by Tony McHale
Fifteen minutes before the allotted time Amos and Lucas pulled up in their van. Obviously the previous night some passing motorist had taken pity on them and transported them home. They climbed out of the van and the chattering of the gathered assembly faded away. Up until then the discussions had been whether Amos would actually show or not. Now all speculation was out of the window.
It was a cold morning, but Amos didn’t show any signs of feeling that cold when he removed his shirt to reveal his thin but muscular torso. Lucas got some rope from the van and tied his arms behind his back. All Amos said was, “Tighter … tighter.” So Lucas pulled the rope tight round his wrist and tied the knot securely.
Then they waited.
People rubbed their hands together, moved their legs up and down to keep warm, but Amos just stood there, not moving.
At two minutes to eleven two vehicles appeared approaching The Field. One was Tyler’s pick-up, the other was Cassie’s Espace. Ignoring the place where the others parked they drove right into the field, causing people to move quickly out of their way, for fear of being hit. Tyler didn’t even look at Amos as he went to help Cassie get Georgie out of the Espace.
As they wheeled Georgie over the rough terrain Cassie talked quietly to Tyler.
“Don’t do this Tyler. There’s no point.”
“There’s a lot of point. You know that.”
Once Georgie was settled Tyler turned and faced Amos. He had thought of bandaging his hands, but then went against it. He moved over to where Amos was standing, ostensibly to check that the rope was fastened tight enough, but really he wanted to whisper in his ear.
“Two punches … go down. I won’t hold it against you.”
Amos didn’t reply. He didn’t nod his head, he just kept looking straight ahead.
Tyler walked away from him and as he did so he caught Cassie’s look. She hadn’t wanted to come, but Georgie had. Georgie wanted to see what happened when the unwritten and the unspoken rules of Beck le Street were broken.
Tyler turned and faced Amos. He knew he had to do it, so without ceremony and without warning Tyler just lashed out, his fist crashing into the side of Amos’s face. There was a clean sharp sound of knuckles meeting the flesh of his cheek. The crowd collectively inhaled breath. Amos’s head reeled with the blow as he made an involuntary grunt. He remained turned away from Tyler for a few moments, and then slowly he pulled himself back up straight as he spit blood out of his mouth. He had barely had a chance to see the whites of Tyler’s eyes when the second punch came. This punch hit Amos on the side of his temple. There was a dull thud as bone met bone and sent Amos’s brain ringing round his skull.
Tyler waited for Amos to go down, slump to his knees. That would be sufficient. Retribution would be seen to be done. But Amos stayed up right and once again levelled his head and looked into Tyler’s eyes.
Tyler stared at him as Amos almost imperceptibly shook his head. Tyler was pleading with his eyes, pleading for him not to do this. Suddenly Amos screamed out, “Come on … do it … do it!!!”
Tyler angry with Amos for not just quitting delivered three swift body blows. Amos doubled over, but didn’t go down.
Tyler was close to him as he grabbed his throat.
“Go down,” Tyler said again quietly.
“Make me … make me,” was Amos’s equally quiet reply.
Tyler stood back from him and his left fist jabbed three times at Amos’s right eye. The eyebrow split on the third punch and blood started to ooze out. At the same time the swelling round the eye became visible. Immediately Tyler hit him with a powerful right hook that smashed into Amos’s nose instantly breaking it.
The more sensitive people in the crowd winced with the sound of the nose snapping, others watched on stoically believing this was necessary for the integrity of Beck le Street.
Amos remained standing.
Tyler followed up with another punch to the stomach, that winded the already weakened Amos, who doubled over as he gasped for breath, his arm instinctively wanting to cover his belly, but not being able to. Tyler clasped his two hands together to make a single fist, and smashed Amos on the back of the neck.
Now he has to go down.
Amos knees buckled, but he remained on his feet. He lifted his head, blood now coming from his eyebrow, his busted nose and from inside his mouth. He looked like he’d done ten rounds in a ring. The bare knuckles of his assailant causing far more damage than the gloved hands of a professional boxer. His right eye was now closing rapidly, but he managed to smile as Tyler’s fist came in again this time contacting with Amos’s left eye and breaking the skin, causing Amos’s face to spout more blood.
But still he didn’t go down.
Tyler came at him again hitting his body; six powerful blows to each side. Amos felt his ribs cracking as he struggled to breathe. He staggered to his left, now barely being able to keep his balance. How he was staying upright was surprising to everyone.
Georgie was watching this barbaric display with his mother standing behind him. Georgie couldn’t understand why his father kept on hitting Amos. He was beaten, well and truly beaten. He knew his father had said it was about honour and the fact Amos had acted like Judas and like Judas Amos had to be punished.
But he’d been punished … couldn’t anyone else see that.
Georgie wanted it to stop; he wanted Tyler to stop. What Amos had done didn’t matter. Amos was now staggering around like a wounded animal – defenceless. His hands still tied behind his back. There was a moment when he looked straight at Georgie. His blood covered face looking back at him. All Georgie saw in his eyes was fear. Amos knew what had happened to his father. Everyone believed it was the beating from Old Atkinson that had killed him. Amos knew he could be about to die. As Georgie watched this frightened man his feelings welled up inside of him and tears appeared in his eyes. He didn’t notice his mobile phone drop from his lap to the ground.
Cassie was also finding this far too painful to watch. She knew about Amos, she knew what sort of man he was, but this was animalistic. At least Caroline’s death was swift. A blast from a shotgun … and even Kyle’s death wasn’t sadistic, no one tortured him … but this. As she looked away she saw a figure in the distance, way up in the hills. The figure was all in black and had a bike with him. He was watching the proceedings through binoculars. She assumed it was some cycle enthusiast who had just stumbled upon this modern day gladiatorial combat. He would no doubt be considering calling the police. Would they come out to Beck le Street? If Sam Naylor had still been alive they’d have paid lip service and done nothing. But now he was gone … things could change.
Then a shared gasp from the gathered crowd made her look back at the action. Amos was staggering round, blinded by his own blood. He’d tripped over some piece of wood that had been left in the field and nearly fell to the ground, but again he managed to stay upright. Amos was totally disorientated and had no idea where his attacker was. Tyler moved behind him. He grabbed his shoulders and started to force his to the ground.
“Get off me!” screamed Amos. “Get off me!”
But Tyler continued to try and force Amos onto his knees, but still Amos wouldn’t go down. Tyler hooked one leg round Amos’s ankle, tripping him up and sending him sprawling head first. Unable to break his fall because his hands were tied, Amos landed awkwardly, his already well-damaged face receiving more injury.
Tyler looked down at him.
“You fucking idiot.”
“Get me up … get me up!” Amos was down, but he wasn’t out.
“It’s over Amos. It’s over.”
Tyler headed back to his pick-up as Lucas moved to cut Amos free and help him up. For the inhabitants of Beck le Street he had been duly punished for his offence and now everything could go back to normal.
* * * * *
High up on the hillside Charlie, through his binoculars, watched Tyler get into his truck and drive away. Although he was some way away he knew for certain it was Tyler’s truck. He also knew the woman who was pushing a wheelchair towards a people carrier was Cassie and the teenager in that wheelchair was his son. What he didn’t know was what the hell had just happened. He’d seen two men fighting. Well no, not exactly fighting, one man was allowing the other man, whom he now knew to be Tyler - just beat him. Even from where he stood he knew the beaten man was badly injured. He also knew that what appeared to be the entire population of Beck le Street had turned out to watch this man be beaten.
There … in that field, Charlie believed there was the killer of his mother. That person was also responsible for Devika’s death. Did those people in that field know who the killer was? Surely someone did.
Then through his binoculars he saw Jed and Farrah set off walking back to the village. They were in the midst of a group of people. If there had been something between his father and Farrah, then he had to assume it was well over, because nothing in their body language said there was anything between them now.
As the crowd dispersed on foot and in cars Charlie headed down towards The Field on his bike. As he got closer he saw Lucas trying to help a broken Amos towards their van. Charlie didn’t get too near, in fear of being recognised. As Lucas helped Amos into the van, he was far too preoccupied to worry about some cyclist. He had to get Amos to hospital. His friend was in a bad way. The van pulled away down the steep dirt track that weaved its way back down to Beck le Street. If you were walking it was quicker to cross the strip of moorland, but in a vehicle, or a bike the way was down the dirt track. So Charlie gave the van a good head start before following.
The steepness of the track was extreme in parts and Charlie hung onto the bike as it picked up speed and shuddered down the rough terrain. He was enjoying the experience. The unlevelled ground throwing him this way and that and the exhilaration whilst focusing on staying upright was thrilling. He hit a large piece of rock and very nearly came off, but managed to keep in control. Then he rounded one of the many blind corners only to come face to face with an Espace coming the other way.
Charlie hit the brakes and the bike swung round and broadsided into the vehicle sending Charlie sliding across the gravel path. He lay at the side of the road dazed, but not with any serious injury.
The driver of the Espace, Cassie, climbed out from behind the wheel, not sure if the cyclist was badly damaged or not and still not recognising it was Charlie.
“Are you okay? There was nothing I could do. You came straight at me …” she enquired and explained as she approached Charlie.
Charlie managed to sit himself up as he tried to catch his breath. He knew there was no point in trying to hide his identity from Cassie, so he pulled of his balaclava.
Cassie pulled up short when she saw who it was.
“What the …?” was all she could say.
Charlie was still too winded to get to his feet.
“I thought you were in London,” Cassie continued.
“I was,” said Charlie still trying to catch his breath.
“What – you went on a bike ride and got lost? Turned left at the Houses of Parliament in stead of right.”
“Not quite.”
Charlie got to his feet and went to rescue his bike from underneath the front of Cassie’s Espace.
“So what you playing at?”
Charlie extricated the bike and started to check it over as he talked.
“I couldn’t just let it rest Cass.”
Cassie knew exactly what he talking about, but still found herself questioning it.
“What couldn’t you let rest?”
“My mother’s murder, Devika’s murder, Kyle’s murder … I can’t just let them go.”
“Nobody wants to just let them go Charlie …”
Charlie glanced at her then returned his attention to the bike, which seemed miraculously unharmed. He didn’t want to get into this discussion with Cassie, or in fact anybody. He’d learnt that talking to people in Beck le Street never had the outcome you expected.
“But what we don’t need is some vigilante from down South, thinking he can sort it.”
“But a vigilante from up North is okay, is it.” Charlie just couldn’t resist. “I’ve seen how this place sorts out people who commit a sin in Beck le Street. What was happening in that field just now …eh? Somebody else stepped out of line did they?”
“You don’t know anything Charlie.”
“I know somebody blew my mother away with a shot gun, I know somebody stabbed Kyle Pearson in the back and I know Devika was driven off the road. And I know I’m the one that’s suppose to be immoral, I’m the one that’s despicable for taking photographs of people who spend most of their lives trying to get their faces all over the newspapers, but object when it’s not a hundred per cent on their terms. But you people here, you carry on just as you please. I’ve seen the justice you mete out and it makes me look like an angel. I don’t care what the people of this village think of me … I’m going to find the killer, because I believe in justice, real justice. But it seems in this neck of the woods I stand alone.”
Cassie looked at him, her turn to remain silent. Charlie took a breath.
“Look Cassie … I don’t want you involved in this. I’m not asking you to help me … but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about seeing me.”
Cassie paused for a moment then nodded her head.
“Thanks.”
Charlie moved his bike out of the way as Cassie headed back to the Espace.
“Where you going?”
“Georgie dropped his phone. And Charlie … I’ll help you all I can. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Where you staying?”
“Moor Cottage, it’s just …”
“I know it. If I learn anything, I’ll come and tell you.”
There was something very seductive in the way Cassie said her last sentence. Then she finished by saying, “You just take care.”
Charlie watched her climb back into the Espace and carry on up the hill. As the people carrier passed him he saw Georgie looking out of the back window. Georgie knew he was there and the clock had started ticking.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Charlie decided he’d return to the cottage. He’d worked out the route from his temporary home to the village, but of course the next challenge was to do it in the dark. He’d purchased a ‘miner’s’ style cycling helmet with a lamp on the front and also a large lamp to attach to the front of his bike. He hoped this would be sufficient to get him to the village in one piece.
He was already regretting not being more cautious. His inopportune meeting with Cassie could well have scuppered all his plans. The only good thing was that it happened to be Cassie he collided with and he was relying on his belief if there was one person who might keep his mission a secret it was her. The bad thing of course was that Georgie had seen him and would more than likely tell Tyler. Whatever - he knew his window of opportunity had already started to close.
The night wasn’t coal black, but it wasn’t Wembley on match night either. With his two lamps lighting his way he set off to Farrah’s cottage. If it was a real late night at The Black Dog, then he might be in for a long wait. He’d hopefully bought the right thermals and the right protective water proof clothing to prevent hypothermia.
As it happened Farrah finished around eleven thirty and arrived at her cottage fifteen minutes later.
She had just put the kettle on and plugged in her laptop, she habitually checked to see if Aaron had left her a message, when there was a knock on her door. She cautiously approached the old solid timber that had prevented unwanted visitors since the cottage had been built.
“Hello?”
“Farrah - it’s me, Charlie.”
Farrah wondered what the hell he was doing at her house at nearly midnight, but that wasn’t going to prevent her allowing him to enter.
Charlie came in looking like a cross between something from the Tour de France and How Green Was My Valley. Farrah stared at him as she closed the door and relocked it.
“Thanks,” said Charlie who despite his precautionary attire, was feeling the cold.
“Well this is a surprise. I’ve just put the kettle on, you look like you could do with a drink.”
“Please,” was his reply.
“I’ve got to ask ... why you dressed like that?”
“I came on a bike.”
“From London?”
Already that joke was wearing thin with Charlie.
“I’m staying locally.” He’d given away his address once already, he wasn’t going to give it away again.
“And there was I thinking you were after a bed.”
“No - thanks.”
“Tea or coffee?” she asked.
“Coffee please - black.”
Farrah started to make the coffee.
“I need to talk to you Farrah.”
There was something in his tone that made her glance at him for a second.
“About my dad,” Charlie continued, wondering what Farrah’s reaction was going to be.
“What about your dad?”
“About you and him.”
Farrah stopped making the drinks. She looked at him realising where this was going.
“Somebody said something?” It was a natural assumption for her to make.