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Gloves Off

Page 3

by Gareth Spark


  ‘You shouldn’t be wasting your time driving around picking up shit like this bloke anyway. There are decent people out there in need of your help. No one would be too upset if this prick bled out on a prison floor.’ Mortar continued talking as the paramedic tried to look busy. I’m not really sure the medical man is doing much in all honesty but I guess like me he wants the daft twat to shut up and thinks maybe he will if he looks too busy to listen. No such luck, Mortar’s going right into one about all the scum he’s seen going through the prison over the years and how they’ve gotten worse over the years, since the system got soft on them.

  Honestly I feel for the paramedic. Okay, so I’ve got a stab wound and I have to listen to Mortar banging on, but for me it’s a means to an end. The paramedic is stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he agrees with Mortar, he risks upsetting me and he doesn’t know what I’m doing time for – I could be a twisted unhinged serial killer. I’m not, I went down for armed robbery and that was unfair. I mean is it my fault that the people who owned the house were awake when I got in and that they felt threatened by the crowbar I’d used to force the window? I hadn’t intended to use it on them. Some people are over sensitive. Anyway the paramedic doesn’t know I’m not violent and it’s more than obvious that he’s trying his best not to upset either of us. Mercifully for both of us the journey is short and we’re at the hospital before too long.

  The doors swing open and I get my first site of the outside world in eight months. It’s funny how even the sky can depress you when viewed from inside a prison yard however as I’m pulled from the back of the ambulance the sun seems brighter than it has been the rest of the year. It’s probably in my head, or maybe it’s just a sunnier day but the romantic in me likes to think it’s a sign that my future is bright. My head fills with excitement as I contemplate the possibilities for the next stage of my brother’s brilliant escape plan. The problem is until about 20 minutes ago I didn’t know anything about this so I’m as in the dark on this as the hospital and prison staff. That said, judging by the number of people in darkly coloured uniforms - including police, hospital security and Mortar - that surround my bed as it’s wheeled through the hospital and into an operating room, they’re better prepared for an escape attempt than I am. What a cynical bunch of fuckers, assuming that a person might get himself stabbed and the prison medical ward shut down just to escape, I mean it’s a bit of a drastic move, right?

  Apparently I’ve been out for a couple of hours, so the nurse tells me. She brings a sick bowl over and catches some of my vomit. It’s a side effect of the anaesthetic she tells me after telling me not to worry, it happens all the time. I’m finding it difficult to focus, I’ve got a sore throat and feel like I need to drift back off to sleep. But then I remember I’m here as part of my brother's plan to help me escape a ten stretch. I need to stay alert and ready for when the next stage of the plan kicks in.

  I fall asleep.

  When I wake up I’ve been moved and it appears I’ve got the room to myself, well apart from a copper in an ill-fitting uniform sat on a chair looking out of the window. Clearly he’s put a few pounds on since he was issued with his gear. I guess what with the budget cuts the force can’t afford new clothes every time one of their boys lets himself go. My throat is still sore and I cough, that gets the copper’s attention and then I see why the uniform is snug, he’s not a copper at all it’s my big brother Rick.

  ‘Hello bruv,’ he says, standing up and walking towards me.

  I’ve got a lot of questions; What’s the plan? Did he really have to have me stabbed? Which sun kissed island are we off to?

  ‘Where the fuck did you get that uniform you fat bastard?’ Comes out of my mouth before anything else.

  Rick pulls back the curtain on the bed next to me to reveal a naked bloke, about two stone lighter than himself, handcuffed, gagged and sleeping soundly thanks to a bump to the head that’s still leaking a fair bit of claret. Before I can ask Rick what the plan is he’s made his way to the doorway and is calling into the corridor for a nurse. I can’t see what’s going on because Rick has pulled the curtain back around to cover up the sleeping policeman, but I can hear the conversation.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from the prison. They’ve got their hospital ward back up together again and are keen to get the prisoner back asap.’ Rick sounds very convincing as a copper, which is good because he looks fucking stupid with that clobber hugging him far too tight.

  ‘Well he’s not in great shape but he’s certainly not in any danger now he could do with staying here the night really though.’ It was a shame I couldn’t see the nurse because her voice suggested she’d have been a bit of a cracker, still probably best to fantasise that she looks like Charlize Theron, rather than be let down by the reality.

  ‘The prison hospital ward is more than capable of giving him the appropriate care now that they’ve got it back on his feet I can assure you,’ Rick replied

  ‘Okay. Well, we’ll have to arrange an ambulance for the transfer.’

  ‘Already done. The prison called this in just before they called me. They just asked me to let someone on the ward know as a courtesy.’

  ‘Fine,’ the nurse replied. A slight hint of annoyance in her tone before leaving Rick with one last comment ringing in his ears. ‘You know they really ought to issue you with a new uniform.’

  I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh which was cut short by a stabbing pain in my stitched up wound.

  Pushing me through the corridor in a wheelchair, Rick explains his plan. ‘I’ve got a couple of the lads, Phil and Andy. Dressed as paramedics parked outside with an old ambulance I managed to get hold of. I’ve marked the back of it with a little red X so I don’t push you into the back of the wrong one and blow it. Couple of miles down the road I’ve got a car parked up in a multi-story. We’ll ditch the ambulance and head to the harbour where we’ll jump on Andy’s boat and fuck off to France.’ He says France with a hint of disgust before adding. ‘I know it’s shite, but it’s better than prison.’

  We’re upon the ambulance with the red X on the back before I’ve even got a chance to tell Rick I actually don’t mind France, not that my two day visit to Euro Disney in 1994 makes me the most qualified person to comment. Rick shoves me up the little ramp before pulling the doors shut behind us and the vehicle is rolling before he’s even sat down. All the action so suddenly after having been stabbed, drugged, patched up and brought around has played havoc with me and my head is spinning faster than the wheels on the ambulance. I pass out.

  I wake up momentarily as Rick, Phil and Andy manhandle me from the ambulance into a car. The pain from my sliced up guts soon knocks me out again. Next I’m rudely awoken by the rocking and pulling motion of being heaved from the back seat of a car, my brother tugging at my legs whilst Phil gives me numerous shoves in the back. We’re at the marina and I can see Andy has gone on ahead. I guess he has to unlock the boat.

  The still night air is interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of gunfire. Just one shot cracks through the air echoing from Andy’s direction. I’d lost sight of him for a moment and searching the area in which I last spotted him I start to panic as he doesn’t come back into sight.

  ‘Fuck! The Old Bill have fucking found us.’ Rick says in hushed tones of concern.

  Another gunshot echoes out and the pushing on my back stops as Phil slumps down dead behind me.

  ‘Fuck, fuck!’ Rickie shouts in a moment that may not have been the most eloquent of his life, yet still he manages to capture my emotions perfectly. What the fuck is going on? The police don’t shoot unarmed men dead. Before I can collect my thoughts I've got my answer.

  ‘Hello boys.’ Booms the menacing voice of Darren Rivers, a man you never want to see stood over you with a gun. Nothing happens around these parts without Rivers’ say so, he controls the drugs, the nightlife and the muscle – Four of his henchmen are standing behind him as he aims his gun at Rick’s chest.


  ‘Darren, what’s this all about? I’m just trying to get my bro to safety, get him out of prison and out of the country.’ Rick says, the confusion melding with the fear in his voice.

  ‘Well I’m glad to see you managed to get young Jimmy out of prison and I’m glad my lad Louie could be of assistance from inside. Unfortunately I can’t let you go through with the rest of your plan, although you will both be getting on a boat with your two friends,’ Rivers says gesturing towards Phil’s body and in the direction I last saw Andy. The threat didn’t need explaining, we were about to be killed and dumped at sea. The only question was why?

  Rivers continues. ‘You see, Rick. That house that your little brother Jimmy got caught robbing before he got sent down belonged to my girlfriend Suzie’s grandparents. They’re both scared to leave the house because of scum like Jimmy here.’ He seems oblivious to the irony of these words coming from his mouth. ‘Suzie is really upset. The ol’ boy keeps wetting his cacks and his missus keeps waking up because of her nightmares. They’re a mess and it’s killing my Suzie seeing them like that. So imagine my delight when Louie called from the prison and let me in on your little plan. Really Rick, I’m glad you did, but seriously did you really have to outline the whole plan to ol’ Lou?’

  The sky flashes blue and sirens interrupt Darren Rivers as he winds up and gets ready to shoot. Shouts of ‘Stop Police!’ fill the air as Rivers’ mob flee from behind him in various directions and are jumped upon quickly by officers leaping from cars that are skidding to a halt. I can see in Rivers’ eyes that he's still tempted to try and get his shots off. I can see him calculating the fact that he’ll be going down for two murders. What was two more going to matter? Also the recognition in his face that he’d probably only manage to get one shot off before he takes one in the head from a police marksman. He drops the gun and raises his hands. The police proceed cautiously towards the three of us. I see Detective Alan Simmons, the arresting officer that had me put away in the first place at the back of a group of armed police.

  So I’d be going back to prison and my brother would be coming with me, my sentence will be extended, but I guess it’s better than floating about in pieces in the English Channel. I’ve never been so glad to see a copper.

  Aidan Thorn is a 33 year old writer from Southampton, England, home of the Spitfire and Matthew Le Tissier but sadly more famous for Craig David and being the place the Titanic left from before sinking. It's Aidan's ambition to put Southampton on the map for something other than bad R N' B music and sinking ships. Since having his first short story published in Radgepacket Vol. 6 in 2012 he has written a couple more but spent the first half of 2012 completing his first novel 'When the Music's Over.' More information on Aidan's writing can be found on his website http://aidanthornwriter.weebly.com/.

  By Pete Sortwell

  I always have to stand next to the weirdos on the tube or in the post office. Even if I sit on a town centre bench, I’m absolutely guaranteed to get a ‘Class A’ nutter introduce themselves to me and talk about their latest medication. Tonight’s no different. I’m in the queue of WeightTwatchers, sandwiched between the two most boring people this town has ever produced and that’s saying something. They’d give an aspirin a headache.

  ‘It’s ridiculous. I mean I haven’t even got a car and they’re charging me for the whole year’s insurance,’ the guy is saying.

  ‘I know. They make you sign up for a whole year. How do they know that you’ll keep the car for the full year? You should be able to cancel. I agree,’ his partner tells him.

  It’s all I can do to point out that most normal people don’t smash their car up on the way for secret midnight McDonald’s on third party insurance. If you’re into late night driving to feed your burger addiction, at least go for ‘fully comp’. It makes sense if you think about it.

  I don’t really want to be here. I’m compelled to be, though. The missus needs me here. She isn’t even that fat. A bit porky, but nothing that calls for all this. I don’t like clubs like this. Fat clubs are just sex clubs for bloaters. They just sit around jamming health bars up each other and licking jam rings suggestively. Barry told me he’d seen it when he looked through the window once. I’m not going to let any of these whales harpoon my missus though.

  ‘So I counted out seven chips and just added them to the Weight Twatcher's Pizza,’ the bird behind me tells Mr Dull causing me to offer her my place in the queue, which she readily accepts but it doesn’t quieten her down. I consider sticking the pen I was given into one of my ears, just to cut out fifty per cent of the utter tripe these two barrels are compelled to share with each other.

  It’s busy here tonight. At least seventy people. This queue is long. I should have come earlier. The wife’s sitting down now. She looks upset, maybe one of the lard arses has offered her a go on his banana. I’ll have to stop getting distracted by these two. It’s funny how the thoughts of killing people can take your mind off the task in hand, isn’t it? I get it all the time. In Tesco I can be so engrossed in what to do to a woman that’s been stood waiting for ages, then decides to fish her purse out of her bag right at the end of the process. They can never find the purse without emptying everything they own onto the counter, then they have to sort through photos of their fish and points cards for shops they haven’t been to for years. After I’ve finished judging, hurting and killing her in my head, I forget to get my fucking money out too. Other people are just a pain in the arse and these greedy cunts are the worst of the lot.

  By the time I finally get round to the scales, the wife’s made it to the seats. I can see her from here. I wonder what’s upset her. I hope this speccy cow I’m about to speak to hasn’t done it. There’ll be trouble if she has. I’ll kick her stand over later just in case it was.

  ‘Take your shoes off, then step on the scales please, Mr …?’

  ‘Kendall,’ I tell her, taking off my first shoe. My feet fucking stink. She tries her hardest not to turn her nose up, but with the gas northbound there’s no way she can.

  ‘Let’s just do it with shoes on this week, shall we?’ she tells me, stopping my arm from taking the other shoe off and causing me to wobble on one leg as I try to steady myself.

  We go through the pointless process of the weigh in. I might be a little chunky but I don’t care about it. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. For her.

  I weigh in at fourteen stone. As I get off the scales Hilary addresses me.

  ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘That,’ I tell her, pointing at the digital screen of the scales that is still displaying my weight.

  ‘Oh! Just here to feel better about yourself, then?’ she asks me, taking me for one of these other comfort eating bloaters. She then hands me a little folder to keep my thoughts on eating in or something, I don’t know, I stopped listening.

  I take a seat at the back, away from the boring people. The wife looks like she’s stopped crying now and has her mates with her. I keep an eye out from the rear. There’s a fair amount of chunkers in the queue waiting to get patronized by the leader behind me. I can hear all their weights from here. They might as well put a huge screen up so we can all see. It would be more motivating if people were mocked and laughed at for being Big Macs.

  The meeting finally starts. Hilary starts going on about how exercise can help people lose weight. Who didn’t fucking know that? Half the losers here didn’t seem to. A particularly huge lady in front of me puts her elbow into her mate’s folds and whispers, ‘Here, Vic. You know that? I didn’t.’ Clearly you did. You just ignored it because you like cake. It gets even more painful as Hilary, who seems to have few social skills and a poor grasp of when a crowd has given as much as it can, starts singling people out and asking them what exercise they think would be good. A fucking stupid question from the word go. Any exercise is good, unless it’s running through a primary school with an AK47.

  Some pig in the second row gets the first go at public humiliation. />
  ‘Mrs Brown. What do you do?’ Hilary asks.

  ‘Er, er,’ Mrs Brown says, realizing a smile isn’t going to get her out of this one. She’s got to answer. It’s gone well past the point of awkwardness.

  ‘Walking my cat?’ Mrs Brown says, causing me to snort the cold I’ve been carrying round down my top.

  ‘Shit,’ I vocalise without meaning to, wiping the snot from my jumper.

  ‘Mr Kendall, wha …?’ That’s as far as Hilary gets. The wife turns around and sees me, as does her mate.

  ‘You bastard! You know you’re not supposed to be within a hundred yards of her! Someone call the police,’ her mate shouts.

  The game’s up.

  At least I got to take Hilary’s stand down with me when the gang of 'beach balls' all started to exercise by charging at me, pinning me down till the Old Bill got there.

  Pete is 32 and lives with his wife, Lucie and their pet sofa, Jeff. He's been writing for just over two years, they've been pretty eventful, well more eventful than he thought sitting on Jeff typing would be anyway.

  First published in the Radgepacket anthology with a story he'd written during month five of his new hobby. Pete's now featured, in a total of eight different anthologies and have been amongst some very fine company. Although I've been the best in all of them, I know that because both my Mum and Jeff told me and they're both honest to God, Christians- possibly.

  Author of Comedy e-book 'The Village Idiot Reviews' Which was released on Kindle alone during the arse end of 2012. It is the first in the series of 'Idiot Review' books and will be followed by, 'The Office Idiot Reviews' , 'The Idiot Politician Reviews' and 'More Village Idiot Reviews' Who knows where it will go after that but once these four are completed all your dinosaurs out there will be able to buy them in paperback.

  Debut Novel, 'So Low, So High' will be published in 2013 by Caffeine Nights publishing and is the first in a trilogy. 'Die Happy, Die Smiling' being number two and 'Start something' being number three.

 

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