by steve higgs
The chaps thanked me for getting a round of drinks in and we headed over to get shoes and roll a few balls. I had not been bowling for a long time and had never been with Jagjit and Basic. When it had been suggested as an activity a couple of weeks ago, Jagjit had asked if anyone was actually any good in case one of us was going to embarrass the others by turning up with his own ball and shoes etcetera. Basic told us right then that he was quite good, but the three of us dismissed the claim assuming he was confused about the numbers.
We were wrong. He was brilliant.
In every game we played that night he beat the next best score by over one hundred pins.
‘How are you doing that?’ Big Ben asked in game two as Basic had launched yet another bomb down the lane and scored his sixth strike in a row.
Basic had shrugged his shoulders and furrowed his brow which usually meant he had something to say and was considering how to arrange his words. ‘I throw the ball at the pins,’ he said.
‘Ok. That’s what the rest of us are doing,’ I replied, encouraging him to share a little more of his magic.
He thought some more. ‘Well, I line myself up on the place I want the ball to go then imagine myself stood right in front of the point I want to hit them. Then I roll the ball at the back of my head.’
All three of us had stopped to listen, wondering if there was going to be some genius top tip we could use. Now though, I could see both Jagjit and Big Ben were pulling the same face I was while trying to work out how to do what Basic had just described. Jagjit had suggested some side bets to make the games more interesting. A fiver each in a pot for each game; highest score takes it, and a fiver in for highest scoring game of the night. Basic swept up.
Ninety minutes elapsed and we were done. It had been fun but out the four of us it was Basic that was looking pleased with himself. I checked my watch to find it was 2148 hrs. Not exactly late on a Saturday night.
‘What shall we do now?’ asked Jagjit. ‘Get another pint here? Or head into town? Or head back home and get a couple in the local?’ The last suggestion was delivered with additional volume to make it quite clear what his choice was. He had been drinking diet coke all night and wanted to ditch the car so he could have a drink or two before bed.
I opened my mouth to check with Big Ben but found that he was not with us. ‘Anyone see where Big Ben went?' I asked. We scanned the room but spotted him easily enough a couple of lanes down chatting with three quite attractive ladies in their early twenties. This did not come as a surprise to any of us. Big Ben shagged more girls a year then most men could boast in a lifetime. He probably shagged more girls a year than many adult film stars. Worse yet, he put almost no effort into getting them into his bed. He just sort of turned up and girls would volunteer for the task. I could be envious; the truth is I had been in the past, but all I wanted now was a woman that wanted to be with me.
‘Let’s go back to the pub,’ I suggested, meaning The Dirty Habit in Finchampstead where Jagjit, Basic and I lived. We ambled over to where Big Ben was engaging the three ladies in conversation, being tactile and generally charming the pants off them. The question was not so much which one of them he was going to shag, but in what order.
‘Hey, buddy. Remember us?’ I asked.
‘Oh yeah. Hey, Tempest. I would like you to meet Rebeca, Madison, and Nikki,' he said, indicating each in turn. ‘They were having trouble with the computer system, so I gave them a hand.'
No doubt. ‘Well, we are going to head back home. Can I assume you will be staying here?’
‘What say you, ladies?’ he asked smiling his best smile. ‘Would you like me to hang around in case you find another task for my fingers?’ They smirked and giggled at each other. Big Ben was going nowhere except home with one or more of his new friends.
Jagjit leaned in to shake Big Ben’s hand. ‘Catch you later, brother,’ Basic did likewise but before I could, Big Ben stood up to whisper something to me.
‘Want me to save one for you?’ he asked quietly by my ear. I could not see how that would work in practice, but I was no one’s silver medal and a quick shag with a girl I did not know was not really my thing. I declined his invitation with a brief shake of my head.
We waved Big Ben goodnight and headed back down the stairs to the carpark on the ground floor. I had four beers in me, and I was not paying much attention to my surroundings. Had I been, I might have seen them before we were at Jagjit's car, but very suddenly there were three men dressed as clowns blocking our path. I felt as much as saw Jagjit freeze next to me.
Under most circumstances, the appearance of some clowns ought not to cause alarm. However, the three clowns, which I then recategorized in my head as Klowns, were clearly men. They each wore a derivative of the same outfit which consisted of baggy trousers held up by braces, long-sleeved stripey shirts adorned two of them while the third had a satin effect white top with multi-coloured pom-poms down the front. On their hands they bore leather gloves and on their feet were battered looking but very functional boots, which, while slightly oversize in appearance, still looked like they had steel toecaps in them. To disguise their hair colour, or perhaps complete their outfit, each wore a wig. The wigs were identical in all but colour, the curly locks covering their scalps. From left to right the colours went blue, green, white. I observed that traditional humorous face paint with a broad smile was out this season. They still wore face paint, but it was applied to make them each look like serial killers. The one in the middle had done a particularly good job; his makeup gave his face an eerie effect by enlarging his eyeballs and extending his mouth. He looked part way between a ghoul and an alien creature. They were not small men, but they were not huge either, nor did they look like they were in particularly good shape. If I had to guess their age, I would say they ranged between late thirties and mid-forties. It was hard to tell with their outfits and makeup, but they were broad shouldered with thick necks and doughy but probably quite functional muscle under their shirts.
They said nothing while I took all this in.
‘Evening, fellas,’ I offered with forced false bravado. The three men each then hefted a weapon from behind their backs. Two had baseball bats, the third a wicked looking crowbar.
‘Tempest Michaels?' the one in the middle asked. The question drew an involuntarily raised eyebrow from me and my pulse skipped.
This was no chance encounter.
They were blocking the path to Jagjit's car, so they not only knew enough to find me but knew the car my friend drove. A fact which they must have known in advance because I had not arrived in it and thus could not have been observed leaving it earlier.
We could attempt to go around them, but they were here for a fight. If I was going to get to the car the only way was through them. I could feel my anger rising. Whatever beef they had with me was now going to affect and involve my friends.
‘I have a message for you, Mr. Michaels,' the one in the middle spoke again. ‘He wants you to know that this is your fault.'
He who?
I really wanted to know but I could ask questions later. ‘Just one chance, gentlemen. Step aside or we go through you.' I was confident of my ability. I don't like to fight but I had training and experience, so when it came down to it, I was capable enough. I didn't like that they had weapons, but they were blunt ones and not too difficult to deal with if one knew how. If they had been carrying knives, I would have already run away. To my left, Basic was flexing his giant meaty fists, probably waiting for my cue. He was part caveman and part granite. He probably weighed about the same as Big Ben but in a package eight inches shorter. It seemed possible that he would just pick up two of the Klowns and throw them at a wall. If one hit him with a bat I expected he would grunt and then eat the bat. Jagjit was slight though, doughy around the middle from too many of his mum's samosas and he worked in an office. Not that he was without the ability to defend himself, but I really didn't want him to have to go to work on Monday with a bruised face o
r a black eye.
My offer of an easy way out was met with a sneer from one and a chuckle from the other two. It was as expected. So be it, I conceded. However, as I bunched my muscles to spring into action, the Klown on the left took a pace to his right and knocked on the side of a Ford Transit van.
My adrenalin spiked as I realised the trap they were about to spring. I felt a little sick.
The van rocked a little from movement inside it and the back door opened to reveal three more Klowns. Now badly outnumbered, unarmed and with very little chance of anyone coming to save us, I did the only thing I could do: I attacked.
‘Get to the car,' I yelled at Jagjit, slapping him on the arm as I went by him to jolt him into motion. This wasn't a brave move on my part, the car was our way out and I needed him behind the wheel as soon as possible. It was a great big 4X4 utility vehicle and it would make a great weapon once it was moving. I had no time to communicate all of that though, so just got on with it and hoped he could fill in the blanks in my plan.
Darting forward, I went straight for the Klown in front of me: When outnumbered, even the odds. Quickly. I wanted to take one of them out of the game immediately and punch a hole for Jagjit to go through. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Klowns still exiting the van realise I was moving. They began to scramble but were too late to save my first target. Half a second had elapsed and the man I had picked had just begun to react, moving backward away from me as I had known he would. It placed him firmly into the category of easy target. I leaped off the ground and landed on his chest to ride him to the concrete. With my right hand on his face and my elbow high, I followed him down as he went over backward and I drove his head into the ground with everything I had. Confident he was down for good, I rolled immediately to the right and swung my legs to take the feet out from under the Klown with the white wig that had been standing to my right. Jagjit flashed by.
The Klown did not fall as I had planned though, so as I pushed off the ground to get myself up he was able to grab my hair and viciously yank my head. It was a mistake. Both my hands went high over my head with my elbows forward to protect my face. Interlocking my fingers, I pressed down on his clenched fist to crush his knuckle joints. His grip failed instantly, whereupon I gripped his wrist, folded it up into his armpit and twisted. A simple blow to the throat was all it would take to ensure he was also out of the fight.
My hand arced towards his soft flesh. Then my ribs exploded in pain and I was shunted several feet to the left. Too much time had gone by and the other Klowns were upon me. I went down to the floor, my legs no longer obeying my instructions.
As I glanced up, I could see a Klown with a bat closing on me. The ribs on the right side of my body were a solid ball of pain from where he had already hit me and I was struggling to draw breath. I stood no chance at all. In the second or so I had before the bat arrived to smash my skull, I saw that Jagjit had not made it to the car. It was still silent and stationary. Laying on the cold concrete with feet racing toward me, I worried about him. I couldn’t see him though, but in looking around, I caught sight of Basic. He had one Klown by the throat and was kicking another in the head while he lay on the ground. I hoped he would have the good sense to scarper before the Klowns overwhelmed him too.
The Klown with the bat arrived where I lay gasping for breath, but he did not raise his bat for another swing. To my surprise, he tapped the Klown with the white wig on the arm and the pair went either side of me and began to pick me up.
What the hell?
Still fighting for breath and worried I might lose consciousness, I was unable to offer them anything other than feeble resistance. White wig locked eyes with me, ‘He wants you alive see. Otherwise, I would just gut you here and leave you for the rats.'
He wants you alive?
The Ford Transit was looming. Clearly, they were planning to put me in it and we would go for a little ride somewhere. I was trying to shake them off but the pain in my ribs when I moved was unbearable. The lack of oxygen was making my pulse hammer in my head. With two of them dragging me to the van, I spied three more keeping Basic at bay. They all looked worse for wear and two had lost their wigs. Where then was Jagjit? Had they killed him? Or was he just incapacitated? Through blurry vision, I spotted a machete in the hands of one Klown. Basic could do nothing for me without risking serious injury. I wished he would save himself or get help.
We arrived at the van where the back doors were still open. White wig adjusted his grip, trying to manoeuvre himself so that he could get me inside. Sensing my last opportunity, I swung my arm to break his grip. I didn’t want to go in the van, so no matter what, I had to escape right now. Whatever it was they wanted me for, I doubted we were going for cocktails, but as I tried to break free, the other Klown simply punched me in the ribs where he had hit me with the bat and as the fresh wave of pain hit me, I vomited.
As I emptied my stomach, the furthest most rear door of the Transit slammed shut and from behind it, Big Ben hit the Klown holding me with a road sign. The road sign was still attached to the pole it had been mounted on and at the other end, I observed as he swung it over my face, was a chunk of concrete where the sign had been ripped from the ground.
Big Ben twirled the pole, the concrete connecting with white wig's face and he let go of me instantly. I flailed my arms but found nothing to grab hold of so crashed to the ground again. A spray of blood from white wig's face hit mine. I was glad of it. He had it coming.
Laying on the ground, my vision blurred, I knew I needed to get up; the fight was far from over. Then though, I heard sirens. Lots of them. The Klowns all froze momentarily, then came collectively to a decision. They decided to leg it. To do so though, they wanted to get into the van that Big Ben and I were currently blocking their path to. Not that I was going to do much to stop them, lying on the ground as I was. Next to me, Big Ben hefted the road sign again with one muscular arm and extended the other arm towards them; come and get it, he beckoned.
Come and get it they did. I rolled away to my left to get clear of the van and give myself a chance to get up. The action of rolling over once though hammered home the point that I was broken. I could hear Big Ben trading blows behind me, but I could not get up to help.
The van’s engine roared to life and I heard doors slam shut. Then hands were grabbing my shoulders and lifting me again. I swivelled my head weakly to find a hand sheathed in a white glove holding me; another Klown trying to claim his prize.
‘Leave him,’ Someone shouted, ‘there is no time.’
I was dropped roughly to the ground where I elected to stay. Seconds later the van peeled out of the parking space just as blue strobe lights began to dance off the concrete walls. Across from me, now that the van was no longer there, I could see Big Ben. He was sat on the floor, propped against a car's tyre. He had both hands pressed to his lower abdomen where blood was seeping through his fingers. He had been stabbed.
A police car, then another swept past us and out of the car park in the direction the Klowns had gone. Two more police cars, their strobe lights flashing screeched to a halt beside us and uniformed officers spilled from the doors. I turned my head to look for Jagjit. As I scanned around, I spotted a Klown laying on the floor. It was the one with the blue wig that I had slammed into the floor. They had left without him.
Feet clad in coppers boots arrived by my head and then a knee as he knelt. I had come to know many of the cops in Maidstone, but this chap was not one of them.
‘Sir? Are you hurt, sir?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I replied. ‘I took a hit to my ribs. I may have a few broken ones. The big guy over there needs attention, not me.’
I looked across at Big Ben. There was a female oolice officer tending to him. Of course there was. She laughed just then, he was probably making a joke or saying something cool and guaranteeing a future shag.
The cope kneeling next to me finished saying something into his lapel mike, then turned his attention back
to me. ‘The paramedics are on their way. It’s over now,’ he said.
But it wasn’t over. It was just starting. I had decided.
The officer was just doing his job, so I let him get on with his it, his words washing over me. He had probably been at dozens or hundreds of scenes where he had to deal with the victim of an attack of some kind and so was acting in the way that suited his experience. This though was different. The Klowns had singled me out. They knew who I was and what car I would be in so they must also know where I live and possibly also where my friends and family live.
I was already involved in this case through Mrs. Plumber, yet I had been very much on the fringes. Now though I was in deep. If the police got these guys first, I was fine with that, but I was going to clear my workload and take on nothing new until I had the Klowns behind bars. If Mrs. Plumber's brother turned out to be involved after all then he was going down too.
The next thirty minutes went by in a blur of medical attention and police questions. While we were administered to, Jagjit reappeared looking sheepish and sad. He was sporting a fat lip and a bruise to his right cheek that was glistening red where the skin was almost broken. He had made it to his car, but before he could get the door open a Klown with a baseball bat was upon him and taking a swing. He had avoided serious injury but had taken a few knocks while fighting the guy off and had then made a run for it. He was ashamed to have run away but we unanimously reassured him that it had been the right thing to do.
He thanked us, but I could tell he was still not happy. A cute lady paramedic had taken a look at Jagjit's face and had been openly flirting with him while she made sure he was okay. It may have been a professional manoeuvre to calm and distract him, but it seemed genuine to me. I was examined and loaded onto a stretcher. I was walking wounded and could move about, but they were not going to let me do so and I offered no resistance. In the back of the ambulance, I wondered if Amanda might show up. She was working a shift somewhere tonight. I thought about sending her a text, but my phone was in my back pocket, the movements required to retrieve it less than appealing. Enough time had passed that I had been able to get oxygen back into my bloodstream. The adrenalin rush had left me feeling spent for a while, but I was more lucid now and could follow the conversation the police were having when the two cars returned from chasing the Klown van. They had followed them out of Lockmeadow but they had lost them when they ditched the van and went on foot. The Klowns had escaped, all bar the one I had knocked out. He was being tended to by yet another paramedic. One limp arm was handcuffed to the stretcher he was laying on.
