Tuesday, 31 August 2010

Fight Night

It was after midnight and me and Pesky was creeping up behind this big old building, keeping right down low and tucked into the wall on account of the full moon. It was like that big searchlight on the helicopter the coppers chased us with when they caught us twocking cars. Fucking close shave that night. Behind us, Jase and Cappy was laughing and carrying on.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Pesky hissed at them. Pesky was the boss, the leader of the gang. He taught us everything we knew. He showed us how to get into cars and how to get into houses. Cars, be careful and clever. Houses, be bold. Bust a window. Crowbar the door. Nobody takes any notice of one noise, a crash or a bang or glass breaking. Just the one and they think it was an accident or summat. It’s when you’re pratting about trying to be quiet that you make a racket and get caught. That’s what Pesky says.

‘And don’t try kicking the door in or opening the lock with a credit card,’ he telt us. ‘That only works on the telly.’

We got to the corner, and I looked at him and shrugged. ‘What now?’ it meant.

He grinned, tapped his watch then made that okay sign that the divers use. That meant be cool, bide your time. Thursday was fight night; somebody was about to get a pasting.

Jase and Cappy was right behind us now. Cappy took his baseball cap off and scratched his head. I heard voices and I saw Pesky tense up. This was it, then. He stuck his beak round the corner, his arm out keeping us back. The building throbbed to a bass beat, it was a club of some sort, but not one I’d ever heard about. There was more talking and laughing then three big lasses come round the corner and Pesky sprang to life.

‘Fucking get them!’ he yelled, and he lamped the first lass, bust her nose all over her face. She screamed and her mates tried to run. They had no chance, not in them shoes, heels must have been six inches. Fucking porn shoes. You can’t run in porn shoes.

Now, I did what Pesky said, but I wasn’t happy about it. You see, one of the things he drummed into us was that you never hit a lass, no matter how much she winds you up. Walk away, that’s what he says. And now here we are belting fuck out of these three big lasses for no good reason at all that I could see. I tried to be gentle when I punched the one I was on.

‘Pesky, man! Fuck’s going on?’ Jase was as puzzled as me. Then Cappy walloped this big bitch and knocked her right off her feet. She landed on her arse, legs out like Bambi, dress round her waist. I just stared. I couldn’t fucking believe me eyes.

‘Now do you get it?’ Pesky yelled as we gawped. She only had her fucking cock taped to her leg. I mean he did. No wonder their hands was so fucking big. Pesky backhanded blood off his nose and grinned. ‘Tranny bashing!’ he roared, as he leapt on top of the one on the deck. ‘All the fun of hitting a woman with none of the fucking guilt!’

The lads gave out a battle cry and we laid into them proper now we knew we was hitting blokes. Fuckers cried like girls, mind. They was a right frigging state when we let them go, limped off down the street clutching their handbags and their porn shoes and their bust noses.

We was buzzing. We had cuts and bruises and that, but them big lasses was fucked. We’d have to leave it a couple of weeks, let things die down a bit, but we’d be having some more of that. Fucking brilliant!

***

This story first appeared in Flash Pan Alley in 2007.

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Searching

I know things nobody else knows. I know how many legs you can take off a spider without crippling it, I know four different ways to set fire to ants, I know how to tie ten different types of knot, and I know where Jennifer Evans is.

We’re out looking for her now. Her mam’s blubbing, her little brother’s with his nana and her dad’s not here. He’s dead, like her. His heart burst in his chest last Christmas, leastways that’s what she told me. Gruesome.

All the neighbours are out. All of them, and a load of coppers an’ all. Some of them aren’t even meant to be working today, but they want to do their bit to help find little Jennifer.

They’ve put out a picture of her, I saw it on the news. It’s the last one we had taken at school. She looks dead pretty on it, got her hair tied back in a ponytail, big smile on her face, showing her dimples.

I’m here with me mam and dad and our Tony. We’re the celebrity searchers, since the last little girl to go missing was our Becky.

I know where she is, too.

They’re together, Becky and Jennifer, keeping each other company so that they don’t get lonely. Along with that tatty looking little mongrel used to hang about in the park next to the swings. Two little girls and a dog. Nice that. Bit of company, bit of fun.

‘Y’alright, son?’ The family liaison copper squeezes my shoulder as she goes past. I give her a brave little smile then go back to staring at the ground, searching. I see a button, half trodden into the dirt. It isn’t either Becky’s or Jennifer’s, I’ve accounted for all of them.

‘Here!’ I shout, sounding all excited like. ‘Here! I think I’ve found something!’ I stand still with my hand up like we were told to. They all turn to look and a copper runs over to see.

‘Good lad, Josh,’ he says. ‘Well spotted.’

I smile. I am a good lad, I know that. Everybody says so.

***

This story first appeared in Fictional Musings in 2007.