by steve higgs
Bull had arrived first. He was a proud and noble dog that held his head high and kept his tail ramrod straight. He could be found watching for danger, or perhaps squirrels, and he was everything a man could want in his trusted sidekick. I had gone back to the same breeder to get another one just like him roughly a year later. Bull's younger brother, Dozer, displayed some alternate characteristics though. He was a bit dopey, his expression, rather than give you the impression he was sizing you up, was one that made me think a cartoon thought-bubble drawn above his head would be empty. He walked into things, he would lift a back leg to scratch himself and fall over. He was arguably my favourite of the two. Not that I would admit that to Bull as he would widdle in my shoes if he knew. They were the most ridiculous dogs a chap could choose to have, but I loved them, and they came with the added advantage that ladies tended to cross the street to pet them.
They performed their usual routine of fussing around my trouser legs before running to the back door. I let them out and watched as they sped across the lawn, chasing away the wood pigeons that had been pecking at grubs in the grass. They vanished under a bush I probably needed to prune, so I left them outside while I wandered through to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.
I was going out bowling tonight with a few mates. A couple of weeks ago, my good friend Jagjit had suggested we do something different from just hanging out at the pub in the village and the idea of a night out bowling at the local alley had developed. The alley was walking distance for Big Ben, as he lived in the centre of town in a penthouse apartment overlooking the river. The rest of us were travelling into town together, or at least that had been the plan. Fighting a zombie hoard had not been on my diary for today and the event was having a knock-on effect on other plans. In the original plan, I was supposed to have been getting picked up by Jagjit at 1700hrs, but I had texted the chaps and ducked out of the food part of proceedings as I was no longer hungry after my sandwich and needed to attend to my body after the zombie battle. The chaps would still enjoy their steaks at the restaurant we had booked, and I would catch them up later at the alley.
The dogs reappeared from the garden, so I fed them and took them out for a proper walk around the village. The small village of Finchampstead is surrounded by woodland, crop fields, and vineyards, with paths that crisscrossed and circumnavigated the village. The setting made it a great place to live and a super place to walk a dog. I got back to the house at 1810hrs. I was expected at the alley for 1930hrs, so I had about an hour before I needed to be in a cab heading to town. I took myself for a bath, shucking my clothes into the laundry basket and checking myself in the tall mirror while the steam billowed up from the tap. I had cuts, scrapes and a bite wound to check out though thankfully none of them were worth being concerned about. I took a photograph of the bite mark wondering if I would end up with an album of stupid wounds from my cases. The bath was glorious and made me sleepy, so I stayed longer than intended and when I finally forced myself out, I found the two dogs asleep on my bed. I was tempted to join them and gave the concept of staying home some serious thought. In the end though, despite being in two minds, I felt compelled to do as I had planned. I hated it when people cancelled at the last moment, so I was not going to be the one that did.
By the time I arrived at the bowling alley, the effect of the two beers I had put away at lunchtime had worn off and I was looking forward to having a couple more. Jagjit was designated driver for the night, so I had a lift home secured already.
As I went up the stairs and into the Bowling alley, my nostrils were assailed by the myriad familiar smells it contained. Beer, burgers and other fried foods, and the grease or oil they used to dress the lanes. I took in a deep breath and held it, savouring the remembered scents. I was a big fan of a night out bowling though I couldn’t remember the last time I had. Was it the simplicity of smashing things that spoke to my inner boy? Looking around, there was no sign of the guys but rather than send them a text to question their tardiness, I ordered a beer from the bar and settled down to wait for them.
Around me, I could see people of all ages, races, and beliefs. Many of the groups I looked at had a blend of exactly those demographics. Of course, there were also people who were not so easy to categorise into a race or even gender. One person, probably a woman, looked more or less like a baked potato had decided to get dressed and go out for the evening. In addition to the rather unique body shape, its attire was a blend of colours that, if I were challenged to achieve the same, I might do so by forcing a rainbow and a unicorn into a blender. I might then throw in a grenade for good measure. The hair matched. He/she appeared to be happy though so any judgement about him/her stayed in my head. I liked that despite the craziness of the zombie attack today no one seemed concerned for their safety. They were out having fun.
‘Hey, spunk ferret,’ called a voice across the room in a volume loud enough to be heard over the general din of conversation. The voice belonged to Big Ben, a friend and former army colleague who often helped out on cases when I needed a little extra muscle. ‘I hear you had some fun with zombies today.’
I turned around on my bar stool to face the chaps as they approached. At Big Ben's comment, many of the other patrons had paused their conversations to watch us. Partly this was because of the gregarious way in which Big Ben had announced his presence, and partly because at six feet and seven inches tall plus annoyingly good-looking, people tended to stare at him anyway.
Basic and Jagjit were ahead of him, but they all arrived at the bar together and we did a round of shaking hands. The young lady behind the bar appeared, guessing correctly that more drinks would be required. While she poured them and lined up the cold glasses on the bar, I regaled them with my day's activities and pulled up the sleeve of my polo shirt to show them the bite mark on my right deltoid.
‘A real zombie bite mark,’ Jagjit observed. ‘Not many people around that can claim one of those.’
‘Hur, hur,' Basic laughed. Basic's real name was James Burnham but had been given his nickname at some distant point in the past. I would never employ such an insulting term, but it was how he introduced himself. The name was in reference to his rather limited intelligence. He had a job collecting the abandoned trollies at a supermarket and he looked after himself well enough, but he lived with his mum and in all fairness, he was really, really thick. His I.Q. was somewhere around that of a dog or a pig or a school gym teacher. He was a good guy though and he contrasted brilliantly with Big Ben as a study in genetics. Big Ben could most accurately be described as an Adonis, like he was a more perfect or more advanced version of man, whereas Basic was a Neanderthal.
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 or 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 t
arget. 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.
