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Crime and Thriller
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| The Iron Man | |
| By Leo | ||||||||
| 22 May 2006 | ||||||||
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A long time ago, i attempted to use some real life experiences from around pubs and clubs to create a gangster/revenge piece... Needless to say it never happened, but it was doing nothing sitting on my hard drive, so i thought what the hell.... East London Darkness; all expansive. Consuming everyone and everything. Light bled slowly across the pavement from the kebab shop stores fronts. Street lamps looked down with awkwardly angled, seemingly broken, necks vomitting sodium light on all that fell in their wake. The streets were littered with broken polystyrene cartons, wooden forks and discarded lager tins. A train thundered past, shaking the windows in nearby buildings, as it transported commuters, like can loads of zombified drones back home, back to reality. On the street, buses crept from one bus stop to another, five hundred yards apart. Coughing and wheezing, disgorging filthy black smoke. It was not all bad, it just felt like it. People headed in doors, and sat glued to makeovers and cribs, drawing hope from the fact that ugly and stupid people could succeed. Soaps oozed from tv screens and magazines, the mainstay of every other conversation; an opiate for the masses. They lived in hope. One day their numbers might come up on the lottery. In the meantime there was the bingo hall or the church. A neon sign pronounced ‘The world is yours’ as Nicky drove past and thought about the evening ahead. The car was warm and secure. It didn’t have an MOT but was warm and secure. Music came from the one speaker that did work “.. when or if the sun shines, On those beautiful features We smile but only for seconds To be caught smiling is to acknowledge life A brave but useless show of compassion And that is forbidden in this drab and colourless world ..” He turned left down River Street, and on down. The road led away from the lights and noise, into the shadows. He drove past the club and pulled up next to the curb on the opposite side of the street. If you parked it round the back, some local opportunist was going to break in to it. If you parked it too close outside the club and someone was likely kick it or bounce off the bonnet. No, this was the best place, experience told him that. And his was a business in which experience was everything. 8.40pm. He was early. Make the most of the next few moments, because work will start soon enough he thought. The music soothed his brain, but not his body. His stomach turned slowly and anxiously. If felt like it contained a restless snake who was coiling and uncoiling. It didn’t matter how long you had been doing this job you never lost those feelings of apprehension before a shift started. Nicky’s stomach continued to churn slowly. He felt reassured as he looked up at the sign; The Iron Man. Was it a pub? A club? It probably didn’t know itself. Somewhere for a late drink certainly. Somewhere that welcomed all; tinker, tailor, soldier, spy, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. There were five floors in total. A basement and a roof garden that allowed those brave enough to scale it’s dizzy heights to gaze out across the sea of concrete and steel to see canary wharf, which stood proud in the centre of the newly developed docklands. The land was definitely worth more the building itself. Currently water ran down the outside wall and left green algae in its wake. Some strange green and black plant sprouted from the gutter. A white residue marked the brick work, it was like a sweat stain that was unlikely ever to be removed. All the buildings immediately around it had long since been demolished, By day the car park ‘attendants’ held court and collected fees for supervising cars. Kids occasionally kicked a ball against the corrugated iron fence panels that surrounded the car park. Someone had used spray paint to proclaim ‘Tim Westwood sucks black rappers cocks’ in 2 foot high red paint across the flaking brick work. By night it served a variety of functions; toilet, rubbish dump, boxing ring and occasionally somewhere for revellers to exchange body fluids before returning home to their respective spouses. An assortment of stained knickers matted with grit and sweat was testament to the fact. What would the night bring Nicky wondered? 2.10 am The initial rush had subsided. Occasionally one of the lonely or dispossessed who found themselves walking the streets in the wee small hours would happen by, and venture into the club, in search of solace or company. The local clubs would be emptying out soon and then the streets would fill up again with more revellers. The cash registers would ring in the kebab shops and the taxi rates would increase by about 30%. Nicky was now outside with Stevie. Elaine sat in the front of a cab and Lisa and Lucy sat on the low front wall enjoying some fresh air. A black Mercedes pulled into the road and drove down past them all. Nicky couldn’t be sure, but there were at least five people in the car. “Who’s that?” Stevie shook his head before turning his head to look up the road at the latest gaggle of cider soaked students who had probably just left the student union. “Ladies and gents. A search if you don’t mind”, Stevie set about taking control just about the same time the group that had arrived in the Mercedes approached from the bottom of the street. Nicky stood and watched, as Stevie lead the proceedings, expecting the new faces to hang back whilst the students were searched. A figure in a red shirt went to brush past Nicky. “who woa.. easy fella; we got a queue here” he said as he extended his arm to block the way. “ Alright mate.. no need to touch..” came the curt retort , his eyes narrowing and arms over gesturing. Wired. Charlied up, no question. “Alright fella, just doing my job, lets not get off on the wrong foot here” The switch had been thrown. Adrenalin now coursed through his veins. His breathing deepened immediately and palms sweated. “Just don’t fuckin touch .. alright” Was that a threat? “Mate. Just step back.” “I aint your fuckin mate” “Now you’re getting everything out of proportion. Calm yourself down” “Don’t fuckin tell me to fuckin calm down!” “That’s it. Done my friend, you aint coming in”, Nicky shook his head to underscore the point; an emphatic message. Stevie had stopped searching, stood up and gestured for the students to step back. “Whatya gonna do now? hit me?” “No, I’m not gonna hit you” “You wanna hit me… cunt” “Are you gonna make me?”. Nicky was calm and measured. He stepped up and splayed his arms open wide “Well come on then big hard man hit me.. hit me” This was now sliding past the point of know return. Nicky had one last chance to regain to time and space to think. “Back off.., Back off!!” His dialogue short and direct, punctuated by deep breathing. His lungs fighting for the oxygen necessary to continue breaking down the glucose his muscles craved, in order to ready them for action. Fight or flight. The sound level suddenly increases and dies away again. In the back corner of his mind Nicky heard the club door opening and closing. The loud music momentarily spilling out, onto the street. He didn’t need to look to confirm but he knew three other set of eyes watching his back. Stevie, Dean and Foxy’s All proven, Trusted. Solid. His brain was calculating the odds as he scanned the group of interlopers. What have we got? Five guys, including the mouth piece, and at least three girls. All charlied up. Most of them have beer bottles. The guy on the left looks a bit tasty/lumpy and switched on. He’s going to be the hard work. Closer now, all getting vocal. Bottles now held tightly by their necks. Closing in like a pack. It will kick off. It was not a question of if, but when and how badly. Time for the others to move in to better positions; one of them would get out wide behind the big lump, he’s going down first. Watch the girls. Hit them if you have to. There in it together. The brass knuckle duster felt reassuringly heavy in his pocket, ready if he needed it. Big Dean then attempts to bring some calm, all the while knowing that Nicky wouldn’t let the ring leader with the red shirt out of his sight. “Come on fellas.. easy.. just not tonight..” It fell on deaf ears “You and me mate.. come on big man..” The main man with the red shirt challenged Nicky. He was too close now. “I won’t tell you again…” Nicky pushed him back, making space. The red shirt drop his hand, down out of sight and reaches for his back pocket. “You want some??”. He screamed. Their eyes locked. His lips curled back in a primal sneer to reveal his gold tooth as Nicky’s fist slammed into his jaw, forcing his freshly broken tooth partially thorough the bleeding flap of skin. He descended almost gently to the pavement, bouncing off the seat of his trousers just before his head struck the tarmac. The pack erupted. It was probably a bottle of Budweiser but he couldn’t be sure. It was maybe thrown by one of the girls, probably the one with the pinched hard features. It glanced of the crown of his head, it felt like a hot spike jabbing into the bone; it didn’t break. The nearest guy was on him punching hard and fast, big piston like blows. Still conscious and still focused, Nicky knew the only thing to do was concentrate on shutting him down. Got his throat, his windpipe. Squeezing it hard and driving him back. The punches had stopped as they both tumbled across the still semi conscious form of red shirt sprawled out on the floor. Someone was hitting his back. Fists? Feet? A knife? There was no way of knowing. He had to finish the guy in front of him before he could worry about anything else. He almost immediately lost purchase on his throat and the guy turned to scramble away. Quickly Nicky turned to see who was on his back. The bitch with the pinched face. He grabbed her hair and pulled her down forward sharply She lost her balance. Screaming obscenities all the time “Cunting fuck GET YOUR FUCKIN HANDS OFF ME!” as she clawed at his face. He kicked her in the stomach as she stumbled forward. That would shut her up. Where was that other prick? He was running up the road. The chase was on. Nicky had no idea what everyone else was doing. The big guy was as strong as an ox; he woouldn’t go down. He was covered in blood. A knuckle duster had rent his scalp open. He was big and slow, but keeping going. “Get him down” someone screams. Stevie grabs his shirt and drags it up over his head. He was trying to cover his eyes and disorientate him. He swang him round wildly, causing him to stumble and fall at last. “His legs!” Foxy screamed, his eyes ablaze with rage. “stamp on his fuckin’ legs!”. The plan was to break them and incapacitate him. He knew what they were trying to do and attempted to kick out blindly to keep them away. But they were like a pack of dogs. Foxy launched his feet at the grounded figure. Stamping on his knees, and then his ankles. Stamping down wildly, trying to drive his boots through the flesh and bone into the dirty tarmac. Nicky was running up he hill. Get out of the fucking way. Taxi drivers, standing on the pavement by their cars watching the spectacle unfold. Cunts. Almost up the road. Breathing hard. The fleeing figure tries to clear the pedestrian rail. Catches his knee and falls into the road. A car swerves. A horn blares. Nicky runs up the road and turns into the main road as the recumbent scrambles to get to his feet. He was on him. Pushing him down. Punching him. “cunt.. cunt..” Kick him. Punch him. Hurt him. He’s bleeding but he’s still moving. Hurt him. He turns and slumps to the floor. Punish him. Teach him a fucking lesson. “Fuck.. fuck.. cunt…” then a realsisation the job was done, but what of the others? He had to get back. Ten, twelve people in the street. Girls screaming. He was running down the street. The big fella is in the middle of the road. He’s getting up.. He’s hurt, holding his ribs. The taxi drivers are guarding their vehicles, anxious to stop them getting dented Then the screech of tyres, as a car pulls round the corner. The hard faced bitch is screaming through the side window. Someone runs up and jumps into the back seat. It stops and the big lump jumps in. Someone throws a shoe at the back window. One of the girls from behind the bar. Where did she come from? It’s madness. Then a scream from the top of the road as red shirt reappears, his shirt now ripped and torn. Blood covering his top lip and cheek. “Fuckin dead you cunt. FUCKIN DEAD” He screamed from the middle of the road, extending his first two fingers like a gun barrel and thumb cocked back like a trigger. He the jumps into the passenger seat as the tyres screech again as the car pulls away. Nicky turned back toward the club and did his best to smile reassuringly at one of the girls with tears running down her face. But inside his stomach churned. It wasn’t over …yet
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