Bridge of Doom

by George McCartney

  Halfway along Bothwell Street Darren’s companion appeared to say goodnight and went into a tenement stair. Darren continued walking towards the end of the street, before crossing a narrow pedestrian footbridge which leads to Albion Terrace.

  Jack and Annie followed fifty yards behind, completely unaware a trap was being set for them. However, at the mid-point of the footbridge, it suddenly became clear that they should have given much more credence to the taxi driver’s warning.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ said Annie. ‘Stop walking, boss. Look up ahead.’

  The same black taxi which had led them to Easter Road drew up at the Albion Terrace end of the footbridge and two young men got out to join Darren. The trio were now standing in a row, apparently waiting for Jack and Annie to catch up.

  ‘This is so not good, boss,’ said Annie, as her stomach sank. ‘Let’s go back to the main road … right now.’

  ‘Great idea. There’s only one problem with that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look back the way we’ve just come, but don’t be too obvious about it.’

  Annie glanced sideways and saw that a further six young men had materialised from nowhere and were now standing at the Bothwell Street end of the footbridge, effectively blocking off their escape route. A trap had been sprung and they were heavily outnumbered, nine to two.

  ‘Oh my God, we’re totally stuffed,’ said Annie.

  ‘I wonder what’s down there?' said Jack, peering over the parapet of the footbridge into the darkness.

  Annie pulled out her iPhone and tapped a location app on the home screen.

  'It might be some kind of railway branch line. But from this picture it looks way too far to try and jump, if that's what you're thinking. This spot where we're standing right now is called the Crawford Bridge.'

  'That's good to know, Annie. You're a fund of useless information.'

  'Yeah, but do you know the nickname the locals have for this place?'

  'Amaze me.'

  A slight tremor was evident in Annie’s voice as she read the description from her phone. 'They call it the Bridge of Doom. Apparently there have been several spectacular pitched battles here over the years, between opposing Hibs and Hearts fans.'

  'I can see why, Annie. A narrow bridge like this is a real choke point, if you have a big crowd of football supporters trying to shove across it all at once. That makes it a nightmare for the cops, if any trouble flares up.'

  Jack and Annie were trapped in the middle of the pedestrian footbridge, which links Bothwell Street and Albion Terrace. A gang of yobs had effectively sealed off both ends of the footbridge and now stood silently, as if waiting for a pre-arranged signal or command.

  ‘This is really weird. It’s like we’re the meat in the middle of the sandwich, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry to take a bite. Maybe they’re just trying to spook us,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well it’s certainly working. What do we do?’

  Jack took out a cigarette, lit up and casually leant on the parapet of the footbridge. ‘Let’s just stand and chat for a couple of minutes and see what happens.’

  'Did you ever see that film, ‘300?’ said Annie, glancing around nervously. 'Gerard Butler the big hunky Scottish actor was in it, mincing around covered in baby oil, wearing a tiny pair of leather Speedos. Great actor, by the way.'

  'No, I must have missed that one. What was it about?'

  'It's the story of how three hundred Spartans, led by big Gerry as King Leonidas, heroically battled the entire Persian army to a standstill for three days, on a narrow pass at Thermoplyae.'

  'That doesn't sound like very good odds to me, Annie. And I'm maybe going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing the film didn't have a happy ending.'

  'I suppose it depends whose side you were on. But yes, it did get extremely messy at the finish.'

  'Well I don't know much about the Spartans, or ancient Greek history, but I do know quite a lot about being up shit creek without a paddle, which is exactly where we are at the moment. I'm really sorry about this, Annie. We've been suckered into an ambush like a pair of complete amateurs. I should have anticipated something like this might happen. My fault entirely.'

  ‘Hold on, Darren has just finished a phone call and it looks like he’s giving a quick team talk to the rest of his crew. Oh God, any bright ideas, boss?'

  'It would be good to get hold of his phone and see who made that last call.'

  'No, what would be really good is if a sodding helicopter would land right now and take us out of here.'

  Hoping that he sounded a lot more confident than he felt, Jack said, 'don't worry, Annie, we can sort out a few spotty little Edinburgh toe-rags. Just stay tight to me and follow my lead.'

  Jack glanced over his shoulder and confirmed that Annie’s instinct was spot on. Something nasty was about to kick off. 'Okay, first thing is to phone the cops. Do it right now, Annie, and pretend you're scared stiff.'

  'Trust me, I won't be pretending.'

  'Right, tell them exactly where we are. Say that some crazy bastard has just fired a shotgun in the middle of Bothwell Street and our lives are in danger. Say it once slowly and clearly, then hang up.'

  Annie quickly made the call and said, 'the guy on the other end of the phone was a bit vague, but he said that they're on their way.'

  'Yeah, but unfortunately so are these bastards,’ said Jack as the gang simultaneously advanced from both ends of the footbridge, in a sinister pincer movement.’

  'Which way is the wind blowing, Annie?'

  'From the left, I think. But quite honestly, I don't think squeezing off a fart is going to scare them off, boss.'

  'No, you fool, have you got that little can of pepper spray with you?'

  'Oh, right. Yes, it's somewhere down at the bottom of my bag.'

  'Well never mind that it’s technically illegal, Annie. Dig it out sharpish and we might have half a chance. I know it sounds crazy, but in these kind of situations you have to be proactive and try to take the initiative away from the opposition. We've got the batons and I've still got my old knuckle duster in my pocket, so we can definitely do some serious damage, if it comes to that. The plan is we walk straight up to those six guys downwind from us, as if we don’t have a care in the world. First off, I’ll try and talk our way out of this but, if that doesn’t work, just follow my lead and when I pull my baton out, you start spraying at the same time. We'll try and take out a couple of the biggest ugliest ones first, burst through the rest and then leg it along Bothwell Street. With any luck there might be a taxi passing, or even a police car, when we reach Easter Road. And remember we’re from Glasgow, Annie. We should be able to handle a spot of mobbing and rioting with our eyes shut, right?’

  'It's worth a try, boss.’ said Annie nervously. ‘According to Henry it’s what we do in Glasgow for sport, when there’s nothing decent on the television. Anyway, much better than standing here waiting to get hammered.'

  'Okay then, ready?'

  'Ready.'

  ‘Oh, and if you use the pepper spray, try and hold your breath till we get clear of them.'

  Jack and Annie walked briskly up to the six yobs, who were blocking the Bothwell Street end of the footbridge.

  ‘Awright there boys?’ said Jack with a relaxed friendly grin. ‘What’s happening?’

  A solidly built youth around six foot in height, who was wearing a tight tee-shirt to show off his gym-muscles, stepped straight into Jack’s face. Nose to nose he snarled, ‘what’s happening, auld man,’ said with a smirk over his shoulder to his pals, ‘is that you and your burd here are going to hand over your phones and your wallets. Then you’re going to fuck off back to Glasgow, sharpish. Whether ye get a doin’ as well depends on how quickly you hand the gear over.’

  ‘Come on, that’s not very nice, is it?’ said Jack, holding both hands up in a friendly unthreatening gesture. ‘You should be welcoming visitors to your beautiful city. You know, Sunshine on Leith and all that kind of thing.
Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot when I spoke earlier to your mate, Darren, back in the New Town. But honestly, we’re not looking for any trouble here. Can’t we just sit down and talk about whatever the problem is, over a drink, maybe? Believe me, son, senseless violence never solves anything.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Micky?’ said another member of the pack. ‘The cheeky bastard thinks you’re senseless. Ah think this guy needs a right good slap.’

  Another youth then chipped in, ‘aye and to be fair, Darren did warn ye what was gonnae happen if we ever saw your face again. But this auld man just disnae listen.’

  As the gym-bunny made to grab the lapels of Jack’s coat, the traditional prelude to a head-butt, Jack stepped back, snapped open his baton and crashed it down on the youth’s left collar bone. The yob howled in agony and sank to his knees clutching a broken shoulder. However, Jack had no time to stand and admire his handy work and, as the rest of the gang steamed forward, he immediately had to duck to avoid an ambitious head kick. With a sweeping blow of his baton he struck his assailant flush on the knee cap of his standing leg. ‘I copied that from Pete Sampras’ topspin backhand,’ shouted Jack. ‘The old magic’s definitely still there, Annie. Spray!’

  Two down, four to go.

  Annie was momentarily frozen by the sudden eruption of violence and fumbled frantically, before discharging her pepper spray in the direction of the gang members, who still barred their escape route along Bothwell Street. The noxious aerosol cloud had an immediate debilitating effect on the four yobs, who began coughing, spluttering and rubbing their streaming eyes to try and remove the irritant spray.

  'Right Annie, draw your baton and follow me.’ Slashing to his right and left, in the manner of a cavalryman charging through a column of infantry, Jack burst through the gang, who were stumbling around blinded and cursing. Annie followed, keeping tight formation and, still reluctant to use her baton, administered a solid kick to the groin of a yob who attempted to grab hold of her arm.

  Meanwhile the other three members of the gang had recovered from the shock of seeing their six homies easily swept aside by an old man and a girl and were now pounding across the footbridge in hot pursuit.

  'Come on, get the fuckers, before they reach the main road,’ roared their leader, Darren.

  Jack suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

  Annie turned back and hauled her partner back to his feet. 'Are you okay?'

  'It's my fucking knee,' said Jack as he tried unsuccessfully to hobble forward. 'It always gives way on me, whenever I try to run really fast. Bastard. Just leave me here, Annie. Run … save yourself and I'll try to slow them down.'

  Annie could almost feel the hot breath of the feral pack on the back of her neck. The thundering footsteps and shouts meant that the gang were nearly on them. 'Come on, you fool … lean on me,’ said Annie, as she yanked her partner into the nearest tenement doorway.'

  Jack and Annie were cornered, standing shoulder to shoulder, trapped in the small entrance, with their backs hard against a securely locked inner door, as the gang led by Darren skidded to a halt on the pavement outside. Then, snarling and slavering like a pack of hyenas, they briefly savoured their intended prey before surging forward. Although escape was now impossible, the two partners were far from helpless because the narrow tenement entrance meant the gang members were unable to launch an overpowering mass attack. Effectively, it was two against two in the front line, as the opposing sides joined in hand to hand battle.

  ‘Where’s Gerard fucking Butler when you need him?’ exclaimed Jack, as he poked a spotty youth in the eye with the tip of his baton, before delivering a tooth- crunching uppercut with his knuckleduster.

  As the glassy-eyed youth spat out several broken teeth, crumpled and slid from view amidst the legs of the attacking throng, Annie enquired, ‘Pete Sampras again, boss?’

  ‘No, that was pure Reggie Kray.’

  The vicious struggle raged for a further five minutes, with the gang unable to land any telling blows in the face of a desperate flurry of baton strikes and kicks from the two defenders. Eventually the gang withdrew, following a barked command from their leader.

  ‘I don’t believe it, they're giving up,’ said Annie, wiping sweat from her brow and a trickle of blood from her nose. ‘One up to the Spartans, I think.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited, Annie. We’re not out of the woods yet, I think this is just a tactical withdrawal. And where are the fucking polis when you need them?’

  ‘They’re maybe all busy investigating burglaries,’ replied Annie.

  ‘More like parked up somewhere having a kip, or playing with their bloody mobile phones. Although to be fair, when I was learning my trade as a young copper, a hundred years ago back in Glasgow, all the old hands I worked with used to wait around the corner and have a smoke, before going to break up any gang battles. That gave the rival crews enough time to knock hell out of each other and get it out of their system. Then, when they’d worn themselves out, the cops wandered round to kick the shit out of anyone who was still standing.’

  ‘That’s really interesting, not. But what do we do right now?’

  ‘Okay, while we have a chance, press every button on the entry phone system and see if somebody will let us into the stair.’

  ‘Come on, boss. I’ll try, but seriously, would you open the stair door if you lived here? It sounds as if World War 3 has just kicked off in the street. What was it that bastard, Henry, said about this job? Something about being bored stiff after a couple of days. Twat.’

  As Annie leaned on the twelve entry-phone buzzers, Jack watched with growing trepidation as the gang clustered around an overflowing builder’s skip parked on the far side of the street. His fears were justified when, two minutes later, the gang members were back in their face, some holding half-bricks. Four of them, including Darren, carrying a jagged ten-foot length of broken timber floor joist. They all had blood in their eyes and were clearly hell bent on extracting revenge.

  ‘Oh fuck, this is so not good,’ said Annie, as she produced her iPhone to take a picture of the front rank of attackers and then, with a blur of thumbs, sent it with a text to her friend, Jamie. ‘At least now the police will be able to carry out an investigation into our premature deaths.’

  ‘That’s not a great comfort to me, Annie, to be perfectly honest. But I’ve seen enough episodes of Game of Thrones to know what’s coming next. They obviously can’t get close enough to do any real damage, because of our batons. So they’re going to level things up by using that long bit of wood as a battering ram, to try and spear us.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ squealed Annie. ‘I don’t want to end up like a kebab on a stick.’

  ‘Keep calm, we’re not finished yet. Not by a long shot,’ said Jack, checking how much headroom there was above him in the cramped tenement entrance.

  ‘Right, if I bend down, you climb up on my shoulders and try to stand on that metal services box, bolted to the wall just above my head. When you get up there, take out the light bulb and, if they come charging at us with the wooden spike, I’m going to dive out of the way at the last minute. You drop down like an avenging angel and start laying into them.’

  ‘That’s the plan?’ said Annie, sceptically.

  ‘Sorry, it’s the best I can do at short notice, Annie. I would have brought my personal fleet of Apache attack helicopters along, if I’d known this shit was going to go down.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can hold on up here much longer, boss,’ wailed Annie, who was bent double, with her back pressing against the ceiling plaster. Her left foot was precariously balanced on the electrical services box and the right was braced against the opposite wall. There’s absolutely nothing to hold onto.’

  ‘Just try and stay up there for one more minute, Annie, it looks like they’re getting ready to charge.’

  ‘Oh and Annie …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whatever happens in the next coup
le of minutes I promise, if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m going to take that bastard Darren down. The idiot’s upped the stakes tonight, from intimidation to attempted murder, and he’s made this extremely personal. So there’ll be no mercy, if I get my hands on him.’

  As the gang charged forward into the tenement entrance, Jack sashayed gracefully to one side at the last second, like an ageing bull fighter. The deadly improvised battering ram grazed his ribs and crashed straight through the entrance door of the common stair. As their attackers stumbled through the shattered door, Jack immediately started to rain vicious baton strikes down on the head and shoulders of the gang leader, Darren.

  Simultaneously Annie crashed down feet first onto the shoulders of the other leading gang member, flattening him to the ground, before beating back another yob with her baton. Then turning to face the carnage behind her in the entrance passage, she tried to pull Jack off the gang leader, screaming, ‘stop … stop it for God’s sake. Please, boss, you’re going to kill him.’

  Jack slumped back exhausted against the lobby wall as a police siren began to wail in the distance.

  An eerie silence briefly reigned over the mid-section of Bothwell Street, which looked as if had been targeted by a Predator drone strike. The contents of a builder’s skip were strewn across the road and two of the original nine attackers were slumped unconscious and bleeding in the tenement entrance. A further two were sitting hunched over at the kerbside, covered from head to foot in snot and tears, as they tried to rub pepper spray from their eyes.

  Another gang member was crawling slowly on hands and knees along the pavement towards the footbridge, completely ignoring a fallen comrade who was lying groaning in the middle of the road, clutching his groin.

  One of the three remaining gang members was hopping along on one leg, supported by two others who, although still capable of walking, were nursing multiple cuts and abrasions, not to mention an urgent need for dental repairs.

  When they were far enough away to preclude any further punishment being inflicted, one of them turned and shouted, ‘and don’t fuckin’ come back, ya Weegie bastards.’