Bag of Weasels. Chapter 21

It was a noise we all recognised: the sound of people getting hurt.
This is it, I thought, the game's up, and I wasn't alone in my panic.
"They've come for us! We're trapped! They'll take us in, we're all as good as fucked!
Now that got the wind up us all good and proper, and everyone tried to get out as one. The swirl started up like a fairground ride, snatched me off my feet and carried me away. I caught a last glimpse of Banksy flapping her arms, shouting for calm despite having just whipped us up. The next instant her oil drum got swept away and up she went, legs in the air and flashing her knickers, to be swallowed by the vortex of panicky scruffbag desperadoes.
I was scraped over the brickwork til I fetched up at the doorway, got pinged out with the lucky ones, and sent sprawling onto the wet black ground, scooping mouthfuls of wet black ash.
Spitting it out, I looked up to spy where the trouble was, expecting to see signs of invasion - vans pulled up, uniforms, Authority bleeding in from the out. But the other sprawlers who'd landed round about were already picking themselves up and pointing. The penny was dropping, there was no invasion. It was an internal wrangle: it seemed Ralph was wrangling Flea to death.
Having got whooshed along by the turn of events, swept into the reading frenzy, I'd forgotten all about the Big Man, last seen asleep with a sack on his head.
But things had moved on, Ralph was up and the Beast was out. It could get fatal, leastways visceral, for when he got beasty Ralph cut a swathe and he was cutting one now, over by the biggest fire. Anyone close got a cuff round the head, and ragged bodies pinged away, sent down to the black from where they'd just scrabbled up, creating a respectful distance around him and clearly revealing the Ralph shape big and black against the flame, holding up the gurgling Flea, who was dangling from Ralph's arm's-length fist like a stinky wriggling fish.
"Feed him to the dogs! Chop him up! Let 'em rip him up and eat him!
I couldn't quite suss who was doing the shouting, but there were two likely suspect close-knit silhouettes, one tall and bendy and one short and bandy, edging dangerously close to Ralph and his catch, circling round looking for entry.
I picked myself up and tiptoed over to the edge of the ring now formed round Ralph, the dangling Flea and the two darting shadows, by the big fire burning bang in the middle.
"He's a thief, big man, and worse, shouted the now recognisable Didgy, pacing round just out of Ralph's range. "Hand him over, he's nicked off us. He's fucking poison. Give him here, the toe-rag, and with that he made a lunge for Flea.
Ralph swung his rag-doll captive clear of Didgy's charge and floored him with a palm to the face. Didgy rolled away quick and jumped to his feet unhurt for another go, but just then Flea let out a high-pitched strangled squeal: in all the commotion Ralph'd inadvertently dangled him over the fire and now his feet were smoking. He pedalled frantically over the top lick of flame, squealing for mercy, til Ralph finally twigged and yanked him clear, bouncing him up and down in the earth to snuff out his smouldering trainers.
The sight of Flea's singeing had stayed Didgy's rebound, but into the firelight and into the fray, up stepped Doinky, flailing and kicking like a worn-out moth, as angry as he could get himself, and he whirred his way towards the wary watchful Ralph.
Of course, we all knew poor Doinky's assault was all faff and flim-flam and no real threat to Ralph, who just flicked him away, but anyone else was in for a real clump, and I guessed Didgy and Doinky were only on licence because of their association with me. If they pushed it, they would lose that licence.
I had to ask: "Why are you strangling Flea?
It seemed a fair question although it had dawned on me that this was more than a simple Flea and Ralph situation. It was prickly here, I was dipping a toe, so start with the easy questions, I thought.
By putting myself in the frame I'd got the whole world's attention. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, but this whole show was disconcerting ' violence in the midst of our bonding ritual - and since I was known and trusted by three of the four, it seemed I was the man of the moment.
"You're killing him Ralph, nigh on.
Ralph didn't even blink. He was on guard.
Didgy piped up to my right: "He's poison, he is, poison for all of us. Get him out of here. He'd calmed down somewhat but Doinky was bawling, swaying alarmingly, stamping his feet. Didgy held his hand tight, to restrain him, comfort him or maybe just to keep him upright.
Perceiving a break in the two-pronged attack, Ralph finally spoke, still keeping an eye on Didgy and Doinky, and a hand around Flea's throat.
"He's been up to his tricks again. Causing trouble.
"What exactly?
"Stealing, he said and nodded in the other two's direction.
At the word "stealing, Didgy moaned out loud, and spat at Flea. Luckily he missed the lot of us.
"Easy Doink, it's Sunny, said Didgy, tugging him closer.
"What's happening, Didgy?
"Your big man's right, said Didgy, "He's stolen off Doinky, that's what.
Now Flea was a known thief, and he'd done worse too, but to my mind Doinky had nothing he'd want.
As if reading my thoughts, Didgy explained: "He only had one thing he treasured and you saw it yourself: his talisman, the doctor's letter. Now it's missing. He stole it.
Shit.
I bit back whatever I was going to say, and my hand flew inadvertently inside my layers, fingering my collection of papers. It was suddenly very hot near this fire.
"And the big man here, continued Didgy, "he thinks he's a policeman. That little git there should get what's coming to him, but we can't get our hands on the bastard.
So we all looked to Ralph.
"There was trouble, that's all I saw, so I got in between them, he said, his hand still round the neck of the now quite blue Flea.
"None of us want trouble here, it'll leave a bad taste, and things'll go wrong. So I stepped in, that's all. But now I've heard the ins and outs, I don't know what to do.
"If it's true, and I'm starting to believe them, then I thought, maybe, we should burn him.
That was a bit keen, and maybe a joke, but take no chances with Ralph. There were a couple of things I could do directly to clear this up once and for all.
For my own protection and hidden reasons I did none of them. I was less direct.
"Let's hear from Flea, I said.
Ralph, Didgy and Doinky, even the now purple Flea, all looked at me like I was speaking in tongues.
"Why do you want to hear from him? You can't think we're making it up?
Ralph concurred: "I'm baffled, Sunny. You don't like him. He's downright horrible to you. What are you doing?
"You weren't even here, Sunny.
This wasn't going to be easy.
"I just think it's fair. Two wrongs don't make a right, you know.
I cringed as I said it, and it raised a few eyebrows, but what with our recent crack at communion I thought that cheesy statement might be in keeping with the current climate, and there were murmurs of assent from the gathered crowd.
So, first taking one of Flea's arms and twisting it halfway up his back, Ralph released his grip on the goblin's throat.
Flea dragged down his first decent breath for a while, rubbing his throat with his free hand. A couple more gasps and he was half-way back to pasty.
Ralph gave him a quick shake.
"Liven up, you're on.