by Paul Cude
"Ssstop," he whispered, his arm outstretched, his palm turned up.
Janice had gone right the other way now, and didn't have a clue what on earth was going on.
"Okay," she replied, mystified.
Tiptoeing over in a bizarre manner, almost as if walking through a minefield, he carefully leant in front of the beguiling beauty, snatched the key from its hook and handed it to her.
Taking a step back from the table, she gratefully accepted the key. It was only then that she noticed the dark, matte black metal box on his desk, a tiny window adorning the front, through which she could just about see a series of red, digital numbers, counting down by the looks of things, and in the background the most captivating shard of metal she'd ever seen. Slinking over in front of her, strangely, the chairman knelt down and checked the box from that perspective, anxiously making sure it hadn't moved in even the slightest of ways. He didn't touch it mind you, looking too terrified to get his hands or fingers anywhere near it. Janice just stood back and watched, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Once he had determined the box hadn't moved, he got to his feet, visibly relieved, looking deeply uneasy. Momentarily, she thought about questioning him about the box, but of all the things in the world she was certain of, right at this very moment, asking about it would be the worst thing she could do. So in a flash, she dangled the key in front of his face, and declared,
"Better get this downstairs and let the ambulance in. Thanks once again," and with that she dashed purposefully across the function room, back into the corridor, down the stairs and across to the hockey pitch, all the while seeking the player that had originally come into the bar. During all of this, her inquisitive mind tried to put together all of the preceding events and answer the really big questions. Not only: what was going on in the chairman's office? But also: what was going on in his mind?
* * *
Tank was the first of the three friends to arrive, the ever increasing sun glinting off the metallic finish of his car like some kind of 80's disco ball. Looking dapper in his shirt and tie, the look increased exponentially when he casually slipped on his blazer. Manhandling his huge kit bag from the boot of his car, he headed off towards the changing rooms, pleased to be soaking up the rays from the almost midday sun.
* * *
Next, it was Peter who pulled into the crowded car park in his five year old blue Ford Fiesta, carefully weaving in and out of the other cars until he found a parking space that he liked the look of. Ideally, there would be just one space left in any car park he pulled into, but very rarely was that the case. Never having had any trouble parking his car in any sort of space... it was simply the choice that bewildered him, always making him wander round and around, ignoring space after space, just because he couldn't choose which one to pull into. Today was no different, and after passing over four different spaces, he finally settled on one, almost identical to the others. Crazy!
Pulling the handbrake tight (it had a habit of slipping off), he checked to make sure the car was in gear and got out, snatching his kit bag off the back seat as he did so. Opening the boot, he retrieved his stick bag, turned the key in the lock and strolled casually across the car park towards the changing rooms, all the time, like Tank, soaking up the sun's rays. The warmth on his skin reminded him of the first time Tank had hooked his television up to the buffer of the nodes that carried the telepathic newspapers around the world, and gradually the sandskimming on the new course in the Sahara desert had flickered into view. At the time he could remember feeling so envious of the natural heat those black and white pictures had conveyed, and had even vowed to save up so that he could holiday there at some point.
"Pete... how are you doing?" called out a voice from behind one of the rows of cars, startling the young dragon from his thoughts of flight and hot skies.
"Hi Andy. I'm fine thanks... how are you?"
"Oh... you know," replied the second team captain, winking. "Bit of a late one last night if you know what I mean. Out nightclubbing with some of the lacrosse girls."
This raised Peter's interest, and his opinion of Andy's drinking ability, if he could keep up with the lacrosse girls on a night out.
"Was Richie there by any chance?" he enquired offhandedly.
"No, didn't see her all night. Some of the girls mentioned she'd been invited, but she claimed to have had something else on," he replied, sounding a bit throaty.
Nodding, he was once again astounded at not just Andy, but at the human propensity for alcohol consumption in general. Never really being able to get his head round it in his relatively short dragon life span so far, he figured there and then that he probably never would. Resigning himself to that, he gave his captain the biggest and friendliest pat on the back he could, and tried not to chuckle too hard at the resulting complaints of going easy, and a headache.
* * *
Her white Fiat 500 screeching into the car park for all to hear, Richie was the last of the three friends to arrive, a good half hour after Peter, despite the fact that their games were all scheduled to start at pretty much the same time. Unlike her friend, Richie had no hesitation in finding a parking space, one almost adjacent to the clubhouse, almost as if it had been reserved for her. Popping open the driver's door, she slid out deliciously, a movie star at a Cannes premier, showing off her tanned, slender legs, forcing all the males in the immediate area to stop and watch. Conscious of the effect she was having, she gathered up her sports kit and lacrosse sticks, locked her car and headed off to hook up with the rest of her team, already deep in thought about the match itself.
* * *
Over the last hour, the bar had gotten considerably busier since the first of the hockey matches had finished, despite the delay caused by the injured player being carted off to hospital in an ambulance. All of the ladies' third XI and their entire opposition sat at various tables, munching eagerly on the hot food provided, keen to replace the energy the match had sapped from them. As well as the female hockey players, regular sports club members were dotted around the bar, some keen on watching whatever matches were taking place on the pitches within view, others trudging out from under the feet of their other halves into the sanctuary of this alcohol oasis. They were easily spotted by how far their noses were buried in the sports pages of a daily newspaper, or by how glued they were to Sky Sports on the massive LCD televisions surrounding them, that is until the adverts appeared.
As far as Janice was concerned the day was now in full flow, all thoughts of the bizarre happenings in the chairman's office long since pushed to the back of her mind, which was currently being utilised to remember long lists of drinks, numerous bar snacks, the exact amount of change required, and making sure to go the extra mile with things like straws for some of the children's drinks. While paying strict attention to which customer was next, and to anyone ordering food, in her peripheral vision she was on the lookout for the love of her life, knowing full well that he would already be here somewhere, preparing for his hockey match. Having already arranged with one of her colleagues to have her break during his match so, as on previous occasions, she could sneak out and take a peek at him playing, that single thought helped her to keep her renowned happy smile etched across her face as she went about her work with gusto and pride.
* * *
For now at least, the tears had stopped. They'd come in big, sobbing fits throughout the morning but, luckily for him, not while the dumb blonde from behind the bar had invaded his private space. She'd nearly ruined it all, her and her stupid lack of height, and he'd just about managed to stop her in time. How her jolting the table hadn't triggered the device, he just didn't know, but was glad it hadn't, well... part of him was at least. Another much smaller part, hidden away deep inside, thought he deserved to be caught in the blast and that, by rights, he should no longer walk the earth. Perhaps it was right, and maybe he did, but that wasn't his intention. Essentially, he was a coward and had unfortunately got himself in so far over his head, that a
ny sort of conscience had long since thrown itself off the tallest building within his mind, disgusted and full of shame.
Slowly, he got to his feet, wary of every little movement now. Earlier he'd thought about placing something over the 'package' to cover it up, after the blonde dwarf had caught a fleeting glimpse of it. But now that it was in its final countdown stage, he'd been assured the merest movement in or around it, in any direction, would cause it to explode. Tiptoeing lightly to the door, ignoring his sports jacket that hung on the coat stand off to one side, ever so quietly he turned the lock and opened the door as gently as he could. Knowing he had to be far away from here when it went off, inexplicably he'd already left it very late to leave. Pulling the door closed behind him, he let out a small sigh of relief on hearing the satisfying click. With his BMW beckoning and no time to lose, he sped off towards the stairs, concerned only with his own wellbeing. On his way down, he tried hard to compose himself, slicking back his dishevelled hair, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt, pulling out his hanky and wiping the sweat from his brow, before pulling open one of the double doors and heading into what was by now a very busy bar and dining area. All he had to do was make it to the other end. There, his car and all the freedom he craved awaited, but as he focused on the far doors... they seemed so distant, so out of reach.
Barely having taken a step, he heard the first shout of his name over the backdrop of all the sports men and women. Turning, he feigned a smile for the approaching male, a sports club representative for the rugby section. And that was the first of many. It seemed lots of people needed to talk to him about all sorts of important and minor matters, and they all seemed to be here... now! He really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, for the last month or so he'd totally ignored all his responsibilities and duties, deliberately not responding to emails and phone calls, as well as only making a few fleeting appearances at the club, mainly at times when he knew it would be quiet. As the man in front of him started to drone on about an area surrounding the rugby pitch, he tried to listen, but his concentration was elsewhere, mainly on the queue that was forming to talk to him. In his mind, all he could see was time ticking down, the walls around him, closing in, making him feel trapped, claustrophobic and scared. Calmly, he sought the natural charm hidden within him that had served him so well throughout the years. It didn't come easy, but a tiny portion of it bubbled to the surface, enough to fob off the first in the queue anyway, with a promise of a meeting the next day. And so he moved onto the next, and the next, all the time members and staff loitered, eager to catch up with him and waste his ever decreasing time. One of them was the bar manager who would no doubt be chasing him up about having a new spare key to his office cut.
'Good luck with that,' he thought, to no one but himself.
Outright lies sorted out the first three, with him claiming that his wife had been seriously ill, explaining his absence and lack of contact. They were each promised a meeting for tomorrow, a meeting which of course would never take place, because this very spot would not exist, well... not in this form anyway, not after the huge wave of devastation. Things, however, were getting no easier. Rapidly running out of patience, he could see in his peripheral vision at least another six people, all wanting to talk to him. First the clock behind the bar swam into view, as his mind twisted and writhed, followed immediately by the minute by minute changing time in the top corner of the sports news on the television. He had to get out, and was starting to panic. Mumbling and stuttering, almost as if drunk, he was able to reassure the next person, but during that encounter, two more of the committee had appeared, hovering with intent. By now, the shaking had returned, not to mention the rivers of perspiration flowing freely down each side of his head. His armpits were lagoons of salty water, while his slicked back ginger hair had sprung out and now looked as though he'd just stuck one of his fingers in an electrical socket.
Finally, he snapped! There and then in the middle of the packed bar he just lost it completely, screaming, yelling, waving his hands around like a mime artist having an epileptic fit, and worst of all were the expletives. There were of course young children with their families nearby, all of whom heard his words, despite desperate attempts by their parents to cover their ears or distract them from what had been said. Each and every person in the bar watched the chairman, who was completely and utterly the centre of attention.
Janice stood, flabbergasted, halfway through pouring a pint of lager for a customer. In all her life, she'd never seen anyone melt down like that. She felt sorry for him, that was until the rude words spewed out of his mouth like sewage from a drainpipe. After that, all she felt was anger and disgust.
Just as some of the more burly adults in the bar were about to step in, the chairman, by now completely out of his mind, shimmied around the surrounding people and stropped (for that was the only word to describe it) off across the bar and out of the main door, leaving the whole building in total and utter silence. Even the tiniest whistle of a trump would have been heard.
Outside in the car park, in his marked bay, the chairman glanced at his watch, got into his car and reversed out, taking one long last look at the building that had been such an important part of his life for so long, before speeding out of the car park, leaving a trail of dust in his wake, glad to finally be free and on his way to safety.
Deep beneath the bonnet of the chairman's black BMW, lodged in a tiny recess below the car's battery, a fist sized lump of what looked like coloured play dough wrapped in a series of wires, connected to a timer, sat counting down. It had been there for a very long time.
Back at the clubhouse, things had gotten back to normal, with the buzz being all about the chairman's apparent meltdown, from the staff to the officers, to the players. The day was turning out to be anything but normal. Little did they know that this was just the start.
* * *
Charging out of the changing rooms in perfect unison, the home rugby side's choreography was almost up there with the Bolshoi ballet. Three back from the front, Tank looked a sight, his mighty chest puffed out like a proud peacock, his thighs taut, looking like tree trunks, his biceps rippling gently beneath his tight top. Followed by the coach, the team took to one half of the pitch, all going through the same warm up. An expression of utter concentration and a will to win was ingrained in the face of every player. They looked awesome, magnificent, full of unlimited determination, and to the opposition who'd just trotted past them on the way to the other end of the pitch, they looked like all their nightmares rolled into one.
* * *
Entering the Astroturf in dribs and drabs, some having come from the changing rooms, others straight from their cars, having arrived fully changed, the men's hockey second XI looked rather messy, especially when compared with the rugby players. Arriving smack bang in the middle of it all, Peter stationed his thick, black stick bag against the dark green wire mesh of the fence, and then began his normal muscle stretching routine. In theory, he didn't have to do any stretching at all; the magic coating, if you like, surrounding his dragon DNA currently maintaining his human form, could withstand a barrage of abuse, and quite literally nothing he could do on a hockey pitch would damage it. But he both wanted and needed to blend in, and that also included making a point of setting a good example to the youngsters in the side whenever he played or trained, showing them how to warm up properly, passing on a very valuable lesson.
Currently the ladies' second XI were playing a humdinger of a league match. While warming up, he took note of the crunching tackles, one or two off the ball incidents that the umpires either missed or chose to ignore, and one rather crafty follow through with a stick that nearly took one of the Salisbridge ladies' heads off. In his lowly opinion, the umpires didn't have nearly the kind of control of the match that they should have had. In just the short time he'd been watching, he was sure at least two yellow cards should have been issued, to send off the instrumental player for a minimum of five minutes.
Warm up complete, a smile crept onto his face from noticing two of the younger players mimicking him, one who was playing his first game and whose name he couldn't remember, and one who went by the name of Taibul, the son of the owner of the Indian restaurant the sports club members regularly frequented. Over the last few matches, he'd been impressed with the way young Taibul had performed on and off the pitch. Dedicated and brave in almost every tackle he made on it, the youngster had also started to learn to take in his stride all the friendly banter that came his way off it. A potential star, he was certainly one to watch out for in the future. Just as Peter's smile was about to pack its bags and tuck itself away for the upcoming match, out of the corner of his eye he just caught sight of Janice's gorgeous face pressed firmly against the inside of the clubhouse window, gazing out in his direction. Fervently he hoped she would sneak out again, as she had done on a few other occasions. Of course, she had no idea that he knew, and it would be difficult for him to explain how he did, as she always kept her distance and hid behind others to minimise the risk of being seen. But his highly tuned dragon senses always knew when she was nearby, almost able to perceive her soul vibrating on a frequency only he could hear. Knowing that she was there, he always had to try very hard not to look in her direction and give the game away, that and avoid tapping into his dragon powers to show off in some spectacular fashion, although he did always give more when she was watching, but that more was one hundred percent human, with not an ounce of magic anywhere to be seen. There was simply no way he'd ever give anything from the dragon side of himself when playing hockey; he respected the game, his teammates and everything about it, too much to taint it by doing that. To him, that would just be cheating, and even though he knew he was a long way off being the best hockey player in the club, he considered it his moral responsibility to be the fairest, and most sporting. Looking forward to sensing her presence in the crowd, he craved that tingling sensation that racked his entire body when she was there watching him.
