he has been left with any choice,
“I suppose so, but look, just make sure they stay out of trouble this time. In fact, promise me they will, and please, please tell me they are not on a staff PC."
Leroy and Lewis, Tammy’s younger brothers, known to the staff as the terrible twins. He thinks back to the last time he’d allowed the twins to spend a morning in the library, back in April, Tuesday 1st April to be precise, and that the little sods had accessed Charlotte Hume's council email account. Poor Charlotte was forever forgetting the log-in details to all of her accounts, and of course it didn't help that for security reasons, the passwords were changed monthly. Consequentially, she'd kept them all written down in her diary. A diary that she'd left tucked beneath the keyboard in the office following a visit to Borrington library the previous day. Just unfortunate that she'd forgotten it, and that the twins had happened to find it. Despite Tammy having told them to get on with some coursework, the mischievous twins had soon grown bored and turned their attention to the PC. Having found the diary with password scrawled down, and unable to resist the temptation, they'd then proceeded to log into Charlotte's account. The consequences were disastrous. A council wide emergency warning sent out that a mother ship was presently hovering above London, that an alien invasion was imminent, and that all Council Department Heads were to activate the emergency invasion plan with immediate effect. And of course it hadn’t helped that a huge, silver air ship had actually been seen floating over London earlier that morning, or, that being April Fool’s Day, the usual bogus news stories were being circulated in the media, notably, that life had been discovered on Mars. The emergency red phones throughout the borough had started ringing immediately. Heads of Departments frantically calling each other, all wanting to know what the emergency plan was in regard to an invasion, and how to implement it. The information soon got leaked, and council employees leaving work in their droves. Within hours, Borrington had been plunged into total chaos. Initially, it was just the local press who'd descended on the town hall, sniffing out the news story of the decade, but reporters from the national papers weren’t far behind. The Leader of Borrington Council, Counsellor Fuker, eventually forced to issue an official denial, apologising for the misinformation having been circulated, and offering to tender his resignation. Not that he ever did. Poor Charlotte had been severely reprimanded, and despite arguing that her email account had been hacked into, she’d been encouraged to take an early retirement.
If somewhat reluctantly, Jason finally nods his approval, Tammy grinning up at him in gratitude.
“Thanks, Jay. I have put them both on a public PC and swear that I’ll keep watch over them this time. Jazz and Jessie will help too.”
Thinking that he must be mad, Jason sinks back into a chair, closing his eyes as he savours the taste of strong coffee. He misses Charlotte, in fact all of the staff do, and it didn't help that she'd been replaced by Theresa bloody Scrawl. Having arrived unannounced, and within a week of Charlotte retiring, Scrawl had sneakily visited all six of the Borrington libraries before revealing herself as their new Commander in Chief. A grey glass eye permanently fixed upon you when speaking, she’d constantly be perched up on her toes, her other eye eerily peering over your shoulder as she surveyed the library. And she'd taken an immediate dislike to Jason. Perhaps her initial impression of Borrington Central hadn't exactly been positive, but that was hardly his fault. She’d arrived in the middle of a busy story-time, and approached a woman escorting her child to the toilet. Despite the young boy constantly fidgeting, Scrawl had somewhat foolishly delayed the mother by asking her about the library service, and consequentially, ended up with a urine drenched shoe. But if her first visit had left him feeling niggled, he was positively seething following the second. The staff had stood and watched in stunned silence as Scrawl had escorted Charlie, Lulu, Ron, and at least seven other less than desirable customers into the library, having found them loitering outside. Jason attempting to explain that Charlie had been officially barred having been caught stealing from the library. Scrawl, a smug expression on her face, had waved away his protestations as she'd reminded him that their visitor numbers were falling, and she'd single handily introduced ten new customers to the library service. Consequences being dozens of written complaints from their regular customers, some refusing to ever set foot in the library again, and a drastic drop in visitor numbers. The next few days had brought with them a spate of petty thefts, everything from toilet rolls and soap in the public toilets, to the daily newspapers. The following week, Sally, their long serving cleaner, had handed in her resignation. Despite Jason having pleaded with her to reconsider, she'd remained adamant, her reason being that she'd emptied a paper waste bin of empty cans, only to discover that the drunks had emptied their bladders into them before binning them. The poor woman had been left completely traumatised, having splashed the contents all over her legs. And still the problems continued. That was until a story in the local press proved to be their salvation. Having received several anonymous letters, the Borrington Informer sent along a reporter to investigate. Shocked by what she'd seen, her scathing article had led to Scrawl having a drastic rethink. Despite a failed attempt to exonerate herself of any blame, Jason had been fortunate in that Counsellor Khan's wife had witnessed the event with Scrawl and the drunks, but Scrawl had still seen to it that Jason's reputation was tarnished, and that his managerial capabilities were brought into question.
Opens his eyes and looks up at the clock, bloody hell it's nearly nine.
"Best get a move on ladies, our public awaits."
Hand now on hips, stern look on her face, Tammy glares at him as she bellows,
"Sit down you damned fool. Don't you know its Friday? 9:30 opening… Fool".
More laughter. Relief on his part. But then he remembers there's supposed to be an official staff meeting to discuss Theresa Scrawl’s latest Health and Safety directives. Pulls the memo from his sports bag and reads through the first page.
1)All metal cutlery within the libraries is to be removed with immediate effect and replaced with plastic cutlery.
2)The library Knitting Clubs are to be disbanded immediately due to the potential risk caused by use of sharp instruments, e.g. knitting needles.
3)Staff are no longer allowed to carry books in their arms to shelve, book trolleys are to be used at all times and wheeled to the desired location.
4)Staff are not to raise a book above shoulder height, maintenance men are to be instructed to adjust shelving if too high.
5)Staff are no longer allowed to move chairs around the building because of potential back injuries, maintenance men are to be instructed to move them if deemed necessary.
6)Staff are no longer to use drawing pins because of potential hazards posed, the existing supply are to be returned to head office.
7)Staff are no longer allowed to use a paper guillotine unless accompanied by colleague due to the potential risk caused by solitary working practices.
Jason chucks it at his sports bag, just cannot be bothered with it all, not today. And he knows full well the derogatory comments he’s likely to receive, especially from Robbie, not that he has arrived for work as of yet. Decides to take the easy option.
"Look guys, I need you to all to read through the latest Health and Safety bumph in the manual, and to sign the acknowledgment sheet. You will all be questioned by Scrawl as to the contents at some stage, and so it's in your best interests that you do actually read it this time."
His words are met by a chorus of groans and shaking heads,
Tammy frowning at him.
"Now what's Scrawl gone an’ done now to make my life harder, Jay? And have you spoken to her yet about us having the mini ladders back, explained to her that I can't reach the higher shelves."
Raising his hands in exasperation, and with an apologetic look on his face, Jason attempts to smile.
"Come on, guys, don't shoot the messenger. I have asked her about the mini ladders and look, I am sorry Tam, but seems we now need to attend a Borrington Council accredited training session in the use of ladders, after which we’ll be issued with an official competency certificate, and that's to be followed by individual library risk assessments for each member of staff by the Health and Safety Officer."
"That's crazy. They are only like 2 foot high, and have only got 2 steps. What does she want me to do? Turn up to work wearing stilts, or something?"
Jazz cuts in, "As long as you adhere to the new dress code Tam, and get some long black trousers to cover them, then reckon that will be cool."
And they all they burst into laughter, and that at least breaks the tension in the room. But Tammy is still looking niggled as she stares at him,
"Seriously, Jay, it is getting stupid now, you know?"
He smiles at her sympathetically, dreading what her reaction will be when she discovers that books cannot be raised above shoulder height. Very prickly about her height as it is, she always had been. And she didn't speak to him for over a week following the library's summer day out at the Go Karting track. He'd thought it would be a great experience for them all, the long tracks allowing speeds of over 35mph, the day advertised as a ‘truly exhilarating experience', and it had certainly lived up to its promise. Well, for most of them. It hadn't occurred to him to check to see if there was a minimum height requirement, why would it? On their arrival at the track, the ten of them had received a safety briefing, got kitted out, excitable conversation as they'd put their helmets on. The adrenalin flowing on seeing the brightly coloured carts, the long smooth concrete track with the sharp bends and flyovers, the authentic barriers, and the pit lanes. And they'd all started to feel very competitive when escorted to their karts. But then disaster had struck. Tammy was too short, her legs couldn't reach the pedals. A nearby and very sympathetic school teacher, on witnessing her dilemma, had offered Tammy what Jason had considered to be a sensible solution. Her visiting school party were several pupils down, and so Tammy could join their group. It would mean Tammy racing in a child's go-kart, and on a different track, but surely that would be preferable to sitting it out. Despite having initially been mortified by the very suggestion, Tammy eventually relented, and spent the next few hours racing around the smaller track, albeit against a school party of twelve year olds. Tammy anything but appreciative towards her colleagues when they'd given her a round of applause, and congratulated her on winning the final race. And far from being impressed by the printed certificate she'd received, she’d promptly threatened to shove up Jason's backside.