 
HOOD

By

Shaun Whittington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author uses UK English

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Prologue

My carotid artery was banging the inside of my neck, and a surge of excitement ran through my veins at such an alarming rate that I thought a cardiac arrest was going to occur.

My strides began to quicken and I licked my lips, thinking about what it would be like to rip out this man's neck, to suck and slurp on his blood. I put my hand in my pocket and took out my phone to see what the time was. It was nearly half ten at night, Monday, and the streets of Glasgow were barren.

This was the first time I had actually hunted down a victim.

Nearly thirteen years of being who I am, and this was the first time I had become the hunter. I had spent my first years confused with the aching hunger I had. When I fed, I mean _really_ fed, I was astounded and disgusted with what I had done. I spent years feeding on domestic pets, including my own cat. My wife presumed that it had simply gone out and never came back. Then there was the incident with a homeless man.

After attacking the homeless man, I began to Google what could be wrong with me. The V word came up on numerous occasions, but I laughed that off.

But this man... This man had it coming. I knew I wouldn't be losing sleep over this one, and I salivated the closer I got to him.

We were both heading out of the city centre, passing a few bars on Jamaica Street, and a smile emerged on my face as he headed across the road and began to cross the George V Bridge. I waited until we both cleared the bridge and I knew that I needed to strike soon, as the man was heading towards a group of pubs and an industrial area called Tradeston. If he headed on, he'd end up in Shawlands, which was a residential area, and I didn't want that.

Attacking him after the bridge would be perfect. It was dark, there were few cars passing by, no one was around, and under the bridge, at the end, was a dark area where homeless drunks slept and would sometimes die during the night.

My pace was quickening; my feet were speeding up with anticipation, and I had to mentally reprimand myself for my excitement. The taste of blood, especially _human_ blood was a rare thing for me, and now that I had my sights on this individual, I wasn't going to let him get away.

The man I was following must have sensed, or heard, my presence, as his pace slowed and he took a quick nervous glance over his shoulder. He faced forwards and quickened his walk. I had spooked the man, which was exactly what I _didn't_ want to do, and now I had to think. Do I just run for him? Or think of something else?

I was thinking about asking him for the time, an old classic, but even if individuals didn't have a watch, everybody had a phone these days. It'd be a poor effort, and I was sure that it was something he wouldn't fall for. Ask for a light? I didn't have a cigarette on me, and who smoked these days? Not many.

He took another look over his shoulder and the nervous fellow almost began to jog. I couldn't blame the man. It was night time, Monday, the streets were empty, and he was being followed by a man with a black hoodie. I must have looked quite intimidating.

My hood was up and I felt in my right pocket for my Stanley knife, or what the Americans would call a boxcutter, and increased my own pace.

Fuck it. It was now or never.

Whether it was desperation, or the man had suddenly taken an overdose of courage, he stopped running, spun around, and held out his arms.

"Come on, ye piece o' shit!" he yelled, too loud for my liking. "Let's fuckin' 'ave ye!"

I slowed my pace and continued to walk towards the man. The pair of us were now at the end of the bridge, and I did something that the man wasn't expecting at all. Instead of fighting, or rolling around on the floor like a couple of schoolboys on a playground—because let's be honest, that's how fights look to you and I, not like these Hollywood movies where they incorporate roundhouse kicks—I pulled out the blade and stuck it into his throat.

The man's eyes widened with horror and tried to grab his throat. He released a gasp as if he was trying to scream out, but to no avail. I looked around the desolate road to the side of me, and could see a cab heading down Jamaica Street, in our direction. I had seconds to get the man out of sight.

I hooked my arm around the man's neck and dragged him ten yards down the path and did a U turn, heading to the side of the bridge that was always covered in darkness.

The scent of the blood coming from his neck was too much for me, and right there, despite the desperate punches he rained in my face, I leaned in and took a chunk out of his neck and threw him to the floor. I could taste the blood running down my throat and the rush gave my body a shudder. I spat out the piece of flesh, and looked down on the man who was now helplessly on the floor, on his back, dying. Too much crimson was escaping, and I immediately bent down and began sucking on his neck.

Once he took his last breath, I continued to suck, and after a minute or so it didn't taste as good. I had no idea why this was. Whether it was because I had got my fill, or the victim needed to be alive when feeding, I wasn't sure.

I stood up straight, wiped my mouth, and noticed in the murkiness that there were two homeless junkies, sitting on the floor, staring at me with wide eyes. I gave them a nod, and they nodded back. Then, I picked up a huge boulder that was lying on the floor and dropped it on the man's skull, making sure he died and wouldn't turn.

There had been witnesses to this attack, but who was going to believe two smack heads if ever they gave a police statement?

One of them shook their head and said, "We never saw anything, mister."

"That's right." I smiled, noticing that these losers were shaking with fright. "You didn't, did you?"

I reached into the dead man's pocket and pulled out his wallet. I checked inside and could see that there were ninety pounds in Clydesdale bank notes. I tossed the wallet over to the two reprobates, saluted them, and then walked away from the area.

I decided to let the two of them live, and it appeared that, although the killing had made the Evening Times the next day, the investigation came to a quick standstill.

The 'victim' was Gordon McKaw. He was a well-known person, and news of his death brought smiles to many people of Glasgow, including members of Strathclyde Police.

I wiped my mouth once again and headed home.
Five Years Later
Chapter One

#### Friday

Nothing inspires forgiveness quite like revenge.

That was a quote I saw on my phone, as I flicked through it during the train journey back to my hometown of Rugeley.

My name is Michael Hood. My friends call me Mick, but I don't have many of them anyway, and I'm also a forty-four-year-old man. That's all you need to know for now.

The train journey took five hours. I spent most of my time on my phone, reading an extreme horror ebook called _Freak_ by Sarah Jones. When I wasn't reading, I was gazing out of the window, passing places like Preston, Manchester and Crewe.

The trip was reasonably harmless. Apart from a couple of naughty children at the other end of the carriage, and a couple behind me that were kissing so passionately that they may as well have been playing 'hide the sausage' for real, it was relatively painless.

Once it was announced that the train was approaching Stafford Train Station, I picked up my rucksack and stood near one of the doors, waiting for the train to stop. It eventually did, and I stepped out onto Platform 6 and made my way to the taxi rank. It had been eighteen years since I had been to Stafford and my hometown of Rugeley, which was situated eight miles away from Stafford, but it hadn't changed much.

Rugeley never had a train station for years until the late nineties, so if ever I needed to use the train I'd always use Stafford. The last time I had used the train in Stafford was when I was sixteen, and a pal of mine, and a girl, went to Aberystwyth for a week. It hadn't changed since that day.

I stepped outside, rucksack hanging off my right shoulder, and had a look around. The car park was still there to the right of the station, and so was the taxi rank.

Ten minutes had passed and a blue taxi pulled up. I got myself comfortable in the back of the car and told the driver to take me to an address I hadn't been to in nearly two decades.

I had no idea how much it was going to cost me. I hadn't been in a taxi in a while. The whole reason for coming down on the train in the first place was because the wife needed the car for herself and the two kids.

Before I carry on with the story, I suppose I better tell you why I hadn't been to my hometown in almost two decades and why I now live in Glasgow.

Here's the quick version: I met a Glaswegian girl on holiday in Turkey, Marmaris, and she moved to Rugeley for eighteen months. She couldn't settle. So I went up to Glasgow with her, back to her home. We got a house, had kids, blah, blah, blah.

So why hadn't I been to my hometown in eighteen years? I have no real idea. An incident in Macedonia kind of stopped me from coming down, and what happened after it, but that was a feeble excuse. The truth is, like my father, I'm terrible at keeping in touch, but my wife had also fallen out with my parents when we moved away.

My mum especially was angry when her twenty-six-year-old son moved up to Scotland because of this girl. Sure, my parents came up to visit, begrudgingly, even more so when the grandkids came along, and so did my sister, but we never bothered going down. Terrible, I know. But now I was finally returning, and it was because an old friend of mine had passed away. It was death that brought me back. I suppose death and weddings do usually bring old acquaintances and family together for a brief while. Well, in truth, my friend didn't just pass away; he had killed himself.

He had recently split up with his partner, got drunk, and then stupidly went onto a train track and passed out. He was found the next morning, cut in half. When I found out that Brian had died, a friend I had known since my school days, I was down about it. When Brian's brother contacted me via Facebook and told me about the funeral details, my wife urged me to go and I couldn't say no. The wife and I hadn't been getting on for a while, and I decided to make the trip worthwhile. I booked two weeks off work and planned to spend some of the fortnight down Rugeley, staying at my parent's place, then maybe going somewhere else.

Once in the taxi, I gazed out of the window and began to spot places and reminisce, and was pleased that the driver never bothered his arse to make small talk.

The vehicle turned right at the junction and passed a nightclub. It used to be called The Colosseum and was a place I used to go to every Saturday night with my friends, Gavin, Stan and Ian.

The car went by The Grapes pub and I was in Milford, passing The Barley Mow after ten minutes on the road. I smiled when I passed Shugborough Hall, a place I visited on a school trip when I was at John Bamford Primary School, and then the vehicle hit the windy road that had woodland on either side.

It was a treacherous road that had claimed many lives over the years, and it was also a trip I had made for years when coming back from The Colosseum, in the early hours of Sunday morning. Most of the times we were driven back by a friend called Frank, and he was always DUI, as the Americans called it. I suppose, if you think about it, I was lucky to be alive.

I had now come to a stretch of road called Stafford Road. It was a couple of miles long, in the middle of the countryside, and a smile stretched over my face as the vehicle passed a pub called The Wolseley Arms. This was a place I had been to a couple of times. The last time I was there was when my wife, then girlfriend, and I went out for a meal. She ordered lasagne and I had a 'whale of a fish' and chips.

Once my silent driver was on the Rugeley Road, I faced forwards and tried to see how much I owed, according to the meter. I saw a roundabout up ahead and the driver began to slow. I asked him about the roundabout that wasn't there the last time I was here, and the bald overweight man growled that it was a bypass. The locals had been campaigning for years to make it more accessible for drivers to get to town and the industrial estate, and it also helped to reduce the traffic going into town.

I continued to gaze out of the windscreen from the back. And there it was. Something I hadn't seen in eighteen years. The sign.

Welcome to Rugeley.
Chapter Two

The first change I had noticed with my old town was that The Eaton Lodge Hotel wasn't there anymore. It had been knocked down and a pub/restaurant had been built and was called The Stag's Leap.

The taxi went along Western Springs Road and I looked to my left and noticed a housing scheme that wasn't there eighteen years ago. To my right was a place called the Springfields, a place where I had lived for a couple of years until our next door neighbour broke into our house whilst we were away in Durham, visiting my grandparents.

The taxi turned right onto Green Lane and I knew I was minutes away from my parent's house.

I told the driver to pull up just outside my old street, and paid the man, leaving him no tip. I stepped out of the vehicle, with the rucksack hanging off of my shoulder, and went up the steep road.

I opened the brown painted gate of 46 Park View Terrace and walked down and knocked the back door.

I gazed through the frosted glass and could see my mother approaching the door. Through the glass I could see that she was looking frail, still had her blonde hair, and was wearing large glasses that covered half of her face. She opened the door and shook her head. "What are you knocking for, Michael? This is your home."

"It used to be," I sighed, and then stepped inside.

My mother and I hugged briefly. It was a cold hug, a loveless hug. I put my rucksack on the kitchen floor and entered the living room.

The room was empty, and after I sat down I asked my mum where my father was.

"He's gone to the shops," she said from the kitchen. "You want a cup of tea or a coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

I looked around the living room and it looked unrecognisable, compared to the last time I was here. It must have been redecorated a dozen times over the eighteen years I had been away, I thought.

My mother was in her mid sixties, was thin, had bleached blonde hair and had recently given up cigarettes. At one stage, in the early nineties, everybody smoked in my family. Since the smoking ban came into place in Scotland 2003 and in England and Wales years after, people who I'd thought would never give up, had managed to do it. Those that struggled, resorted to the vapour pipes that seem to be everywhere as a substitute.

She came in with two hot mugs and passed me mine. There were two leather couches in the living room and she decided to sit on the opposite one to where I was sitting.

She looked over at me and gave me a thin smile. "And how's Daisy and the kids? I haven't been up for nearly a year."

"She's okay." The truth was that she didn't care about Daisy. She never liked her since we moved to Glasgow. In her eyes, this woman had taken her boy away. She loved the kids, obviously, but didn't see them very much. It was usually a yearly visit, but it was more than what I had managed.

"It's a shame it's taken a tragedy to bring you down here," she said with a moan.

Here we go, I thought. A fucking lecture.

She continued after taking a slurp of her hot beverage, "I know Daisy doesn't like me, but it wouldn't harm you to drive down with the kids, even if it's once a year. You don't really care about your family down here, though, do you? You get that from your dad."

"Yeah, well, _you_ married him," I said. "So you're gonna have to take some responsibility the way I've turned out."

She never verbally responded, but her face hardened and she took another noisy slurp of her drink. She asked, "How long are you gonna stay for?"

I smiled, knowing that she wasn't going to like the answer. "Two weeks," I said. "Maybe longer."

"Two weeks?" My mother leaned back and couldn't hide her disappointment. "I thought you were here just for the funeral."

"Don't worry," I laughed gently. "I was gonna try the Travelodge after the funeral, maybe stay at a friends. Maybe visit another place."

That was her cue to step in and say, 'Don't be silly. You can stay here as long as you want.' But it never happened.

"Why are you staying this long?" She asked me with a scowl on her face.

"I booked two weeks off work." I paused and took a drink of my coffee. I winced when I realised she had put sugar in it. "Fancied some time away from Glasgow."

"Are you and Daisy okay?"

"Not really," I moaned. I didn't see there was any point lying to the old dear. "It's nothing serious. We just need a break from each other. Besides, it's good for the kids not to hear any arguing for a couple of weeks."

"Oh." My mother tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and asked, "Is it that bad?"

"It's nothing to worry about." I shrugged it off. "Just one of those things."

She took another drink of her beverage and decided to change the subject. "Still can't believe what happened to Brian," she said. "I've known that boy since he was eleven or twelve."

"I know."

"Killing himself over some woman." She shook her head. "Silly boy."

Despite what my mum said, I had actually known Brian since I was nine or ten. I used to attend Pear Tree Primary School for a few years, but then my parents decided to move to the other side of town, meaning me and my sister had to change schools. We changed to John Bamford and Brian was one of the first people I had made friends with.

He had had quite a diverse life. He became a born again Christian when he was sixteen, was married by the time he was twenty, had an affair and divorced before he was thirty, and played in bands as a guitarist/singer. Something I had done in my early twenties. Now he was dead.

"He must have really liked her," I said. "He probably wasn't thinking straight. I heard he was drunk."

"Idiot, if you ask me. Putting his family through that."

I never responded to the, what I thought were, harsh words coming from the old dear. I'd only been in the house for half an hour and already I had had enough, so I decided to go for a walk.

I took another gulp of my drink and stood to my feet, prompting my mother to asks me where I was going.

I told her that I was going to put my bag in the spare room, my old room, and then go for a walk.

"Where?" She looked annoyed that already I was leaving the house.

"Anywhere." I hunched my shoulders. "Just need some air."

I took my bag and went upstairs. Once on the landing, I stopped and stared at all four doors that were closed. To my left was my old sister's room. I smile emerged on my face when a memory entered my head. When I was seventeen, I had a period where I was sleepwalking. My mum got up one night and caught me standing over my sister in her bedroom whilst she was sleeping, with my cock out, seconds away from pissing in her ear. She grabbed a hold of me and escorted me to the toilet.

Ahead of me was my parent's room, although it had been my room up until I was twenty. The door to my right was my old room and now a guest room, and the bathroom was to the far right. I walked into the guestroom and threw the bag on the double bed. I had a quick scan around, memories flooding back all at once, and left immediately, galloping down the stairs.

I walked through the living room and needed to go through the kitchen to get to the back door and go outside.

"Back in a bit," I said, before leaving.
Chapter Three

It felt good to be walking the streets of my old hometown. The weather was pretty good for October. The sun was out, and it was warm enough to be out without a coat. Any warmer and I would start to feel uncomfortable. I wasn't, and still not, a big fan of the sun, and whenever my family and I went away abroad, we would always pick October or April. This suited all, as this was when the kids' school holidays were and the weather was no higher than twenty to twenty two degrees. Even then, l would cover myself in factor fifty, be almost fully clothed, shades, and be sitting under a brolly by the pool, reading a book.

This behaviour always used to amuse my wife, and would tell me that it was a waste of time me going. I always used to tell her that I couldn't see the enjoyment in people lying down and burning their skin. I thought it was better than telling her that I could be a vampire.

I didn't look well kept when I headed to my old town centre. At the time I had a pair of blue jeans on that were creased and in dire need of a wash, a blue Everlast T-shirt, and had a pair of blue trainers that had dried in mud on the soles. My hair needed a cut and I had a Beatle/Noel Gallagher hairdo, pretty similar to what I had when I was eight, and at the age of forty-four I had a similar style. I also had a beard on my face, scattered in three different colours. It was mainly dark, but had visible ginger hairs as well as grey that were more predominant in the chin area.

I decided to go to the Pear Tree Estate where I had spent the first eight years of my life, before moving away, and re-live and resuscitate childhood memories. Instead of going along the Western Springs Road, I decided to cut through Fair Oak High School, my old secondary school, and over the field, passing through Hagley High. I noticed that there were new houses to the left and that Hagley also had a sports centre near it, which wasn't there eighteen years ago. With information from friends and family on Facebook, a lot of the changes didn't surprise me, but it was still weird to see them for real.

I passed through an estate, crossing Burnthill Lane, and had to cross a main road called Sandy Lane to enter the Pear Tree Estate. On the other side of Sandy Lane was a building called Lea Hall, which was a club that hosted events and had rooms to hire. At the left of the building was a bowling green and had tennis courts where Brian and I used to play. Two football fields were to the left of the courts. The last time I was here there was a play park at the side of the building, next to the car park, but it wasn't there anymore. It had been replaced by a medical centre.

After passing through Sankey Crescent and Hardie Avenue, I was on a long stretch of road called Queensway. The road went up an incline and I stopped walking once I reached flat ground.

I turned and looked at 50 Queensway, my old house. The place I stayed from 1973 to 1982. A smile stretched over my features and I could feel my throat hardening. If only those days could come back, I thought. I could start again.

I could name almost every kid that used to live in the houses that were around me, and decided to visit my old primary school. I went downhill and turned left down Hardie Avenue and made the long walk. I went by the social club and the small betting office that my dad used to take me to on a Saturday morning, and could see the play park to my left that was almost opposite Pear Tree Primary School, but I looked to the right, up ahead, but could see no school.

I reached the wiry fence that was still there, and could see the abandoned and overgrown field where I played football and took part in sports days, and felt saddened by what I could see. I looked where the school used to be and could only see flat concrete where it used to sit, but there was nothing, not even a single red brick left.

I clasped the wiry fence and stared over where the school used to be. The playground was still present, but it was just a slab of concrete.

I could feel myself getting emotional as the memories ambushed me, but my reminiscing came to a quick halt when a voice was heard from behind.

"Are you okay, son?"

I turned around and could see an old man, over the road, mid-seventies, standing behind his small gate in his front garden. A row of houses were situated across where the school used to be, and this particular man was in the second one from the left.

I nodded and asked him, "What happened to the school?" I don't know why I asked him this. It was obvious that it had been knocked down.

The old man was dressed in a black suit and had white hair that was slicked back and in dire need of a cut. "The School?"

"Yeah," I said. "Pear Tree Primary."

"Shit," the man guffawed. "Pear Tree Primary hasn't been there since... Twenty years nearly."

"Oh, right."

"It was known as Pear Tree Primary," the old man began. "Then it was redeveloped and renamed Chase High when Mr Jackson left. They knocked it down a few years ago."

"Mr Jackson," I said with a smile. "God, I remember him."

I could still see that old bastard, cane in hand, his green tweed jacket, stinking of tobacco from his pipe. He had an old face, like a bowl of porridge that had been left, and I'd never forget his thick brown rims on his spectacles.

"Mr Jackson " I said once more. "I wonder if..."

"He's still alive," the old man said. "He still drinks at Lea Hall."

"Jesus, he was old when _I_ was a kid." I screwed my face and scratched my head. "He must be at least..."

"He's ninety-one," the old man laughed.

I chuckled, shook my head, and said farewell to the old man. I walked a few yards, but stopped moving when I heard voices behind me. I turned around and could see two men walking towards me. They were about thirty yards away, and the old man spoke to me.

He said, "Keep walking, son. Those two are bad news."

"Who are they?"

"Scum, son. Bloody drug dealers." The old man walked away and headed back to his main door with hurried steps.

I decided to keep on walking. I had no idea who the two guys were, but didn't want to hang around and find out.

I picked up my pace and turned right onto Sankey Crescent, hoping the guys were going a different way. I knew they weren't following me, but I just wanted to get out of their way.

I was dying to turn around to see how close the two guys were, but I didn't want to start an avoidable 'what are you looking at?' confrontation.

I could feel my heart galloping and kept on telling myself to calm down, but my heart sped up even more when I heard a voice from behind me.

"Hey, pal!" the voice called out.

I gulped, stopped walking, and slowly turned around. The men were in their forties and I recognised them straightaway now they were up close. A man of average height was to my left, completely bald, and was dressed in casual clothes. I didn't know his real name, but he was known as Beefhead. He had been out with me and my pals a couple of times when we used to go to raves. He used to deal drugs, back in the nineties, and we used to take trips—LSD—and speed when we were there. It appeared that he was still into it, and his other pal, a skinny fellow, was called Steady. Again. I wasn't sure what his real name was. I think his surname was Steadman, but I'd always disliked him when I was a young man.

The Steady character always used to walk around, acting the hard man, but he was a tit, a fucking loser. He had got one of my sister's friends pregnant at sixteen, and had dumped the girl once he found out she was expecting. He also used to smoke cannabis in the town centre, but nobody said anything to him, because they were too scared to.

I recognised them, but they had no idea who I was. I was never a 'name' in my town, and wasn't a regular face and would rather avoid the town when out drinking. Plus, I had aged nearly twenty years, been away from the town, and was now sporting a beard.

"What's up, guys?" I finally asked.

The two men stood still, yards from me. The two of them were intimidating, but were gaunt, probably from years of drug taking.

Steady was the first to speak up. "What are you doing round these parts?"

"What?" I thought it was a bizarre question and nearly laughed at the cheek of the question.

"You fucking heard me," Steady snarled and took a step forwards.

"I used to be from around here," I began to explain, beginning to have thoughts of ripping Steady's throat out in front of his pal. Now, that would scare the fuck out of them. "What? Do I need permission to walk the streets from you two ... junkies?"

As soon as that last word left my mouth, I regretted it immediately.

"What did you fucking say?"

Beefhead began to pull Steady back and told him to calm down.

"You said you used to be around here," Beefhead began to speak up, a lot calmer than his tosser friend. "Where do you live now?"

"Glasgow."

Steady began to laugh and said, "You left our town to go to Jockland. Never been."

"They eat people like you alive up there." _And so do I these days_.

"People like me?" Steady grinded his teeth in anger.

"Plastic hard men, who are full of piss and wind."

Beefhead seemed relaxed, despite the insults coming from me, and once again he had to pull Steady back as he threw more profanities my way. I gazed at his throat and began to salivate. It had been five years since I had drunk human's blood, but killing Steady, or even both of them, in a residential area would have been ludicrous and a life prison sentence.

I turned around and decided to walk away. I had had enough.

"That's it!" Steady yelled from behind me. "You walk away, cunt! Piss off back to Scotland, you fucking turncoat! Next time I see you, I'll fucking stab you!"

The verbal abuse continued, but I chose to ignore it and sang a Beatle song in my head, Helter Skelter.

I turned around once I reached Sandy Lane and was relieved that Beefhead and Steady were nowhere to be seen. It was time to go back to my old house.

I had a funeral to attend in a matter of hours.
Chapter Four

I was a little nervous when I reached St Augustine's Church. It took me ten minutes to get there on foot, and I was dressed in a white shirt, black tie, trousers, and shoes that had seen better days. It was a humid day, so I didn't wear a jacket, which was just as well. I didn't have one.

I waited across the road and watched as everyone went in. As soon as the funeral car pulled up, I went inside and I recognised Brian's brother and his parents, but they didn't recognise me. I sat at the back of the church and kept my head lowered, trying to make little eye contact.

The ceremony lasted just under an hour. There was a trip to Stafford to take, which was where they were taking Brian's body to the crematorium, but I couldn't stomach two ceremonies, so I decided to stay in Rugeley and go for a few drinks. I kept my head lowered at the end of the service and was one of the last to leave the place. I had paid my respects; that was enough for me.

I stepped off the premises, loosened my black tie, and made a five-minute walk into the town centre. I went into a pub called The Shrew. Its old name was The Shrewsbury Arms, and was an old drinking place that used to be used by The Rugeley Poisoner himself, Dr William Palmer. This man was a serial killer back in the nineteenth century, and when convicted he was hanged at Stafford Gaol. When standing on the trap door he looked down and asked the executioner, "Is it safe?" Those were his last words. Even Charles Dickens called Palmer 'The greatest villain to ever stand in the Old Bailey.' Even the term 'What's your poison?' when offering somebody a drink, was a reference to Palmer's abhorrent behaviour. And I'm not making that up.

It was Friday afternoon and the pub was almost empty. I ordered a beer and picked a table to sit on my own. I was quite happy sitting in my own little world, playing with my phone, looking at a website that was called 'Sick One Liners.' My favourite being: _Burns victims tend to stick together_.

Suddenly, I heard a voice above me asking, "Michael? Michael Hood?"

I looked up and could see the huge figure of a face I hadn't seen since my primary school days, but I recognised him straightaway. His name was Alan Ham, a gentle giant, and sat opposite me without asking permission. He slammed his pint of Guinness down and a broad smile stretched across his face.

"Alan," I sighed. "It's been a while."

Alan Ham looked the same as he was when he was a minor. He had short fair hair, not a hair on his face, and had a permanent confused look on his features. He was a strange looking fellow, like someone looking at themselves in the back of a spoon.

"What're you doing in here?" he asked.

"Um..." I nodded to my pint and said cheekily, "Having a drink."

"But you haven't been to Rugeley in eighteen years."

"And how do you know that?" I took a sip from my beer, waiting for an answer from the big fellow.

"I spoke to Stan the other day," Alan said. "Two weekends ago, in fact."

"Slagging me off, was he?" I snickered.

Alan lowered his head and was silent for a few seconds, which told me that maybe Stan _was_ slagging me off. I suppose it was something I deserved. Apart from the occasional Facebook message or text, I never stayed in contact with Stan Johnson, Ian Downing and Gavin Strang. They were my three main buddies, and had been for years before I headed north. Brian was a friend, but he was somebody I used to pop in and see every now and again. He didn't really know Stan, Ian and Gavin that well.

"So how long are you staying for?" Alan asked, now clearly struggling to make conversation, but I wasn't helping matters by leaving long silences. I think Alan felt uncomfortable, but didn't want the embarrassment of having to get up and leave me alone.

"I have no idea." I decided to lie. I was planning on staying for a bit, and hopefully catch up with Stan, Ian and Gavin. I knew they still stayed in Rugeley, I just didn't know whereabouts.

I then did something that would have annoyed me. I grabbed my phone off of the table and went onto Facebook, checking in, letting people know where I was. I never do that, normally.

I put the phone back on the table and asked Alan, "So what have you been doing with yourself? You married? Kids?"

"God, no." Alan flushed a rose colour and took a large gulp of his dark alcoholic beverage. He wiped his mouth and said, "I'm not getting trapped by no woman."

I nodded and smiled, and kind of thought that maybe Alan had never been with a woman. I think just stroking a woman's breast would have made Alan cream his shorts. He seemed shy and was mortified when I brought up the subject of marriage and kids.

"I've been working in Morrisons," he began.

"Morrisons." I scratched my head. "Where's that?"

Alan chuckled. "Just round the corner from here, past Wilkos. It used to be Safeway, but Morrisons took them over."

"Oh right." I tried to stifle a yawn. The conversation was quickly heading into a monotonous period and, as cruel as this may sound, I just wanted Alan to fuck off and leave me alone.

My iPhone made a noise, telling me that I had a notification. Whether it was a Twitter or Facebook notification, I didn't know. It wasn't a text or an email, as my email notifications was the sound of a zombie growling. My text notification is the sound of Scooby Doo saying 'Scooby snacks, yeah.' followed by Scooby Doo's famous laugh. I picked the phone up and could see a comment under my check in. It was Stan. It said: _At long last. Don't you fucking move. On my way down._

"That's Stan on his way to the pub," I said to Alan. I looked at my watch to see it was nearly five. "Must be finishing work, wherever that is."

Alan cleared his throat and said, "I'll make myself scarce. You two probably got a lot to catch up on." Alan stood up and grabbed his pint.

"Okay, pal," I said, not even attempting to persuade Alan to stay where he was. "Catch up later, yeah?"

He nodded and walked away. He stood at the bar and had his back to me. I checked my phone and waited for Stan to make an appearance.

I didn't have to wait long.
Chapter Five

I bought my second pint of lager and was back at my table. The pub was beginning to fill up and with Friday night getting close, I estimated that the place would be 'jumping' by eight o'clock. Stan walked in. He looked around the place and gave me a nod once he recognised me, despite the beard, and then went to the bar for a drink.

Stan looked no different to the last time I saw him. He was tall, thin, although he looked like he was carrying a bit of a gut now, and still wore glasses. His hair had receded, and what he had left he gelled and spiked. The Stan I had known for years was always a grump, never stopped moaning, and I guessed correctly that he had probably gotten worse as the years went by. He was forty-one, and was twenty-three when I left back in July 2000.

He walked over and sat in the chair opposite me, where Alan Ham had been sitting.

"Stan." I nodded with a smile.

Stan put his pint of Guinness on a beer mat, and folded his arms.

"Well, Mick," Stan began with a sarcastic tone. "It's been a while. What's been happening to you over the last eighteen years?"

I hunched my shoulders. "You're on Facebook. You should know that I'm still with the missus. Got two kids. Had a bowel cancer scare."

"How did you get here?" Stan asked.

"Train."

"So you still can't drive?"

"I can drive," I said. "Passed my test in 2003. I came down on my own and the wife needed the car, so..." I realised that I was going off on a tangent. The last thing I wanted to do is bore an old friend to death about small things that he wouldn't be interested in. "What's been happening with you and the rest of the crew?"

"The rest of the _crew_?" Stan sat back and waited for me to ... I didn't know what he was waiting for? "You mean Ian and Gavin?"

"Of course."

"Well," Stan scratched the side of his head and began, "Ian's doing well for himself. He's a manager for a metal company in Stafford. Married a woman called Leanne, a wedding you were invited to but never showed up, and has two boys."

I smiled. It was as if it had only been weeks since we last met up, despite the fact that Stan looked older. I felt totally relaxed. Stan wasn't my oldest friend, but he was certainly my favourite. "And Gavin?"

"Still single," Stan laughed. "You know what he's like."

Stan was referring to my other old pal, Gavin Strang, also known as G String or Shagger.

"He's still shagging about," said Stan. "Still an angry prick and even more un-PC than he used to be. Still has a weight problem, unemployed, and sells hash now and again."

"Fuck's sake." I shook my head. "I thought he was working at that electrical company."

"That closed down sixteen years ago." Stan laughed and shook his head at me. "He's gone from one job to the next since then. Can't get a job, so now he sells hash to make a little money."

"And you're still in the mail room?"

Stan nodded and looked almost embarrassed about me bringing his job status up. He said, "And you're still stacking shelves in a supermarket."

There was more to it than that, but I decided not to cause an argument. "That's right," I said.

"Looks like Ian is the only one that's done alright out of the four of us."

I nodded gently and didn't know how to respond to such a statement. So I didn't. "You getting married?"

Stan took a sip from his Guinness and shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. Not in any rush, to tell you the truth. Neither one of us wants kids."

"How old is...?" I paused and tried to remember the name of his other half from his Facebook page.

"Krystal," Stan said with a smile, knowing I was struggling. "Her name's Krystal, she's thirty-three years old, has no kids, eight years younger than me, and she goes like a rocket."

"Okay," I laughed.

Stan's facial expression changed to a more sombre one. "She's a really nice girl."

"Good. I'm glad."

Stan took out his phone and began to use his thumb to touch letters or numbers. At first I thought he was texting someone, but he was phoning Ian, or Satellite, as we used to call him. We used to call him that because of his high forehead. He still had hair, last time I saw him, but knew now he was completely bald.

"Not answering," Stan huffed. "Probably still working." He told me then he was trying to ring Ian 'Satellite' Downing and decided to try Gavin.

"Shagger," Stan bellowed, once the call was answered. "How's it going?" There was a silence, and I nervously had a couple of gulps of my lager. Stan snickered, "Guess who's sitting next to me?" There was a pause. "Mr Hood himself." The conversation lasted another minute before Stan hung up.

"Right, drink up." Stan clapped his hands together.

"Drink up? Why?"

"We're going to Riley's."

"The snooker place?" I had no idea it was still there and asked, "Why?"

"Because Shagger's there." Stan smiled. "And Ian should be there in ten minutes. It's Friday night, baby. We'll have a couple of jars in Riley's, then hit the pubs in the town."

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"Come on, Mick," Stan fixed his glasses and gave me a hard glare. "We haven't seen you in twenty years."

"Eighteen," I corrected.

"We're getting pissed tonight. No arguments."
Chapter Six

It was no more than a five minute walk from The Shrew to Riley's. It was good to see some shops still present after all the years that had gone by, like the newsagents John Menzies and the sports shop John Warrilow, but Woolworths had been shut down and replaced, and the Kwik Save supermarket had been turned into a pub called The Glassworks.

We entered the double doors of Riley's and walked up a flight of steps to get to the entrance. I walked in and signed in as a guest and had a look around. It hadn't changed a bit.

There were two floors. The upper floor was where the bar was, and had over a dozen pool tables and bandit machines, or puggys as I called them. And at the end of the pool area were six steps that went down and led to a separate floor. It was a large space where twenty or so snooker tables were present. The people playing snooker seemed to take the game seriously and hardly a pint of beer could be seen. Most players were drinking soft drinks. But at the pool area, near the bar, there were mainly guys, playing pool and knocking back pints or bottles of beer. I could see Shagger in the corner, at the end table. He was playing on his own.

After having a few before, I already felt a little tipsy, but didn't knock Stan back when he asked if I wanted a bottle of Bud. With meeting up with Shagger for the first time in ages and Ian, or Satellite, on his way, I accepted the drink because I was still nervous meeting friends I hadn't seen in years.

"Right." Stan got the drinks and nodded over to the corner of the upper floor, over to Shagger. "Over there."

Stan passed me my bottle of beer and we both walked over to Gavin Strang, trying to avoid the elbows and the backs of cues from other players as they took their shot.

We both approached the table as the rotund Gavin took his shot without looking up. He potted a ball with a red stripe and then gazed up at me.

"Mick." He nodded at me, checking out my shirt and black tie, and sarcastically remarked, "How was the funeral? It's been a few weeks since I've seen you."

I smiled. "You could say that. What you been up to, Gav?"

Gavin was now aiming for another stripe, aiming for the middle pocket. He said, "Why don't you buy me a beer and I'll tell you."

I looked over and could see his bottle was almost empty.

I should have told him to fuck off and get his own drink, but like a sap, I said, "Okay."

I went back to the bar, a little confused, and thought that maybe he was pissed off with me for not keeping in touch. I ordered another drink from the bar and heard a voice behind me say, "I'll have the same."

I turned around and could see my oldest friend Ian Downing, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He made no hesitation and gave me a hug. It was a completely different greeting from what I received from Gavin, but Ian and I had known each other since we were four years old.

"How's it going, mate?" I asked him.

He broke away from the embrace and lost his smile quickly, slapping me on the shoulder. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Um..." I didn't have an answer for him.

"I got about three texts, two emails, and four Facebook messages off of you since you left," Ian began to rant. "You could have at least come down when we had our fortieth birthday bashes. I see you've got kids. Saw the photographs on line."

"You've got a couple of sprogs yourself, haven't you?"

Ian nodded, not offended that I referred to his two sons as sprogs, a slang word used in England for kids. "That's right." Ian began to pick his nose. Some things hadn't changed. He had always been a nose picker, even in public places. "I've got two boys. David's ten and Max is eight."

"And you're still with Leanne?"

"Of course," he said, almost defensively.

I looked over to the table where Gavin and Stan were. Both were looking over and patiently waiting for the pair of us to get a wriggle on, so we made our way back over to the pool table in the far corner.

Another hour had passed, more beers were consumed, and we talked about the past. Even Gavin was beginning to lighten up; he even arranged for the pair of us to meet up the following day as Ian and Stan had plans for Saturday. Ian was spending time with his kids and Stan was going shopping with Krystal, but all four of us promised to meet up on the Sunday afternoon for a few jars.

"One more round and then we'll go somewhere else," Stan suggested.

I was having such a good time and felt so relaxed. I was happy to stay in the snooker hall for the rest of the night, but it was almost costing us more to use the table than on beer. Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration.

"I think we should have one in here," Ian said, already slurring his words. "And then we should go into The Glassworks for a few, do you hear me?"

'Do you hear me?' was something Ian had always said since his teens, and would say it after a lot of his sentences. It was just a habit of his, and it brought a smile to my face when I heard it for the first time in nearly two decades.

We all agreed and then we all saw Gavin's eyes widen, staring across the room, his eyes almost as wide as plates.

I was the first to speak and asked Gavin, "You okay, Shagger?"

He shushed me and sat on a chair, lowering himself down, trying to stay out of view. But from whom?

I looked over to where Gavin was staring and saw two guys I hadn't seen in ages. They were known as Moon and Simmy, and were pals with Beefhead and Steady. I didn't, and still don't, know their real names. They were drug takers and spent a lot of their time going to raves in Stoke, taking ecstasy, speed and LSD. I spent a few years doing this myself, but these guys did it to an extreme level, as this was what they lived for.

For me, at the time, it was something to do at the weekend until I was back to work on the Monday. Me and some of the lads had taken Moon, Simmy, Beefhead and Steady to these places on a couple of occasions, simply because they needed a lift, but were the kind of people that would ignore you the next day if ever they saw you in town. I was certain that these guys wouldn't recognise me, but I had a feeling that they would recognise Gavin. In fact, I was certain they were in Riley's looking for him.

Moon and Simmy didn't look any different to the last time I saw them. They looked older, obviously, but they still dressed the same: T-shirt and trackies, and swaggered around as if they were something. Basically, they were a pair of sad retardos that hadn't done anything with their lives. I guessed correctly that they still took drugs. They were sad men in their forties, still acting like they were in their twenties.

Moon and Simmy scanned the area and quickly left, and this prompted Gavin to stand up and released a relieved breath out.

I turned to Gavin and asked, "What the fuck was that about?"

Ian and Stan looked at one another, as if they knew, but all three remained tight-lipped.

A little annoyed that they were keeping a secret from me, I huffed, "You know what? I don't give a fuck."

"What's up with you?" Gavin leaned against the wall, sipping on his bottle of beer. "You disappear for eighteen years and you want to know everything that's happening. You're not even a pal anymore, you're just a stranger."

"That's enough," Ian snapped, and put his arm around my shoulder. "We've all had too much to drink. Why don't we call it a night?"

"May as well," I snickered falsely and nodded in Gavin's direction. "The next pub we go to we might end up hiding in the toilets because of him."

Gavin was about to verbally respond, but Stan stepped in.

He said, "Right, I've had enough." He then looked at me and said, "See you Sunday?"

I nodded.

"We'll all go out for afternoon drinks," said Stan.

Everybody agreed.

As soon we reached outside, the fresh air knocked me for six and I felt like I had had another four drinks. I staggered a little, in fact, if I remember correctly, we were all ungainly on our feet.

I then heard the voice of a man coming out of The Glassworks pub. He was on his own and began to sing a song from The Beatles' Revolver album. After singing _I'm Only Sleeping_ very badly, he began to sing _For No One._ It amused me, and as he walked away from us I began to sing _Dr Robert_.

He turned around and had a huge smile on his face. We then both burst into song, singing, very badly once again, _Eleanor Rigby_ and _Taxman_. By the time I sang the opening line to _Tomorrow Never Knows_ , the drunken man had lost interest and disappeared around the corner, by the sports shop John Warrilow.

I turned to see that I was being glared at by my three old pals.

"What?" I laughed.

Stan and Gavin smiled, shaking their heads, whereas Ian put his arm around my shoulder as we walked, and said, "Even though it's temporary, it's good to have you back, Mick. It's good to have you back."
Chapter Seven

#### Saturday

It was Saturday morning and I looked at my phone to see that it was nearly 9am. I had received three emails during the night, a tweet from Stephen King, three FB notifications, and a text message from Gavin. I tried to remember coming back after Riley's.

Flashbacks occurred and I remembered that Gavin had drunkenly confessed that he smoked hash and occasionally sold the stuff to people he knew in the pubs. Sometimes he wouldn't have any money, so would take a block of hash from Moon, Steady, Simmy or Beefhead, and then pay them back once he had sold some of the hash or his giro had been cashed. But it didn't work out like that last month.

Apparently, he owed them two hundred pounds and didn't have the money to pay them back. It made sense why Gavin hid from Moon and Simmy, who showed up at the snooker place the previous night.

Now, over the years, one thing I can tell you is that myself and the other lads have never been fighters. Whenever trouble occurred in the town, back in the old days, we've always backed away from it. But let me tell you something ... Beefhead and co were hardly hard men themselves. In fact, they were/are pathetic. All four were all swagger and no balls, and bullied the younger guys that started drinking in the town's pubs to bolster their reputation. But somehow, they never seemed to be touched.

Maybe it was because they were known drug takers, occasional dealers. And people were scared, in case they knew people, much higher than them who would gladly sort out a predicament on their behalf.

Gavin owed the four guys two hundred quid. That's it! That in itself made me think that the four of them were nothing but wannabe gangsters who made shit money, didn't own a car, and lived from hand to mouth, unable to pay their paternity costs. Basically, they were a bit of a joke.

The night before, I had returned home and sat and watched a couple of hours of TV in my mum's living room, with my parents present, giving me disapproving looks. I decided I was too drunk to watch anything else, so I retired to the spare room and slept through to the morning.

I sat up in bed and tried to read the text from Gavin with blurry eyes. It said, _Up for breakfast?_ He had created the text seven minutes ago and I immediately replied with a _Yes_ followed by _Where?_

He replied back: _Sq meal cafe. 10_.

A smile emerged on my face. Square Meal Cafe. I hadn't been there in years, obviously, and couldn't believe a greasy spoon place like the Square Meal was still going. It was a place that did full English breakfasts and was situated on Horsefair, next to the Wetherspoons pub.

Despite the frosty beginning when we first met, I was glad that Gavin had texted me and arranged a meet. I was interested in his drunken ramblings from the night before, and I also wanted to know what had been happening in my town since my absence.

Within half an hour I had got dressed, brushed my teeth, and had exited the house. I sniffed in the air and was wearing a pair of black jeans and T-shirt on this humid day. I walked down the path that was to the front of my parents' house, and was on Green Lane in minutes. I gazed at the terraced brick houses to the right hand side of me, and was soon on Western Springs Road. I was now standing at the pelican crossing, the same crossing where a lollipop lady was killed in the eighties. She had been hit by a truck and her head was stuck in the axle and had taken her head off in front of a dozen schoolchildren waiting to cross. Fortunately, it was something that I never witnessed for myself; it was just something that I heard about back at school.

I walked into town, passing The Vine pub and Elmore Park, and reached Horsefair once I passed the bus station near the indoor market.

As I walked across the road, passing the shops and restaurants to my left, I looked over and had a look at the green door of 28 Horsefair. It was a place I lived with my girlfriend, now wife, when she first moved down from Scotland, and we both stayed there for just over a year. Once I passed the doors to the Wetherspoons pub, which was a cinema, back in the day, I walked into the café and could see that Gavin was already waiting for me. He was slurping on a hot beverage, sitting at the back of the café, staring out of the large window.

My phone buzzed as I walked in, and I took it out of my pocket and could see it was a text from the wife. _The kids miss you. Call them tonight_.

I replied, _Okay_ , and then sat opposite Gavin with my back to the window. As soon as I sat down, a young waitress came over with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, furiously chewing gum.

"What do you want?" she asked, forcing me to release a small chuckle because of her rudeness.

"What do I want?" I looked at the waitress.

Her badge told me that her name was Tracy. She had dark hair tied back, slim, but wouldn't have been my type if I were twenty years younger. Her neck was exposed, and I briefly thought about what it'd be like to bite into it, to suck the life out of her, but that thought quickly passed.

"Yeah. What do you want?" Tracy chewed her gum as if she was on speed and rolled her eyes, waiting for me to speak.

"I'll start with a white coffee," I said.

"You want it hot?" she asked with a straight face.

"Seriously?" I looked over at Gavin in disbelief, who was now laughing. It was obvious that he knew what she was like: About as much use as an ejector seat on a helicopter.

Tracy never responded to my short query, so I continued, "I'll also have a full English. Got any square sausages?"

"Square?" Tracy now looked at me if I had just stabbed her cat.

"Yeah," I said. "They do them in Scotland. I like them better than link sausages."

"We're not in Scotland," Tracy said with a straight face. "And even if we did squares sausages, it wouldn't be a full English then, would it?"

Gavin guffawed and took another slurp of his hot beverage.

"Just give me a full breakfast," I sighed.

"And you want your breakfast hot, like your coffee?" she said cheekily.

"Well, if it gets here cold," I locked eyes with Tracy, getting tired of her attitude. "You'll be fucking wearing it."

"Rude cunt," she huffed, and walked away into the kitchens. She then turned on her heels and shouted over to me. "You sure you want coffee? You sure you don't want an Irn-Bru instead?" She entered the kitchen to give them the order, not giving me any time to respond.

"Fuck's sake," I moaned and gazed over at Gavin. "Where did they get _her_ from?"

"She's been here for a few months," Gavin said. "She's fucking useless, but I like her. She's funny."

"Shit. I forgot to order for you."

"Already done it."

*

Ten minutes later and our breakfast had arrived. We ate, we drank our beverages, and once the inept Tracy had cleared the table, dropping a fork on the floor, we began to talk.

Gavin, or Shagger, as he was known, told me about going from one job to the next over two decades. He also talked about his sexual conquests and there were many, especially for a man like Gavin who was overweight, was going bald, and had no job. He confirmed that I hadn't been dreaming last night and that he did smoke hash and sometimes sold the stuff to make some cash.

"So you do owe Moon and his guys some money?" I asked him in a whisper, now that the café had more people arriving.

Gavin nodded and lowered his head. "Yup. Two hundred quid."

"I don't get it." I scratched my head, perplexed.

"What don't you get?" Gavin licked his bottom lip and wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"I thought they were drug takers, not dealers."

"I think they're a bit of both." Gavin looked at me and added, "Don't you remember, years ago, going to Beefhead's house on the Pear Tree and he had that bag of speed?"

I nodded. I did remember.

We were all going to Stoke, to a club called Shelly's, and Beefhead wanted a lift there, so he tagged along with us. We wanted some speed off of him and he threw us a bag that had thirty wraps in there and told us to help ourselves. He sold the rest to revellers in Shelly's car park that were about to go into the club.

"They're not the real dealers in this town anyway," Gavin said, and took a gulp from his mug.

"Oh? Who are?" I asked.

Gavin looked around the café and then said in a lowered tone, "The three main guys, the same guys where Beefhead, Simmy, Steady and Moon get their drugs from, are Dexter Gilchrist, Bernie Jones and David Cox."

"David Cox?" I leaned back in my chair and added, "Shit. I hung around with him when I was a kid on the Pear Tree. He lived on Queensway, same street as me."

"They sell everything. Cannabis, speed, ecstasy, trips and heroin."

"Heroin?"

Gavin nodded. "Had a kid OD in the park last month. Poor fucker died."

"So what's gonna happen when they finally catch you up?" I asked Gavin.

Gavin hunched his shoulders. "Dunno. I had the money, but I lost it on a bet."

"I can go to the bank right now and take out some money for you."

"No." Gavin shook his head. "It's my problem. Besides..."

Gavin's eyes widened and he gazed over my shoulder. I was unsure whether to look round or not. I moved my head slightly, and Gavin told me not to move a muscle.

I told him that I'd get the tab, but he stood up from the table, not responding to my offer, and walked out of the café.

Once I heard the door shut, I turned around and could see Moon and Simmy talking to Gavin.

"Oh, shit," I muttered.

A lot of finger pointing was going on from Moon and Simmy. Both were skinny and probably wouldn't stand a chance if Gavin lost his temper, especially the weight he had behind him, but he had a soft heart and wasn't wired up that way. It didn't matter how big you were. Some of the hardest people I've known have hardly been giants.

Gavin had his hands up and looked like he was begging this Moon fellow, whilst the dark haired and malnourished-looking Simmy was laughing at Gavin and enjoying the fact that the guy was intimidated.

"Cunts," I muttered under my breath.

I felt terrible. I should have got out of my seat, went outside, and calmed down the situation. But like everybody else in the café, I sat helplessly and watched. A couple in front of me gasped when Moon slapped Gavin across the face, and then the two thugs walked away and left Gavin on his own, rubbing his cheek.

Gavin returned to the café, shamefaced, and sat opposite me again.

"You okay?" I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked to be fighting back the tears.

"Let's just pay the bill and fuck off," said Gavin. He looked at me and a silence enveloped the pair of us for a few seconds.

"What is it?" I asked him. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry about your pal, Brian."

"You heard about that?"

"Of course. That's the whole reason why you came down, wasn't it?"

I refrained from responding and thought about the way Brian had died. And over a fucking girl, for fuck's sake!

Two minutes later, Gavin and I left the café and went our separate ways. We were all due to meet the next day, Sunday.
Chapter Eight

My belly was ready to burst with the amount of food I had eaten. I normally missed breakfast, and if I did have something, it'd be something light, like porridge oats or some bran.

I was about to walk home after Gavin and I parted company, but decided to try and walk some of the breakfast off. My thoughts went back to Gavin and wondered how a grown man could get himself in such a mess. It was two hundred pounds that he owed them, hardly a fortune, and getting slapped by Moon told me that these guys were hardly minted or the big time gangsters they wanted to be.

They were just a group of sad bastards that had wasted their body with drugs, but occasionally sold some to buy other accessories. None of them seemed to own a car and seemed to be dressed in casual clothes. Hardly gangster material. Just bullies that chose their victims carefully, been getting away with it, and hadn't had their comeuppance yet.

I headed into town and looked for the nearest cash point. There was one near a betting shop and I noticed there were two young guys, clearly bored, next to it. They looked like they were in their late teens, were wearing trackies and a big name T-shirt that they had probably stolen, and both young men had a Burberry cap on each head.

I walked by the two boys to get to the cash point, and before I managed to get my wallet out, I heard one of them say, "Look at that prick."

I knew the insult was directed at me, but I chose not to respond. I was shaking a little, with nerves and rage, and I took my money from the cash dispenser and walked by the two men to get back on the Horsefair road. Again, I heard the same voice say, "Look at that prick."

I was raging and had to bite my lip. I was never a fighter, but I began to envisage biting one of the guy's necks and sucking his blood, whilst the other twat looked on in horror. I know it may seem strange that a guy who thinks he's a vampire was happy to avoid confrontation. Wasn't vampires supposed to be strong, could regenerate and were hard to kill? It wasn't something I wanted to put to the test. I had been like this for many years and still didn't know what I was capable of, if I was capable of anything. I liked blood and wasn't a big fan of the sun ... that was all I knew. Maybe I wasn't a vampire. Maybe I have a condition.

Even if I had super strength, I couldn't possibly beat up two young men in front of dozens of shoppers that were passing by.

The old town, unusually, didn't have CCTV. I assumed that this was because the Cannock City Council didn't want to put their hand in their pocket, but there would be plenty of witnesses even if I booted one of them in the face and ran. Rugeley had a small police station, had two cells, two panda cars, and you hardly saw an officer on the beat.

No CCTV, no police. No wonder drugs were rife in this place that had a population of twelve thousand.

With my blood still simmering, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and noticed it was a text from Stan. He wanted to meet in Elmore Park. I text back telling him that I thought he was going shopping with Krystal, but he responded back by informing me that Krystal had decided to go to Hanley on her own to do some clothes shopping. I told him I'd be ten minutes.

I passed the bus station and entered the park that was situated opposite the market hall. Stan was sitting on one of the green wooden benches. He was sitting in front of the ice cream kiosk that was closed, and the park was fifty yards to his left.

I sat next to Stan and we both gazed out at the huge round pond that was in the middle of the park. The pond had an assortment of ducks and swans present, most in the water, but some were on the grassy bank, hoping for something to eat.

"Managed to get away with the shopping today?" I said.

"Yeah," Stan cackled. "It's mainly clothes shopping, not food shopping, so I thought _fuck that_. I'd rather drink a pint of piss than do that. I told her to take her mother. So she did."

"So what's Krystal like," I asked. "Good looking?"

" _I_ like her." Stan nodded. "Some may say she's a bit chunky, but she fucks like a porn star."

"Charming," I laughed. "I'm sure if she could hear you talking like this, she'd have your balls in a jar."

"Probably." Stan smiled. "She's a nice girl. Quiet."

"So she _doesn't_ go like a rocket?"

"She does now, but she was quiet in the first few months. But after a while she became a little firecracker."

"So she's not the type of girl to bend over and pull her knickers to one side?" I laughed, and then shook my head, realising what had come out of my mouth.

"No, she's definitely not the type of girl to stick her finger up your arse on the first date."

Both of us laughed like schoolchildren and once we had calmed down, I said, "So everything's cool?"

"Pretty much." Stan nodded and his face changed to a more morose look. He asked me, "So, do you think you and the wife are going to split up?"

I looked at Stan strangely and had no idea how he knew that my marriage was on the rocks.

"You mentioned it last night," Stan began to explain, noticing my baffled facial expression. "You probably don't remember."

"No. I was pretty wasted."

Stan sat back and put his arms across the bench. He looked up and closed his eyes, the sun bouncing off his blue-rimmed spectacles.

"And how are your kids?" he asked.

"Not bad."

"You don't give much away, do you, Mick? Some things don't change." Stan sighed and asked further, "How did we lose touch so easy?"

"I don't know." I rubbed my face, the sun beginning to annoy me.

"Eighteen fucking years."

"I know." I turned to Stan and asked, "How's your parents?"

"Okay. I see _your_ mum in the town, now and again. What else have you been up to?"

"In summary..." I began. "I went to a college in Paisley, then went to Uni for a year. Couldn't get a job, so I joined the prison service. Left after six months, and then got a job in a supermarket. Been there ever since. Had a bit of a scare a couple of years ago, but everything seems okay now."

"Scare?" Stan scratched at his spiky hair and asked, "What kind of scare?"

"Bowel cancer."

"Fuck. That's right, you mentioned that in The Shrew." I could feel Stan glaring at me, urging me to continue. "What happened?"

"Just stopped going to the toilet. Went to the GPs and he gave me a course of Laxido." I paused and felt a little uncomfortable as Stan continued to look at me. I cleared my throat and added, "I went to see a colon expert pretty quickly, thanks to my wife."

Stan scowled. "Thanks to your wife?"

"She's a sister in the Southern General Hospital in Glasgow. Well, it's not the Southern General now, it's called the Queen Elizabeth." I realised I was waffling and went back to the story. "After this guy checked me out and stuck a camera up my arse, I went for a blood test. Three weeks after that I had a CT scan, and the following month I was at Gartnavel Hospital and had a colonoscopy and endoscopy. Fucking brutal. Had to take Klean Prep the day before, which cleared you out, gave you the shits until you only passed water. The colonoscopy felt like I was being mounted by a moose, and the endoscopy was like being in Guantanamo Bay, or being forced to nosh off Ron Jeremy."

"And you were given the clear, right?"

I thinned my lips and nodded my head. "Yeah, but it was the worst three months of my fucking life. I've been obsessed with shitting ever since."

"What do you mean?" I could tell by Stan's face that he was unsure what I meant, so I elaborated.

I said, "Just having a good shit is always a relief once it's happened. In your younger days you just took it for granted. If I don't go after two days, I end up taking Senna."

"I never fail. Every morning for me. It's like a nest of snakes." Stan asked me, "Doesn't the Senna give you the shits?"

"Oh yeah. It's like bats fleeing a cave. As long as the chocolate hostages have been evacuated, I don't care in what form they escape."

The pair of us laughed at our childish humour, and it felt like we were back in our twenties and I had never been away. I had always got on better with Stan than the other lads, as we had the same stupid sense of humour. I liked Gavin and Ian, but if I had to pick a favourite out of the three...

I huffed and lowered my head. "I was thinking about Gavin's predicament."

"I know," Stan said, waggling his head. "He's an idiot for owing money to those pricks."

"He got a slap earlier, by that Moon guy. Me and Gavin had breakfast and they were there, Moon and that Simmy bloke."

"Shit." Stan shook his head. "That cunt's gonna have to watch his back."

"I had a run in with Steady and Beefhead the other day."

"You said." Stan reminded me, "You told us last night when you were pissed."

Stan and I chatted for another hour. We said our farewells and reminded one another that all four of us were going for afternoon drinks tomorrow afternoon.

I walked the half a mile back to my old home and couldn't stop thinking about the two dicks in town that referred to me as a prick. I imagined what it'd be like to knife the pair of them in the gut, to see their frightened faces and see the blood oozing out of their wounds, whilst I was licking it. "Who's a prick now, you pair of cunts?" I said aloud, then blushed when I realised I was getting carried away with the violent thoughts in my head.

The rest of the afternoon/evening was mundane, and I spent time reading the Freak ebook by Sarah Jones that I had bought from Amazon. I twisted my face when I began reading a scene involving a dog, and shook my head in disgust.

I then sat and watched TV with my parents. At seven, I phoned the kids and spoke to the wife, then decided to have an early night.

I had booked two weeks off work and was maybe planning to use the time to go elsewhere in the second week like Stratford-Upon-Avon, Warwick, or even somewhere in Wales, like Barmouth or Aberystwyth.

I fell asleep around ten, but my mind and dreams were plagued by the two Burberry cap-wearing mongoloids from the town centre.
Chapter Nine

#### Sunday

Where my parents live, there're not a lot of pubs in the area, unless you go into the town centre. The nearest one used to be The Moderation, a pub that had been going for nearly thirty years, but I was told by my father that they had turned it into a shop.

I decided to take a walk down there for myself, before heading into town and meeting the lads. Once I was in town, I went by a shop that used to be called Square One, a clothes shop, and saw a blonde woman, roughly the same age as me. She smiled and I smiled back, but neither one of us stopped to attempt a conversation. Her name was Leona, and when I was sixteen. I had a real crush on this girl, now woman. She was a friend of my cousins, but I never had the bottle to ask her out. She was now married and I heard, like me, had to rely on IVF for her first born.

I went by a shop that used to be called Videoworld, Dr William Palmer's old place, and took the half a dozen concrete steps up to the entrance of The Shrew pub.

I walked in, clocked that the lads were already present, sitting in the far corner, and got myself a pint of Stella. I went over to the table and nodded at Gavin, Stan and Ian. All of them were drinking bottles of Heineken. It was Sunday afternoon, so the pub wasn't very busy.

I sat down on the only stool that was left and realised that I had joined a conversation about football. They were talking about the state of the English game and the overblown fees and wages the players were given. We talked for about half an hour until Gavin gazed over at the barman. We all looked around and could see the barman texting and looking over to us.

Paranoid, Gavin stood up to leave, and all three of us asked where he was going.

"That fucker is letting somebody know I'm here," Gavin huffed. "I'm sure of it."

"You don't know that for sure," Stan cackled, "Sit down, you daft cunt."

"Yeah, just relax," said Ian, draining his bottle of beer.

"So what if he is?" This time I joined in. "You only saw that Moon guy this morning. He gave you another week to pay up, didn't he? If anything's said, tell them that we paid for your drinks."

"I know." Gavin nodded and sat back down. "But when he slapped me this morning, he did that because I owe him money and I was seen out last night, drinking. The slap was for spending money and for hiding from him."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Ian huffed. "I'm not letting those fucking losers intimidate _me_. We're not hard men, but if we could, we could take them. Do you hear me?"

"We probably could take them," said Stan. "But if we did give those cunts a doing, we would then have David Cox and his crew after us. I don't want that."

"We're staying where we are," said Ian, and I agreed. He continued, "They fucking swagger about the town like they own the place, but they're sad bastards!" Ian was getting animated and his voice was slightly raised. "They want respect, but how can you respect guys who don't work, bully others, and shag young girls, get them pregnant, and then abandon them!"

"This is ridiculous." I stood up and shook my head.

"And where are _you_ going?" Ian asked with a scowl on his face.

"Be back in a sec."

I left the pub and went to the nearest cash point, which was near a dry cleaning place. I took two hundred pounds out of the machine and returned to the pub.

I walked back over to the table and slapped the wad of cash on the wood.

"What's that?" Gavin asked. Stupid question, I know. He knew what it was. We _all_ knew what it was.

"Give them that money and be fucking done with it." I continued to rant, not giving Gavin a chance to respond, "I'll be going back home in a couple of weeks, and I don't wanna spend my time not being able to go here, there, or looking over my shoulder, just because you owe money to a couple of druggy bastards."

There was a silence after I had finished my little speech, and I could feel all eyes gazing at me. I then looked at their bottles and realised they were all empty.

I stood up straight and announced that I was going back to the bar to get a round in. Nobody responded.

I approached the empty bar and waited patiently as the barman had his back to me, putting empty glasses away.

I had a feeling he knew I was behind him, but I decided to bite my tongue. I could feel my blood boiling and looked in the mirror, gazing at how annoyed I was. Yes, that's right! I'm supposed to be a vampire, and I can see my reflection. I've been like this for eighteen years, and I'm also sure that I haven't aged, not that I'm saying I'm immortal.

I love garlic, and crucifixes don't bother me. As for regenerating from a wound, unless it's decapitation or a stake through the heart, I had no idea. I didn't want to risk stabbing myself and watching it heal. That could end up in disaster and a trip to the hospital.

Being like this doesn't come with an instruction manual, and I never had a mentor to guide me. Maybe if I live to a hundred, I could work out what I'm capable of, what are my strengths, my weaknesses. But who wants to live that long? I hoped that the lack of ageing was down to genetics and not vampirism. The thought of outliving my kids, and grandkids, saddened me. And how would I explain my lack of ageing when I reached my fifties or my sixties? Questions would be asked, and there was a good chance that I would have to disappear for good.

I continued to glare at the barman and envisaged killing him for his rudeness.

"Four beers, Davey!" a voice bellowed to my side.

The barman turned around and smiled at the presence that had just walked in.

The voice had come from Beefhead, behind him were Steady, Moon and Simmy.

"Well, well, well." Beefhead turned and smiled at me. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Yip," was all that I could muster.

"This guy was giving me and Steady some lip the other day," Beefhead began to explain to Moon and Simmy.

"Is that right?" Simmy laughed, then pointed at me. "He was hanging about with our friend Gavin this morning."

Steady looked over at the table where Ian, Stan and Gavin were sitting, then looked at me. "So you're all together?"

I never responded and tried to get the barman's attention. He had given Beefhead and co the four drinks, but never asked for any money. They took their bottles and took a slow walk over to our table, with me still at the bar, waiting to get served.

"What do you want?" the barman asked. He was lucky to be twenty, was tall, thin, and had black hair.

"Four bottles of Heineken."

He pulled the bottles out of the fridge, took off the caps and then slammed them on the bar.

"Twelve pounds ninety," he said.

"Twelve pounds ninety?" I queried, and scratched the side of my head, feigning confusion. "Wow, that's weird."

"What's weird?" The young man almost snarled at me, making me angry. I was nearly twenty-five years older than this prick; I wasn't going to be intimidated by him, regardless of who was in the pub.

"You gave those guys four drinks and didn't ask for a penny. Now, it's my turn to order four drinks and it cost twelve pounds ninety. Why is that? You're gonna have to explain that one to me, son, 'cause I'm a little confused here."

The young man gulped and snapped, "Do you want these drinks or not?"

I nodded and handed my cash over. The young man opened the till to get my change and I asked him who was the manager of The Shrew.

"I am," he said.

"Bollocks," I laughed, and held out my hand waiting for my change. "I wouldn't put you in charge of a fucking brush."

He never responded and now looked annoyed.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I'll find out, and then I'm gonna have to tell him what's going on in here."

The young man slapped the change in my hand, his cheeks flushed with anger.

"And have a glass of water for yourself," I said, before grabbing the four bottles and making my way over to the table where a conversation was taking place between Gavin and Beefhead. "I hope your next shite is a hedgehog."

I love that saying. I never heard of it until I went to live in Glasgow. Other favourites are: _pish, bawbag_ , and _away and bile yer heid._

Beefhead and his pals moved away by the time I got there, and it appeared that Gavin had given them the money owed, the money that I got from the bank. The four thugs sat in the opposite corner with their cold beers and began to roll joints. Steady yelled at the young barman to put some Bob Marley on the jukebox, and then sparked up the freshly made fat joint.

As _One Love_ blasted out from the pub's speakers, I noticed that Ian, Gavin and Stan were drinking their beer rather quickly.

"What're you doing?" I asked them. They never answered me, but I already knew why they were doing it. I added, "We're not leaving yet. We don't want these pricks thinking that we're scared of them."

Stan was the only one to verbally respond and said, "We just don't want any trouble, that's all."

"Look, I worked for the prison service for a brief while, back in 2003 and 2004. Only two weeks into the job, after the training, I was taken hostage by twelve lifers."

"Is there a point to this story of yours?" Gavin moaned, "Because once this beer is drained, we're moving on to Bo Jollys."

"After the ordeal was sorted out," I continued, "I was taken into the office by the supervisor, asking how I was. He then told me to go back on the wing and show the prisoners that the incident hadn't affected me. I did as I was told, and the officers and inmates seemed to respect me after that."

"So you want us to stay here?" Gavin asked, cracked his knuckles and began to scratch at his left ear. "Is that what you're saying?"

"You've given them the money, so what's the rush?" I then looked at Ian. "And what about your rant earlier? Changed your mind already?"

I took a swig from my beer and heard Stan groan, "For fuck's sake."

I asked him what was wrong, but he never answered and kept his head down, just like Ian and Gavin. My back was to the exit and even though I knew somebody had walked in, I decided not to turn around. I took a crafty look over to the table where Beefhead and the other three were, and could see them sitting up straight. Steady put out the joint, and then Bob Marley had been switched off, leaving the pub in silence.

I took another sup on my beer and could see a figure in the corner of my eye, approaching the table where Beefhead, Steady, Simmy and Moon were. I saw the back of the man talking to the four guys. He had brown curly hair, average height and build, but seemed to be verbally abusing Steady in particular.

I listened in, but could only hear snippets. It seemed that the man was owed money. Two minutes later, the man with the brown curly hair had left the pub and Beefhead and his pals didn't seem so jovial anymore.

I never asked anyone what was that all about, but Stan told me in a soft tone, "That was Dexter Gilchrist. He and Bernie Jones are David Cox's two main men ... his ... his associates, if you like."

I smiled and nodded over to the table where Beefhead was. "Not so cocky now, are they? Just a shame we couldn't get rid of the lot of them."

"Don't get involved," said Stan. "In fact, don't even joke about getting rid of them. If they overhear you..."

"What?" I laughed. "That Beefhead and his mob are just a couple of neds, a couple of chavs that are all mouth. And that Dexter guy and the rest are nothing compared to proper gangsters you get in places like Mexico, America, and even down in London."

"Just don't say anything and don't underestimate them like Brian did."

A long silence followed after Stan had stopped speaking, and I could see all three, especially Stan, looking uncomfortable.

I gulped and tried to make eye contact with any of the lads, which was proving difficult, and asked, "What are you talking about?"

Stan looked coy and knew he had said too much. He looked at Gavin and Ian for support, but both guys remained tight lipped.

"Not here," said Stan.

"Then where?" I asked.

"We were going to tell you," Ian began to speak. "But it's not something you should hear in a public place, do you hear me?"

"I think I've had enough." Gavin finished his beer and stood up to leave. "I'm going home."

"Me too," Ian agreed, and said to me, "See you later, Mick. We'll go out again."

Stan and I said goodbye to Gavin and Ian, and both guys left the pub without any verbal response from Beefhead and his boys.

"Another one?" I said.

"Yeah," Stan sighed. "But somewhere else. Bo Jollys."

Stan and I headed for the exit of the pub and could hear Steady shout out, "Bye, girls," as we left.
Chapter Ten

We arrived at a quiet Bo Jollys and I told Stan that I would get the drinks. I ordered two pints of Fosters from Gail the barmaid.

"Michael?" came a voice to the side of me. Not many people called me Michael, most people called me Mick. The voice continued, "Michael Hood?"

I turned and saw a familiar face. Her name was Chrissy Noles. She was the same age as me and I used to be in her class at Pear Tree Primary. Chrissy was from the Pear Tree Estate and used to live at Hislop Road, not far from myself.

We began to talk about the old days, the school, and the tyrannical headmaster Mr Jackson. Chrissy had short black hair and had a voluptuous figure. We had only been talking for a few minutes at the bar, but once I clocked the two pints still sitting on the bar, I remembered that Stan was with me. I looked over to see Stan sitting on his own, mouthing the words, "Hurry the fuck up."

I excused myself from Chrissy and went over to Stan, and she went back over to her obese friend.

"Forget you had a long lost pal waiting?" Stan cackled.

I placed the two pints on the table and apologised to Stan for my rudeness. "She was an old school friend."

"Really?" Stan had gone to a different primary school to me, plus he was a few years younger, so he didn't know Chrissy. "I think that bird wants to nosh you off."

"We were just talking," I laughed.

"Yeah?" Stan looked over my shoulder, gazing at Chrissy. "Well, her and her fat pal are looking over, and I'm guessing that she wants your pork sword to destroy her lady garden."

"Don't call her friend _fat_ ," I said to Stan, a little uncomfortable at what he said.

"Why? She is." Stan added, "Of course, fatties always have an excuse, don't they? I'm big boned; I have a thyroid problem. I eat too much cake. Oh, wait. No, you never hear them say that, do you?"

"That's enough."

"I mean..." Stan scratched his head and looked over at Chrissy's pal. "How do you take that from the back? You'd need a serious amount of talc to—"

"That's enough, Stan. Jesus," I said, looking around the place, clocking the jukebox attached to the wall and the pool table at the other end of the room. "This place has hardly changed." I decided to change the subject.

Stan never responded and his joking had died. Now he looked like a man who had something on his mind, something he wanted to say.

"Well," I said. "Spit it out."

"Spit it out?"

"About Brian."

Stan took a sip from his pint and glared at me. Once the pint was placed back on the beer mat, on the table, he had a look around the place. I don't know why he did this. The place was almost empty, apart from Chrissy, her pal, and two guys playing pool, and the barmaid present.

"There're rumours going about," Stan began.

"What kind of rumours?"

"We hear things when out drinking. One of our pals even heard a drunken David Cox himself talking about Brian."

Stan paused and looked uncomfortable, looking around the pub once more as if the place was bugged.

"Go on," I urged.

"Cox was pretty wasted, but the cunt was bragging about something, in front of people in The Crown pub."

"What're you talking about?"

"According to the rumours and stories we've heard..."

"Yes?"

Stan cleared his throat and glared at me with a steely look. "Brian never killed himself."

It took a while to sink in what Stan had just told me. I leaned back in my chair, looking down at my thighs in thought, and then reached for my pint. I took a drink and looked back up at Stan. I didn't say a word, and I could see Stan getting ready to speak once more.

"Of all the stories that are going around," Stan began. "The most common one is that Brian was annoyed with what was going on in the town, with the drugs and all, like you. He was out with his brother and was really drunk in The Shrew. He began to mouth off, yelling that he was going to go to the police and tell them everything that was going on. His brother had had enough and left Brian on his own. Cox, Gilchrist, and Bernie were present, and once Brian was outside they slapped him about a bit. Brian retaliated and punched David Cox, knocking him over."

"Shit," I moaned.

"Exactly." Stan nodded. "Brian walked away and Cox followed him. Bernie and Gilchrist went back into the pub and the next day Brian was dead."

"So how did Cox kill him, if he did?"

"The rumour is that David Cox had pretended to make up with a drunken Brian, minutes after the tussle. They talked and walked along Sandy Lane together, and took a short cut across the rail track. Cox then beat Brian until he was unconscious and then laid him on the track, making it look like a suicide."

"I thought he killed himself because he fell out with his girlfriend."

"Maybe Cox knew he had fallen out with his girlfriend as well, before he did him in. If he didn't, it was a hell of a coincidence."

"Wow." I puffed out my cheeks and added, "That's heavy shit, if it's the truth."

"I've said enough." Stan downed his pint and stood to leave. "I better get back. You coming?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"I'll give you a call sometime. Let this information sink in."

Stan left the pub and I was left at the table, alone.

Rugeley, like most towns, has always had problems with drugs. I'd be a hypocrite to slag anybody that took them, because in the early nineties I used to go to raves with pals, Stan being one of them, and took speed, trips, but never ecstasy. I was always too scared to take ecstasy. But twenty years on and the place had gotten worse.

Heroin was now flooding the town, people were overdosing, and now old friends, Brian at least, were getting killed. I lived in Glasgow, so I knew that violence was everywhere, but was saddened to hear what was happening in my little town. There was a major drug problem, a lot of younger people were leaving the town to get a decent job or an education, there was no police presence at all, and the town didn't even have a CCTV operation in places. It was a joke.

"Hello there," a voice said from behind me.

I turned around and could see Chrissy smiling at me.

"Hi," I said.

"You drinking alone?"

I nodded. "It seems that way."

Half an hour later, I was going back to her place.

*

It was a short walk to Chrissy's place and we talked about the people in our class and the teachers. She knew more than me, but I had left Pear Tree Primary when I was eight or nine and went to John Bamford, near Etching Hill. Chrissy lived in a flat, near a pub called Libby's, and as soon as she let herself into her flat and we were both inside, we were kissing.

Now, I know you see this type of thing in Hollywood movies, but it really was like that.

We were in her living room and taking our clothes off. I fell over onto her couch, when I tried to pull my trousers down. She helped to take my trousers and pants off and began to give me oral sex, whilst taking down her own bottom clothing. Talk about multi tasking!

After a couple of minutes of Chrissy down there, sucking on the old snot rocket, she came up and we began to kiss again. I kissed her neck and never once thought of biting into her. We were now both kneeling on the carpet, still kissing, and then Chrissy leaned on the couch, bent over, sticking her arse in the air. I stared, still kneeling, and she panted, "What are you waiting for?"

I knelt behind her and we began to have sex. I don't know why, but I seemed to be in a rush. Her arse looked amazing, and I was hypnotised, glaring at my muff marauder going in and out. I was thinking: _Oh shit_. _This isn't going to take long._

I watched hypnotically as my little vagina miner was going in and out, inbetween her fabulous arse cheeks, and when it got too much for me I pulled out. I made a bit of a mess of Chrissy and she was less than impressed.

"For fuck's sake!" she turned and began to moan, and not in a good way either.

"I'm sorry." I stood up and realised I had came all over her arse, and was now dripping on her carpet. "It's been a while," I tried to explain. "In fact, I haven't even touched myself for over a week. I usually use Dragon 6000. It's a delay spray."

"Enough talking." Chrissy stood up and staggered over to her bathroom to check herself out.

"Are you okay?" I called after her.

"For fuck's sake, Mick," she cussed. "My arse looks like a plasterer's radio."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"Just go. Please."

So I did. And what an uncomfortable walk _that_ was. I left her flat, and was still a little soused and was leaking into my pants. I was hoping that I wouldn't see Chrissy again, and then guilt began to plague me as I thought about my wife. We were going through a rough patch, and now, for the first time ever, I had cheated on her. It was possibly the worst sex Chrissy had experienced, but it still counted.

I spent the rest of the day in my old bedroom, back at my mother's house, feeling ashamed of myself.
Chapter Eleven

#### Monday

It took me ages to get off the night before—unlike when I was with Chrissy, LOL, but I managed to get to sleep around 1am and slept straight through to half past eight. I did the usual shit before leaving the house. I showered, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. Normally, when I woke up, I would get out of bed, crouch down, and then put my head inbetween my knees. Because that's how I roll.

Sorry. Bad joke, I know

The house was empty. It was a damp day and my dad had gone to work at Armitage Shanks and the old dear had gone to the Stag's Leap pub. She was semi-retired and had a cleaning job down there, four hours a day.

I decided to look my sister up. I had been in Rugeley for three days now and still hadn't visited her and my nephew and niece. I texted her, knowing she'd be at work, and told her that I'd see her tonight. My stomach was growling for food and I went downstairs to see what was in the cupboards. Fuck all.

I decided to try the café again.

It took me fifteen minutes to walk from Park View Terrace to the Square Meal Cafe on Horsefair. I was enjoying my time away from work and Glasgow, but I did miss the kids, and I was pretty sure I'd be bored by the time the next weekend arrived.

I walked into the empty café and took a seat at the exact table where Gavin and I sat two days ago.

I had barely taken off my black hooded jacket when young Tracy appeared with her pen and paper, noisily chewing gum and standing maybe a little too close to me, her left breast inches away from brushing against my shoulder.

"What is it today?" she asked me.

"Um ... I'll start with a coffee," I began and tried to joke, "I'll skip the full English and just go for scrambled eggs on toast. I'm trying to stay ripped for the remainder of the year."

I looked up and all I got from Tracy was a glazed look. She chewed her gum a few times and asked if I wanted anything else.

"No, thanks." I cleared my throat, feeling silly that she gave me no response from my witty remark—at least _I_ thought it was witty. "Just the coffee and scrambled eggs."

"Are you sure you want your eggs scrambled?" she asked, which I thought was a bizarre query.

"Yeah. Why?"

"It's easier for the chef to fry them than scramble them."

I scratched my ear and looked at Tracy, wondering if she was joking or not. It appeared that she wasn't.

"I'll stick with the eggs being scrambled," I said and sarcastically remarked, "Tell the chef that I apologise for the inconvenience, and tell him not to jizz in the eggs for me being such a pain in the arse."

"Will do," said Tracy, without cracking her face. She walked away and went into the kitchen to give the order, leaving me shaking my head in disbelief. No wonder the place was empty, I thought.

A few minutes later, Tracy had arrived with my coffee and I heard the sound of the main door opening. I looked up to see a face I recognised, but put my head down immediately. I wanted to have my breakfast in peace, once it had arrived, and didn't want to spend it with people like Alan Ham and talk about the old days that were never coming back.

The individual that walked in was a man called John Taft.

At school he was a bit of a bully. He would sometime spit on the back of smaller pupils, but he was good at football and the girls loved him. When I had left school I heard that Aston Villa Football Club had signed him to their youth academy and it looked like he was going to be an overpaid prima donna, like the rest of them. But one day he was hanging out with his pals and they were all drinking and taking turns on a dirt bike. John Taft had his turn and the drunken seventeen-year-old came off the bike, shattering his leg, and ending his career before it had started.

When I heard the news, I couldn't help but smile. Sorry if that sounds harsh, peeps, but at school he was a proper cunt, somebody I wouldn't piss on if he was on fire. I was certain that John Taft knew who I was, but he wisely chose to sit three tables down from me.

I kept my head down and jumped when Tracy slammed—no exaggeration there—my plate on the table. I looked at the plate and called Tracy back.

"What?" She was all attitude and she was beginning to get on my tits.

She stood with her left hand on her hip and leg slightly bent, still furiously chewing her gum like I used to when I was off my nut on speed at Shelley's or Kinetic nightclub, listening to The Music Maker or Carl Cox.

"Any chance I can get cutlery?" I asked her, noticing that there was nothing on the table. I noticed something sticking out of my scrambled egg and picked it up as Tracy was returning with a knife and fork. "Do I get charged extra for this piece of eggshell?"

"No," she said, with her usual not-giving-a-shit attitude. "That's on the house." And then she walked away with a rare smile on her face.

Cheeky bitch.

It didn't take long for me to polish off the toast and scrambled eggs and wished that I ordered a full English, despite finding a piece of eggshell in my scrambled eggs. Then I remembered how full I was two days ago and having to walk for a while to feel better.

The next two customers to walk into the café were a man and a woman. The woman looked rough, greasy hair and extremely underweight. I guessed that she was a prostitute, but we didn't get many of them in Rugeley.

The man was five-nine, had blonde hair, early thirties and had piercing blue eyes. I knew this because he gave me a steely stare before he sat down, so I lowered my head.

I drank my coffee and sat back, waiting for my food to go down. I pulled out my phone and messaged the lads on Facebook to see if they were available this week. I then called the wife and it took her a while to pick up. The conversation was short and I had a feeling that I was interrupting something. She seemed agitated. The kids were at school and were getting a week off, the same week I was away, but I was thinking about going back up early to surprise them.

I think I was pretty convinced that the marriage was dead. There was just nothing there. Unless you've been in that situation yourself, it's hard to explain. I just knew. It was dead.

I paid up and left the café, leaving John Taft and the couple inside. I stood outside and took in some air. I stretched and looked up to the ball of fire in the blue sky. It was a lovely day for October; in fact, the last few days had been glorious, but it was making my skin itch like a bastard.

I heard the door open behind me and heard a voice say, "I thought I recognised your face."

I turned around and smiled as John Taft approached me, although in my head I was screaming, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Micheal Hood, right?" he said with a beam across his features.

"And you're ... Tafty," I said.

"Fuck. I haven't been called Tafty for years."

"I nodded towards the café and said, "You didn't stay in there for long. What did you have? One cup of tea?"

John Taft looked behind him, had a glance through the large window of the café, and hunched his shoulders. "Wasn't keen on the company in there."

I went to look, but Tafty told me not to.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"You don't know who that guy is?"

I shook my head. "I've lived in Glasgow for eighteen years and this is my first time back. Is he bad news?"

"That guy in there is Bernie Jones." John Taft ran his fingers through his dark slimy hair, the exact same hairdo he had when he was at Fair Oak School.

"Who?"

"He's a dealer. Hangs around with David Cox and Dexter Gilchrist. I think they sell pretty much anything, mainly heroin."

"I've heard of him," I said with a single nod. "He doesn't look much to me."

"Don't be fooled by his size," Tafty said. "He's a fucking psycho. And I've heard that some druggies that owe him money have been punished by rape."

"That's bullshit," I laughed.

"I don't think it is."

Tafty then looked over his shoulder, gave me a quick nod, and then walked away from me.

I put my hands in my pockets and said farewell to John Taft, hoping I'd never see the prick again. I walked across Horsefair, onto the Western Springs Road, and headed to what used to be my home.
Chapter Twelve

It was nearly six o'clock and went up to my sister's for dinner. The only bad news was that mum and dad were also invited.

It was a pleasant evening. I managed to spend some time with my nephew Jacob who was four years old. My niece Melanie looked like a grown woman now and was nearly fourteen, but there was no sign of their dad, Paul.

Paul had been crestfallen since losing his dad and had started to take cocaine. Even at his dad's funeral he disappeared into the toilet for five minutes and returned with visible traces of coke on his nose, forcing my sister to walk him outside and clean him up. That was the last straw. She had decided to kick him out, and not before time.

On the last Boxing Day he never returned to the home, and the following morning police had come to my sister's door with sniffer dogs, searching the house. He had been arrested for possession and had to reveal where he lived, sparking an immediate search of the house. When my sister rang to tell me what had happened, I couldn't believe it. Not only was I flabbergasted that my brother-in-law was into drugs, but I didn't even know that Rugeley had a drugs task force. I found out later that because Rugeley Police Station didn't have the manpower or the equipment, the task forces had actually come from the Stafford branch.

This wasn't surprising as Rugeley Police Station, situated just outside the town centre, only had two cars in their car park and the station was the same size as a four bedroomed house. It wasn't big at all. And it certainly wasn't intimidating to have it so close to the town. Just fifty yards from the station was a Turkish kebab shop, where a lot of people from The Shrew would go to after a drinking session. I've seen many fights outside that kebab shop over the years, and saw no police presence and zero arrests. I assumed things hadn't got any better, possibly worse.

My sister was struggling with the costs of the mortgage and was willing to sell up and rent a place. She had been going out with a guy for three months called James and he told her that she and the kids could move in with him, but she politely refused. She thought it was too soon.

Melanie was upstairs, putting Jacob to bed, and my parents were in the kitchen, washing up. My sister said she was popping outside for a cigarette and I said to her that I would join her. But only to go outside. I hadn't smoked since 10th October 2004.

We went out the side door and she sparked up a Marlboro Light.

"I'm glad you came down," she said. "You should have _all_ come down."

"I know." I nodded. "To tell you the truth, we haven't been getting on great these days, and then I heard about Brian's death. I decided ... we _both_ decided that it'd be good for the both of us if I came here for a week or so."

My sister and wife were good pals. My sister and Paul used to come up to Glasgow for a break and stay at our house, but _we_ never did anything like that.

"I still can't believe you've never been down here in nearly twenty years," my sister sighed, sucking on her stick of poison.

"I know, but our parents hate her and _she_ doesn't like them. We couldn't stay at your place because of the lack of room, and the tension in our parents' house wouldn't have been enjoyable, even with the kids there. And I'm certainly not up for the idea of spending a hundred quid on petrol to get here, and then spend fifty quid a day in a Travelodge to stay in Rugeley. Besides, the kids still see them when they come up once a year. It was the same when we were kids, remember?"

"That's right." My sister nodded, sucking on the cigarette.

When we were kids, we only saw both sets of grandparents once a year. My parents were originally from County Durham, Wingate, and had moved in the late sixties to The Pear Tree Estate. There was no work in the northeast of England at the time, and my dad managed to get work at the local pit. The pit attracted many people from the UK in the sixties and my dad was one of them. In the end, my mum and her two sisters were living in Rugeley Town. And it all started with my Uncle Fred.

My uncle was a driver for a gang of crooks that robbed shops. One day they were all arrested. My uncle got ten years and, for reasons I don't know, was sent four hundred miles to Stafford Prison. My Aunt Ruby spent many months travelling and visiting him, sometimes taking her two sisters with her for company and staying at her friend's in Rugeley. As the months went by, all three were falling in love with the town and then when my uncle was released, he decided to make a fresh start and stay in Rugeley. He managed to get a job at the pit, and bought a cheap house on the estate.

Hearing about the jobs, my mum and dad moved down, buying a house in the same street as my Aunt Ruby and Uncle Fred. The remaining sister, my Aunt Sue, came down for a visit and met a man called Jimmy one night. They clicked straightaway and were married within three months and Sue had also moved down. Eventually, all three sisters were living on the Pear Tree, and every one of their husbands were working for Lea Hall Colliery, until they lost their jobs in the eighties during the Thatcher years.

So, thanks to my Uncle Fred I was a Rugeley resident, not from County Durham with a northeast accent.

My sister had finished her cigarette and we were both ready to go back inside.

"How long are you staying for?" she asked me.

"Dunno." I shook my head. "To tell you the truth, now that I've met up and had a night out with the lads, I'm ready to go elsewhere. Maybe I'll go to Wales for a few days."

"Why don't you stay until the weekend? Spend some time with your sis."

"Okay." I nodded. "But after that... Don't know what I'm gonna do. Gonna have to think of something. Heard much from Paul?"

"He pops up now and again," she said with a smile.

"Still doing drugs?"

She nodded.

"And where does he get the drugs from?"

"David Cox," she said with zero hesitation.

I shook my head and said, "Fucking idiot. Cox is a maniac."

"True, but he only hurts people that disrespects him or owes him money."

"Oh, that's alright then," I laughed, slightly mocking my sister's remark. "Brian never owed money, and now he's dead, probably killed by that prick."

My sister tucked in her lips and lowered her head. "You've heard the rumours then?"

"Someone should tip off the police, let them know what's been happening."

"And do you think the police will conduct a massive investigation because of a rumour? Maybe they'll investigate the death of Jason Barnes as well."

"Who?"

"A guy I used to go to school with. Was found dead last month from a heroin overdose. His flat mate, John Sims woke up and found him dead. I found out that John is now hepatitis B ... or C, I can't remember."

"What are you guys talking about?" my father said, popping his head out of the door.

"Nothing," said my sister. "We're just about to come back inside."

We both stepped back into the kitchen, and an hour later I stepped in my dad's Skoda and we went back to Park View Terrace.

I had no idea what to do with myself the next day. Maybe I'll go for a haircut, I thought.
Chapter Thirteen

I was on my way to Stars barbers that was situated near the road that passed by Elmore Park, and felt a little cramp in my left calf. I looked through the park at around ten in the morning and then realised something. I'd known Stan and Gavin since I was eighteen, and Ian most of my life, but now I had no idea where they lived.

My cramp began to wane once I passed The Vine pub and walked adjacent to Elmore Park. I crossed the main road and turned left to get to the barbers that was only a two-minute walk away.

I looked up and could see a bald man ahead, average height and thin. He was dressed in a ridiculous long coat and looked like a right tosser. It was Beefhead. This time the guy was on his own.

He turned around and smiled once he saw me.

"We need to stop meeting like this," he said, opening his arms out.

"Yes, we really do," I responded without cracking a smile.

Jesus Christ, I thought. I couldn't even take a walk to the barbers without one of those annoying pricks turning up. I tried not to let it bother me. I knew in a weeks' time that I wouldn't be here, and Ian, Stan and Gavin had told me they seldom go into the town during the day or night.

"When are you going back to Sweaty Sock Land?"

"What's it gotta do with you?" I said, surprised with my bravado.

"Consider yourself a Jock now, do you? How long have you been there? Nearly twenty years?"

How did he know, I thought. Was it something I had mentioned when I first bumped into Beefhead and Steady? I couldn't remember.

I laughed, "You see, it's little Englanders like you that give the rest of us a bad name up north with that attitude."

"So, do you think you're a hard man because I'm on my own, is that it?" Beefhead stepped forwards and put his hands in the pockets of his daft-looking silver jacket. For a second I thought he was about to pull out a blade and immediately regretted being cheeky to him.

"Anything else you wanna get off your chest?" Beefhead said.

I stood still and struggled for words, forcing a smile from Beefhead. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I'm going for a haircut," I said, making Beefhead laugh out loud, and you know what? I don't blame him.

Of all the responses ... _that_ was all I could muster. Right at that moment, I felt like a right twonk and my face flushed, making the moment even more excruciating. That was my 'I carried a watermelon' moment. Dirty Dancing fans will know what I'm talking about by that.

I walked by Beefhead and made the short walk into the empty barbers. Two guys, in their fifties, both sporting grey moustaches like the Chuckle Brothers, were standing and waiting for a customer.

Once I sat down, I asked for a short back and sides, and lowered my head slightly as one of the Chuckle Brothers went to work on my hair. It had been a while since I had been in a barbers, as the wife used to cut my hair. She was no hairdresser, but she said it'd save money in the long run if she did it herself. And yet she was quite happy to go to her local hairdressers once a month and pay thirty to forty pounds for a cut and blow dry. Forty pounds! For that amount of money I'd be wanting a cut and blowjob!

Once the man was finished, he began to brush me down and I noticed some movement in the corner of my eye. I took a quick peep and could see Beefhead and now Steady looking through the window, trying to intimidate me.

"Scum, aren't they?" The guy remarked.

"Sorry?"

"Drug taking, dealing scum," he snapped.

"Oh, I don't know them that well," I said.

"Well, you should stay clear from them. They're bad news."

"Oh?"

"A couple of months back," the man began. "One of those bastards, I think they call him Moon, was reported for hanging outside Hagley Park High School. Selling drugs to minors."

"I've heard that they take a lot of drugs." I decided to play dumb and added, "They keep some behind, cut it, and sell the rest. The main dealers in this town are—"

"David Cox and two others," the barber interrupted. "I know that. But you wouldn't see Cox hanging outside the school gates. And there's that other fellow, the one that got a sixteen-year-old pregnant."

"Steady," I said, and began to chuckle. "That baby of his is probably a young man or woman now."

"I don't think he's had anything to do with it."

"Probably done the kid a favour," I laughed, and stood up once he removed the gown from my front. I looked over and could see all four of the twats there now. Moon, Simmy, Beefhead and Steady. I remained standing as the man brushed me down and gave him twenty pounds and told him to keep the change. He thanked me and looked over at the four faces of Steady, Simmy, Beefhead and Moon, who were still looking in and childishly pulling faces.

"Fucking arseholes," the man snapped.

"I think they're waiting for me," I said.

"You gonna be okay? I was gonna ask if you wanted me to call the police, but there'd be no point in this town." The barber placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "You can stay in here, if you want, until they get bored and go away."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. I used to be an officer in a wing of eighty cons, so I'm not gonna be intimidated by four losers."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No." I took my black hood from the hook and put the thin black fleece jacket on.

"Wait a minute," the man said, and went behind the counter where he sold accessories like tobacco, razors, cologne, as well as other things. At this point the other guy began to sweep up some of my hair from the floor, and the other fellow returned and looked over his shoulder to see that the four guys were now looking away and Moon and Steady were play fighting.

"Men in their forties, still thinking they're in their twenties," the man moaned. "Here. He handed me a metal object and I took it with my right hand and inspected the open razor. I looked up at the man with astonishment.

"Just in case you get any bother when you go outside," the man said and winked at me. "Don't be seen if you have to do it. And if it goes tits up, keep your mouth shut, 'cause I'll just say that you stole it from behind the counter." He laughed after finishing his sentence, but I knew he was being serious.

I nodded, put it into my pocket, and began to leave the place, nervous for what was about to greet me outside. I stepped outside, where the four guys were hanging about, expecting to be verbally abused and intimidated. I wasn't to be disappointed.

It was ironic what was happening. I lived in Glasgow for eighteen years, and now I was back in Rugeley I had a cutthroat razor in my pocket for the first time. I decided not to go straight home if they were still following me. I didn't want them to know where my mum stayed.

I walked home and they followed.

The first few minutes were silent and the four guys seemed to be happy just to dawdle behind me. I slipped my hand in my pocket, feeling the cold handle of the razor and kept my hand on it. Then the verbal abuse began.

"Apparently we're not good enough for this guy," the voice of Beefhead said. "Would rather live in Scotland. He was even trying to act like a hard Scotsman a few minutes ago."

I wanted to respond, but decided that it'd be for the best if I said nothing at all. Then a different voice came from behind, but I couldn't make out if it was Simmy or Moon. I didn't know the guys that well.

"Yeah," the voice began, "maybe we should stab the cunt. Teach the fucker a lesson."

I wasn't actually sure if any of these guys carried weapons. They were just druggies that picked on weaker people to inflate their own pathetic ego. I could imagine David Cox and his crew being tooled up, but these jokers...

I decided not to put it to the test. If I pulled out the open razor and they responded by pulling out a blade each, it would be a rather tricky situation. Even if they weren't carrying, razor or no razor, four guys would be able to overpower me if I decided to attack. I didn't want to take the risk. I didn't want to do it anyway, and I certainly didn't want a stabbing or a kicking from these four pricks.

I then heard the voice of Steady. I think I hated him the most. His swagger and his potty mouth was laughable. Although I was not a street fighting man, I was certain that if you put me and him in a room, I'd be able to waste him.

Steady began his pathetic tirade, trying to show off in front of his other three loser pals.

"Maybe I'll just do the cunt now," he said, and for a few seconds I envisaged a knife in my back, but refused to turn around. They were shitebags and I remembered how they behaved when Dexter entered The Shrew pub when I was there with my mates. They were like scared children.

"In fact," Steady continued. "Give me your knife, Moon. I'm gonna stab the bastard right now."

This made me nervous and wasn't sure either guy possessed a blade. But guess what? _I_ fucking did.

I heard one of them clear their throat behind me, as if they were about to spit. I guessed correctly that it was Steady, and felt something hit the back of my head, followed by laughing from the guys behind me.

I had no idea what came over me. I was never a fighter. Even though I did a couple of years training for Muay Thai and had a few fights at Perry Bar in Brum, I had never been a person that would hit somebody first.

But on this occasion I did. I felt the back of my hair and winced when I felt the sticky wetness. Consumed by rage, I turned around and punched the first face my eyes clocked.

I struck the culprit, Steady, and caught him sweet on the jaw. I took a step back and raised my fists, as if I knew what I was doing and watched as Steady collapsed to the ground. I really felt like tearing through his throat, but I didn't want to give a guy like Steady a longer life that he could imagine and make him turn. I didn't want to kill him and spend time in jail either. It was the middle of the day, and I was sure that killing someone in the daytime, even in a small town like Rugeley that had zero CCTV coverage, would still be a bad idea. But just imagine how glorious it would look if I had bitten into his throat and began slurping on his blood in front of Beefhead, Simmy and Moon. Their faces would be a picture, and all three would probably piss their pants.

My confidence was sky high and now Moon took a step forwards, and I said, "Ready when you are, son."

Steady was on the floor, moaning, being comforted by Simmy, and Beefhead was dragging Moon back and telling him to leave it and that they'd get me when I wasn't expecting it. Four of them to 'get me' when I wasn't expecting it. That just about sums up the kind of people that they were. Pathetic! These guys were in their forties and they still hadn't grown up. I wasn't sure that any of these guys had spent a stint in jail. I think Moon was put inside for a few months in his twenties, for possession, but apart from that the rest were just dicks.

David Cox has been in jail when he was younger. I remember hearing about it when I was in my twenties. He had been done for assault, and it wasn't his first offence either. I didn't know about the Bernie character or Dexter, and knew that in a few days' time I'd be leaving for elsewhere, leaving this scum to rot in their little town.

The guys began to back off, and I turned around, unclenching my fists. Some weak threats came from the guys, but I laughed it off. I had just knocked Steady out. I'd been wanting to do that for over twenty years. In fact, most males around my age had probably wanted to do that for over twenty years.

A smile emerged on my face as I cut through the alley that bypassed The Red Rose Theatre, where I had played a few times when I was in my band. I reached Taylors Lane and was now only ten minutes from my mother's home. I was still smiling when I kept on replaying in my head Steady falling on his arse, but the smile soon went when I thought about the repercussions and the realisation that I was still walking the streets with spit in my hair. I wanted to go back into town before I left. I didn't want these lot to think I was scared of them. I was too pigheaded not to go back into town, and I decided to keep this little story from the lads.

I was sure nothing would happen.
Chapter Fourteen

Ten minutes had passed and my body was still shaking with rage? adrenaline? fear? Whatever it was, I was shaking like a fat person in the Cadbury's factory.

I decided to pass my mum's home and kept on walking, trying to burn some of this adrenaline off. (Not sure whether that makes sense or not).

Anyway, I went by Park View Terrace and continued to walk along Green Lane. I then went down the incline of the long main road and passed the park and the football fields to the left of me, and the shop that used to be The Moderation pub to my left.

I turned right and decided to go through my old estate. The estate was called The Springfields or Springies, as people called it, and was supposed to be a rough estate like the Pear Tree. But to be honest, compared to other place in the UK like Croxteth, Mosside or Brixton, it was like a holiday camp. I had spent two to three years of my life living on The Springies. I was around eleven when I moved there and it was my third house. I lived on the Pear Tree from birth until I was eight or nine, and then moved to a street off Green Lane called Sharnbrook Drive. My parents then hit hard times and we had to move and went to The Springies in a street called Aneurin Bevan Place, apparently named after a former UK Prime Minister.

After a few years, we went to visit my grandparents in County Durham and my neighbour and his friends decided to rob us. On the first day, they broke in and emptied the gas and electric meters. Then they took the spare key and let themselves in the next day and took the household equipment like stereos, TVs, that kind of shit. Then we moved again, to Park View, and had been there ever since.

I went by the Springfields Primary School and headed towards my old street. I walked by my old house and became emotional. I wasn't really a nostalgic kind of guy, but on this day tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about my two or three years at the place.

I continued to walk and could see a gang of youths up ahead. I don't know how old they were. They looked no older than fifteen, and it was clear they were dogging school. There were six of them, and they all looked like they were up to no good, laughing and sneering at most people that went by them.

I became a little nervous all of a sudden and was angry with myself for this. Nervous? Because of a bunch of school kids? I grabbed my hood and threw it over my head as I neared the crowd. It was a silly thing to do, but I took out my open razor but ironically kept it closed. I held it in my right hand with my fingertips, showing the six boys that I had one.

I went by the crowd and knew that they all had spotted what I was carrying. I could see that three of the six lads were glaring at me, but the other three had their heads lowered. All three guys lost their smiles, and the three looking at me gave me a respectful nod of the head. I responded with a thin smile and felt a wave of adrenaline rushing through my frame. I turned and went into a street, out of view from the six boys, and put the blade back into my pocket.

What a feeling that was! I felt an enormous sense of power walking by that gang and I know that to some readers this will sound pathetic, but it was how I felt at the time.

Yes, it was just a bunch of minors. And yes, it wasn't as if I was walking around carrying a Glock 17, but it still felt good.

I exited the street, and once my adrenaline began to wane I began to think rationally and began to question myself.

"What was I thinking?" I muttered to myself.

I then began to wonder what would have happened if the boys had reacted differently, and if they tried to confront me. What would have happened? If I slashed any of them, I'd be sent down for harming a person or persons under the age of eighteen. I couldn't have done that. So running away from six boys would have to be the only answer. And Christ, how embarrassing would that have been? And if they caught up with me? Beaten up by a bunch of school kids?

I shook my head at my behaviour, at my Travis Bickle moment, and promised myself not to do anything so stupid again. Unfortunately, in the next couple of days, I managed to break that promise.

I decided to head back to Park View Terrace for a lie down. On the way back to the house, Stan had texted me, and asked if I was up for a couple of drinks with the lads in The Vine Inn the next night.

What else was I going to do with my time?
Chapter Fifteen

#### Wednesday

I spent most of my Wednesday lying on my bed, thinking about the incident with Steady and the gang of youths on the Springfields Estate. It had been an adventurous Tuesday for me. I texted the wife to see how she was. To be honest, I wasn't really missing her, and I'm sure she wasn't missing me, but I texted her anyway.

I did miss the kids. I knew they'd be at school and there was a good chance that the wife was off because she usually only worked two days a week. She would normally work the weekends, because it was better money and we wouldn't need to rely on childminders, as I worked Monday to Friday.

She never texted back and I began to flick through my kindle app and picked a book to read. I'd only managed four chapters of the Laymon book and decided to go for a nap in the afternoon. I was bored and ready to go to a more interesting destination like Warwick or Stratford-Upon-Avon, or just go home and try and sort out my marriage. I thought about going back and looking for a place of my own, but we hadn't got round to the subject of me moving out yet, but I didn't think it was far away. I think when you have a husband and he works all week and you only see him for three or four hours a night, and even that's enough to get on your nerves, then it's time to call it a day.

*

It was seven o'clock, and I was the first to arrive at the pub. I ordered myself a pint of Kronenberg and found myself a table in the small lounge area. In truth, I was the only person there.

The other three guys turned up once I was on my second pint, and all sat down with their bottles of beer. Ian announced that he was only staying for a couple, because he hadn't had his dinner yet, plus he had a meeting in the morning. Fair enough, I thought. Gavin looked sheepish and didn't say much, but Stan talked about Krystal, his piss poor paid job, and how he and Krystal wanted to have a baby.

Stan then continued to moan about his work and had informed us that he was in the early stages of setting up his own decorating business. He proudly pulled out a few business cards and passed us all one. I looked at it, gave off the impression that I was impressed, and then slipped it into my black hooded jacket pocket.

"When are you going back up north?" Ian asked me.

It was kind of strange. I know it's already been mentioned, but out of three of them, I got on with Stan the best. We had the same stupid sense of humour, and we 'spoke' more frequent on Facebook than I did with the others, but I'd known Ian for most of my life.

I was with Ian when I had met the wife on holiday in Turkey, Marmaris. He had met a Scottish girl from Cumbernauld in the second week, and I met a girl from Cardonald, who became my wife three years later. I met her at the pool and we clicked on the last night of the holiday. Ian's relationship didn't work out, because neither one of them wanted to move. My wife moved down for a year and a half, couldn't settle, so I decided to give it a go. Eighteen years later and I still lived in Glasgow.

I finally answered Ian's question and said, "Probably Sunday."

I didn't tell them that Glasgow may not be my destination and that I was thinking about going elsewhere. I couldn't be bothered to go into detail about my marriage problems. According to Stan, I'd already blurted it out that my marriage was heading for the shitter when I was pissed on the first night, but I didn't want to bring the subject up again. I hadn't booked tickets for anywhere. I was just going to turn up at Stafford Train Station and see what destination I fancied or what tickets were available.

We talked about the past and things that I got up to when I was drunk. I was a bit of a head-case when I was young and out with the lads, and did some things that were blatantly stupid. We all laughed about when we came out of Lea Hall's club on Sandy Lane, all of us drunk, and walked by some houses. We heard a dog behind one of the fences, a Yorkshire terrier, and I drunkenly decided to jump over the fence and tried to fight the dog, but Stan and Ian decided to keep on walking, desperate to get home.

Suddenly, the main door to the house opened and two men stepped out. I ran at the fence, the fence toppled over, and then I got to my feet and ran. Passing Stan and Ian, I murmured to the two guys, "Just going for a run," and then the two men gave chase and also went by Stan and Ian.

To this day I still don't know what happened. I know that I ran across the Hagley field to get home, because I remember falling over on the grass and my shoes were also covered in mud when I woke up the next morning. I just wasn't sure if I had managed to outrun the guys, or if they had caught up with me. If they _had_ caught up with me, I don't remember it and they didn't beat me, because I felt fine in the morning.

We also reminisced about going to a nightclub in Cannock called Maimies, and me asking Frank, a brief pal, for the keys to his car. I had met a girl in the club and we went outside and she gave me oral sex in the back of Frank's car, followed by drunken sex afterwards. I looked at my right knuckle on my hand, and this took me back to another night where I had punched a metal hand dryer in the toilets of the Colosseum nightclub in Stafford. Then the talk went down a darker road.

Gavin talked about his brother who had passed many years ago after being hit by a car, and we could all see he was filling up. Then I blurted something out.

"We need to do something about the dealers in this town."

Stan, Ian and Gavin sat in silence, frowns on their faces, and then all looked at me. All three burst into hysterics and Gavin, who was sitting next to me, playfully punched me on the arm.

"Nice one, Mick," he cackled. "What are you like, eh?"

The laughter still continued and my face never changed expression. Stan was the first to stop laughing and looked at me with a face full of dread. Ian followed, and then so did Gavin, although it took Gavin a while.

"You serious?" Stan asked me, clearing his throat after.

I nodded. "Why not?"

All three looked at one another and Ian scratched his head. He said, "Mick, listen to what you're saying."

There was a silence and Gavin excused himself and announced that he was getting a round in. Ian said that he wasn't staying, and I felt like I had ruined something.

"What's wrong?" I asked them, stroking my beard.

Ian was the first to react and said, "Are you serious? Or is it the beer talking?"

"I'm deadly serious."

"You've been away for eighteen years. You don't live here anymore, so what do you care?"

"I love this shitty little town," I began. "Seeing idiots like this, ruining it, providing drugs to youngsters—"

"We took drugs when we were young," said Ian. "We even went to a rave with Beefhead one of the nights, don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember." I leaned back in my chair and released a sigh. "But these guys are trouble makers, not just drug takers and dealers. They're hanging around school gates, for fuck's sake."

Stan nodded and said, "That's nothing. Beefhead beat up a fourteen-year-old a couple of months ago. Put the poor bastard in hospital. All for standing on his shoes."

Gavin came back with four pints, but Ian was adamant on leaving. We managed to persuade him to stay a while longer and after overhearing Stan talking about Beefhead beating up a kid; Gavin sat down and said, "All four are bad news. They take drugs, so what? We did, but they sell what they have left to kids, they beat people up, terrorise them ... they're just cunts. But they're protected, and they know that."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Gavin took a drink of his pint and asked us all a question that even I knew the answer to. "Who are the main dealers in this small town of ours?"

"David Cox, Bernie Jones and Dexter Gilchrist," Ian spoke. He then took a drink, and once he gulped he shrugged his shoulders. "So what?"

"If you touch Beefhead, Steady, Moon or Simmy, then Cox will get involved."

Gavin could see the confusion on my face and sighed, trying to explain to me, "Beefhead and the rest buy a lot of drugs from Cox. They take some for themselves and then sell the rest and they get a small cut of the profits. Cox and the other two deal as well, but they deal to big time people and nightclub owners and so forth. Beefhead sells his stuff to daft kids and people in pubs. Beefhead is small time in this little town, but he buys a big quantity of drugs from Cox. Let's say, for example, Beefhead buys a grand worth of drugs from Cox and bad things start to happen to all four of the cunts, that'll be Cox losing out on 4K a month. He'll be wondering who the fuck is responsible."

"Then get rid of Cox as well," I said, hunching my shoulders.

Again, laughter filled the room and I was beginning to get annoyed.

"Now what?" I said.

"You get rid of Cox?" Stan snickered. "Just you?"

"I meant all four of us."

The laughter soon stopped and Ian was the first to respond. "And why the fuck should we deal with this? It's not our fault we hardly have a police force in this area. _They_ should be dealing with this. And I'm a married man with a good job, two kids ... why would I put all of that at risk just because you wanna play Paul Kersey?"

"Who?" I asked Ian.

He sighed, "It's the character that Charles Bronson played in Death Wish."

"How difficult can it be? We put masks on and we give them a kicking."

"You've never given anybody a kicking in your life, Mick." Ian slammed his pint down, clearly annoyed and added, "Remember that time we had some trouble in Lichfield and you hid in the car?"

"I was drunk. I was asleep."

"Bollocks. You were pretending." Ian put his coat on and began to exit the pub. "See you later, lads. I'll leave you with Travis Bickle."

Ian was gone and only the three of us remained. Gavin looked at me and said, "I can understand your frustration, mate, but it's best to leave it. Besides, you don't even live here anymore. You'll be fucking off soon, so why are you so bothered?"

"Maybe I'll come back," I said. "Besides, I love this place. It's where I grew up. It's where my niece and nephew are going to grow up."

"Drug dealers are like the Queen and the Pope," Stan said. "Kill them, and they just get replaced. Simples."

"Besides," Gavin jumped in. "There's a small matter of Quinny Aura as well."

"Who?" I asked.

"Quinny Aura," Gavin sighed. "What, do you think that _Cox_ is the main man?" Beefhead gets his drugs from Cox, and Cox gets his from Aura. He doesn't magic them out of his arse."

"Who's Quinny Aura?"

"He's the big man. That's where Cox gets his gear from."

"And what does Beefhead and his mob sell?" I asked Gavin, wondering how he knew so much.

"They sell mainly recreational drugs like cocaine, speed, trips, cannabis."

"Heroin?"

Gavin hunched his shoulders. "Depends if anybody wants it and if Cox has the gear. You see, Cox sells to guys bigger than Beefhead and his other scummy pals. Beefhead gets the leftovers, so to speak, but he still nets Cox some decent money. Not only that, if any harm comes to Beefhead, it's not just money Cox is losing, his rep will take a battering. He won't stand for that, and Aura would start asking questions as well."

"That's something else to think about," Stan said, "before you go all Kill Bill on us."

I pondered and absorbed what Gavin had told me and grabbed my cold pint of Fosters and had a few gulps. I felt the cold refreshment slosh inside me and placed it back on the beer mat.

"What would happen...?" I began, "Just for talking sake, if anything happened to Cox and the other two?"

"You wouldn't be able to take those three cunts down, so don't even think about it," Stan said, and seemed annoyed with me. I think my words were annoying him _and_ scaring him. He continued, "What are we doing, talking about taking down drug dealers? I have a girlfriend, parents." He then flashed me a hard stare. "And you have family in Glasgow."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing to worry about, so long as they don't find out who did it?"

"Did what?" Stan snickered. "Nothing's going to happen, so shut up."

"If anything happened to Cox," Gavin intervened. "Nothing would happen to your family. They're not hardcore gangsters that massacres families and shoots people. They're two bit thugs that slash and stab people if you piss them off. However, they could send somebody up to sort you out, if you're clumsy and they find out it was you."

"Why are you talking like that?" Stan snarled at Gavin. "He's doing nothing. He's leaving at the weekend."

"I was speaking hypothetically," said Gavin.

"What more do you know about this Quinny Aura?" I asked Gavin.

"You're gonna have to change the subject," Stan moaned. "Or I'm going."

"He runs a few of the towns," said Gavin, ignoring Stan's protests. "He's based in Solihull, I think."

"What do you mean, he runs a few towns?"

"You see how Cox and his cronies control Rugeley?"

I nodded.

"Well, he has people like that in other towns. I think he has five in all: Rugeley, Brereton, Stafford, Cannock and Lichfield. I think Aura struggles to keep control of Cannock. There's a lot of other dealers about, rivals."

"I've heard." I nodded. "I think I heard about a few stabbings there. Weren't two guys shot dead in their cars outside McDonalds, near The Winking Frog pub a few years ago?"

Gavin and Stan both nodded.

"I remember that being on Sky News. They never caught the guys that did it."

Stan had broken his short silence and decided to get involved in the conversation once more. "No, they didn't. But everybody in the West Midlands knows that Quinny Aura gave the order." Stan took a drink from his beer and leaned forwards and said, "Can you see why I'm uncomfortable with you talking about your vigilante shit? Even if Cox found out that you were _talking_ about it, you could be in trouble. In fact, with you away, back in Scotland, he might just attack Gavin, myself, and Ian, or all three of us, just to make a point and send a message to you. So please, no more talk of this. Keep your thoughts to yourself, Mick." Stan took one more sup and stood up to put his jacket on. He said before departing, "I'll leave you two guys to it. See you all on Saturday."

Saturday, I thought. I had no idea what pubs we were going to attend, but there was a small chance that Beefhead, Steady, Moon and Simmy would be around. There was also a good chance that they wouldn't be, so I decided to keep my mouth shut about hitting Steady. If they knew this, all three would either cancel the night, or still go out, but be looking over their shoulders every ten seconds, which would ruin my last night with them.

Gavin and I stayed for another hour. We talked about the rumours that Cox was responsible for Brian's death, but that's all they were. There was no evidence to suggest that Cox was the reason why Brian was dead.

Once I got home, I felt stone cold sober and was convinced that I'd struggle to sleep on that night.

I was right.
Chapter Sixteen

#### Thursday

My sticky eyes opened and I stretched whilst still horizontal in the bed. I stared up at the ceiling and it seemed to take me an age to sit up. I wasn't hungover. I felt fine. But despite my full bladder, I just couldn't seem to get off my fat arse. I could hear my mum mooching about downstairs and I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten in the morning. I knew my dad was at work and my mum was due to go to The Stag's Leap and do her part time cleaning, so I stayed in bed for a little while longer and waited for the old bag to leave.

Once she did, I sat up and went to the toilet, hunched over in pain. After spending an eternity pissing like a racehorse, I went back to bed and began thinking about Brian, and my anger for the individuals that were bringing my old town to its knees. I think it was around 2am by the time I had managed to nod off because I was so angry.

Brian, unlike my other pals, had been to Glasgow on three occasions. The first time he came up, was when I had a reception for my wedding. Me and the wife had got married at Park Circus in a registrar office.

The second time Brian came up to visit, he was on his own. We went into town and hit a couple of pubs and ended up in a nightclub called Fury Murrays that played 90s music like Oasis, Blur and The Stone Roses, not any of that Bieber or Swift music my kids listened to. I wouldn't listen to those tracks if each song came with a free blowjob. I'd rather listen to my granny getting fingered by Edwards Scissorhands.

The third and last time he had come up, he was with his new girlfriend. I hadn't seen him since, but I had heard he had two kids. He had a son called Tim and a daughter called Jane. I forgot to mention that my friend had left behind a daughter and a young son, making his death even more tragic. I don't remember seeing them, or their mother at the funeral. I'm sure they were there.

As I had mentioned before, I had known Brian since primary school, and was a twenty-year-old best man for his first wedding, but it never worked out in the end, and he had split up when I had just moved up to Glasgow to attend my two-year sports college course.

I know I have no room to moan about Ian, Stan and Gavin not visiting, because I hadn't been to Rugeley in eighteen years, but it still pissed me off that Brian had made the effort and they didn't.

So when I finally did arrive in Rugeley and the guys moaned about the length of time it had taken me to come down, I did have to bite my tongue a little. I suppose we were all at fault.

After getting dressed, I went downstairs and fixed myself a cup of coffee. I looked around the kitchen where I was standing, and had an empty feeling. I had been in this house since I was twelve/thirteen after we had been burgled on The Springfields Estate, and my memories of the place were quite minimal. However, I often thought about the past when I lived on the Pear Tree in the first eight years of my life.

I finished my coffee and now my stomach was growling for food. I looked in the fridge and cupboards and wasn't impressed with what was on offer. Three more days, I thought, and I'm out of here.

After what had happened with Steady, I wanted to avoid the town until Saturday, my farewell night, but I was quite tempted to go to the Square Meal Cafe for breakfast, despite the appalling service from young Tracy. I thought about it for a minute and decided to go.

I put my shoes on and picked up the spare key, ready to leave. I stopped for a second, wondering if I should take my purchase from yesterday. I went upstairs and took the open razor from my coat pocket and looked outside. It looked murky, so I decided to take my black hoodie with me.

I galloped back downstairs, tapped my right pocket of my jeans to doubly make sure that the razor was there, and exited the house, locking the door behind me.

I headed for the town and my thoughts went to my old friend once more.

Poor Brian.
Chapter Seventeen

I stepped foot into the town centre and walked along Horsefair, took a look over the road once again, at number 28 where the wife and I had stayed, and went into the café. Six people were present, all looking up as I stepped inside, and I took the table in the far right corner. A waitress approached my table, but it wasn't Tracy. It was some heavy middle-aged woman, and I was kind of disappointed that Tracy wasn't present and I don't know why.

After paying for my bacon toastie, I left the premises and walked down St Paul's Road, walking down the outskirts of the town centre. I reached the Morrisons' car park and walked through it. I popped into Costa Coffee on Market Square and order a medium cappuccino. I had sat down next to the window and had only been there a minute and had two slurps of the beverage, when my eyes widened in shock.

Passing the window, swaggering down the street with Bernie Jones on one side and Dexter Gilchrist on the other, was David Cox.

He had hardly changed since the last time I had seen him, many years ago.

He had fair receding hair, tall, and had still managed to keep the weight off. When I was young he always reminded me of a fair-haired Danny Zuko, and on this day he didn't look any different, apart from a few wrinkles.

I remember as a child, a gang of us from the Pear Tree would go up and over Cardboard Hill, and then make the descent down the hill and then enter the woods. There would be myself, Ian, other kids from the estate, and Cox would be the leader as he was the oldest. He would always carry a penknife and urged us all to have a weapon of some sort. I had a black stick and taped the ends in white sticky tape so I could have the same weapon as Monkey Magic, an eighties Japanese show I used to watch.

It soon broke, so I would take the dagger ornament that was attached to my parent's wall, next to the fireplace. Thinking back now, I suppose a seven or eight-year-old walking around with a dagger in his pocket would be frowned upon these days, but it happened. But then again, back in those days, in the early eighties on a council estate, people would openly let their dog shit on the pavement and not pick it up, send their kids to the shops for cigarettes, amongst other things that would seem unbelievable in these times.

I exited the shop, leaving a practically untouched cappuccino, and decided to follow the three men. I have no idea still why I did this. It must have been a rush of blood to the head or ... something. Despite being in the same room as Dexter a couple of days ago in The Shrew, I was convinced that these three guys wouldn't recognise me. I could see them heading to The Shrew pub, known in the old days as The Shrewsbury Arms, and was unsure whether to go in or not once they were inside.

If they were there to meet up with Beefhead and co, I could be in trouble if I was spotted. I decided to take the chance.

Cox was the first to walk up the concrete steps to the pub, and Bernie and Dexter followed behind. I decided to slow my pace, allowing the three men to be served before I made an entrance, and took out my phone from my pocket and had a quick look on Twitter to see that Stephen King had made another negative comment about Donald Trump, Liam Gallagher had praised the crowd from his Australian tour, and my cousin had praised the local salon she had visited. I slipped my phone into my pocket and went inside, my heart beating faster as I opened the doors.

I ordered a coke from the barmaid and sat three tables from Cox and his other two pals. I never looked over at them once. I sipped my coke and pretended to be reading a book on my phone. If either one of them became paranoid and came over to my table, I could show them that I had come in for a quiet read.

I chose a different ebook from my kindle app and picked something that had been sitting there for years, but never got round to reading it, something I would probably always do. I picked a book I had downloaded for free called Blood Ties by JD Nixon, and read a few lines from the opening chapter, but was listening out to what David Cox, Bernie Jones and Dexter Gilchrist were talking about. The trouble was that the barmaid had Radiohead's In Rainbows album blasting over the speakers and I could barely hear the guys talking whilst Bodysnatchers blasted out. Sitting at a nearer table would just make the guys paranoid and blow my cover.

I sat patiently, pretending to read my ebook, and could hear Beefhead's name being mentioned as well as two others that I'd never heard of. Then the talking suddenly stopped and I felt like the three sets of eyes were looking in my direction. Now, who was being paranoid? My heart began to beat out of my chest and I was too scared to look up to see what the problem was.

I took a slight peek to my right and could see two young men walking in. They looked nervous, almost shaking, and I assumed correctly that the whole purpose of Cox and his pals being at The Shrew was to have a meeting with these two guys.

The two young men never approached the bar and went over to Cox's table and sat down. I remained where I was, still pretending to read. I was still nervous, but I was nervous for the two young guys that had just walked in. Despite not knowing what was going to happen, I had a bad feeling.

I continued to pretend to read my book and was now dying to look up to see how the body language looked amongst the five men. A discussion took place, but Faust Arp was playing in the background and Thom Yorke over the speakers was drowning out their voices.

I continued to listen and I managed to pick up on some things that were said, and it appeared that these two guys were from Brereton, a small town right next to Rugeley, and had bought a stash of drugs from Cox on tick and had claimed that they had a party over the weekend and somebody had stolen the stash. 'On tick' meant that the guys had purchased the drugs and agreed to pay Cox at a later date. With the stash being stolen, it was impossible to pay. They had no money, no drugs, and now Cox was going to have to explain to Quinny Aura why his cut was going to be slightly less than what he was used to.

Cox then yelled, making me jump, "Turn that fucking music off, will you? I'm trying to speak here!"

There were only eight people in the pub, including the barmaid. The other two were two elderly men at the other end of the pub, drinking bitter and playing dominoes.

The music was off in seconds, followed by an apology by the barmaid.

The conversation only continued for a further two minutes and Cox had made it abundantly clear that he needed the money, plus what profits they were going to make him, by the weekend.

The main speaker of the two young men, a tall kid with ginger hair, had told them very politely that that was impossible, but Cox wasn't having any of it.

The ginger individual had excused himself from the table and said that he needed the toilet. The individual walked past me and the bar and went into the gents. I gulped when I saw Cox get up, and saw him follow the man in. The remaining youngster that was sitting opposite Bernie and Dexter was advised to remain seated.

He did as he was told.

A couple of seconds later, I heard a scream. The whole pub heard the scream, and Cox exited the toilets with a big smile on his face. He clocked me looking at him and gave me a wink. I immediately put my head down and continued to pretend to read my book, heart beating speedily because Cox had looked at me.

I heard him calmly say to the nervous youngster, "You've got another week. I don't care if you have to rob an old cunt to get the money. Get it!"

Cox, Jones and Gilchrist left the premises, and I looked at the barmaid and then the young guy. They both remained still, unsure what to do. I then looked over to the old men and could see that they were still playing dominoes as if the scream never happened.

I couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

I gulped, put my phone into my pocket, and stood to my feet. I could hear the young man groaning in the toilets. I went in and saw him lying on the floor, curled up, holding onto his stomach, and began to sob as I approached him.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"Leave me alone," he moaned.

"Look, there's gotta be an easier way to make money than selling drugs."

"What are you? My fucking dad?"

I knelt next to him and could see that he was in pain.

"Did he give you a doing?" I asked the young man, referring to David Cox.

"You could say that," he said. "As well as this."

He removed his hands from his stomach and turned over and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had been stabbed in the stomach.

"Oh, fuck," was all I could say.

I took my phone from my pocket to ring an ambulance, but the young man tried to slap my phone out of my hand.

"Don't," a voice came from behind me.

It was the other young man. He had finally managed to get off of his arse and see to his friend.

"What?" I snapped at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'll drive him to hospital. Don't call for help, and certainly don't call the police, otherwise Cox will give us a proper going over. If the police finds out that somebody has been stabbed in this town, the place will be swarming with cops."

"I..." I couldn't think of a response.

"Help me get him to my car. It's just through the back, in The Shrew's car park."

I put my phone back into my pocket, grabbed the injured man's legs, and his friend took the arms. I was salivating so much that I wanted to suck and lick his blood right there, just enough to clean him up and not kill the bloke. I knew that this kind of action would horrify the other guy, so I tried to suck it up—pardon the pun—and fight the urge.

We picked him up and released a groan of pain, and struggled to get him out through the back. The injured man's friend opened his Ford Fiesta and we placed the injured man in the back, the smell of blood torturing me.

"Let me come with you," I said to the driver.

"You've done enough," he said, and went into the driver's seat and started the car. Five seconds later he sped away, leaving me alone in the car park.

I didn't know what to do, so I decided to walk home, but before I could move, a voice called out from behind me. I turned around and could see the barmaid. She was young, blonde, plastered in make-up and too heavy for my liking. Her jeans looked like they had been sprayed on and were ready to burst open.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked me.

I couldn't be bothered to go into detail that actually, yes, I was from around here, but now I live in Glasgow and I hadn't been back to Rugeley in eighteen years and blah, blah, fucking blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda. So I simply told her no.

"Don't call the police," she said. "If the police come snooping around here—"

"I'm not going to." I began to walk away. "Don't worry yourself. You just make sure those toilets are cleaned up."
Chapter Eighteen

I entered Albion Street some minutes later and passed by The Albion pub and Bo Jollys, trying to walk off the shock. I looked down on my clothes and was pleased and relieved that I had no blood on me.

My phone began to buzz in my right pocket, and I answered the call. It was Stan.

I put the phone to my ear and said, "Yes, mate. What is it?"

I then got a full angry tirade from Stan. It wasn't directed at me; it was just something he needed to get off of his chest.

He told me that Krystal was waiting at the bus stop, and she saw Moon and Simmy. The two men walked by her and made derogatory remarks. They said things like they were going to go 'twos up' on her, and that they were going to follow her home. Moon took it one step too far and said that he would love to come inside her whilst he was choking her. Krystal wanted to phone the police, but Stan had talked her out of it.

Moon had done this before. He had said similar things to my sister's friend, many years ago, when she was in a bar and she told her boyfriend the following day. Her boyfriend drove around with his partner with him, and after a few hours she had pointed him out in the street. He got out and beat Moon up in front of Simmy. The guy was from Armitage and didn't know of Cox n co, but two days after beating up Moon, he was paid a visit. Cox and two others had knocked on his door and when it was opened, the man who beat up Moon was hit with bats and had a handgun pointed to his head. It wasn't until he had pissed himself that Cox was satisfied that he had got the message. Any damage to Cox's financial gain, no matter how small, would be dealt with accordingly.

Stan's rant went on for around five minutes and during the end of it, he said how he'd love to have Moon stabbed or beaten within an inch of his life. I knew it was just hot air, and allowed him to vent his anger without any interruption from me. Stan told me that he felt powerless to protect Krystal from these scumbags. I tried to lighten the mood and told Stan that he wasn't powerless and that the next time he thought that, he should remember that just one of his pubic hairs could shut down an entire restaurant. He wasn't impressed.

Once I hung up and told Stan that I'd see him on Saturday, I realised that I was in Brook Square and nearly out of the town.

I saw to my left, near the cash machine, my two friends with the Burberry caps. The same guys that verbally abused me a couple of days ago. I breathed in and waited for the two retardos to speak up, and they didn't disappoint me.

"Look at that prick," one of them said, as I walked by, but this time instead of being angry, I burst out laughing. It had been a hell of a day. I had been in the presence of David Cox, I had carried a stab victim to a car, been on the receiving end of a friend's anger, and now being verbally abused by a couple of cocks—two shit stains on the underpants of society. Not only that, I was getting an urge to feed. I only got that feeling once in a while, but it was stronger than ever.

The sooner I got back to Glasgow, the better, I thought.
Chapter Nineteen

#### Friday

The whole of Friday was about as much fun as stapling my eyelids to the floor. I had a lie in and crawled out of my bed around ten. I spent most of the day watching crap TV. I sat in disbelief, watching The Jeremy Kyle Show, where toothless, jobless cunts, that should have been swallowed by their mother, go on TV and embarrass themselves after revealing that they have been shagging their uncle or have been caught molesting cats. Or something similar to that.

I then watched some programme about selling homes, and then flicked it over to see Loose Women, which was a programme where four middle-aged women slagged off men, but were all married. This was followed by the local news. It was Central News. I hadn't seen it in years, as I was now used to Scotland Today, and I couldn't believe Bob Warman was still going.

I had been invited around to my sister's for dinner. My mum and dad were also coming, and I felt like I was just hanging around now. Apart from my two cousins, I had seen people I wanted to see, and now I was ready to go back home. I needed to try and resuscitate my marriage somehow, and I missed my kids terribly. If there wasn't a night out planned on Saturday, I would have been on my way back to Central Station in Glasgow.

Seven pm had finally arrived and I sat in the back of my dad's car and we all made the short journey to my sister's at Daywell Rise, a couple of streets away from The Springfields Estate.

We arrived at my sister's house and I went upstairs to play with Jacob, whilst Melanie, my thirteen-year-old niece, said hello and continued to play on her iPad. It was announced some half an hour later that dinner was ready. Jacob and I went downstairs and we all sat down, six of us, and we tucked into our spaghetti and meatballs. We ate in silence and after I washed up, the adults sat down in the living room with a glass of red wine, whilst the kids went upstairs. Melanie had put Jacob to bed and she had one hour before her own bedtime.

"Have you seen Brian's mum and dad since the funeral?" my mum asked.

I wasn't really listening at first. I was too busy gazing at Michelle Keegan on the TV.

"Mick," said my sister, trying to get my attention.

"What?" I looked up and my mum repeated her question. "Um..." I scratched my ear and shook my head. "No. I didn't really know them that well. I don't think seeing me again would cheer them up."

"You've always been a bit cold," she said abruptly. "You're just like your father."

I looked over to my dad, who sat with his head lowered, caressing his wine glass. My dad was a bit of a bastard back in the day, and thirty years ago he probably wouldn't have accepted a comment like that. He wasn't violent towards my mum and I, but he could raise his voice and had punched the occasional door in the past. Now, he was older and looked beaten. I think decades of my mother's moaning and nagging had finally crushed his soul.

"Yep," I sighed, and had little energy to argue, and used sarcasm instead to piss off the old cow. "That's me. Cold as a fish."

"You certainly are," she huffed.

"Yep, I certainly am," I sighed. "I laugh at famine and spend my spare time torturing puppies."

This comment seemed to annoy the old bag and she continued to speak, "I still haven't forgot about when I was in hospital and you couldn't be bothered to come down and visit me."

"You was having your appendix out," I began to laugh. "Don't be so melodramatic."

"I blame that wife of yours," she continued to moan. "She's never liked me."

"You've never liked _her_."

"That's enough, you two," my sister intervened.

"You never come down, even on your own with the kids," she continued. "They don't even know who I am."

"That's rubbish," I said. "And anyway, you go on Facebook and go on about how you love your grandchildren, yet you don't even play with them where you're up. You know what my son said to me last time you came up?"

"What?" she huffed.

"After being at our house for three hours, he asked when you were both leaving."

"That's rubbish."

"It's not."

"That's probably her, turning your kids against me. You should stick up to her now and again. Call yourself a man?"

I had no idea what she was talking about. The wife and I didn't have a relationship where one of us was dominant. We were both easy going and hardly argued, so I wasn't sure where the old dear was coming from.

"You know what your trouble is, Mick?" Finally, my old man had managed to find his voice.

"No, dad," I sighed, knowing that I wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"Your trouble, son," he began, quickly glancing over to my mum, "is that you have no backbone."

"I have no backbone, really?" I looked at my dad with disdain. He looked worn out, old, and looked like a sad face that somebody had drawn onto their scrotum.

At this point my fed up sister stood up and went into the kitchen to have a cigarette.

I stood up myself and decided that I couldn't be bothered to argue.

"Where are you going?" my mother asked.

"For a walk."

"That's it," the old bag groaned. "Run away, like you always do."

I turned around and said, "Mum, why don't you go and fuck yourself."

She looked speechless; they both did, and I stepped into the kitchen to thank my sister for the dinner and told her I was on my way. I heard my mother groan about how unforgivable my comment was and moaned some more, but by that time I was already outside, heading down the street.

The evening was a bit chilly and I decided to go for a walk, but first I needed to pop into my parents' house and grab my black hoodie. I looked at my watch once I reached Park View Terrace and could see that it was nearly nine in the evening. I took out my spare key and opened the back door. I went inside and ran upstairs. I grabbed my hoodie off of the bed and realised it felt heavier than normal. I checked the pockets and pulled out the open razor. I placed the razor in my front jeans' pocket, put on the hoodie, and exited the house, locking the back door before leaving the premises.

It was dark, and I pondered on where to go to walk off my anger. I put my hands in my jeans' pockets, holding onto the razor with my right hand, and headed towards the Western Springs Road. I then took my hands out of my pockets and put them in the pockets of the hoodie. There was a receipt in there for a breakfast I had purchased at the café and also Stan's business card.

I was going to the Pear Tree Estate.
Chapter Twenty

Feeling a slight chill around my ears, I put the hood over my head from my black jacket and headed up Sandy Lane. From there, it was a five-minute walk to the Pear Tree Estate.

I bypassed Lea Hall's tennis courts where I used to play with Brian when I was around fifteen and sixteen, and looked over at the clinic that was next to the Lea Hall Social Club building, still annoyed that they had removed the kids' play park.

I went over the railway bridge and looked over to the area where Brian's body was found.

If it was true that Cox had killed Brian, which I assumed it was, then David Cox needed to be punished. I planned on phoning the police before I left and leave some kind of tip off, but the evidence was lacking, and I'm sure he would probably get away with the crime.

I already knew of the main rumour about Brian, but Gavin's story from The Vine Inn was more detailed than the one that Stan gave me in Bo Jollys.

According to Gavin, Brian, like myself, was bewildered that his town was becoming some kind of cesspit, a place where drugs and dealers ruled. Gavin had told me that Brian told somebody at his workplace that he would love to have a conversation with Cox or even the lowlife scum like Beefhead or Moon and record them on his phone, getting to admit what they did. He wanted this scum put away and I applauded him for that. The trouble was that Brian told too many people about this plan. In a pub called The Crown, Brian was with a workmate, drunk, and began mouthing off about Cox and what he'd like to do. Unfortunately for Brian, a friend of Moon was present and word had reached Cox the next day.

Weeks went by without anything happening to Brian, but one night he had an argument with his girlfriend who told him she wanted to leave him. Brian then decided to go out for a drink with his brother. They went to the Glassworks wine bar for one, and then went to The Shrew. Cox arrived an hour later with Bernie and Dexter. Somebody must have contacted him, otherwise it was a massive coincidence that all three had turned up when Brian was present.

Brian got really drunk and kept on looking over to Cox and his pals. Brian's brother left, trying to take Brian with him, but Brian insisted on staying. When Brian eventually decided to walk home, he was followed by Cox, Bernie and Dexter along Sandy Lane. Gavin never mentioned Brian hitting Cox, but Stan had told me this in his shorter version.

Cox had sent Dexter and Bernie away and began to talk to Brian alone. Cox probably thought it looked less threatening with just him, rather than three of them. The conclusion, according to Gavin, was that Brian was then beaten unconscious, dragged down the grassy bank, and then left on the rail track to await his fate.

I shook my head, thinking about Brian's demise. Whatever the truth was, maybe it was best for his parents to think that he had killed himself, rather knowing that another human could do such a thing to another.

I reached Hardie Avenue on the Pear Tree and went by the place where my first Primary school used to be, the same area where I had a small confrontation with Beefhead and Steady.

I entered the next street that was situated near the social club and the small betting office where my dad used to take me every Saturday morning, and could hear music. The street was a small street, a cul-de-sac, and there was about ten or twelve houses present. The street was called Curzon Place. I knew Beefhead lived there, or used to live there, because one of the nights Beefhead came with us to Club Kinetic in Stoke, and we picked him up in this street.

I gazed down the road, and for some reason I walked down the street with slow steps and stood near a tree that was situated next to the house, listening to the bass and drumbeat coming from the house. They must be having a party, I thought.

I stood there for ... I don't know ... it felt like an hour, but it was probably just minutes.

Time dragged, and eventually the front door of the house opened and a male and a female stepped outside and began to share a joint. The music was loud once the door was opened. I assumed that Beefhead still lived there and it was his party, and wasn't really giving a shit about his neighbours due to the volume of the dance music blaring out.

Even when the door was shut, when the male and female had finished their joint, the thudding of bass could be heard, which must have drove the other residents of the street, especially the near neighbours, round the bend. I looked around the street and could see the living rooms all lit up, the residents probably thinking that there was no point trying to go to bed until the party had stopped. And I don't think there was any point phoning the police and complaining about the noise. If the police were called, and miraculously showed up, Beefhead and his pals would probably create their own investigation and interrogate the neighbours to find out the 'grass'.

The front door opened again and I stared from behind the tree, about twenty yards away from the main door, and wondered who was going to appear this time. It took a while for people to exit the house.

It was Moon and Simmy. Moon lumbered clumsily with his lanky frame, and the super skinny Simmy looked like he needed a good cooked breakfast. The cheekbones in his face stuck out and looked like they could cut glass.

I gazed at the two men, blood boiling, and my head kept on reminding me what they had done: Gavin getting a slap, Beefhead and Steady giving me cheek, then Steady spitting in my hair, and also Moon and Simmy harassing Krystal. Also, according to Gavin, Moon was the guy that told Cox about what Brian had been _s_ aying about him.

Shit stirrer!

All that aside, the fact that they took drugs, dealt drugs, walked about the town as if they owned it, and bullied people, made my heart beat quicker with anger. I felt for my blade and thought to myself that if I cut one, then, metaphorically speaking, I'd be cutting all four. They thought that they were untouchable because of their association with Cox, and I wanted to change that, but there was no way I was going to walk right up to the front door, slash one of them, and then be able to run away. The people inside the house would be running after me, and I wasn't the quickest. I've never been the quickest, and I've already mentioned that my skills turning into a bat needed some work.

It didn't matter to me who I did, whether it was Beefhead, Simmy, Moon or Steady. It didn't matter.

Simmy and Moon then walked away from the door, leaving it open. Another person stepped out of the house, a young lad. He had a chat with Moon and Simmy, and then all three walked down the front garden path and leaned on the concrete wall. I was only a ten second walk from the pair of them.

I took in a deep breath, took out the razor from my pocket, and opened it up.

I placed my hood over my head, put my arms behind my back, and walked over to the two men, praying that nobody else was going to step out of the front door.

Moon and Simmy were stoned and laughing manically at something I didn't know about. I said to myself that if someone else _did_ walk out of the door, I was going to ask one of them for a puff of their joint instead of carrying out the violent act that I had in mind.

Nobody else did step out of the front door. I stopped walking and stood next to the three males who hadn't noticed me yet, as they were too busy laughing. Moon was the first to notice me. His laughing diluted a little and gave Simmy a slap on his arm.

"Simmy, look." Moon pointed at me, sniggering like a child. "It's Rocky Balboa."

The two of them burst into hysterics, the young guy never joined in, and Moon passed Simmy the joint. Simmy took a puff of the weed and Moon began to hum the theme tune to Rocky, but his humming was short-lived.

I lifted my right hand up, revealing the blade of the open razor, and swiped at Moon's face. For seconds there was a silence. Simmy dropped the joint in shock and grabbed my hoodie by the pocket, throwing a punch at me. I raised the bloody blade and his bravado evaporated and he ran inside the house, tripping over the concrete step, through the opened front door and tumbled inside with a crash. The young kid continued to stare in shock, and I could see that some of Moon's blood had sprayed onto his face. Moon went to touch his bleeding wound and began to scream. I had slashed him from the corner of his left eye down to chin, and it appeared to be a deep one with the amount of blood that was pissing out.

My mouth salivated once the smell of blood hit me, and I immediately grabbed his cheeks and began sucking on his face for a few seconds. The blood tasted delicious, and for a few moments I had completely forgot that the young kid was right next to me, probably wondering what the fuck was going on. I had slashed a guy and now was sucking his wound. That must have looked pretty fucked up for the teenager.

I took a step back from Moon, mouth and chin covered in blood. Still clutching the razor, I ran out of Curzon Place and ran as fast as I could, heading to Queensway, and towards the old football field that was now abandoned, but used to host Pear Tree Football Club. Behind me, I could hear males yelling and female screams, but I had no idea if anyone was pursuing me.

My legs were going quicker than I imagined. I had never been a decent runner, but this particular night I was like Linford Christie on steroids. No fucker could catch me if they tried, and I had no idea why that was the case. Was it the nervous adrenaline? Did the blood give me some kind of boost? Was it something else? I had no idea.

I kept on running, still clutching the open razor, and never stopped until I reached the top of a place called Cardboard Hill.
Chapter Twenty One

With my heart crashing against my ribcage, I tried to get my breath back to normal. Still clutching the blade, I stood up and looked across the back of the Pear Tree Estate. It was pitch black where I now was. I was stuck on some hill, three hundred yards from civilisation, and could see the backs of some of the houses of Queensway, one of them being a house where my Aunt Ruby and Uncle Fred used to stay before they both passed away.

I had no idea what to do next. I was unsure whether to backtrack and leave the estate, get back onto Sandy Lane, and head home over Hagley field. Or keep walking and head to the woods and just ... I don't know. I could hear raised voices coming from the Queensway area and guessed that it was possibly some people from the party looking for the guy that had slashed Moon. I had no idea who could have been there. For all I knew, Cox and his colleagues could have been present. I just hoped there were no kids in there, maybe sleeping upstairs, if that was possible with the loud music. Surely not. I didn't know Beefhead well enough to know if he had kids or not. I guessed that if he did, like his other pals, he probably had nothing to do with them.

The voices were becoming louder and now I heard a siren from the emergency services. I didn't know if it was ambulance or police, or both. This made me decide to enter the woods. It was so dark that I couldn't even see my hand in front of me, but I had a torch app on my phone I could use.

I began to move with hesitation, unsure what was in front of me. I used to visit the place when I was a kid, so I was aware that there were holes and ditches. My friends and I used to pretend we were in the Great War and used one of the ditches as a trench, firing at the Germans with our plastic rifles and revolvers loaded with caps. How I would have loved to have those days back.

I kept moving, still clutching the blade. I didn't want to throw it away because I thought if an investigation took place and the police found the weapon, my prints would be all over it. I didn't want to put it into my pocket either, as I was unsure how much blood was on it, if there was any blood. I had no idea how I looked and what state my face and clothes were in. I never felt any blood splash my face as I struck Moon, so that was something at least, but the feeding afterwards may have stained my chin. I continued to walk along Cardboard Hill, and decided to go back home around midnight. I had a spare key to let myself in, and I knew that my parents would be asleep by then.

I had no idea where my pals stayed, and even if I did, I wouldn't want to turn up on their doorstep and burden them with something this big.

I knew it was going to be the main talk of the night when we met up next, and decided not to tell them that I was involved, play dumb and act cool. It was information they didn't need to know and I was going to be leaving on the Sunday.

After fifteen frightening minutes of walking through the woods with my torch on, I had come across a small pond and threw the blade in it and then washed my face. Two minutes later, I had managed to reach a beauty spot called Stile Cop. I then turned off my torch so I wouldn't startle anybody and to also save the battery.

There were four cars on the beauty spot, all with their lights off, and I quickly passed them, heading for the main road. The beauty spot had been in the news a few years ago when an ex footballer from the area was caught and arrested at Stile Cop for dogging. I assumed it was still going on and that the people in the four cars weren't up here to relax and listen to music. If I was a vindictive vampire, with zero remorse for killing, and had super strength, like in the Hollywood movies, this area would be a feeding made in heaven for people like myself. In reality, if I tried to bite someone's neck, I'd end up getting the shit kicked out of me by the others on the beauty spot and then arrested and jailed for the attack. Probably even make the papers. I wouldn't even be labelled as a vampire. I'd be classed as some kind of perverted deranged cannibal.

Once I was on Stile Cop Road, I began to jog down the steep hill, the images of Moon's blood-soaked face flashing through my head. I couldn't stop thinking about the state of his face as I left him, and almost felt sorry for him. It was a shame the young boy had to see it, but it was an opportunity for me not to ignore.

My breathing became heavier as my feet clumsily slapped the concrete beneath me, and I suddenly began to question my behaviour.

I had no idea what I would achieve out of this. The rage had taken over and knew Moon hadn't done anything to me personally, but he was the one that set the ball rolling as far as Brian's demise was concerned. I suppose if any of the four had stepped out, I would have done one of them. If I had a choice, I would have preferred to have done Steady, simply because he was the mouthiest and the most annoying of the four. A punch didn't seem enough for a dickhead like him. He repulsed me that much that even sucking his blood didn't appeal to me.

I turned right at the end of Stile Cop Road and headed into Draycott Park, an area on the outskirts of Rugeley. I passed the main entrance of the Pear Tree Estate, along Sandy Lane, and turned into an alleyway and was drenched in darkness again. This time I was on Hagley field, but opted to walk and catch my breath. I passed my old school and ten minutes later I was at my parents' house.

I approached the door and smiled when no light was on. I opened the door carefully, trying not to make a noise, and crept upstairs with my heart in my mouth. I entered the bathroom and put the light on, inspecting my clothes and my face. I couldn't see a single drop of blood. I don't know if I was just lucky, or what? I wanted to shower, just to make sure I was Moon blood free, but I didn't want to wake my parents. Showering after midnight was an unusual thing to do and I didn't want them becoming suspicious.

I went into the bedroom and dressed down to my minion boxer shorts, and lay on the bed, still buzzing from what I had done. Nobody recognised who I was, the blade had been dumped in a pond, and I'd be leaving for Glasgow in two days. The only thing I didn't have was an alibi, if I needed one.

I was pretty confident I was going to be okay, even if Moon did report the incident. With their background, I was certain that it wouldn't be reported, unless a neighbour had witnessed the attack from their window and was feeling brave and had done so.

Still buzzing, I closed my eyes and it seemed to take ages for me to doze off. I think I was lucky to get five hours.
Chapter Twenty Two

#### Saturday

I was running late for my rendezvous with the lads. I don't know why, 'cause I had done nothing all day. I'd seen my sister for an hour, and then spent some time back at my mum's, reading. I was in two minds whether to book a train ticket, but I decided to see what was available when I reached Stafford Train Station the following morning. Rugeley now had a small train station. It didn't twenty years ago, but the trains didn't run to Glasgow, Central Station. I was unsure whether I was going home or not. I hadn't told the wife and the plan was to take a break for two weeks.

I walked into The Glassworks pub and could see the lads sitting on stools, at a table near the window.

Clocking my entrance, Gavin called out when he saw me approach the bar, "Already got one for you!"

I smiled when I realised that they had bought me a bottle of Bud and I sat down in the spare seat.

"How's it going, boys?" I asked them.

"Fucking brilliant," Ian piped up. He took a swig from his bottle and a smirk developed on his face.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. " _Fucking brilliant_?" I widened my eyes. "Why fucking brilliant?"

"Ian heard some news," Stan began, and a smile stretched across his face.

"Oh?" I had an idea what the news was, but decided to play dumb.

"Was gonna text you," Ian said. "Was gonna text all of you, but I thought it would sound better coming from my mouth."

My heart galloped a little and my hand shook when I picked up the bottle of beer, which was noticed by Stan, and I said to Ian. "I'm listening."

"Beefhead was having a party last night," Ian began in a soft tone, paranoid that some people in the half-empty bar would overhear him, and then paused.

"I'm listening," I said, urging my oldest friend to hurry the fuck up.

Ian looked around, smothered in paranoia, and continued, "Moon and Simmy were outside the house and some hooded guy went over to them and slashed Moon."

"Where did you hear this?" I took another swig of beer, intrigued where Ian had gotten his information from.

"My cousin's pal was at the party," he said. "A proper drugfest it was as well."

Gavin began to laugh and said to me, "I think they call it karma, or poetic justice or ... something like that. It'll be a while before that dick slaps me again."

"How bad was the injury?" I probed Ian further for more information.

"Really bad," Gavin snickered. "Half of his face was slit open, from his eye to his chin."

"Nearly lost his life," Ian added. "He lost a lot of blood. Luckily, for him anyway, the ambulance only took five minutes to arrive."

I became tetchy, despite trying to put a cool head on this. "What about the police?"

"Cox didn't involve the police, obviously. The house was full of drugs and people that were on drugs. Besides, he wouldn't anyway. He wants to sort out the dilemma himself."

"Why?" I shook my head. "I don't get it. Why's Cox so upset?"

"I haven't told you the whole story," Ian said. "Listen up. They have no idea who could have done this, but Cox is going to make sure he finds the person. So people who have had any kind of affiliation with drugs will probably be questioned. Also, Moon isn't the only person in hospital."

"What?"

Ian shushed me, annoyed I was breaking his flow. "Simmy ran off when Moon was slashed, tripped up and fell into the house."

"So?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"He crashed into a cupboard and fractured his skull. He'll live, but it was pretty bad."

"Why would Cox be bothered that someone had slashed Moon?"

"A few things," this time Stan decided to take the spotlight. "Technically, the person who attacked Moon was basically attacking a colleague of Cox, so Cox sees it as an attack on himself. Not only that, Cox was at the party and will find the attack disrespectful, and he'd be annoyed that someone had the balls to do this. Cox rules the town by fear and some punk slashes someone he knows practically on the doorstep with a house full of people. That shit isn't going to go down well, and all the locals in the pubs and known drug takers are going to be questioned. Then there was the weird thing that happened."

"Weird thing?"

"This is gonna sound mad," Ian laughed and shook his head. "When Moon was slashed, the attacker went in and began sucking the blood from the wound, apparently, but Stan and Gavin think that that's bullshit. So whoever it was ... well, they're a crazy bastard."

My heart galloped to an alarming pace and I gulped. "That _is_ weird."

"But what's pissed Cox off the most was that his nephew was affected by all of this."

I scratched my head and groaned, "His nephew?"

"When Moon and Simmy were outside, Cox's seventeen-year-old nephew decided to go out and get some air with them. He witnessed the attack and apparently the kid is really shaken up. There was Moon's blood all over his face, and it was the kid that told everyone that the attacker began drinking Moon's blood after the slashing."

"Personally," Ian said, "I think the drinking blood bit is bullshit, do you hear me?"

Fuck me, I thought. What have I done? What have I fucking started here?

"You alright, Mick?" Stan asked me. "You look a bit shaken up."

"I'm fine." I hunched my shoulders.

"So when are you going back to Bonnie Scotland?" Gavin asked, changing the subject.

"I dunno." I finished my bottle of Bud, and said, "Haven't booked anything yet. If I don't go tomorrow, it'll be definitely sometime next week 'cause I need to get back to work."

I was going to the bar and asked if anybody else wanted a drink. They all said yes, and I returned with four more bottles a couple of minutes later.

Two hours later, feeling pretty pissed, Ian had excused himself and said that he was going to get a taxi home. Gavin also announced he was going to leave, and we all hugged as we said our farewells. I told them to come and visit Glasgow anytime, they nodded, but I knew they wouldn't come up. They were as bad as me.

I sat down once they departed the pub and looked around the place. It was half empty on a Saturday night.

"What's wrong with this place?" I said, "This is probably the best pub in Rugeley, and you can still get a seat."

"That's Saturday night for you," Stan remarked. "Don't you remember _our_ Saturday nights? We never drank in town, did we? We went to The Colosseum and Fatty Arbuckles in Stafford, or Valentino's in Stoke, or ... what's that other place in Cannock?"

"Fat Willys." I smiled.

"That's the one. _And_ Maimies and Sawyers."

I rubbed my eyes and knew I only had an hour left in me, which was just as well, as the place closed after midnight anyway. "Want another drink?"

Stan laughed, "Yeah, fuck it. Krystal is staying at her mum's. Doesn't feel safe being on her own, after what happened with Simmy and Moon."

"You must be quite happy what happened to him."

Stan nodded. "When I heard I was fucking delighted."

I stood from the table and wobbled a little. Stan laughed and made a remark that maybe this should be our last drink of the night. I went to the empty bar and came back with two more bottles, then began to walk away from our table.

"Where are you going?" Stan asked, his voice louder than it needed to be. "You need to evacuate the chocolate hostages?"

"No. Need a piss!" I yelled back.

"Right. When you come back, we need to talk about something."

At first, I had no idea what he was talking about and returned from the toilet none the wiser.

I sat down and took a sip from the beer bottle and looked over both shoulders to make sure there was nobody at the next table. The people in the place were reasonably spaced out and Supergrass' _Alright_ was blasting out of the pub's speakers.

We sat in silence for a while and with the booze loosening my lips, I decided to confess something to Stan. "On Thursday," I began "I went into The Shrew."

Stan was about to shrug his shoulders, wondering why I was telling him this, but I continued. "I followed Cox and his other two muppets."

"Followed?"

"I saw them in town and followed them inside."

"Are you off your nut?" Stan shook his head. "Fuck's sake, Mick. What did you do that for?"

"Dunno. Guess I was bored."

"Anything happen?"

"I was sitting there, drinking a coke, and some guys came in. Some kind of argument took place and one of the guys excused himself to go to the toilet, and Cox went after him and stabbed the bloke."

"Jesus Christ! Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I didn't want you guys paranoid or scared to come out. I know Gavin has had a bit of a run in with Beefhead's lot."

"Is that all you've got to tell me?" Stan took a drink of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine, and I knew he knew something. Or he suspected something at least.

"Okay," I sighed. "I also punched Steady on Monday."

"What?" Stan nearly spat out his beer and began to choke.

"I was getting my haircut," I began to explain to my friend that I had known since I was eighteen, "And all four of them followed me and tried to intimidate me."

"So you punched Steady?" Stan now had the palm of his hand on his forehead, gently shaking it from side to side.

I hunched my shoulders. "It was a lucky punch."

"And what if they turned up here?"

I laughed, "This place is too classy for them lot."

A silence came across the two of us and no words were spoken. Well, when I say silence, I meant between the two of us. The chatter amongst the other revellers were raucous and Supergrass had just finished and now The Vaccines' _Bad Mood_ spilled out over the pub's speakers.

Stan lowered his head, tucked his bottom lip in, and I knew he had something on his mind. I didn't urge him to speak; I just waited until he was ready.

Stan rubbed his head and looked exasperated. "Look, Ian and I are okay, because we hardly come into town, but Gavin..."

"Gavin will just have to stop hanging round the town, taking drugs, and owing scum money," I said bluntly. "Then he'd be fine."

"Easier said than done."

"He's in his forties, Stan. He needs to grow the fuck up."

Stan gave one nod of agreement with my statement and sighed, "I suppose we all choose different paths in life." Stan wiped his lips and leaned back in his chair. "I'm about to finish this beer and then I'm gonna say farewell, old friend. But I need to know something before we go our separate ways."

"What?"

"When we were talking about Moon getting slashed, you were acting strangely. You _also_ have a black hood." Stan took the bottle of beer and finished it, then slammed the bottle on the table and leaned forward.

"What are you implying?"

"I know the sucking of Moon's blood was just made up bullshit," Stan said. "But I need to ask."

"I'm all ears, Stan." I knew Stan wasn't finished there.

He leaned in and his eyes were fixed on my face. "Did you do it?"

I gulped and never hesitated. "Yes, I did it."

There was no emotion on Stan's face and he said, "Good."
Chapter Twenty Three

#### Sunday

I said my farewells to my parents, who were glad to see the back of me, and politely declined by dad's offer of a lift to the train station. I insisted on catching the bus, plus I wanted to see my sister for ten minutes before leaving.

Once I finally caught the bus on Green Lane, I sat at the back and my mind drifted.

I could never have envisaged my return to my hometown being as dramatic as it was. I had punched Steady, helped a stabbed man into a car, and had slashed Moon. I still didn't know if the guy that Cox had stabbed had survived or not. I guess he did. The young man was stabbed in the gut, not in the heart or anywhere else where a major organ was. Or at least that's what I thought.

The bus went by a nightclub that used to be called The Colosseum and turned right at the traffic lights. A minute later, it stopped at the train station and I grabbed my bag and left the vehicle.

I had decided that a week away from home from my kids was enough. The thought of going somewhere else entered my mind, but I missed the rugrats. I booked a one-way ticket to Central Station, and hadn't texted the wife to tell her I was coming home.

The train journey was going to take five to six hours, but thankfully I didn't need to get off at Crewe and change trains.

I was surprised how empty the carriage was and managed to fall asleep. I think I nodded off for a good few hours, and then suddenly I woke up in a panic. I looked out of the window and could see that the train had stopped on a platform. I was at Motherwell, and the last stop, _my_ stop, was next.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled my phone out of my pocket to see if I had any messages/notifications. Just one notification. A tweet by Stephen King slagging off Donald Trump ... again!

Although tempted to pop in to Cooper's bar for a cheeky pint, I went by the pub in Central Station and told myself that I had had enough for one week. I stepped out of the train station, into the rain, and headed to Union Street to get my bus.

Thirty minutes later, I was home.

I looked round my street, and nodded at my neighbour who had just stepped out of their front door to put something in their blue recycle bin.

I tried my front door and was surprised that it was locked. The car was on the drive, so where was everybody? I went through my bag to find the spare key and found it after emptying half of it out. After putting the clothes back into the bag, I went in and found that the house was quiet once I was inside.

I went into the back room, but there was nobody there. I dropped my bag in the reception area and went into the kitchen. My wife's phone was by the toaster and she had a text from her mum. _Take your time with the shopping. The kids are behaving up here._

So the kids were up at their gran's house and the wife was out shopping.

I was baffled.

The wife was out shopping? So why was the car still there?

I heard a noise from upstairs and had a sickening feeling in my stomach.

Instead of calling up the stairs to see where the other half was, I crept up to the landing, and that's when I heard the moaning. I half knew what was going on, but I needed to see for myself.

I stopped by my closed bedroom door and placed my ear against it. Something was definitely happening, and I slowly opened the door to find my wife on her knees, stark-bollock naked, sucking some guy off at the end of the bed, who was also naked.

I had no idea what to do.

A small part of me wanted to strangle the man with my belt, strangle _her_ with my belt, tear out his throat, or simply just beat him up, if I could. I walked by them, both oblivious of my presence, and sat on the chair by the dressing table. The pair of them were so clouded with lust that they hadn't noticed me. Yes, I know it sounds a bit weird that I found my wife giving some guy a blowjob on my bed, and all I did was sit down, but that's what happened. I must have been in shock and didn't know what else to do.

I looked around and could hear the bald man was getting close and could see his trousers and shirt strewn on the floor, by my feet. I put my hand in his trouser pocket, pulled his phone out and could see the stupid bastard had no lock on it. I went through his phone book and texted his wife, telling her that he was being noshed off by my wife. I gave the woman my wife's name and our address. Was that the right thing to do? Probably not, but I was a little emotional.

The man started to ejaculate, at least that's what it sounded like, and I was surprised that the wife never moved away and swallowed what he was releasing.

"You never swallowed when I came," I spoke up, frightening both of them.

"Mick, oh my God." She stood up, wiping her mouth. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Obviously."

The man she had been blowing, or sucking, was quickly putting his trousers on and kept on apologising to me over and over again.

I pointed at his crotch and snapped, "You're dripping all over the carpet, you stupid bald cunt."

He apologised again, put his shoes on, and headed for my bedroom door. A rage filled inside me and I ran at the man, surprised by own strength, and pinned him up against the door. Ignoring the wife's screams, my hand remained around his throat and I could see that the average size fellow was off the ground by a couple of inches.

I was amazed by my sudden strength. Where the hell did that come from?

I leaned in, inches away from his neck, and thought about it. I really did think about it. I released the bald man and then told him to fuck off. He did as he was told, also shocked at the strength that I had. I was only an average sized fellow, so it must have came as a surprise to him.

"Well, that was a homecoming I'm not gonna forget in a while." I looked at my middle-aged wife and wanted to punch her in the flaps for her betrayal. Of course, that never happened. I heard the front door slam shut and realised that the man that was getting sucked off by my delightful wife had now left the building. He was probably thinking that he had got off lightly, but he had a surprise waiting for him when he got home and realised I had just texted his wife what he had been up to.

I was a bit dazed and upset, but considering what I had just walked in on, I was a lot calmer than the average man. I think that's when I realised I didn't love her.

"So how long has this been going on?" I asked her calmly. "You and Kojak?"

She hunched her shoulders and was beginning to cry, "Not long. About a month."

"And why him?"

She put her T-shirt on and pants and said, "He was someone I met in the supermarket. He then friend requested me on Facebook."

"So you encouraging me to leave to go to Rugeley was your crafty way of getting me out of the way, while slaphead spit roasted you on my bed?"

She never answered. She sat down at the side of the bed, still crying, and dropped her head in shame.

"Anyway, he's welcome to you." I went over to my cupboard to get some fresh clothes, grabbed some shorts and another pair of jeans. I ran downstairs and emptied the contents of my bag on the floor and put my fresh clothes in there. I went back upstairs for some underwear. I went into my room and could see that the missus was now fully dressed.

I grabbed a handful of underwear and the wife asked me where I was going.

"I've got another week off, so I'm gonna go away for a few more days."

"Where?"

"What the fuck do you care?" I turned to face the wife and could see she was still giving off the crocodile tears. She wasn't sorry that she was cheating on me; she was just sorry that she had got caught. "I'm gonna go out for a few nights and shag some women, some decent looking women." I looked her up and down. "I've done twenty years with you. He's welcome to you."

I walked away, underwear in my hand, and heard her scream, "You were useless in bed anyway! I faked all of my orgasms!"

"So did I!" I shouted up the stairs before leaving. I don't know why I said that. Of course I didn't fake all my orgasms. I never faked a single one.

I put my underwear in my rucksack, and was ready to leave the house. I had my wallet, clothes, toothbrush, phone and phone charger. That's all I needed.

I stepped outside, took out the man's phone and dropped it down the drain that was situated opposite our drive. I decided to take a walk up to Pollok Estate, get some air, and think about what I was going to do next. I pulled my black hood over my head and hoped that the rain would die off real soon.
Chapter Twenty Four

It was the afternoon and I was sitting in the Drum And Monkey pub on St Vincent's Street. I ordered a pint of Tennent's lager and sat at a table of four on my own. I took my phone out and could see it only had 44% life left, but thankfully the pub, as most pubs these days, gave customers access to plug sockets for phone users and laptop users.

I plugged it in, had a sip of my lager, and began to play with my phone. I went through Twitter and scrolled through comments made by people I was following like Ricky Gervais, Liam Gallagher and Shaun Hutson. There was nothing of interest and my emails were the usual Groupon and Gumtree shit the wife was into.

I checked Facebook and had three notifications and one message. The message was an old female school friend who I hadn't seen in thirty years. She sent me a picture of a candle and it said underneath that this was for the people who died in a terrorist attack in Somalia and that if I had a heart I should pass it on.

I'm sorry, I was sad to hear about the atrocity, but some daft bint sending a wank picture of a candle is going to make no difference whatsoever to these people or their families.

I deleted her and then checked the three notifications. The first one was some daft group I had joined years ago. The other one was a 'like' by a girl at my work of a picture that I had taken weeks ago when the kids and I were at Rouken Glen Park. The final notification was from my cousin. She had posted a picture of herself in her bedroom, dressed in a short top and short skirt, covered in make-up.

She told the public, or at least her friends, that she was ready to go out with her kids to the local park. Dressed like that? She was married, so I had no idea why she wanted to go to the park dressed like that in October. Of course, it was an attention seeking post, and she got what she wanted. Her photo was only two hours old and she already had 32 likes and comments underneath telling how 'fab' she looked and that she should have been a model.

She was nearly the same age as me and, in truth, she looked like a drag queen after he had had a stroke. I was about to put the phone down and 'people watch' and sup on my lager, but another notification suddenly popped up. It was from a girl who I worked with. Her name was Fiona. She absolutely loved herself and was also an attention seeker that I could live without. I think she deactivated her account the week before, for no other reason than to gain attention. She had made a post. It was just a minute old and she had typed: 'I'm back. Did you all miss me?'

I was the first to make a comment and made it quick and simple. 'No. We didn't.'

And then I switched off my phone.

No doubt she was going to unfriend me and probably wouldn't speak to me once I returned to work, but I couldn't give two fucks.

I gazed into nothingness and thought about the crazy week or so I had. The slashing of Moon and finding my wife with her mouth full of cock were the two main ones that polluted my psyche. I then thought about the poor guy that had been stabbed in The Shrew's toilets. I'm sure he was okay, and then I thought to myself: If you're going to get involved in that kind of stuff, then you have to prepare yourself for violence, whether it's you orchestrating the violence or receiving it. Sometimes, when it comes to drugs, it comes with the territory.

I took another gulp of lager on this Sunday afternoon and couldn't believe how cool I was about the situation I had witnessed in my own bedroom.

I think my attitude, as well as the wife inviting a man round for a nosh in the first place, kind of proved that the marriage was dying. And you know what? I felt okay about it.

The only thing that bothered me was that the time I usually spent with the kids was going to be drastically reduced. Even if I was allowed to have them twice a week, it wouldn't be the same. In normal times I sat on their bed and listened to them read every night. Got them ready for school in the morning, and played with them on the PlayStation on a night for an hour.

I went to the bar and smiled at the friendly barmaid and asked for another pint. I clocked her name badge and quickly removed my eyes in case she accused me of staring at her tits. Her name was Tracey. She was Tracey with an _E_ , not like the Tracy from the Square Meal Cafe on Horsefair.

This Tracey was blonde, flirty, attractive, and I guessed that she was doing this because she wanted me to tell her to keep the change out of the fiver that I had given her. She looked in her mid-twenties and a young woman like that, sleeping with a guy who was twenty years older than her, was something that would never happen to me. So I waited for my change, to Tracey's disappointment. _Sorry, Tracey. I'm not a mug_.

I sat back down and could feel my pocket buzzing. It was extremely rare that people rang me, so I took it out straightaway and could see the call was from Ian. Unusual, I thought. I never thought that I'd hear from any of these guys so soon.

I answered the call and we spoke for ten minutes.

Once I hung up, I stared and felt shaken. I think I was in shock. Stan was in hospital. He had been attacked whilst out running.

I needed to get a train back to Rugeley, but I needed to see my kids before then. I hadn't seen them for over a week. I also needed a place to stay for the night.

*

### Tuesday

It was Tuesday, and I woke up in the Travelodge bed that was situated by a restaurant on the Paisley Road West. It was about three miles from home and I hoped to leave around eight, get the number 10 bus back to my place and see the kids at the school gate, to say hello and goodbye again.

I had managed that and now I was on my way back to Central Station, hoping I could get a ticket to Stafford Train Station. I bumped into Paul Doherty, a mad Celtic fan and an old college buddy when I was at Reid Kerr College in Paisley. We had a five-minute chat after I had managed to purchase my ticket, and then we said our goodbyes. I had to cut the conversation short because my train was due and it was announced over the tannoy that it had arrived and that passengers should make their way over to Platform 1.

This time my parents and sister didn't know I was coming or returning. I'd only been back at Glasgow for two days, and now I was going back to the place I grew up. I hadn't been back in eighteen years and now I was going back twice in two weeks.

Apart from being there, there wasn't a lot I could do for Stan.

Gavin and Ian would visit him when they could, but with still a week off before going back to work, I thought I'd pop in and see how he was and maybe stay for a night or so. These trips were costing me an arm and a leg in train fares and I decided to use the Travelodge that was next to Elmore Park. The bus station was opposite the road, it was next to the town, and The Little Chef And Burger King restaurant—I'll use that term loosely—were situated right next to the Travelodge. I'm pretty sure there'd be vacancies

All I had been told by Ian was that Stan had been going for a run on the Sunday night, a car pulled up by him and men got out and beat him with baseball bats. That's all I was told. I was to find out more once I reached the hospital.

Much more.
Chapter Twenty Five

Unlike the last time I travelled down by train, this journey was a frigging nightmare. The carriage that I was sitting in was half full. I had two little brats behind me screaming and moaning that they were bored. Sitting at the side of me, on the other side of the gangway, was a woman speaking very loudly on her phone in Polish. How did I know? I recognised the accent and l also heard the words tac, nie and dobry. She was annoying me, and, trust me, after six hours, on and off, it tested the patience. I think this woman was testing the patience of most adults in the carriage and probably had the same vision I had: Grabbing the phone off of her and shoving it up her growler. And then there was the black Labrador at the end of the carriage.

I don't know what the dog had been eating, I didn't even know dogs were allowed on trains, but it kept on farting and stinking out the carriage. The owner of the dog was a middle-aged porker of a man, wearing a Hibernian football top, and seemed to be the only one in the carriage who thought it was funny.

What I would have given to make myself invisible and go over and punch that fat bastard in the throat.

Anyway, the journey from hell was coming to a close. The screaming brats had got off at Preston, the Polish woman had left at Manchester, but fatty and his methane dog were still on the train when I left at Stafford. Maybe he was getting off at New Street in Birmingham.

I stepped off the train, into the cold wind that was present on the platform, and had my rucksack hanging off of my right shoulder. After spending six hours on a train, with that smell, I was happy to walk in the cold air, as I felt my clothes were polluted from that manky mutt.

I didn't know Stafford well. Although I spent years going to the pubs, the cinema and to the shops now and again, it wasn't a place I knew well at all. When I was unemployed for two months, when I was about eighteen, I used to travel to Stafford and visit _HMV_ and _Our Price_ to look for CDs. At the time I was into The Doors, loved Jim Morrison, and purchased _Strange Days_ and _Waiting for the Sun_ one of the days with my dole money. I had no job and no girlfriend at the time and was such a sad individual. Music was all I had, until one day Ian visited and practically dragged me out of the house and took me to some pubs and clubs in Cannock. After a couple of weeks, we met up with some Rugeley lads when we were in Fat Willys nightclub, and Stan and Gavin were a part of that crowd. Most of us clicked and Ian, Stan, Gavin and myself went out for years after that.

I was down to see Stan and was unsure where Stafford Hospital was from the train station, but I saw signs for it before I reached the town and followed them on foot.

I must have walked nearly two hours before I reached the entrance of the hospital. I had passed Stafford jail before reaching the place, the same jail where they hung Dr William Palmer and where Rolf Harris used to stay, and approached the reception area. I asked a heavy woman with bright red lipstick if I could see Mr Stan Johnson.

Surprisingly, she said yes, and a nurse took me to a ward where Stan was based.

I approached the ward and saw Stan lying on the bed. There were no relatives around him, and I guessed Krystal was elsewhere. Maybe she was back at home, having a lie down, or had simply popped out for some fresh air and a coffee.

He looked battered and bruised, but he wasn't wired to any machines, so I assumed he was going to be okay, eventually. He looked peaceful and appeared to be sleeping.

I went over and sat on the plastic chair that was situated by the side of the bed and decided to wait until his eyes opened. Knowing it may take a while, I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. I had no idea what the visiting times were and knew I could be thrown out in the next ten minutes or two hours.

My eyes were closed for fifteen minutes and, bored already, I decided to go to a vending machine and get myself a coffee. Once I returned back to the ward, I could see that Stan was awake. His eyes widened when I walked in, and it was obvious that I was the last person he expected to see.

"What are you doing back?" he asked with a hoarse voice.

"I came down to see you."

"Oh."

"How are you feeling?" I asked him.

A small smile could be seen on Stan's bruised face and he said, "Like I've been hit by a bus. How do I look?"

I sat down on the plastic chair next to Stan's bed. I was holding the coffee, and tried to lighten the mood by saying, "You've looked better. And who said exercise was good for you? You go for a run and then you end up in hospital."

Stan sat up and winced with discomfort on doing so. He then shuffled back on the bed and was now sitting up, leaning against the bed's headboard. I wasn't sure he was allowed to do this. He certainly didn't look comfortable, but I chose to keep my mouth shut.

"Who told you?" he asked me.

"Ian phoned me," I said. "He told me you were in pretty bad shape."

"You didn't come back down here to see me, did you?"

"Yeah." I smiled and added, "Okay, to tell you the truth, I needed to get away again. Found the missus with her mouth full of cock when I got back. Stayed at a Travelodge last night."

"Shit." Stan wiped his dry eyes and added, "Looks like we've both had bad weeks."

"Where's Krystal?"

"You've just missed her. She went home to get her head down, and Ian and Gavin were here last night." Stan bit his bottom lip, looking up at me, and said, "Gavin was acting funny."

"Funny? How?"

"Dunno. He was a bit jittery."

"Probably still doing drugs," I groaned. "That guy needs a good woman and a job."

Stan lowered his head and cleared his throat. "I didn't tell the police anything. Had to persuade Krystal to keep her mouth shut. She doesn't know the whole story."

A silence fell on the pair of us, and all we could hear were chatter and the hurried steps of NHS staff going by the ward.

I gulped and stared at Stan, who now looked to be upset. I asked him, "So what happened? Who did this?"

Stan gazed at me and it seemed like an eternity before words fell out of his mouth. He seemed quite calm, his face blank and emotionless. He licked his bottom lip and began to speak.

He said, "I went for a run along Power Station Road. You know what it's like on a night. Businesses aren't open, so the place is dead. A car pulled up beside me... Anyway, three guys got out, all holding baseball bats, and gave me a beating."

"What's the damage?"

"Bruising, six broken ribs and concussion."

"Sounds like you got off lightly," I tried to joke. "Of course, the next question I'm going to ask you is an obvious one. Why you?"

"I didn't get off lightly," Stan snapped. "They slashed both of my arse cheeks."

"What?" I thought I heard wrong and my eyes widened in horror.

"Yeah." Stan nodded. "They did it after they raped me."

I almost dropped my coffee onto the floor when Stan spurted out the last sentence, and it took me a minute for me to find my voice again.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him, now placing the coffee on the floor, by my feet. I didn't feel like drinking it anymore.

Stan widened his eyes as if he was trying to fight back tears, but there was no quaver in his voice. "I was drunk after our last meeting, and went to my bed and messaged Gavin and Ian on Facebook and told them about our conversation."

"What?"

"They haven't said anything. Why would they?"

"So Ian and Gavin know that _I_ slashed Moon?"

Stan nodded. "Cox knows that one of us had slashed Moon. It was him and his two dickhead pals that beat me up."

I dropped my head in my hands, cussing under my breath. And then I thought of something. I looked up and asked Stan, "So why did they do you?"

"They know that it was one of us. Ian hasn't been hassled, but Gavin told me that Beefhead was asking around and wondering who had did it."

"I don't get it." I was dumbfounded why Stan had been singled out and then I realised that he mentioned rape. "You said you were raped."

Stan gulped and nodded once. "I thought I was dreaming at first, Mick," he said, and now I could see anger in his face. "Krystal doesn't know. And she's not going to."

"What happened?"

"After they beat and slashed me," he began. "Cox and Dexter knelt on my arms and that Bernie cunt raped me."

"Shit." I placed my hands over my mouth in disbelief. "Did...?" I paused, unsure how to ask the next question. I decided not to.

"Did _what_?" Stan snapped and was now becoming animated. "Did I scream for help? Yes. Did they laugh when Bernie was shagging me? Yes. Did Bernie come inside me? No, he wore a condom."

"Look, Stan," I held my hands up. "Calm down, mate, please."

"Calm down? A lot of this is your fault."

I leaned back and folded my arms, confusion on my face. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when I gave you that business card of mine, in the pub?"

"Yeah, of course." I nodded. "I put it in my hooded jacket pocket."

"And did you take it out at any time?"

I thought for a moment and then I realised what had happened. I remembered the tussle I had with Simmy after I cut Moon. Before I could open my mouth, Stan began to speak again.

He said, "After you did your Charles Bronson shit, all of the people from the house party went looking for you." This was something I already knew. I remembered them running after me, but I decided to keep my mouth shut and allowed Stan to continue with his tale. He continued, "One of the guys saw a card on the pavement, a business card, _my_ business card. It must have fallen out when you were there. Cox told me, as Bernie had his cock up my arse, that they knew the card wasn't there before. The card was also dry, and the afternoon we had a shower of rain, so the card had been dropped on that evening sometime."

I rubbed my juddering hands over my face and couldn't believe what was happening. Stan was in the hospital because of me. "Why didn't you tell them it was me?"

"I was beaten before I had a chance to speak," Stan said. "And I was only told this information as I was being raped. The damage was already done."

"You should have told them it was me," I said, shaking my head.

"Like I've already said," Stan's anger had grown and he looked to be close to tears. "The damage had already been done, so what was the point in giving your name? Besides, you've got kids and I wouldn't want Cox going up to Glasgow and misbehaving."

"God, I'm so sorry," I said to Stan, and could feel my throat hardening with emotion. "What's gonna happen now?"

"Relax," he spat, " _You're_ fine, if that's what you're worried about."

"It wasn't."

"I've been beaten, raped and slashed. As far as Cox is concerned, we're equal. He doesn't give a shit about Moon, some druggy that makes him little money. I think his shaken nephew and the disrespect of it all was why Cox was so pissed off."

"And you said that you didn't go to the police?"

"That's right." Stan nodded. "I had to persuade Krystal, without giving too much away. I told her that it must have been mistaken identity and that I didn't see the attackers. And like I said before, she doesn't know about the rape."

"If you do change your mind about the police," I spoke with a heavy heart, knowing that what I was about to say was the right thing to do. "I'll tell them the truth about the slashing and—"

"Oh, fuck off, Mick. It's a bit late trying to do anything now. Besides, Cox told me that if I did contact the police... Well, you know the rest."

"Bastards." I shook my head and clenched my fists together. "Fucking bastards. They shouldn't get away with this."

"And what're you gonna do?" Stan mockingly laughed. "Sort them all out?"

"Somebody needs to."

"What's the point?"

"I'm sorry," I said. I didn't know what else to say. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"Just do me a favour, Mick," Stan said and began to scratch the top of his nose.

"What is it?"

"Just fuck off back to Glasgow, out of the way, and enjoy your life. Maybe I'll see you in another eighteen years."

Hurt by Stan's remark, I stood up, picked up my bag, and patted Stan on the shoulder and said goodbye, telling him that I'd visit him tomorrow sometime.

I left the hospital and headed for the bus station. I needed to get back to Rugeley and find a place to stay. As for seeing my parents again, I'd seen enough of them for one year.
Chapter Twenty Six

The bus reached Rugeley Town Centre and entered the bus station. I was back. A lot sooner than I thought, but I was back.

I stepped off the vehicle, along with six other people, and went over to a bench to sit down. I looked over to the market hall building and I was a matter of yards from the shops of the town centre. The public toilets weren't there anymore, just a gap, but a solicitors, an estate agents, and a toy shop could be seen.

I could see that Square One was still there in Market Square. Square One was/is a clothes shop that I used to use if ever I wanted to purchase a new shirt before a night out at Fat Willys, The Colosseum or Valentinos. It was pretty much the only decent clothes shop that there was. I remember, just before leaving for Scotland, that the town was getting excited because a New Look shop was opening up, which was a pretty big deal for a town that was still waiting for a KFC and a Pizza Hut.

New Look mustn't have worked out, because it was now a Costa Coffee. The same coffee place I was sitting in a few days ago when I first spotted Cox and followed him into The Shrew. I then thought about Cox and his two cunt pals, especially Bernie. Strangely enough, Dexter Gilchrist never irked me as much as the other two. Cox had probably killed Brian, and the three of them were responsible for beating Stan. My anger wasn't just because of what these guys were doing to the town, but it was becoming personal now. Brian and Stan were my friends and one of them was dead and the other had been raped and beaten.

My phone buzzed and I received a notification on Facebook. It was a video of a rave in Shelly's nightclub in Stoke. I, along with Gavin, Stan and Ian, had been tagged in along with six others. The person that tagged me in was Mark Billington. There were three likes to his 44 minute old post and one comment was made by Alan Ham. 'Those were the days', was the comment that was made by Alan. I had no idea what he was talking about. I had never seen Alan Ham once at any of the raves we used to go to at Shelly's or Club Kinetic that was situated up the road.

I watched the video for a couple of minutes, but had to turn it off. The video contained semi-naked males and females, some blowing whistles, holding glow sticks, and punching the air. All were off their tits on E, speed or both, and looked fucking stupid, to be perfectly honest. And I used to be one of those clowns.

I couldn't believe I was a part of that for a couple of years, taking speed and LSD. There were DJs like Carl Cox, Top Buzz, The Music Maker, DJ Rap, Daz Willett, Dave Seaman ... fuck, there were loads.

I hated that kind of music. I loved guitar bands, but I went along due to peer pressure, and soon after I left that scene I joined a band with Ian. Brian was the bass player for the first year, but I had to sack him because the rest of the lads didn't like him.

We played together for a few years and were pretty decent. We played at Rugeley's Red Rose Theatre, The Jug Of Ale in Moseley, The Pump 'n' Tap in Leicester, along with many others. It was a great few years and spent many nights in Birmingham, going to clubs that played indie music.

It was the height of Britpop, and the two highlights of my time in the band was one gig at The Jug Of Ale. Tim Burgess from The Charlatans turned up at the gig; he was going out with the sound mixer and sat at the back as we played our set list. I think Rob Jones, Charlatans' keyboard player, had just passed away, and Tim had turned up on the Friday night wearing the same clothes he had on the day before when they played _One to Another_ on Top of the Pops.

The second highlight was when ourselves and another band called Sunstone played at the Irish Centre in Digbeth. It was our biggest gig and Steve Craddock from Ocean Colour Scene had purchased a ticket and showed up with his girlfriend. It was a mad couple of years, but never lasted. A year later, Ian and I decided to give it all up. We went to Turkey, and that's where I met my wife.

I stood to my feet and looked over the road to see Elmore Park. The Travelodge was next to the park, and The Little Chef, Burger King, and a petrol station were opposite the Travelodge. I fancied a little walk into town first, but I didn't want to bump into Cox and his crew. If they had given Stan a doing, then I might be given some grief, as Beefhead and his pals knew I was associated with Stan and Gavin. Cox, on the other hand, didn't know who the fuck I was, and that's the way I wanted to keep it.

I threw my heavy rucksack over both shoulders and headed for the road that went by the bus station. I crossed at the lights and headed for the reception area of the Travelodge. It was fifty quid a night, but I couldn't stand another evening with my parents.

I managed to get a room and once I was in, I showered, watched some TV, cracked one off, and had the best night's sleep in ages.
Chapter Twenty Seven

#### Wednesday

I woke up feeling refreshed and sat up. I turned to my phone that was on the side table and could see it had been busy during the night. I had three new emails; one was from Groupon, Wowcher and Costo UK. I had a tweet notification from Michelle Connelly and just the one notification from Facebook. It was a picture of an attractive woman on a beach. Her name was Heather Grayson, she only had a few friends, and two photos available. I accepted the request and touched a link she had provided. It turned out to be a sex site, so I immediately cancelled it. I looked at her friends before logging out and giggled when I could see that Gavin was on the list. "Dirty bugger," I laughed.

Then I looked at the new text that I had received and strangely enough it was from Gavin. It said: _Heard ur back. Sq meal at 10???_

The text had been sent at seven this morning, and I replied and told Gavin that I'd see him there.

I then thought about Stan and the state he was in. Cox and his two other prick friends had put him in hospital, but I was partly responsible. I couldn't believe Stan's business card had fallen out of my jacket pocket when Simmy grabbed me. What a fucking idiot. It's like when you see these cop shows and the perpetrator leaves his wallet at the crime scene.

My stomach was growling for food and I decided to empty my colon, have a shower, and trim my beard. Half an hour later, and feeling refreshed, I was in the café, waiting for Gavin to turn up.

Tracy approached me, dressed in her café attire, hair greased back into a ponytail, chewing gum. I raised a smile as she approached. I was kind of pleased to see her. I guessed that her attitude either amused or annoyed individuals. She annoyed me at first, but she was growing on me.

"What do you want?" she asked me, chewing her gum furiously.

I had noticed that Tracy was quite attractive. She never did anything for me at first. I certainly wouldn't turn her down, I thought. Especially after finding out what my wife had been up to and being kind of separated. Of course, Tracy was half my age, and most waitresses and barmaids flirted with male customers to get tips, because they know that us men are gullible and weak.

Tracy didn't flirt. She did the opposite to flirting, whatever that was. She looked disinterested in the job and hardly made eye contact when speaking to her customers.

"I'll have a coffee for now," I told her.

"Sugar?"

"What?" I yawned and scratched my head.

She groaned, rolling her eyes, "Do you want sugar?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'm sweet enough, but I would like milk."

"Okay." Tracy gazed at me, or should I say, _through me._

I had to ask, "Tracy, can I ask you a question?"

She never responded with words; she just released a groan.

"I'm intrigued," I began. "You look miserable. What do you do for fun? Torture kittens?"

"Is this supposed to be funny?" she moaned.

"You're just a young pup, I suppose," I said. "Once you meet the love of your life, things will change and maybe you'll even get a smile on your face."

"Love is for mugs," she scoffed.

"Don't you want to be in love, Tracy?" I asked the girl. "Don't you want to be happy? Don't you want that feeling when you meet someone and your heart skips a beat?"

"No." She shook her head. "That's called arrhythmia. My granddad died from that." She then walked away, back to the kitchen, leaving me dumbfounded.

She gave me my coffee some two minutes later and I looked up at a new poster at the left side of the wall. There was a picture of a waitress and underneath it said: _Yay! It's the weekend. Said nobody who works in the restaurant business ever!_

Gavin finally turned up and his face was sombre. He asked Tracy for a cup of tea and gave me a thin smile as he took a seat at the table, opposite me.

Tracy came out of the kitchen and a guy, sitting on his own, shouted her over as she put Gavin's tea on our table. There were only three people in the café at that moment, and Tracy seemed annoyed with the rude obese man. She went over to him and took his order. She then walked by us and muttered under her breath that the hardest part of her job was being calm to rude people.

She then went over to Gavin and I, and asked if we were ready to order.

"I'll just have a full English, please," I said.

"And you?" She flashed Gavin a quick look.

"Oh, I don't know." Gavin patted his large belly and had stolen one of my jokes. "I'm trying to stay ripped until Christmas."

There was not a single flicker of emotion from the young waitress, which amused me and embarrassed Gavin. She then scrunched her face as if she hadn't heard Gavin properly and asked him, "Ripped? Don't you mean rippled?"

I burst out laughing, forcing Gavin to playfully and gently kick me under the table.

Gavin ordered a full English and said to Tracy, as she was about to leave to give the order in the kitchen, "Before you go judging me, darling. I have a thyroid problem."

"Thyroid? Is that a new word for cake?"

I could see a hint of a smile from her face and thought that she was enjoying this. Gavin wasn't amused and informed Tracy that thyroid problems run in his family.

Tracy walked away and said, "I don't believe anybody runs in your family."

Gavin shook his head and sighed, "Cheeky bitch. I mean, what's the point in being healthy anyway? Healthy is just dying as slowly as possible."

"I think she's quite funny," I remarked.

"I suppose I'd shag her," said Gavin, rubbing his chin in thought. "Just to teach her a lesson."

"Just to teach her a lesson? What does that mean?"

"You know," Gavin laughed. "It's like that saying: I'd shag her just to annoy her."

"I don't really understand what that means."

"It means that you'd shag somebody who was half decent looking, even if you didn't like them as a person."

"Oh." I nodded my head once. I was still none the wiser and decided to change the subject.

Gavin adopted a serious look on his face and I asked him what was the matter.

He hunched his shoulders and said, "Everything."

"Everything?" I smiled, and knew he wanted to talk about the slashing of Moon, but I waited until he brought the subject up himself. He didn't, and I said. "That's a bit vague."

"Debt problems."

"What kind of debt?"

"Cards. Bets. I'm two months behind in my rent. I can't get a fucking job. I have no car."

"Jesus, your life's worse than mine," I tried to joke, but I could see that Gavin wasn't in the mood, so I changed the subject. I said, "I saw Stan yesterday."

"Oh?" Gavin lowered his head.

"He's really messed up," I said, aware that Gavin and Ian didn't know that Stan was raped as well.

"I know." Gavin gulped. "Mental, isn't it? And why would someone do something like that? He said he's not going to the police, because he never saw the attackers anyway."

Neither Gavin or Ian were aware that I was partly responsible for Stan's predicament. They knew I had cut Moon, because Stan had told them on Facebook, but they didn't know about the business card falling out of my pocket after the small scuffle with Simmy.

Our conversation was cut short when Tracy delivered the two plates.

"Jesus," Gavin laughed. "I'll never be able to eat all of that."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she said with a smirk.

Gavin shook his head and I began to tuck in to my high calorie breakfast. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I stopped eating to pull the phone out. It was a text from Ian. He must have been told that I was back. The text read: _Fancy a couple of pints tonight? The Chase. 8._

I texted back _Okay_ and said to Gavin, "Fancy a drink tonight? I'm meeting Ian up The Chase."

"Love to, mate, but I'm totally skint. Sooner I get a job, the better."

"Well, come anyway. I'm buying."
Chapter Twenty Eight

I reached The Chase pub ten minutes late. I was about to leave the Travelodge at 7:40, but my stomach began playing up, so I had to sit on the pan for ten minutes and had explosive diarrhoea. It wasn't pretty. It was like pellets leaving a shotgun, but after the ordeal I felt fine and ready to go. I entered the pub and saw Gavin and Ian sitting on stools, around a table that was near the window. It was midweek, so the pub was hardly jumping with people. I apologised for being late and sat next to them once I realised that Ian had already got the drinks in.

Straightaway, the subject of Stan popped up, and it was Ian that got the ball rolling.

"You seen him then?" Ian asked me.

"Yeah. He looks terrible." I took my first sip of my beer and added, "It could have been worse, though."

"Worse?" Ian narrowed his eyes. "Worse, how?"

I struggled to say any more. I think Stan was going to tell Ian and Gavin what happened, but in his own time.

"Do you know something?" Gavin pushed me.

"Charming," Ian laughed. "You don't bother your arse to come down for eighteen years, and you and Stan are up to your old ways."

"What are you talking about?" I asked an irate Ian.

"You and Stan used to have your secrets, and it's happening again. What did he tell you in that hospital? He told you something, didn't he?"

I slowly nodded.

"And what makes _you_ so fucking important?"

"Let me ask you something," I began, and cleared my throat before continuing, "Who was present when you and Gavin visited him?"

Ian dropped his bottom lip in thoughts and faintly shrugged his shoulders. "Krystal."

"Well, that's probably why he never said anything to you both. When I visited him, it was just the two of us. And it's not something to put in a text."

"What the fuck is happening, Mick?" Gavin looked scared, as if he knew the news was going to be bad, but he wanted to hear it all the same.

"It's not my place to say anything."

"Just spit it out, will you?" Ian snapped.

"I'll need more alcohol before I say anything," I said.

Ian left the table and stormed over to the bar. He came back with a triple Jameson, neat, and told me to neck it. I did as I was told and then Ian took his seat once more.

"Right," he said. "Ready when you are."

"Okay," I sighed, feeling the warm glow in my body. "But you guys need to listen to me and not fly off the handle and interrupt me every ten fucking seconds."

Gavin and Ian nervously looked at one another and Gavin said, "Done."

"Okay." I blew a breath out, tried to start at the very beginning, and said, "Remember that time in The Vine, when Stan was showing us his business card?" I didn't wait for a response and continued, "I put mine in my hooded pocket. I went for a haircut at Stars and Beefhead and his lot were hanging around there. So I purchased an open razor for protection, just in case." Of course, the razor was given to me by the owner, but they didn't need to know that. It wasn't important.

"Oh shit." Ian put his head in his hands whilst Gavin looked at me, wide-eyed, supping on his beer. "I think I know where this is going. Is that what you used to cut Moon?"

I nodded. "They tried to intimidate me as I left, and someone spat in my hair, so I turned around and punched the first person I could reach. I caught Steady and knocked him down."

Gavin almost choked on his beer and said, in a voice louder than I was comfortable with, "You hit him?"

"A few days after, I had gone to my sister's for a meal and had a massive falling out with my parents," I said, ignoring Gavin's query, annoyed that I had been interrupted. "I went for a walk up the Pear Tree and could hear noises coming from Curzon Place. I had my blade on me. I saw Moon and Simmy coming out of the house where the party was being held and..."

"And you walked over and slashed him?" Ian spoke with an ounce of confusion in his voice. "Just like that?"

"I put my hood up so they didn't recognise me." I took a break from speaking and wet the inside of my throat with two gulps of beer. "I didn't know that the young kid was Cox's nephew. In fact, I didn't know that Cox was there in the first place. This wasn't something that I had planned."

"Cox is a dangerous man, Mick," Gavin said.

"I know he is. At least, I know now."

Ian and Gavin gave me a baffled look and I told them about going into The Shrew and Cox stabbing some young guy in the toilets. Both men shook their heads and I didn't elaborate on the story. They still hadn't been told the whole story with Moon and knew that more info was to come from me.

"Shit," said Gavin, shaking his head whilst Ian stared in disbelief. "You punch Steady, help a stabbed kid out of The Shrew, and slash Moon. That's some fucking week you've had, Mick."

"Tell me about it."

"What happened after you cut Moon?" Gavin asked. "You ran away?"

Simmy tried to grab me. We had a little tussle, but when he saw me raising the blade, he panicked and ran away. And then so did I."

"So ... what has this got to do with Stan?" Ian spoke at last. He looked shell-shocked and his face was blank of emotion.

"They found Stan's business card on the ground, in Curzon Place."

"It was still in the pocket of your jacket?" Gavin asked.

I nodded.

"And they think it was Stan that attacked Moon?" Ian asked.

I nodded again.

"Fuck." Ian smacked his fist off the table.

"I know," I said, and lowered my head shamefully.

A silence enveloped the three of us, and for a minute we sipped our beers in quiet and Ian was the next person to fire a query my way.

"What happened to Stan?" Ian asked me. "I want the whole story. Everything that _you_ know."

"It was Cox and the other two that did Stan." I cleared my throat and was becoming emotional. My throat stiffened and I think Ian and Gavin could see I was becoming upset and allowed me time to get myself together before continuing.

"Stan went for a run on Sunday night," I said.

"Yeah, we know that," Ian snapped, urging me to hurry the fuck up.

Ignoring Ian, I added, "A car pulled up and Cox, Gilchrist and Bernie Jones jumped out, all carrying baseball bats. After they had finished beating him..."

Ian puffed out impatiently, "Go on."

I could see that the pair of them, Ian especially, looked annoyed and was aware that me slashing Moon had caused Stan to take the punishment for it. But it was about to get worse.

"Before they got in the car, Bernie raped Stan."

I looked up and could see both Gavin and Ian losing colour from their faces. I'd actually forgotten to mention that he had his arse cheeks slashed as well. I wasn't sure he had told them this in the hospital.

Gavin shook his head and said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"You heard him," said Ian.

"If I'd known this would have happened..." I couldn't finish my sentence and gulped when I saw the look of contempt on both of their faces.

"Well, I've got to hand it to you, Mick," Ian spoke with anger in his tone. "You certainly know how to make your appearance after two decades a memorable one."

"I just wanted to do something," I tried to explain, feeling my eyes filling up. "The way they walk about the town as if they own it, Brian getting killed, Gavin getting a slap, me getting spat on... Just the way they overall treat people..."

"So Stan gets fucked, quite literally, because you wanted to play Death Wish on the Pear Tree Estate, is that it?"

"It wasn't planned. Yes, I had a razor on me, but I didn't know there was a party at Curzon Place. I went to the Pear Tree for a walk, that's all. But when I saw Moon and Simmy ... I couldn't help myself."

"And is Stan still talking to you?"

"Actually... Yes, he is."

"Strange." Ian finished his drink, stood up and grabbed his coat. "If it was me, I wouldn't want to see you again. Not that it makes any difference these days, now you're only popping down every eighteen years."

"No reason why you can't come up," I said.

Ian put his coat on and Gavin asked Ian where he was going.

"I'm not spending another minute with him." He pointed at me, and then turned to Gavin. "And if you've got any sense, you keep away from the town, especially on a night. They know you're pals with Stan and Mick, and this prick punched Steady."

"I don't understand." Gavin scratched his left eyebrow with his middle finger and looked genuinely perplexed.

"You'll be a target, Gavin," Ian tried to explain. "Stay away from the town. It's okay for this prick. He'll be in Glasgow soon enough, out of the way."

"Come on, Ian," I pleaded. "Don't be like that. We've known each other since we were kids."

"Do me a favour, Mick," Ian snapped and added before I could respond. "Piss off and leave us alone."

"Stan's in a bad way and Cox is responsible for Brian's death. They can't get away with that."

"I think you'll find that they _can_ , and they _will_." Ian said goodbye to Gavin and gave me one last look before leaving. "Don't come rushing back."

After Ian had left, Gavin gave off a thin smile and peered out of the window.

"So, is that how _you_ feel?" I asked Gavin. "Are you pissed off with me?"

Gavin leaned back and said, "I can see Ian's point of view. But..."

I widened my eyes. "But?"

"Moon had it coming." Gavin looked over both of his shoulders, and then added in a quieter voice, "They've all got it coming. Just a shame that you dropped that card."

"I know."

"But you didn't beat Stan up or rape him. You just didn't help matters."

I thanked Gavin for his understanding. What happened to Stan wasn't all on me, but if I had a time machine, I wouldn't have bothered going up to the Pear Tree on that night.

I could see that there were menus on the table and steak knives and forks in a cup, and asked Gavin if he wanted something to eat, on me. He declined my offer and I decided to get two more beers. We drank and talked for a while, until Gavin peered out of the pub's bay window where we were sitting.

"Fuck," Gavin sighed, still staring out of the pub's window.

"What is it?" Now _I_ was looking out and could see for myself.

Gavin sighed and pointed outside. "Steady's coming in with one of his girlfriends."

"Jesus," I moaned. "Those fuckers are everywhere."

Steady swaggered into the pub and went straight to the bar. The girl that he was with was very young, around twenty. She was gorgeous, and I had no idea what she was doing with such a loser like Steady. For one, he was a drug taker and occasional dealer. He also dumped the girls once he found out they were pregnant. Not only that, but he had a terrible reputation, was jobless, and on the wrong side of forty. I felt like walking up to the girl and giving her a good shake.

Gavin decided that he didn't want a beer after all and that he wanted to go home. I think Steady's appearance had irked him, and he wanted to sneak out of the place before he was noticed. I wasn't intimidated by the man, but I certainly didn't want to sit in a pub on my own.

I grabbed a steak knife when Gavin wasn't looking, placed it into my pocket, and we both walked out and were relieved that we weren't spotted.

"Right then." Gavin looked uncomfortable standing outside The Chase pub and looked like he just wanted to get home, wherever that was. "I'll be seeing you. Do you think we could get a night out—a proper night out before you go, whenever that may be?"

"I dunno, Gavin." I shook my head and ran my fingers over my mouth, stroking my beard. "With Ian pissed off with me and Stan in hospital..."

"Fair enough," Gavin snickered and patted me on the shoulder before walking away. See you, mate."

I walked in the opposite direction, looked over my shoulder to see that Gavin had disappeared. I then stopped and hid in the shadows, under a tree that was by the school entrance, almost opposite the pub on the other side of the road.

There was something I needed to do.
Chapter Twenty Nine

For an hour I sat in the dark, on a kerb, near the school gates. With my hood over my head from my thin black jacket, I glared at The Chase pub and checked my watch. It was ten o'clock and I prepared myself to wait for another hour. Eleven was the time pubs shut in England.

I didn't have to wait any longer, thankfully. I saw Steady and his girlfriend coming out of the pub, both giggling. As soon as I saw his stupid face, all I could think about was the people he hung around with, the way he treated people, and him spitting in my hair.

They walked along the road and appeared to be going to Etching Hill. I thought about the implications of attacking Steady. The punch the other day just wasn't enough. Maybe I should just scare him a little, I thought. No doubt, his girlfriend, or whatever she was, would want to phone the police if he was assaulted in some way, but Steady wouldn't allow that. Cox wouldn't approve if any of the people that he was associated with snitched to the police. Also, It would send shockwaves around the town.

Cox was convinced that Stan was behind Moon's attack, so if Steady got done by myself, a lot of scratching heads would take place, wondering who the fuck was behind this, because my pals all had alibis. I then thought about the lads. _Would_ any of them be blamed for this? Gavin lived with his parents and was on his way there, and Ian would have been home with his family, and Stan was in hospital, so as far as alibis were concerned, they were in the clear.

Beefhead and co had seen the four of us out and about, but to Cox I was practically invisible. He didn't know who I was. I was convinced I'd be okay if I did what I did and then just disappeared back up north.

I had decided to go back to Glasgow in two days, so scaring Steady was going to be my last hurrah before returning to the mess of my life in Glasgow. I would have loved to have harmed Bernie Jones, but, in truth, I was scared of the bloke. He probably deserved a beating more than most. Yes, like the others, he sold drugs and was responsible for drug related deaths over the years, but he was a vicious psychopath who thrived on violence and raped some of his victims. Now he had done the same to one of my friends.

The trouble was, even if I wasn't scared of him, it was hard to get close to him. I had no idea where he lived and the times that I _did_ see him, he was either in a public place, with David Cox and Dexter Gilchrist, or both.

I watched with hate in my eyes as Steady grabbed his girl's backside. He gave her a playful slap on the back as the pair of them giggled and walked away alongside the cricket pitch where bonfire nights used to take place. There were only houses on the right side of this long lane, as the cricket pitch was on the left of the road, and the place was dusky. Perfect, I thought.

I kept my black hood up, both hands were in my pockets and I was holding onto the steak knife with my right hand. Then I began to follow the pair of them.

I crossed the road and could see that the two of them turned right down a cul-de-sac. I needed to find out what number house they were going into, but at the same time I didn't want to be seen. Once the two of them disappeared from my view, I began to jog, and then I slowed down once I reached the end of the street that the pair of them had turned in to.

The two figures went up a drive and I could see it was the end house that they had gone into. It was a large house. It was in a part of Rugeley where slightly better off people stayed, and I guessed that this young woman was either housesitting or her parents had gone away on holiday.

I walked down the street slowly, my head turning from side to side, paranoid that someone had peered out of their window and had spotted this suspicious hooded male. I guessed that most people had work the next morning and were in bed, considering that it was midweek. I had a look behind me and went down the drive of the house where the girl stayed. Under my breath I kept on saying, "Jesus, Mick. What are you doing?"

I walked into the back garden of the house and felt a little more relaxed, now I was in complete darkness. I looked to my left and right, along the back gardens, and then gazed into a window. I could see the living room of the house and then heard giggling. Steady and this girl were the only ones in the house, and they had gone upstairs. The light in the bathroom above me went on for a minute, and then the bedroom light above me went on. I heard a door slam and then the bedroom light went off. I assumed sex was going to take place, and looked for a way in. I wanted to somehow get in and stand at the bottom of the stairs and freak Steady out, like something out of one of the Halloween films.

I tried the back door and then went round the front, careful that I wasn't seen, but both doors were locked. I returned to the back of the house and didn't know what to do with myself. To be honest, I felt a bit of a pleb, and wondered if I should just go home.

I stood around and could hear that poor cow above me getting pumped by that loser Steady. Both were moaning, but I'm sure she was faking it. He didn't come across as a great lover and probably hardly washed his cock.

I hung around for a while and the noise eventually died down. I could now hear noises in the bathroom and could hear Steady's voice quite clearly, telling his latest victim that he was going out for a smoke.

A smoke? Going out?

Shit.

I ran over to the fence and wondered if I could clear it if I had to. _Yeah. No problem._

I hid behind a large bush that was situated in the back of the garden and crouched down. I probably didn't need to crouch down as it was so dark, but I did anyway. Only a minute later, Steady stepped out of the house, wearing nothing but his trousers. He had a can of something, possibly beer, in his left hand, and a joint in the other. He took a swig of the can and sat down on a wooden bench that was next to the door. He had no shirt on and I could see his ribs poking out of his skinny body.

He placed the can on the floor and sparked up his doobie. He took in a long drag and looked up to the heavens and slowly blew the smoke out. I assumed the girl wasn't going to join him and wondered what I should do next. Every time I saw Steady, he was with either one of his pals or all four of them. It was very rare that he would be on his own. I was shaking and I was undecided on what to do. I was no fighter but I knew, even hand to hand, I could take this skinny bastard.

"Fuck it."

I stood up and stepped away from behind the bush. I stood still and watched as Steady continued to puff on his joint. I gulped and took in a deep breath once he looked up and began to stare in my direction. I was convinced that he still couldn't see me, and I took a couple of steps forwards on the grass. He then leaned back, and continued to stare. He took another drag from his stick of poison and threw it on the floor. Something must have spooked him to throw half of his joint away.

He stood up slowly and I could tell by his body language that he was scared. I was convinced that he could see the outline of me, and I took another three steps forwards and was now only yards away from the man that I've hated for all of my life; even more so now.

The hood was still covering my face, and I pulled out the knife out of my pocket.

Steady raised his hands and right there I knew I had him. I knew he was scared. I kept on moving towards him, and I knew if he didn't retreat things were going to turn ugly. I was going to have to stab him. Not necessarily in a place where it would cause him to fall into a critical condition, but somewhere, anywhere, that would hurt.

The leg, maybe.

I certainly didn't want to bite his neck. Imagine being responsible for turning a loser like that into ... whatever _I_ am, making him possibly immortal. Jesus. It wasn't worth thinking about.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I got closer, but to my relief, Steady's legs began to move and he ran inside and shut the door, screaming at the girl inside to hide and call Beefhead. I don't think Steady had locked the door, in all his panic, but I didn't hang around for very long.

I ran from the house, still clutching onto the knife with my right hand. As soon as I passed The Chase pub and reached Hagley Road, I turned my run into a jog and put the knife back into my pocket. I was glad that I didn't need to use it and popped the steak knife into the first bin I passed.

Ten minutes later, I had reached the Travelodge and returned to my room. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins and I was sure that it was going to take a while to calm down. Once I was in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and put the TV on. I put my finger on my carotid artery and could feel my heart going ten to the dozen.

I was expecting a bad night's sleep. I wasn't to be disappointed.
Chapter Thirty

### Thursday

I had three hours sleep and received a text from Gavin. He told me that he was bored and that we should meet up if I'm leaving today. I told Gavin that I was leaving at the weekend because I couldn't get a ticket. There were some available for Friday, but I didn't want to travel during the working week, if I could avoid it.

I was getting sick of meeting at the café, so I text Gavin and told him to grab some breakfast at home and that I'd meet him in Elmore Park, which was just a hop, skip and a jump from where I was staying.

I made myself a coffee from the sachet, cup and kettle provided, and was glad to eventually see the back of the Travelodge. It was costing me a fortune.

Once I finished the coffee, I left my room and walked through the reception to the outside. It was a dry day, murky, but I chose not to wear a coat or my thin black hoodie. I wore black jeans, a white T-shirt with a grey jumper over the T-shirt.

I sat on the bench that faced opposite the pond and waited for Gavin to make an appearance. The play park was twenty to thirty yards away, and I didn't want to sit on the benches near the park for a number of reasons. I noticed that there were three toddlers there with their mothers. I didn't have a child with me, and I didn't want the mothers to think I was some kind of weirdo, hanging about the play park, and that I was there, watching the children. Times had changed now. Parents were more paranoid these days about sexual predators.

I remember a couple of years ago; I went swimming with the kids and was sitting on the edge, watching them play. Suddenly, a little girl sat next to me and began to talk to me. I felt so paranoid and wondered where her father was and didn't want people to think I was some kind of predator. It's a shame it's like that these days. The girl was just being friendly, but we live in different times now.

Finally, Gavin showed up and sat next to me.

"Sorry I'm late, Mick," he said. He wore a daft grin on his face and gave me a wink.

I knew there was something he wanted to get off his chest, so I asked him, "Anything you wanna tell me?"

"I went into town, after The Chase," he began.

"I thought you were going home." I was a little hurt that Gavin had decided to go elsewhere without me. "I would have come with you."

"I just went into Bos for one. Met a girl called Christine Bennett."

"I used to go to school with her," I said. I then looked at his daft smiling face. "Is this the part where you tell me that you shagged her?"

"Went like a rocket, she did." Gavin laughed, "I hope she has a wheelchair, because she won't be able to walk for a good few days. I completely destroyed her."

"Jesus, Gav." I shook my head and giggled. "We're not teenagers anymore."

"Good days, though, being teenagers and in our twenties." Gavin said with a reminiscing smile stretching across his face. "Weren't they?"

"For you, maybe," I scoffed. "You used to get all the ladies. Me, on the other hand, used to struggle."

"Trouble with you is that you used to just stand at the bar and hope the girls would fall at your feet."

"You had the gift of the gab. That was your weapon."

"I had to have that. You were better looking than me."

"Still am, you fat bastard," I snickered.

Gavin patted his belly with both hands and laughed.

Once the hilarity had died down, I could feel Gavin staring at me and I asked him what was wrong.

"While propping the bar up last night," Gavin began. "I overheard a conversation with some bloke and Beefhead's cousin, Jetta."

"Oh?"

"Looks like Cox and his mob know that Stan wasn't to blame for Moon, and that the card was just a coincidence."

"Oh right."

"Also, I was in the bar till closing time, and this Jetta gets a call from Beefhead, saying that somebody tried to attack Steady last night. Probably the same guy that did Moon, and that Stan must have been a case of mistaken identity because obviously Stan's still in the hospital. I take it that Cox knows now, but the problem they have is that they think there's some kind of vigilante lurking about."

"Is that right?" I smiled.

"What are you doing, man? Have you got a death wish or something?" Gavin shook his head and huffed, "You punch Steady, slash Moon, and now this!"

"I don't understand it," I admitted. "I can't help myself. I just can't seem to walk away. With Brian dead, and now Stan being the way he is..."

"But that was Cox that did that. You're attacking the four other losers, Steady, Beefhead, Moon and Simmy."

"But Cox is getting the message, isn't he?" I nodded and raised my eyebrows. I must have looked quite smug, but my behaviour had annoyed Gavin.

"And what message is that?" Gavin leaned back and folded his arms. He looked unimpressed.

"Well ... he's getting nervous, isn't he?"

"Cox doesn't give a fuck about Moon and the rest. Yes, they make him a little money, but Cox, Bernie and Dexter make their money with big deals from the drugs that they get with Quinny Aura."

"Yeah, Yeah," I huffed. "You've already told me that."

"All you've done is made Cox more vigilant, harder to get to, now that Moon's been slashed and Steady had his scare last night. He's still going to go about his daily business, but he'll be tooled up in case this vigilante is stupid enough to try anything." Gavin leaned forwards, inches from my face. "But the vigilante _won't_ try anything, will he?"

"Maybe if I do one of those three before I leave, now that Stan is in the clear. The paranoia will kill them."

"Mick! Stop it!"

I lowered my head and stayed silent.

"Keep your head down," Gavin said. "Stay low until the weekend, and then fuck off back to Glasgow. You have a job, kids ... what you're doing is mental."

"I know," I sighed.

"What's done is done. But no more damage."

I gazed out at the pond and felt a chill down my back. I stared at the mallards and swans as they glided across the water with little effort, and turned to Gavin and asked him what he was up to for the rest of the day.

"Don't know," he said. "I need to go to the library to get some CVs done. You? Being broke is a bitch."

"Not sure. Was hoping for one night out on Friday, but with you skint, Stan in hospital, and Ian not speaking to me..."

"Not looking good, is it?" Gavin began to laugh.

"No, the sooner I get back, the better," I moaned. "Although I'm not sure I have a marriage to go back to. Fancy an early lunch," I asked Gavin. "My shout. I think there's a café in the Brewery Street Arcade."

Gavin shook his head. "Later, maybe. I need to get these CVs done. If I'm not earning in the next month, I'll be homeless and skint."

"Okay. Good luck."

Gavin left the park and I continued to stare out at the gleaming pond. I couldn't go back to the Travelodge just yet, as it was usually cleaned around this time, and it was too early for a pint.

I decided to take a walk by St Augustine's, and maybe a walk along the canal. I could walk two ways: Up to The Bloody Steps, or the other way, which would take me up to The Ash Tree pub. I could pop in there, have a meal, and then walk back to the Travelodge.

I stood up and decided to go, rather than hang about like some kind of weirdo.
Chapter Thirty One

It was afternoon time and I decided, clearly down to boredom, that I should pay Stan a visit. After all, that was the reason why I was down Rugeley for the second time in the first place.

This time I checked the visiting hours and arrived at 4pm. I was going to bring something with me, but changed my mind. Some people brought grapes into hospital and I still have no idea why.

I stepped into the ward and could see Krystal by Stan's side. This was the first time that I saw her, and I felt terrible when I could see how upset she was. She was younger than Stan and the pair of them looked like they genuinely cared for each other. She turned around and gasped.

"That's Mick," Stan announced. He was sitting up in bed and seemed in decent spirits.

"So you're the famous Mick Hood?" she said. "Or do you prefer Michael?"

"Either," I snickered. "Although being called Michael reminds me of being in trouble with my parents."

"Mick then." Krystal smiled and I could see she was a pretty thing, five-six in height, long brown hair. She was a big girl, but I could see why Stan was so fond of her.

My heart was crashing against my chest. I had no idea why. I knew Krystal was unaware of the story behind Stan's attack, and the rape was something else that Stan was keeping from her.

"I'm about to go now," Krystal announced. She went to the side of the bed and kissed Stan. She walked by me and gave off a big smile, telling me that it was good to meet me at last and then disappeared. If she knew the truth, I was certain I'd be getting a slap across the face.

"You okay?" I called over to Stan, before walking over and sitting next to the bed.

He nodded and said, "She's nagging me. Keeps on telling me that I should call the police."

"Oh?" I rubbed my clammy hands together, panicking a little.

"I told her. I didn't see anything. No faces, no car. It'd be a waste of time even if I did call them. It's bad enough my folks pressuring me to call the police, but Krystal is starting to do my head in."

"She's just concerned," I said.

"I know," Stan sighed. "If she knew the real truth... If I _did_ tell the truth, I'd be sticking you in it as well. Their motive for attacking me was because you slashed a guy's face, thinking it was me. If I told the truth, a massive shit storm would take place."

Selfishly, I breathed a sigh of relief and said, "It's for the best. And again, I'm really sorry. If I could take it back..."

"Shut up, will you?"

"I'll be back in a bit," I said, rubbing the side of my torso. "I need to drop the kids off at the pool."

"What?"

I stood up and laughed, "It's time to evacuate the hostages from the embassy."

Once the penny had finally dropped and Stan realised I needed to go the toilet for a number two, he cackled and told me to get the fuck out.

I disappeared for ten minutes. I found a gents, after getting lost and having to be guided by some nice young nurse, and was washing my hands seven or eight minutes later.

I made a slow walk back to the ward, getting lost a little, and decided to go to the vending machine for a coffee, before going back to see Stan. I picked up my milky coffee and headed back to the ward, but my feet stopped moving once I heard male voices coming from the ward.

I couldn't hear what was being said and chose not to walk in on whomever Stan was talking to. I was pretty sure he wasn't talking to a member of the hospital's staff, so I bided my time, took a slurp of my hot beverage, and pretended to read the cork notice board that was five yards from the ward's entrance.

The voices continued and when I heard the voices saying cheerio to one another, I continued to look at the board. I was hoping to clock who had turned up all of a sudden. I could see an image in the corner of my eye and took a glance to the side. I couldn't see a face, but I recognised the hairstyle, the brown curly hair. It was Dexter Gilchrist. Stan's visitor had been one of Cox's boys, and now I could feel my whole body tremble in angst and I didn't know why. I didn't even know what the little chat was about.

I was thinking about pretending to return as if I had only just finished the toilet, rather than telling Stan that I hung back like a coward. I didn't want my friend thinking I was a shitebag, but I decided to come clean nevertheless.

I walked in and looked over to Stan who was still sitting up.

He smiled. "Good shite?"

"It was okay, but I feel that there's more in the post."

"You timed that well," he cackled. "I've just had a special visitor."

"I could hear voices, so I hung back," I decided to tell him the truth, kind of. "Wasn't too sure who it was."

Stan opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, but then suddenly changed his mind.

"What is it?" I asked him, and sat back down with my coffee.

"I was about to call you a chicken," he snickered. "But realised that you slashed Moon and even punched Steady in front of the other three. I wouldn't have the bottle to do that. Neither would Ian or Gavin."

" _I_ wouldn't, normally." I shook my head. "I don't know what's wrong with me these days."

"You been taking brave pills?"

"I don't know what's going on." I rubbed my face and added, "I have no idea why I'm behaving like this. As for scaring Steady the other night, I actually wanted to get inside the house, but couldn't."

"For fuck's sake, Mick." Stan rolled his eyes. "Was that you as well? I heard about that."

"Anyway," I sighed. "What did Gilchrist want?"

"He apologised for the beating I took," Stan began. "What Bernie did to me wasn't mentioned."

"He ... _apologised_?" I leaned back and looked to the side, baffled. "I thought these guys were supposed to be gangsters."

"I think the apology was hollow," Stan said. "As soon as he said sorry, he then asked if I had talked to the police, or was thinking about talking to the police. I told him _no_ , obviously."

"So they wanted to know what you were going to do, not really giving a shit about you. Don't they know that this is gonna take an age to get over? A beating is one thing, but..."

Stan nodded. "Looks that way."

"Twats." I had another sip of my coffee and added, "So...?" I never completed the sentence, but Stan knew right away what I was going to ask.

"Selfish prick," he laughed. "No, don't worry. He never let on who they thought was behind the attack on Moon, or the thing the other night with Steady, now that I'm in the clear."

I lowered my head. "Sorry. I _am_ a selfish prick."

"And Moon was in surgery for six hours, getting his face sewn up at the Good Hope hospital. He should be out in a few weeks, if you're interested."

"I'm not."

A buzz went off above me and I looked up, wondering what the hell it was.

"That means visiting times have finished until tonight," Stan explained, and gave off a smirk.

I don't know how he was doing it. If I had gone through the same ordeal as Stan, I'm not sure how I'd cope. I'd be bitter, angry, in tears. I'd probably need therapy, especially after being raped as well.

Stan seemed in decent spirits, and I wasn't sure if that was him putting a brave face on. If anything, he should have been angry with _me_. It may have not been intentional, but dropping that card was my fault. Stan had seemed to have forgiven me for this, and even though I had never told any of my pals these words, I loved the man. It was eighteen years since we all saw one another, but when we had that first night in Riley's, it was like I had never been away.

I got up and told Stan I'd see him tomorrow, and that I was leaving on Saturday. For good this time.

"Okay," said Stan. "Maybe I'll come up and visit you."

"Please do." This comment made me smile and I continued, "Even if me and the missus have split up, you and Krystal come up and I'll show you the sights around Glasgow. I'll take you to Sauchiehall Street, the West End and the Merchant City."

"Krystal won't be going?" Stan laughed. "Bollocks to that. If I'm coming up, I'm coming up with the lads."

"That's if Ian is still speaking to me."

"Don't worry about him. I'll sort him out."

I walked to the door, ready to leave, and told Stan that I'd see him tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty Two

After spending hours walking around my old town and reminiscing, I bought a bottle of Jameson from Bargain Booze and went back to the Travelodge late afternoon. I didn't want to be judged, so I put the bottle up my shirt as I went through reception, and let myself into the room with my card-key.

I logged into the establishment's wifi and flicked through Twitter. Nothing was happening on Twitter, so I checked my emails, but it was the usual Wowcher and Groupon stuff that she used—the wife and I had a joint email account—and then I went onto Facebook. No messages, but four notifications and a friend request from Alan Ham. I accepted the request and then checked the notifications.

Two of them were just comments that were made in a book group I was in, but never participated in. The other one was another video that I had been tagged in. It was another one of those 'Remember these days, boys?'

It was a two-minute video, terrible footage, and was taken at Club Kinetic, Laserdrome. The DJ was a female artist called DJ Rap, and it was the usual drongos, dancing with their tops off, out of their nut on drugs. The people that were tagged in were myself, and eleven others, including Gavin, Ian and Stan. It was around 1993. We were young, we were stupid, but we eventually grew up, got jobs, and some of us had families. Some twenty-five years later, Beefhead, Simmy, Moon and Steady were still doing this. But these guys were now dealing, bullied younger people, sold hard drugs, and walked around the town with an annoying swagger.

I didn't know all four that well, but I knew that Steady and Beefhead had a few kids from different girls that they didn't see and give a shit about. Beefhead was also a woman beater, and was in the local news years ago when he beat his pregnant girlfriend unconscious in Squires' car park. The pub is now called Bow Street Runners, but was called Squires back then. It was only twenty yards away from The Vine pub.

The final notification was a girl I used to work with. Her name was Morag Mason and was another Facebook attention seeker that I detested. Before I moved to Scotland, I worked at a car plant for seven years. Morag's nickname was whorebag, because, apparently, she took a taxi ride from a pub one night and realised she had no money. She offered the driver a blowjob instead, and he accepted. Plus, _Morag_ and _whorebag_ kind of rhymed.

Her post stated the following: 'Arrggghhh! I don't know why I fucking bother!' This was followed by the predictable comments underneath 'what's up, hun?' 'inbox me' 'hugs' and my favourite ... 'sending good vibes your way.' Yeah, like _that_ fucking works. She received thirty-three comments and forty-two likes, so she got what she wanted. People like this should be fucking shot.

I placed my phone on the bed and lay down next to it. I began to think about my old job. I loved that job. I had several before I managed to land that one.

When I was sixteen, I started out at a photo plant called Hedley Taylor PLC. It used to be called Colortrend. I then went to a business called Kelley's for a year, followed by unemployment, creosoting fences, gardening, and working for Daytona Meats on Power Station Road. Stripping cows' tongues was probably the worst part of the job. I lasted five days at Daytona Meats. Then I joined the car company when I was nineteen, in November 1992, and was there until July 2000, and then I left for Scotland.

My eyes were feeling tired and I was thinking about having a crafty nap, but that would affect my sleep at the night time.

I looked at the clock and could see it was after four, so I decided to phone the kids.

I phoned my landline and the wife answered, "Hello."

"It's me," was my short introduction. "Can you put the kids on?"

"When are you coming back?"

"Why? In case I walk in on you again?"

"Don't be a dick," she sighed, and then there was a long silence. It was probably only seconds, but it felt longer.

"So, what's been happening?" I asked her, trying to make small talk to a woman I've known for nearly twenty years, yet I felt awkward with her on the other end of the line.

"Not a lot," she moaned. "Had a falling out with Jim next door."

"What happened?" In truth, I didn't care, but I thought I'd ask anyway.

I caught him throwing his cigarette butt over our garden. I told him off for doing it, but he gave me a right mouthful."

"A mouthful, eh?" I couldn't seem to help myself. "You should be used to that these days."

"Piss off, Mick!" she sighed and then added, "My mum's not well."

I didn't care. I had no time for the mother-in-law. She didn't like me and I didn't like her. "Oh yeah?" I feigned interest.

"I think she might have dementia."

"Oh, that's good," I began to snicker. "Maybe she'll be able to arrange her own surprise party. And on the plus side, she'll be constantly making new friends."

"Mick! That's a horrible thing to say!"

"What do you expect me to say? She's an old cunt," I snapped. "Anyway, do you realise that mother-in-law is an anagram of Woman Hitler?"

"She's not that bad, you English prick."

Growing tired of the meaningless conversation, I groaned, "Just put the kids on, you fucking lump."

My eldest came onto the phone first and we talked for a minute or so, and then my little girl was next, who spent ages telling me about what she had been doing at her gymnastics class and the new moves she had to learn for her dancing class. Once she was finished talking, finally, I didn't bother asking for her mother. I told my daughter bye and that I loved her, and then I hung up.

I went for a nap around five, and once I woke up I went into the shower to freshen myself. I went back into the room, wearing nothing but a towel and unscrewed the bottle of Jameson. I poured myself a generous measure into a coffee mug. Yes, I know. It wasn't very classy, but there were no whiskey glasses available, so I had to use a mug. I was more like a down and out than Don Draper.

I switched the TV on. My thoughts went to Stan and what he had been through. Some friend, eh? I turn up some eighteen years later and he's beaten and raped after a week, and all because of me. Okay, so I didn't beat him or rape him, but I _was_ partly responsible.

I don't know what time I dropped off for the night, but I had slept right through, thanks to the triple distilled Irish whiskey.
Chapter Thirty Three

### Friday

I had a bit of a hangover from the previous night and it took me a while to get off the bed once my eyes had opened.

The positives about having a friend that was unemployed, was that he was always available. I texted Gavin to see how he was and what he was up to. He texted back and asked if I wanted to have one last breakfast in the Square Meal café, but I wasn't hungry. I said 'fine' anyway, and hoped I'd be hungry by the time I got there. If not, then I could just sit there and drink coffee whilst Gavin stuffed his fat chops.

I went for a shower and put some fresh clothes on once I was dry. I went through the reception area and smiled at a young girl I hadn't seen before. She was around mid-twenties and looked similar to Ariana Grande. I was dying to turn around and have another look at her, but I had to remind myself that she was a young beauty and I was a man in my mid forties, with a dark beard on my face, scattered with grey hairs. I walked by the bus station and a building that used to be The Globe pub, but was something else now. I strolled along a street called Horsefair, passing the Wetherspoons pub, which was a cinema over twenty years ago.

I had a look in the café window before stepping inside, and for once Gavin was there before me. He was talking to the delightful Tracy and I walked in.

Gavin had already ordered a full breakfast, but I asked Tracy just for a coffee.

"Sugar?" she asked.

"Yes, honey?" I snickered. Yes, I know it was a crap joke and waiters and waitresses are always bombarded with one-liners that the customers think are funny, but I couldn't help myself.

"Do you want sugar in your coffee?" she huffed.

"No, I'm sweet enough."

"Your jokes are worse than my dad's." She walked away and said, before leaving to enter the kitchen, "And he's younger than you."

"Ouch," Gavin laughed.

"How does she know that her dad's younger than me?" I sat down, waiting patiently for my hot beverage. "She doesn't even know me."

"I think she was trying to get a rise out of you," said Gavin with a smirk. "Looks like it worked. You look hurt."

Tracy returned with my coffee and we both supped on our drinks as Gavin waited for his cooked breakfast to arrive.

"You know what I was thinking about last night?" I said to Gavin.

"Um..." Gavin elevated his shoulders. "Obviously not."

I took another drink of my coffee and realised that Tracy had put sugar in it. Little cow. I'm sure she did it on purpose.

Finally, I said to Gavin, "I was thinking about that time when I punched you in the face when you was giving Brian stick."

On the night I was talking about, Gavin and I went to The Ash Tree and arranged for Brian to meet up with us because he was bored. Brian was my friend. He wasn't somebody that Gavin, Ian and Stan knew well, but I made an effort to go out with him now and again.

Brian and I had met at primary school, when I joined John Bamford from the Pear Tree, and we remained friends ever since. Brian was a born again Christian at the time, and Gavin spent most of the evening mocking Brian for his beliefs. He was drunk and behaved like an idiot. We spent most of the night playing pool and putting pound coin after pound coin into the jukebox, playing Weller, Oasis and The Stone Roses.

"I was an arsehole that night," Gavin began to laugh. "I was pissed out of my head."

"You were pretty drunk."

"How old were we back then?"

"I think I was twenty one," I said. "I only know that because when I hit you, my watch flew off and shattered on the floor."

On that particular night, Gavin continued to mock Brian when we were outside the pub, and pushing and shoving occurred between the pair of us. Gavin became a little overzealous and pushed me too hard, almost knocking me over. I ran at him and gave him a left hook, and that was curtains for my watch. The watch was a twenty-first birthday present from the people at work. They all had a whip round and had bought me a Michael Kors watch. It lasted two months before I broke it.

Gavin's breakfast had finally arrived and I could see Tracy smirking at me as she put Gavin's plate down.

"How's the coffee?" she asked me.

"Perfect," I said, and gave the young bint a wink, and then took a large gulp of the beverage. The smirk disappeared from her face. Cow!

Gavin tucked into his breakfast and I remained silent throughout, playing with my phone. He had one sausage left to eat and I finally broke the silence.

"Where to after this?" I asked Gavin, as he gulped down his tea like it was water.

He hunched his shoulders. "I need to get more CVs out and try and get a job."

"After that?"

"I don't know." Gavin began to inspect the remains of his breakfast in his mouth, and ran his tongue along the outside of his top teeth.

I looked up and could see a familiar figure walking by the café.

"Jesus Christ," I moaned. "These fuckers are everywhere."

"What is it?" Gavin turned around and could see Beefhead walking by.

"That prick."

"It's not your problem," said Gavin. "This time tomorrow you'll be in sunny Glasgow, so don't worry about it."

"These arseholes will still be here, though." I shook my head and added, "I know Cox and the other two are the main players, but Beefhead and the others just do my head in."

Gavin put his hand in his pocket and slapped a tenner on the table. "I'll get your coffee," he said.

"I thought you were skint."

"I'll get it."

Gavin stood up and told me he'd be in contact, sometime during the day, but he needed to be somewhere. I nodded and took my time to finish my drink as Gavin left. I gazed around the empty café and ordered another coffee. I said to Tracy that I wouldn't tell any more crap jokes if she gave me the right coffee. I got the right coffee and Tracy smiled as she placed the mug gently on the table.

"Thank you," I said.

"My pleasure," Tracy said with a smirk, and pointed at the mug. "There's no sugar in that one."

Five minutes had passed and I left the premises, and decided to walk through the town one last time before I left for the north. I went by The Crown pub and could see that the heavens were darkening. It looked like the town was in for a spot of rain. I placed my hand in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I decided to take out some cash for the next day, and could see the two Burberry cap wearing youngsters, sitting near the cash machine.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered, and said to myself. "Don't say anything, Mick. Ignore them."

I took a hundred pounds out of the machine and I heard one of them say, "Look at that prick," as I walked away. I shook my head and continued to walk, trying to ignore them giggling at me from behind.

I went through the town, passing the war memorial, and stopped walking when I saw two men talking to one another by Greggs. The Greggs shop used to be called Rowlands, which was my first Saturday job. It used to be a hardware store, but the only one left in Rugeley now was called AVH, which had been there for decades.

I watched as the men conversed and then I decided to go back to the Travelodge. I was intrigued by the conversation that had taken place between Gavin and Beefhead, and wondered what it was about.

I gave the Travelodge a swerve and went to the park. I wasn't planning on visiting Stan on this day, but I was going to visit him one last time on the Saturday. The hospital wasn't that far away from the train station anyway.

I looked at my phone and wondered if I should call Gavin. I wasn't a nosey person as such, but him talking to Beefhead did bother me a little.

I texted Gavin and told him that I saw him talking to Beefhead and asked him what it was about. Gavin replied back and said that he owed them more money and was being hassled for it, but from what I could see, going by the body language of the two men, the conversation seemed friendly enough.

I never responded back with a text and decided to phone him instead. He never picked up, which was unusual, as he had just responded to my text. I tried again but it went onto his voicemail.

Fifteen minutes later, I received a phone call from Gavin. I picked up the phone and said straightaway, "Alright, mate? What's up?"

"Meet me round the back of the Horns pub, in Slitting Mill, as soon as you can."

"The Horns pub?" I shook my head in confusion. "That's a fifteen to twenty minute walk away. Why there?"

"Just do it, Mick." Gavin now sounded like he was upset and added, "I'm in trouble and I need your help."

He then hung up.

I shook my head and stared up to the sky. "What's going on?"
Chapter Thirty Four

I made a detour back to the Travelodge and grabbed a steak knife from my room. I then reached the Horns Pub in Slitting Mill that was just outside of Rugeley, and made it in just over twenty minutes. I was at the front of the place and could see that it wasn't busy. Gavin wanted to meet me at the back of the establishment, so I decided that that was where I needed to be. There were five cars in the car park and I assumed it'd get busier as the night progressed. It wasn't one of those pubs that attracted youngsters. It was a place that was out of the way, and most people that went there were couples and families out for a decent meal.

Because it was October, the evening was dimming already and I went onto the premises of The Horns pub and walked by the side of the establishment, heading towards the pond. As I walked further from the place, the darker it became.

I clocked a couple of cars round the back, which I assumed belonged to staff members or even the owners, and could see a black BMW parked to the side, on the dirt path. I walked by the vehicle, wary that it may have an amorous couple in there, and was now at the pond.

But there was no Gavin.

I didn't want to stand and shout after him like a loony, so I waited and told myself that I'd give it a couple of minutes and then I was phoning him.

But he rang me twenty minutes ago, I thought. He should be here. Unless he had to flee, for whatever reason.

My impatience got the better of me and I pulled out my phone. I called Gavin, but I was getting no response.

"Come on, you fat prick," I groaned, and was now getting nervous.

I turned to the side, facing the pond and opposite one of the small jettys, and huffed as his phone continued to ring out. I looked to my right and could see I was about fifty yards from the back of the pub. The phone continued to ring out and I hung up and could hear doors shutting from a car.

Then the sound of a vehicle could be heard. I assumed it was another customer, arriving and parking round the back of the pub, rather than using the car park at the front. But I was wrong. The vehicle was a BMW, and it stopped ten to fifteen yards away from me.

I looked over to the BMW and saw three figures get out, and now they were standing by the vehicle once the doors were shut. A discussion seemed to be taking place, and then the three individuals began to make their way towards me, with the dipped headlights of the vehicle still on. I couldn't see their faces, it was too dark, but I knew that one of the men was Gavin. I don't know how, I just knew. I could tell by the outline of him.

I put my hand in my pocket, feeling for the steak knife, making sure it was still there. I had no idea what was going on and hoped I wouldn't need the knife.

Maybe I was being paranoid.

But who were the two men? And why was Gavin with them?

My eyes continued to squint, but now the three guys had stepped in front of the lights of the vehicle and I could see who they were.

My heart began to gallop and my body shuddered with nerves.

It was David Cox and Dexter Gilchrist.
Chapter Thirty Five

"Hello." Cox said with a smile. "Mick, isn't it?"

I nodded my head, but never said a word.

Dexter had his arms folded, standing next to Cox on the left, and Gavin was on the other side. His head was lowered and he couldn't look me in the eye.

I managed to find my voice and asked, "What's this all about?"

Cox remained silent and this time Dexter began to speak.

"We hear that you're not too pleased about the way we make our money in this town," he began. "We hear that you're the culprit responsible for Moon getting striped, and we're curious how ambitious you really are."

I didn't give them a response.

"You couldn't fuckin' get to us," Cox said with an unnerving smile. "So you're attacking these small fry to ruffle my fuckin' feathers, is that what it is? Just because they do a little business with me now and again?"

I had no answer for Cox. Fear had stolen my words, so he continued.

"Well, I'm fuckin' here now," he said. "It's time to end this."

I was still baffled how they knew, and then I looked as Gavin lifted his head. He was in tears, and I knew something was wrong. He had done something. He had _said_ something.

Cox straightened his back, folded his arms, and noticed that Gavin and I were staring at one another. Then Cox began to shed some light why Gavin was present. He said, "I got Beefhead and his cronies to put the word out that I was offering five grand for any info on the attack on Moon. And it took your little pal here just a few fuckin' hours before he ratted you in. Fucking scumbag, eh?"

I glared at Gavin, who still couldn't look me in the eye, and felt hurt for the betrayal. Okay, we hadn't seen one another for eighteen years, but we still had a history, a past, and we had been getting closer over the last week or so, despite the dodgy start when we first met up at Riley's.

"I'm sorry, Mick," Gavin sobbed. "I need the money, mate. You know how things have been. They said they were going to beat you a bit, that's all."

I never responded. My blood was boiling and I felt like strangling the fat Judas.

"Oh." Cox pointed at Gavin, and then clicked his fingers. "You won't be getting any money."

"What?" Gavin cried.

Cox nodded at Dexter and his companion pulled out a knife, and then moved behind Gavin and placed the blade on his throat.

"And it's not just a beating your friend's gonna get," Cox laughed, gazing at Gavin. Cox then walked away, heading for the parked vehicle. He opened the boot, but I was distracted when Dexter spoke up.

"Don't get running anywhere," Dexter said to me with a smile, "Especially if you value your friend's life. As soon as you run, his throat gets cut."

"No." Cox began to laugh from behind the vehicle, still messing about in the boot. "I think he _should_ run. If this was my fuckin' friend, I'd be happy for him to be bleeding out all over this fuckin' grass. Snitching your pal in for five grand, which, by the way, he was never gonna get, isn't something that can be forgiven. Imagine if Bernie was here. Your arse would be destroyed by now."

I had no idea why Bernie _wasn't_ present, and never asked why.

Cox slammed the boot and returned to Dexter's side, holding something with both hands.

I gulped when I could see him holding a sawn off shotgun. It looked like a normal one that a farmer would use, taking two shells at a time, and the two barrels were side by side, not on top of one another like you'd see a SWAT team use in the movies.

I froze with fear and was certain that if I didn't do something, I was going to get seriously maimed at the least. I was certain that Cox had killed Brian, and with me present in The Shrew, he had stabbed an individual in a toilet during the daytime. So I knew he was capable, and I tried not to say anything to antagonise the man.

"Look," I tried to speak. "You don't have to do anything rash. I'm out of my depth. I get that. Why don't you let us go and we won't say anything?"

"You slashed Moon in front of my fuckin' nephew, while _I_ was at the same party." Cox laughed and his wide eyes never left my frame. "I can't let that go. This is personal _and_ business. I can't, and will not fuckin' let this go."

"Look, why don't we shake hands and forget this?" Gavin pleaded, feeling Dexter's knife pressing harder on his throat. "Dexter ... please."

"Just tell Quinny Aura that you did us, you did us good, " I said with pleading in my tone.

"Quinny Aura?" Cox began to laugh. "What the fuck has this got to do with Quinny? And how the fuck do you know about _him_?" He raised the shotgun. I was ten yards away from Cox and knew my midriff would get it, if I so much as moved.

"All I know," I began, stammering along the way, "is that he runs a few towns and has dealers in each one. You and your guys deal in Rugeley, and there are main dealers in other towns, and so on. I take it Quinny has heard about what had happened and has told you to sort the mess out, right?"

"Wrong. Quinny knows fuck all about what's happened. And why should he give a fuck about a junkie like Moon? I know _I_ don't. If waves of violence occurs in my town, police begin to show up and it's bad for business."

I thought that what Cox had just said was hypocritical and couldn't help myself. "I know you attacked that kid in the Shrew's toilets," I blurted out. "Wasn't that violence?"

Cox and Dexter gaped at one another.

I tried to explain. "I was there. I helped him into a car, so he could go to the hospital."

"You've been following us?" Cox's finger began to caress the trigger.

I lowered my head by an inch and never responded verbally.

Said Cox, "I'm sorting this little problem out before Quinny gets to fuckin' know. I don't _want_ him to know, but if he did, he wouldn't be too fuckin' bothered so long as it's not one of his men that's been hurt."

"Like you?"

"You catch on quick."

Cox lowered the gun, the barrels now facing the floor, and took a few steps towards me and rammed the butt of the gun into my stomach. I wasn't expecting this. I thought he had come over for a quiet word.

Now, I've been winded before. I've been punched in the stomach a couple of times, and when I briefly played tennis for the school, the opposing player had slammed a ball into my midriff, putting me down for a few seconds, but this was a different league altogether.

It felt like somebody had ripped out my lungs. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't breathe. I fell to the floor as Cox stood over me, and tried to crawl across the ground. I gasped, I panicked, and all the while David Cox stood over me, snickering to himself. I was expecting another blow, possibly on the back of the head, but my main aim was to get my breath back.

I could feel my lungs filling with air and turned on my back, looking up at the stars in the sky. The only thing that ruined the view was Cox's face leaning over, obscuring a third of what I could see, and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

He brought the shotgun up and rammed it back onto my middle, giving me the same feeling I had before, but this time I rolled onto my front and threw up.

I then heard Cox saying to Dexter, I presumed, "Maybe I won't kill him. Maybe I will just put two blasts in his fuckin' legs and cripple the bastard."

The air in my lungs returned once more and, despite Gavin having a knife to his throat, I reached into my pocket for the steak knife.

Fearing for my life and wondering what Cox was going to do next, I continued to lie on the floor and moaned in pain, but was slowly taking out the knife I took from the Travelodge in my right hand. I put both hands under my belly, hiding the knife, and looked to the side to see Cox standing too far away for me to strike.

"Right," he said to Dexter. "Just stab that fat fuckin' cunt in the legs a few times and I'll finish this prick off."

I wasn't too sure if 'finish this prick off' meant killing me or not. One thing I was aware of was that we were all next to a pond. If a perpetrator was willing to go into the pond up to his waist, he could easily drag a body far enough and make it sink and disappear.

Cox, still holding the sawn-off, turned around and said to Dexter, "Are those weights still on the back seat?"

"Yeah," said Gilchrist.

As soon as that query was thrown at Dexter, I knew I could be in serious trouble. Cox took a step forwards and I rolled onto my side, facing Cox, with my right hand behind my back, still clasping the knife. I narrowed my eyes and pretended they were shut.

"Right, cunt," Cox snarled, and opened the shotgun to double check that it was loaded, and then snapped it shut. "Time to say goodbye."

I brought my right arm from around my back and stretched to ram the knife into his foot.

It went straight through.
Chapter Thirty Six

I had no thought for Gavin, with the blade across his throat, and quickly got to my feet after I stabbed Cox's right foot. Cox was on the floor, screaming, holding his injured foot with one hand and the knife's handle with the other. The shotgun had been dropped and was lying on the floor. I had no idea why he was holding the handle of the blade. The knife had gone straight through, and I was pretty certain he wasn't brave enough to pull it out of his foot, like some injured Hollywood action hero.

I ran over to the gun, ignoring the yells of distress from Dexter, and picked it up. I was like the dog chasing the rabbit. As soon as I had it in my hands, I was undecided what to do with it.

With Cox grounded and going nowhere. I turned the gun in Dexter's and Gavin's direction. Both men shrieked in panic and I told Dexter to let Gavin go. Dexter stood behind Gavin, still pressing the blade against his throat, and refused.

I could see why.

If Dexter let Gavin go, then he'd be an easier target to hit. Dexter didn't know this at the time, but I had no intention of harming him, despite him being involved in Stan's beating. I took a quick look behind me to see Cox still moaning and struggling on the floor, and then turned my attention back to Dexter.

"I have no intention of harming you," I said to Dexter. "You are no interest to me."

Dexter gazed at me for what felt like an eternity. He then took a breath, and removed his blade from Gavin's throat. He took a step back and held his hands up.

"Right, Gavin," I said, annoyed that my voice quivered with fright as I spoke. "Stand over there, at the pond."

Gavin slowly stepped to the left, to the side of me, and stood by the pond. I took another look behind me to make sure Cox hadn't moved anywhere. He was still on the floor, groaning. He was going nowhere.

I faced Dexter and lowered the gun by a few inches. I took two steps forwards and the barrels were pointing at Dexter's chest. He still had his hands up and the knife in his right hand.

"Why didn't you cut his throat?" I asked Dexter, referring to Gavin.

He gently shrugged his shoulders.

"You've either never done that before, or..."

"What would be the point?" Dexter managed to speak up. "I kill fatty over there and then you gun me down."

"So you think I can do it?" I asked. "Kill a man?"

Dexter shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I didn't want to take the risk."

"Well, I'm not. I'm gonna let you go. But you need to do three things for me before you leave."

Dexter gazed at me and seemed to take an age to answer me. Finally, he spoke. "What is it?"

"Bernie Jones. I need his address. I need your car, and I want you to take your knife and stick it into Cox's back."

Dexter looked over to his colleague and shook his head, reluctant to harm his friend. "Why don't you just shoot him?"

"I want to save the cartridges."

"I can't do that." Dexter lowered his head.

I raised the gun, snarling, and pressed the barrels against Dexter's chest. "Let me ask you a question. Where does Bernie live?"

Dexter laughed, "Go fuck yourself."

I swung the gun, knocking the knife out of Dexter's hand and then rammed the butt into his stomach.

"Jesus Christ!" Gavin exclaimed. "Think about what you're doing, Mick."

"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled.

I picked Dexter's knife up from the floor and slid it into my pocket. Grabbing the gun with both hands I continued to point both barrels at the man on the floor and gazed around to assess the situation.

My treacherous pal was to the side of me, Dexter Gilchrist was on the floor and was struggling to breathe, and the notorious David Cox was on the floor, helpless, and severely injured, still moaning. My hands shook as the enormity of it all began to sink in. The pain in my body was diluting, but that was only because the adrenaline through my veins was rushing at a frightening speed. I'm not going to lie to you; I had never felt so alive. The power I felt was immense, and it frightened me a little.

Dexter was gasping and was beginning to find his voice again.

"What are you gonna do now?" he asked in a whisper, still on the floor and clutching his stomach. I bent down, held the sawn-off with my right hand and began to pat his pockets. As soon as I felt something, I put my hand in and took out the keys to the car. I placed them in my back pocket and stood up.

"Again," I said to Dexter. "Bernie's address. What is it?"

"I forgot." Dexter smiled.

"Really?" I kicked him in the stomach and then brought the butt of the sawn-off down into his side. He coughed, groaned, and like myself a few minutes before, he turned to the side and threw up.

I pointed at Dexter and said to Gavin, "Make sure he doesn't get up."

Gavin hesitantly walked over and stood next to Dexter's body.

I turned and made the short ten-yard walk over to the groaning Cox and stood over him. Piece of shit! I thought about that poor bastard he had stabbed in the pub and wondered how he was. My thoughts went to Brian, his funeral, and how devastated his brother and his parents were on that horrible day.

"Let me ask you a question." I said to Cox with a snarl.

"What the fuck is it?" Cox spat.

"Did you kill Brian?"

Cox began to laugh, wincing in pain inbetween the chuckles. "Too right I did. What? You think I haven't done this before?"

I never answered.

"You're not gonna shoot me," Cox snarled. "You don't have the guts."

"Why do people do that?"

"Do what?"

"You see it in films," I tried to explain. "The victim is on the floor, in a hopeless position, and berates their attacker, telling them that they don't have the guts and this and that. Why do they do that? It never works out well."

"But you're not going to shoot me, are you?"

I shook my head. "I'm saving these two cartridges for your friend Bernie. I looked behind me to see if Dexter and Gavin were looking my way. They were, and I politely asked them to turn away for a minute. They did as they were told, and I placed my hand over Cox's mouth and bit into his neck. He tried to scream, but my hand muffled his voice. I drank his blood, and once I had my fill, I rammed the steak knife into his side. My hand was still over his mouth and I had to kill him, so he wouldn't turn. I left the knife where it was and remained on my knees. He was still alive, but for how long?

I wiped my mouth and turned back round to look at Dexter, and could see that he and Gavin were still looking away. "I'll ask you once again," I called over to Dexter. "Give me Bernie's address."

Dexter shook his head, and he and Gavin were both now looking my way.

"Fine."

I picked the shotgun up, tucked it under my arm, and grabbed Cox by the arms with both hands and dragged him over to the pond. His arms flayed and he tried to punch me, but he was weak and was tiring. I looked down and could see he was losing blood. I wasn't sure if he was dying and if the knife had penetrated a major organ.

"Mick. Mick," Gavin yelled in panic. "What are you doing?"

I ignored the words coming from Gavin and looked back over to Dexter. He could have easily run away, but he remained where he was.

"Last chance," I called over.

"We need to get him an ambulance," Dexter cried.

"Like he got an ambulance for that guy in The Shrew the other day?"

"Fuck 'im." Dexter hunched his shoulders. "He survived."

I didn't know the guy had survived, but was pleased when given the news.

"Bernie's address!" I yelled. "Now!"

Again, I tucked the gun under my arm and dragged Cox again, heading for the pond. He was face down and my feet were now entering the water, and as soon as Cox's legs had reached the edge of the water and it was up to my shins, I let him go.

His full head was in the water and he hardly struggled.

"Okay!" Dexter yelled. "He lives at Coppice Road!"

"The Pear Tree?"

Dexter nodded, panic on his face, and said, "Number two, by the shops."

"I know it."

Dexter then pointed at the pond, at his friend, "Help him!"

I looked over and could see a still Cox lying face down. No movement could be seen.

"Too late for that," I said coldly.

Dexter dropped his head in his hands and continually shook it.

"Right," I said, shaking the car keys in my hand. "You two can take Cox's body further into the pond and then fuck off home."

"And why should we do that?" Dexter questioned.

"Because I'm sparing you." I nodded at Dexter, and then gazed over at Gavin. "And you betrayed me."

"As soon as Quinny Aura hears about this, and whatever you're gonna do to Bernie, he's gonna come looking for answers. He's gonna come looking for _you_." Dexter shook his head and I could see the fear in his face.

"So what would you do?" I asked him. "Now you're being spared. You gonna stay in Rugeley?"

"No fucking chance! I'll have to leave town. Thankfully, I've got a stash of money."

I clicked my fingers and asked Dexter for his phone. He asked why, and I told him that I didn't want him to pre-warn Bernie that I was on my way. He gave me his phone, and he didn't look impressed when I threw it into the pond.

"Better leave town, first thing." I looked over at Gavin and said, "I hear London's nice. See you around, old pal."
Chapter Thirty Seven

The drive to Coppice Road was a nervous one. Not only was I struggling with the vehicle, my feet were soaked, and I was also shitting a brick. I had no idea what to expect when I reached the house. I had no idea if any members of the public were going to be around, how I was going to do this, and what to do afterwards. No doubt, I was bottling it, but I wanted to do this. Cox was dead, and, according to Dexter, Quinny Aura was going to be wanting answers, and Dexter thought it was safer to leave town. Maybe that was what Bernie would think once he found out that Cox was dead, but I couldn't let him leave and get off lightly. Especially after what he had done to Stan. This wasn't about me being some kind of vigilante; it was personal.

I parked up, near the closed shops, switched off the headlights and watched the house. Where I had parked was quite dark, away from the streetlight, and I hoped that no curtain twitchers phoned the police because of a suspicious looking vehicle in their street.

The problem that I had, apart from having a loaded sawn-off shotgun sitting on a passenger seat of a car I had stolen, was the noise of the gun, if ever I needed to use it. Would it be enough to alert some of the people in the street? Bernie's place was a detached house, and I wondered if, with people sitting in their homes and possibly watching TV, the blast of a gun would be heard by the other residents of Coppice Road?

Fuck it. I had come this far; I was not going to back down now. This cunt needed putting down.

I put my black hood up, over my head, and took a hold of the sawn-off. Bernie was a nasty piece of work, so I didn't want to be taking any chances, which is why I checked if the gun was still loaded. It took me a while to open it, and once I snapped it shut, I thought that it should be easy enough shooting the thing. Just a matter of squeezing the trigger, I thought.

I hid the gun under my black hoodie. I left the keys in the ignition and wiped down the steering wheel, gear stick and door handle before I left. I had no plans on using the car again.

With my heart slamming against my ribcage, I walked over to the house. A few lights were on in the street from people's living rooms, but the house I was approaching, Bernie's place, was in darkness. I had a quick scan around the street, looking around for nosey neighbours, and then walked down the drive of the house and into the back garden. I was aware that the address Dexter had given me could have been false, so I began to peer through the windows, holding the gun tight so that it didn't fall to the ground. The curtains of the living room were open and I could see white flashing light coming from a TV screen. No lights were on in the house; the only light in the house was coming from the TV. I could see a pair of legs in the living room, and it looked like somebody was sitting in a chair.

I tried the door and smiled when I realised it was open. I couldn't believe my luck. My nerves were jangling and I knew that with the door open, the individual could still be awake. I crept through the door, shutting it gently behind me, and stood in the kitchen.

I froze.

I had no idea what to fucking do.

It wasn't something I had planned properly. I couldn't just go in there blasting. I needed to know it was definitely Bernie that was sitting in that living room. I also needed to make sure there were no nasty surprises upstairs. I had no idea if Bernie had anybody else in the house, if he had kids...

I didn't want to shoot him and then to have a screaming partner or kids running down the stairs.

I could hear the TV blaring and recognised the programme. It was a programme called Bates Motel. I then heard a noise that made me peer my head around the corner. I took a look in the living room and could see Bernie Jones. He was slouched in the seat, snoring heavily, and by his feet was a half empty bottle of Glenfiddich.

Satisfied that he was out for the count, I crept upstairs and decided to check the rooms. All rooms were clear. Bernie was alone. I scratched my head, thinking that it shouldn't be this easy. I took the gun from underneath my thin jacket, my hood still up and over my head, and went downstairs.

I crept into the living room, Bates Motel still blaring, and stood in front of the TV. Now, I wasn't sure what to do. I was more nervous about shooting the gun than using a knife. I had shot before. Years ago, I used to go clay pigeon shooting, but this was different. This target was going to be easy to shoot.

I wasn't going to do some kind of Hollywood style speech before pulling the trigger and watch my victim die slowly and reel off some cheesy line, _like yippi kay ay motherfucker_ or _smile, you son of a bitch_. I had planned to simply shoot him and then flee the house. I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted Bernie dead or seriously injured. I was going to shoot him, leave, and then whatever happened, happened.

I didn't care either way what the outcome would be. He needed to receive some kind of punishment for what he did.

Gripping the gun, I raised the weapon with Freddy Highmore's voice behind me, and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Thirty Eight

A metallic click was heard, but there was no blast. I scowled in confusion, and then looked down at the gun, and when I looked back up to gaze at Bernie, my heart skipped.

His eyes were open, and the two of us stared at one another, unsure what to do next. For me, the hesitation was down to panic. For him, I think, he had just woken up and was wondering in his soused state if he was dreaming or not.

Bernie then suddenly bolted from his chair and onto his feet, making me gasp. I turned the gun around and held it like a baseball bat with both hands on the barrel. I took a step back and swung it at the side of Bernie's head, but he fell back into his chair and I completely missed, swiping thin air. The gun came out of my hands and we both watched, almost as if in slow motion, as it span in the air, across the room, and struck the living room window.

Bernie shot out of his seat again and grabbed me by the hood that was still over my head, and we both fell to the floor. We rolled around on the floor like a couple of drunks on a Saturday night, and probably produced the worst fight scene in history if it had been televised—well, maybe not as bad as the Hugh Grant/Colin Firth fight in Bridget Jones. We threw weak right-handed punches at one another, but words never left our lips. It was all grunting, snarling and heavy breathing.

Bernie was a strong fucker and had me on my back. He was now straddling me, sitting on my middle, and had his hands wrapped around my throat.

I couldn't believe what was happening.

Nearly two weeks ago, I was visiting my hometown for the first time in just under two decades, and now I was on the Pear Tree Estate, where my life journey began, about to have it ended on the same estate by some drug dealing piss stain cunt womble. How did things get fucked up? I suppose I was partly to blame.

Bernie's hands continued to squeeze my throat and now he was smiling. He knew, or he _thought_ he knew, that he _had_ me, and I was beginning to lose consciousness.

Suddenly, my mind flashed back to the autumn of 2003. I was in a hall, in Galston, and I was with twenty other males. This was a period in my life when I was training to be a prison office for HMP Kilmarnock, and the flashback to the hall was our phase one of Control and Restraint training. We learned many arm/shoulder locks, but I particularly remembered one that Dave Black, one of the instructors, showed us during the end of the session.

Bernie Jones still had his hands wrapped around my throat, still squeezing. Then he began to speak.

"So, you're the hooded cunt people have been talking about," he spat. "Boy, I'm gonna so fuck you in the arse after I've killed you. Then ... you'll be sent to the farm in Abbots Bromley and be fed to the pigs."

I raised my hands, knowing that time wasn't on my side, and with my fingers pointing I rammed them as hard as I could under Bernie's armpits.

His released his grip, his head lowered and he moaned; I lifted my right knee off of the floor and pushed to the side, pushing Bernie off of me. He fell to the side; I rained a punch into the side of his face and scrambled across the floor, heading for the gun whilst coughing like a forty a day smoker.

I felt a pair of hands grabbing my ankles, and I did my best to kick out as I coughed and spluttered all over Bernie's carpet. I writhed and squirmed like a worm and managed to free a foot and kicked him in the face twice. I wriggled free and grabbed the gun as Bernie got to his feet. I stood up and swung it at the vile individual, but he caught it with both hands and a tussle began with both of us holding the gun.

Nobody was winning the tussle, and I raised my leg back and kicked the bastard inbetween his legs and then pushed him. He fell over, taking the gun with him. I scanned the living room, trying to ignore Norma Bates lecturing her deranged son to the side of me, and spotted the bottle of liquor by the chair. I ran over and grabbed the bottle as Bernie was getting to his feet, holding the loaded shotgun, and swung the bottle at the back of his head with everything I had. The bottle shattered, liquor sprayed across the room, and I was surprised it worked. Bernie turned and then I felt a dull thud in my side. I looked down to see that Bernie had stabbed me in my left side, I could see the handle of the knife sticking out, and cursed when my eyes clocked this. I didn't even know the fucker had one on him. Bernie groaned, and with half a broken bottle in my hand, I clenched my teeth together and rammed the sharp glass into the side of his neck three times.

He moaned as I stood back and watched as the blood pissed out of his neck, being soaked up by his cream carpet. It was too much for me, and, despite being injured myself, I bent down and began sucking on the blood that was escaping from Bernie's neck. The blood trickled down my throat, including tiny bits of glass, and the feed gave me a shudder. I didn't bite him, so even if I left him there, I knew he wouldn't turn; he'd just die.

I looked down on the knife and I had no idea why I did this, but I grabbed the handle and tried to pull the blade out. It was probably the most painful experience of my life, but I somehow managed it. The tears ran down my face and I placed the blade in my trouser pocket, rather than leaving my blood and prints at the scene of the crime.

Still clutching onto the bottle, I went into his kitchen, surprisingly calm, and used my left hand to run the hot tap from the sink. I put the bottle under the tap and then placed it into the sink and began to wash my hands, using the hot water and the washing up liquid. I checked my back pocket to make sure that my phone hadn't slipped out during the scuffle, and breathed a sigh of relief when I could feel that it was still there. I pulled it out, and then put the main menu up to check that the screen wasn't cracked. It seemed a weird thing to do, now looking back.

A man was dying in the next room and I was in the kitchen, making sure my phone hadn't been damaged. I put on the flashlight app and went back into the living room.

I then looked down to my wound and looked for some kitchen roll to soak up the blood. It looked like I was going to have to take a trip to Stafford Hospital. Strangely, though, being stabbed didn't feel that bad.

I pulled my shirt up to inspect the wound and I looked down. It had stopped bleeding, and this confused me. My eyes widened when I could see the wound, slowly but surely, was beginning to shrink. I had to shake my head, wondering if I was hallucinating or not, and continued to watch the remarkable scene unfold. I watched in fascination and was dumbfounded when the wound disappeared altogether. I ran my finger over the skin, where I had been stabbed, and shook my head in disbelief.

I was healed.

"Fucking hell."

Two minutes ago, I had been stabbed, but now there was no sign of a wound there. This was fucking madness. It appeared that I may not be able to turn into a bat, or have super strength, or even have fangs, but it looked like I was capable of regenerating.

And it had taken me eighteen year to realise this!

I hadn't even so much as cut my arm, or had broken a bone in eighteen years, so this came as a surprise to me. I had cut my finger on a couple of occasions, as you do, and the cuts healed really quickly, but I never thought about it at the time. Why would I?

What else was I capable of?

Bernie was face down, shotgun by his head, and there was a substantial amount of blood being soaked up. I knelt down, making sure my clothes didn't touch the blood, and shone the torch in Bernie's face. There was nothing there. There was no squint because of the bright light, no reaction at all. Nothing. Bernie was dead.

I had killed two people in one evening, and I was unsure how I felt about that. I wasn't horrified or shocked. I didn't know how I felt, still don't to this day. As corny as it sounds, it felt like somebody else had done it.

I checked my clothes with the phone flashlight and then turned it around, as if I was taking a selfie, put the camera on and checked my face. Spotless.

I then bent down and wiped down the shotgun with the sleeve of my hooded jacket and then stood up straight, placed my hood over my head and left the house. I walked down Coppice Road and the adrenaline was relentless. Although I was heading back to the Travelodge, I was sure that sleep was going to abandon me tonight.

Again.
Chapter Thirty Nine

### Saturday

I had no idea how much sleep I had. Three hours, maybe, but I felt okay. Throughout most of the night, I kept on re-running what had happened and wondered if I did everything to hide my tracks. I was sure that the police would have no reason to snoop around Horns pond, unless Cox's body was seen floating by a jogger or a dog-walker, but the Bernie situation was different. Once his body was found, whether by a neighbour or a friend, the police would be no doubt called. But that could take days, maybe weeks to discover. I then thought about the stab wound I received to my left side.

I was leaving my hometown once again, and decided to hit Stafford town in style and caught a cab. I had spent a shit load of money already, so another twenty quid using a cab wasn't going to make a difference.

As soon as the taxi entered Stafford, I told the driver to drop me off at a pub called The Bird in Hand. I hadn't been to that place since I was nineteen. I used to go now and again with a pal called Mark— the same guy that tagged me in with all the rave videos I mentioned earlier. I especially liked the pub because there was a separate room from the bar where there was a jukebox and a few pool tables.

I went into the establishment for a quick drink. I had a pint of extra cold Guinness and then headed for the hospital on foot, bag over my shoulder.

I had a vague idea what the visiting times were and went into the reception area to ask the receptionist if it was okay to visit Stan.

She said it was okay, and I decided to go up for a few minutes and say goodbye. My other friend, Ian, wasn't speaking to me, and Gavin was somebody I was through with. And we all know what happened to Brian.

I grabbed a coffee from the vending machine in the hall, and then made my way to the ward where Stan was.

I popped my head through and could see that he was alone, sitting up, and watching TV.

"Alright, pal?" I said.

He smiled and reached for the remote to turn down the volume. I sat down on the plastic chair that was situated next to the bed. "Not bad. Had a shit earlier, but I'm sure there's going to be a sequel pretty soon."

"Charming."

"How're things?" Stan asked me.

"Swell," I sighed, taking a slurp on the hot beverage.

"Swell?" Stan laughed. "You American now?"

In truth, I had no idea why I said that.

"So..." Stan never finished what he had started. He looked at me and I could see some of the bruises on his face were fading. I had no idea what the rest of his body looked like, but he seemed to be healing well. As for his mental well being, especially after being raped... Who knows?

"So?" I urged my friend, my only friend left, to continue.

"They're letting me out tomorrow," he said. "Although, I'm not looking forward going back to work. My boss is a right cunt."

"Just look at him through the prongs of a fork and imagine him in jail."

"I wish it was as easy as that," Stan sighed and looked genuinely pissed off. "I hate the bastard. I would happily stab him in the nutsack, if I could get away with it."

"That bad, huh?"

Stan nodded, released a puff of air and told me that he was on a written warning and couldn't wait to get his new business started.

"A written warning?" I scratched my head. "What did you do?"

Stan released a small chortle and moaned, "I told my cunt of a boss, in front of the whole office, that his birth certificate was an apology from the condom factory, and that his mother should have swallowed him, and then I asked him if his parents are cousins."

"Oh," I said. "He must have caught you on a bad day."

There was a silence between the pair of us for around thirty seconds, and then I decided to break the quiet.

"It's good that you're getting out." I nodded, taking another drink. "I'm leaving today. Just thought I'd pop in and say cheerio."

"I thought your visit yesterday was the last one."

"So did I, but with me having to catch the train at Stafford anyway..."

It seemed ironic that Stan's condition was partly my fault and yet he was the only friend I had left. He had forgiven me, but I couldn't forgive Gavin. Five grand! Five grand to stick his pal in. It was a hard one to swallow.

"Got a text from Ian this morning," Stan announced.

"Oh? Still pissed off with me?"

"Never mentioned you," Stan cackled. "I'll show you the text."

He reached for his phone and began to mess about with it. He passed me it and I began to read the text. Ian had told Stan that he and his wife were splitting up. They had been having problems for months, apparently, and now he was moving out and finding a place to live.

Stan and I had a quick chat and the usual 'come up whenever you want' conversation took place. We shook hands, wished each other all the best, and promised to visit.

I lowered my head and Stan sensed that there was something wrong right away. I could feel my eyes welling and I looked up and saw Stan gasp.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "What's up, mate?"

I shook my head, tears ready to fall.

"No, really," Stan pestered. "What is it?"

I wiped my eyes and shook my head. "It doesn't matter."

"If you need to get something off your chest..."

"You'd think I'm mad, even if I told you."

Stan shuffled on the bed and sat up straight. He said, "Try me."

I puffed out a breath and shook my head once more.

"Come on, Mick, for fuck's sake."

I looked at my friend and could see that he now looked annoyed.

"Okay." I blew out a breath and gazed at Stan for a few seconds. "I warn you now ... it's gonna sound mad."

"Tell me."

I took in a deep breath and gazed at the only friend I had left. "What if I told you that I like drinking blood?"

Stan's eyes narrowed, unsure if I was joking or not. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words fell out.

"Wasn't expecting that, was you?" I began to cackle.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Stan scratched at his head and awaited an answer.

"There're many reason why I haven't been back down here," I began. "One of the reasons was this condition I have."

"Condition?"

I lowered my head and shook it. Man, this was a conversation that should have taken place in a pub, where large amounts of beer could be consumed to make explaining the bizarre tale easier.

"Me and the wife went abroad, about, eighteen or nineteen years ago," I began, at last. "We went to Macedonia, a change from going to Spain all the time."

I paused and took a long gulp before continuing. I knew Stan was glaring at me with puzzlement, so I decided to lower my eyes and not make eye contact with my friend. I knew what I was about to say was going to confuse the fuck out of him.

My pause was clearly annoying an impatient Stan, and he said, "Yes? And?"

"While we were in Skopje, in Macedonia, we went out to a restaurant." I cleared my throat and added, "I decided that I wanted to watch a football match at one of the bars and left her in the hotel. I was in the bar for a while, got pissed, and then I knocked my pint on the floor. I cut myself on the broken pint glass when trying to pick it up. After too many drinks, and watching my team lose, I then went to the toilet. I left the bar and became lost. I went down some road and saw an old woman on the other side of the road. I asked the old woman if she knew where the Solun Hotel was. She couldn't speak a word of English and spoke to me in Macedonian. She beckoned me to follow her. We went down some alley."

"Oh no." Stan began to laugh. "I think I know where this is going. Did she try to suck you off, for money? Did she take her teeth out first?"

Ignoring my friend's remark, I continued, "She noticed that my finger was bleeding and then she attacked me."

"Fuck," Stan gasped and lost his smile. "Attacked? In what way?"

"She bit me."

"Bit you? Where?"

"On the neck." I looked up at Stan to see that he was gazing at me, looking for some kind of scar. I knew what he was looking for and told him that there wasn't one. His eyes widened, but I could see confusion on his face. I lowered my eyes again and continued with the story. "Since then, I've had an urge to drink blood, although I've only killed two people." I then paused and realised that I had killed more since I returned to Rugeley. What was it now? Four? But Stan didn't need to know about Bernie and Cox.

"You've ... _killed_ people?" Stan asked with astonishment.

I nodded.

Stan asked, "So, what are you saying?" he cackled, unsure whether I was joking or not. "That you're a vampire?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," I began to snigger on hearing myself. "I mean, I love garlic, crucifixes don't bother me, I sleep through the night. Although I'm not a big fan of the sun, as I burn quite easy and come out in blotches."

"Sounds like you're a defo vamp then," Stan mocked.

"I feel a little stronger, I can produce children, and I don't seem to be ageing. I'm also sure that if I drank a pint of holy water it wouldn't burn out my insides. You know, I don't have a single grey hair in my head. At my age that's almost impossible."

"Aren't vampires supposed to be undead?" Stan asked me. "You still have a heart beat, right?"

"I don't know what I am. I'm not a vampire; at least, I don't think I am. Even if I was a vampire, and I was undead and didn't have a heartbeat, why do the hunters insist on putting a stake through the heart? I don't get it."

"So ... does that mean you can't turn into a bat?" Stan asked, looking like he was ready to burst into fits of laughter.

I looked up and could see he was trying to stifle a laugh. It did sound ridiculous, but I was a little offended by his response.

I said to him, "When I got back home, to Glasgow, when I got the urge, I killed the occasional cat. Sucked on its neck for a few seconds, but it wasn't quenching my thirst, so to speak."

"Okay," Stan was still chuckling. "Sucking on a cat now and again, I mean, we've all done that, haven't we?"

I ignored his sarcasm and continued, "The first guy I killed was a homeless person. I was on a night out and could see that the guy was covered in blood. I think he must have had a beating. The smell was immense and I couldn't help myself. It was a few years ago now."

"I think you need help," Stan said, and was beginning to lose his smile.

"Five years ago, I attacked a guy walking away from the town centre. I never did anybody since then, until I came back here."

"Who was the guy?" This time I could hear seriousness in his voice, but I lowered my eyes.

"He had just been released from prison," I said. "He was quite high profile. I knew he was staying in some halfway house in the town, so I hung around for a few days."

"Who was it?"

"A guy called Gordon McKaw. He was a convicted paedophile from Ruchill. He was released from Barlinnie and I began to track him down. I don't know why."

"Are you trying to say that you're some kind of vigilante vampire?" Stan asked me. I never looked up, but I could feel that he was taking the piss out of me.

I continued with my story. I was trying to pour my heart out to my good friend, but Stan was ruining it for me, although I couldn't really blame him when thinking back. It must have sounded ridiculous.

"One night, he walked out of his halfway house," I said. "I assumed he was breaking his curfew, or something like that, being out at that time of night. I followed him and tore his throat out."

"You've done two guys over a few years? You're hardly a regular feeder, are you? Maybe you just have porphyria."

"Porphyria? What the fuck is that?"

"It's a condition that people have. Similar to vampires, like sensitivity to sunlight, discoloured teeth and ... madness."

"I'm not mad, Stan."

"No, but what you've just told me is fucking mad," Stan laughed and this time he couldn't help himself. He released a belly laugh and shook his head.

I stood up, annoyed, and sighed, "You know what? Just forget everything I said."

"I will," Stan laughed. "Thanks for cheering me up, though, mate."

"You know what I was thinking?" I asked him, clicking my fingers.

"Um ... no."

"Maybe you should come up after Christmas."

"Maybe." Stan pulled a face and said, "You know what I was thinking?"

I shook my head.

"The guy that invented the drawing board... Did he get it right first time?"

I chuckled, and shook my head. "What was that thing you used to say all the time about dreams.

Stan cackled and said, "I used to say: Always follow your dreams, apart from the ones where you can fly. That will just end badly."

"That's the one," I snickered. "Did you know that a recent study has found that women who carry a little extra weight live longer than men who mention it?"

I went over to my friend, and we shook hands and said our goodbyes. Despite Stan not believing a word I had told him, it was still good to get it off my chest. I left the ward, coffee in my right hand, and the other hand holding onto the strap of the rucksack on my shoulder, making sure it didn't slip.

I had no idea why, but I was feeling emotional as I left the hospital. I don't know whether it was the enormity of being responsible for two deaths, even though they were scumbags, or the falling out with Ian, scarring a man for life by dragging a razor down the side of his face, my marriage on the rocks, Stan's condition ... I had no fucking idea. Maybe it was all of that rolled into one.

I dropped the plastic coffee cup in the nearest bin, wiped my wet eyes, and headed for the train station.

*

Five hours later I was in Glasgow. I got the X8 bus at St Vincent's Street and got off outside Silverburn.

Before going back home, I decided to pop into Silverburn shopping centre and have a cappuccino. I popped into Costa Coffee, ordered a medium cappuccino with chocolate sprinkles, and added a Danish pastry to it as well.

I sat with my purchases and began to people watch.

Once I was done, I left and wandered into A1 toys to see if I could get the kids a gift before returning. The trouble with this shop, like most toy shops these days, was that it was too expensive. My son liked comics, but The Walking Dead comics were overpriced. I left empty handed and thought to just give them money instead. They'd probably prefer that anyway, I thought. Twenty quid each.

I was a mile away from my house, and despite the rain I enjoyed the walk back.

The wife was at home, thankfully without a cock in her mouth this time, and the response was amicable. The kids were playing upstairs and I wasted no time going up to see them.

It was good to get back to my normal way of life, but I wasn't going to feel completely normal until I got back into my old routine of getting up at six in the morning, going to the gym, back for a shower and then catching the bus to work to start my nine to five job. What a way to make a living!

I spent the rest of the day on the Playstation with my son, and still had no idea if I had a marriage or not. I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay married. If a woman I had known had quite gladly noshed some guy off in my own bedroom, then what else had she been up to?
Chapter Forty

### Sunday

I was the first to get up on this rainy Sunday morning, and fixed myself a coffee. I boiled three eggs, peeled them, and mashed them up in a cup and served them with two pieces of toast. I took my phone from the side, put it into my pocket, and I made my way into the living room.

I plonked my plate and coffee on the table in the living room, walked over to the telly and switched on some TV programme, but had to change the channel immediately.

It was a debate about extremism in prisons and it was being hosted by Piers Morgan. In my opinion, the guy's an annoying and pompous cunt, somebody I would happily stab, and I certainly didn't want to look at his shitty face whilst I was digging into my eggs and toast. This is a guy that claimed women sent him their knickers in the post. From one twat to another.

I put the channel onto Sky Sports News and began to enjoy my breakfast.

That enjoyment had been interrupted when my phone began to buzz. I pulled my phone out and could see that I had a text from Stan.

Oh Fuck, I thought. What now?

I opened the text and began to read.

It said, _Looks like the big boys have had enough of Cox and the rest. Bernie was found dead this morning by a neighbour. Ha ha ha_. I assumed by the term 'big boys' Stan was referring to Quinny Aura and his enforcers.

I texted back, pretending I didn't know what he was talking about, _No way! How?_

A minute later, he replied, _The body had been there a few days. Cox and Gilchrist are missing. I think Beefhead, Simmy and Steady are still in Rugeley, but this is going to shit them up, big time, lol._

I texted back, trying to joke, _Well, it wasn't me this time_.

_I know that, pal._ He texted back. _That Moon thing was fucked up, but you're not a killer._

Bless him, I thought. I didn't feel bad for not telling him. He didn't deserve to have that shit landed on him.

I texted back. _Heard from Ian or Gavin?_

Stan replied. _No. Gavin's gone to London, looking for work. Some weekend, eh?_

It was my turn. _Tell me about it._

## You still convinced you're a vampire, lol?

_Forget it_. I texted back. _I think I was having some kind of breakdown._

Mad bastard. Laters bro.

Laters.

I put the phone back into my pocket and continued to eat my breakfast. Once I was finished, I leaned back in my chair.

Anybody who knew half the stuff that went on in my hometown would all assume that Bernie's attack was down to Quinny Aura or a disgruntled town member, but it wouldn't be able to be proved.

As for Cox? If his body did show up and resurface, Aura was going to get the blame for that as well, even if there was no evidence and he had an alibi. I was confident that Dexter Gilchrist had disappeared for good, and I was sure that I'd never see Gavin again.

I thought about the events that had happened from Friday night, and then I thought about my marriage. I was sure it was finished, but it didn't bother me as much as it should have. I was hardly devastated, and that alone proved to me that it was pretty much dead in the water. Maybe we could give it one last stab. A holiday, maybe.

Oh well, I thought. It lasted longer than most marriages, longer than Ian's. At least nobody had died. Apart from David Cox and Bernie Smith. But they didn't count. Not to me, and the Rugeley residents were hardly going to give them a great send off either.

Fuck them!

You reap what you sow.
THE END
Author's Note

Thank you all for reading. Usually, between a series, I like to write a standalone book to take a break from the series I am writing. On two occasions two books were never released, others, like The Z Word and The Girl with the Flying Saucer Eyes, were.

This particular book isn't a favourite of mine and was close to being one of those that never saw the light of day. It's quite a departure to what I normally write. These days I mainly write post apocalyptic/zombie fiction, so to write a vigilante thriller, written in first person, with a supernatural element, was something out of my comfort zone.

Like another one of mine, Misty Falls, some may argue that the supernatural part wasn't needed for the story. I do have a 'non-vampire' version where the main character, Mick Hood, isn't a bloodsucker and just a guy on a mission, but I went with the Vampire version. No doubt, any vampire purists who have come across this will hate it.

It's a vampire novel (or is it?), yet the main character can walk during the day, doesn't sleep in a coffin, can see his own reflection, can't turn into a bat...

With the story having a slangy narration from Mick himself and the childish humour between Mick and Stan about their toilet activities, it's fair to say that it won't appeal to everybody, but thanks for giving it a try.

Although not a favourite of mine—Ghostland is my favourite, I did enjoy writing it, and although it may only be available for a limited amount of time, many thanks for downloading this unusual book.

Shaun

