Surface Tension - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

 

The ground's hard. The snow's melting, seeping into my trousers.  Two hands reach under my armpits and swing me up. For a moment I'm suspended in mid air then I'm dropped. I want to crumple into a ball but two hands snake round my chest from behind keeping me vertical. They’re big and gnarly and there’s wedding band. They grip tight constricting so I can't breathe. 

             A shadow moves in front of me and then the punch comes in. To the stomach, my knees buckle.  The hands tighten, keep me standing. Another punch arrives.  I sag forward but the hands straighten me, forcing me to look up. I'm blinded by the security lights. A black shape looms in front of me and I sense the fist being drawn back.  It comes, below the ribs; leaving me retching, gasping for air.  The hands release me. I pitch forward, folding on the ground. I suck air, wheezing through the pain in.

            The hands grasp me again, tugging me upright. I'm pushed backwards towards the car landing on the boot's sill. My head hits the lock with a crack. I cough and splutter, aware of a warm session growing round my crown.  Blearily I look up.  There are two silhouettes standing shoulder to shoulder, a narrow slit of light between them the wraps round them.  With slow precision one of the dark angels begins speaks. The pain's intense. I can't focus its gibberish. The security lights flick off plunging us into darkness.

            Then it happens again.

            Two punches, left, right to my stomach. I subside, slipping down the car, my head just missing the exhaust pipe.

            The ground greets me, cold and refreshing.  I dip my head into the snow. It feels good.  I open my eyes. There's a boot next to my head. I try and curl up trying to protect my face. The boot's drawn back. I can see it coming. I want to cry out but there’s nothing except a shallow cough and sob. The boot arrives. It gently prods me, turning me over so I'm on my back.

            The stars are incredible, pin pricks of gold laced through velvet. The more I look, the more I see.  It's beautiful, so, so beautiful.  My chest constricts, there's a weight on it. I move focus. It's the boot.   A shadow sweeps across the cosmos, stars are blotted out, there's hot breath on my face, alcohol, salt and vinegar, a whiff of fish and chips.  The shadow's kneeling so close I can discern no features in the darkness.

            “You have something that belongs to Mr McClelland.  He would like you to return it.”  The words are carefully spoken in a low, conspiratorial whisper, as if we're in a crowded room and some intimate secret is being shared.  The shape looms forward, trying to determine if I've registered the words. I blink. This satisfies. It backs off. The stars reveal themselves again.  The pressure on my chest is lifted.  

            I do nothing, my breathing's shallow, fast; my heart racing.  I wait.  Staccato comes the hushed order to stand.  I don't move. I'm not sure if my body will obey me.  Lying here, letting the world spin, seems a much better option. 

            That's not what they want. 

            The shadow comes, the stars are shrouded. The hands wrap round me. With a grunt I'm weightless, hauled up until I'm standing. As I reach the vertical I let myself sag against the boot of the car, letting it brace me.  I'm not sure if I can stand on my own.  I put my hand back and there in the boot is the rough cloth of the bag with the money in. 

            They're watching me, waiting for the next move.  Do they know that the money’s here?  I don’t have a script for this.  What's next?

            It's obvious.

            The fist comes in hard folding me in two so I become luggage in the back of the car.  As I collapse a gloved hand, a leather gloved hand (I smell the leather and feel its soft, shiny touch), grabs my hair and jerks my head upwards.  The back of my head grazes the boot’s lock. I clench my teeth. A whimper escapes.

            “Mr McClelland wants it back now, geddit?”  His face presses into mine. The other shadow grips my shoulders pulling me forward.  The sticky, warm feeling is growing. “Do you…”

            Light, bright and strong floods the yard.  A door's popped open and there's a people cascade of noise and movement. Someone shouts for drink, another voice protests against the cold.  There are calls of ‘make it quick Richard’.

The party has moved outside.

My silhouettes tense. We're caught on the edge of the light.   The hand grips me, keeping me vertical.

Richard's marshalling the party, “Is everyone out, no this won’t be long, all right go and get a coat if you must, southerners eh!” (A fizz of wry laughter. A second hand slides across me, its gloved fingers reach round my throat.) “This won’t take long.” 

My silhouettes are motionless.

Richard’s voices rises again with a bit of the sergeant major’s bark to it. There's a momentary hush.  He begins, “thanks for being here”, (the iron cold of the car is beginning to seep into me, the hand round my neck tightens), “it's good to see everyone, Uni was such a long time ago but...” (I'm willing him to move on. The silhouettes shif nervously), “...Glad you can see new life, new possibilities, (the pressure on my neck goes up a couple of notches), invite you to join….”

            “Hey, you two stop skulking over there, if we’ve got to bear one of Richard’s sales pitches don’t think you can get out of it.”  There's laughter. Richard falters.  The voice comes again, “Yeah, you two over by the cars.”

            The silhouette holding my throat shifts uneasily. I gurgle.

             There's another voice: “Hey Richard, looks as if someone is trying to get away, can’t let them do that?”  More laughter. The grip tightens but they exchange a furtive glance. There's uncertainty. Richard's stopped talking. Craning my neck I can peer over the silhouettes.  There's movement, people are turning towards us. There are a couple more joshing shouts. The silhouettes shift and suddenly, I'm not sure how I'm thrust forward.  They part and I'm standing in front of them, rubbing my neck which feels as if it’s been stretched. We stand squinting into the light. A shape detaches itself from the group and heads our way.  Another, thinner, willowy one follows suit. The first one has its head cocked part listening part straining to see.

            “What's going on? Everything OK?” I can't see the features but the voice is Richard's. Two more strides, “Is that you Tony?” The distance between us is halved. “Tony?”

            A fist stabs me in the back.

            “Tony? It is you Tony isn't it?” Richard's close enough to see it's me. “You OK?  Tony?” He registers the silhouettes. He falters. “What's going on?”  Another couple of strides and he's reached the point where the light fingers the darkness. His head moves from side to side taking in the shadows.  “Who are you?”

            I'm involuntarily thrust forward, released from their grip.  My first thought: how to protect £500 grand that’s feet away from me. My left hand drifts up, touching me neck. I wince.

“I've no idea who they are Richard.  I came here to pack my car and then they came out of the shadows and…”  My breath hangs in the air forming the words that I've not spoken.

            “Get out, this is private property.”  Richard squares up to the two.  “You're not welcome here.”  Neither silhouettes moves, I get the sense that they’re processing what's going on.

I'm pushed aside. The one who's been holding me steps forward. He throws a punch.  Richard sees it coming and twists away in a surprisingly nimble move. 

            I peer into the light. A couple of other bodies have detached themselves from the group and are moving towards us.  “Need a hand Richard?”

            The silhouette again, a huge haymaker of a punch, an attempt to not just put Richard’s lights out but send him into next week. Richard’s alert. He swivels. The fist misses by a mile. The shadow stubbles forward, off kilter and Richard catches the fist as it goes past. It's almost balletic. He spins the assailant round so that he's facing me. The shadow yowls as Richard jerks his arm high up his back. 

“Leave,” growls Richard, “You're not welcome. Or do I get my shot gun?”

            “Before you do that Richard I think you should listen to me.”  The voice comes from behind Richard.

            Ellen steps from behind Richard and stands motionless in the no-man’s land where the darkness and light mix tentatively. I can't see her face, it's shrouded but there's a halo of light around her blonde hair. 

“It's OK Richard I can deal with this.” She speaks slowly and deliberately. “Don’t, it's not worth it.”  This is said to the other shadow a few feet from me. His hand’s slid inside his Richardet. “You really don't want to do that.”

The shadow tenses. Reluctantly the hand falls away. It's empty.

“Thank you.” She turns to Richard. “Let him go.” She reaches gently touching Richard on the shoulder, “It’s OK, everything is OK.”  The touch reassures Richard. His grip on the shadow relaxes. 

“See,” she says to the second, “Just don’t push it, it's not worth it. McClelland wouldn't want it.” 

As the second shadow weighs this Richard drops his hold on his prisoner. He propels him back towards his colleague. He stumbles forward rubbing his sore arm. 

            Ellen turns to Richard. Something's said which I don't catch. He starts to edge back only turning his back when he's safely in the domain of the light.    Ellen takes a couple of paces forward.  “You knew I was here.” It takes a moment to realise she's talking to my silhouettes. “You'd no right, now get out,” she hisses, “before he calls the police.” She indicates Richard, “Or maybe I will.” 

            Richard's rejoined the group, “Everything's all right, guys,” and then in ‘Dixon of Dock Green’ like tones, “Nothing to see here, move along, move along.”  It gets a ripple of laughter. Everyone starts to file back into the house. 

            The two silhouettes haven't moved. They're back to standing so close together in the darkness they could be one.  Ellen takes a step forward. She merges with the silhouettes. The group's barely three feet away, yet all I can pick up is Ellen’s voice, hushed, urgent and angry. 

The lights blink off. The whole yard's plunged into darkness. Even though the group are within touching distance I lose them in the blackness, but slowly the pin-prick bright stars appear and the stark moon casts deep and long shadows.  

            There's the heavy clunk of two car doors, the hoarse cough of an engine over revved and then a car swerves back spitting mud and snow. It arcs round, head lamps click to full on. The stars are obliterated as the beam cuts across my line of sight.  The lights come straight for me. My body tenses ready to spring. A wave of pain rises and I stumble back hard against my car.  The lights jerk away at the last moment and the car spins away leaving me to catch a shower of snow and gravel.  Red demon brake lights glow for a moment and then the car's gone, lost behind the trees and swallowed by the darkness.

            “Well, I'm not impressed by the entertainment Richard's put on.” I address the darkness, knowing Ellen must be out there somewhere.  She materialises at my side.

            “You OK?”

            “To be honest no, I’ve been better.  Getting beaten up isn't my kind of physical exercise; I'm not conditioned for it.” 

            “Does being beat up always make you so laconically expansive?”

            “I don't know. I don't make a habit of getting beaten up.”

            I'm balanced on the edge of the boot. She turns and faces me. I catch her fragrance.

            She kisses me, full on the lips.  It begins hard and then softens.  It has waves. For a moment I'm anywhere but standing in a muddy, wintry yard in the middle of nowhere.  Gently a hand is placed on my ribs.