Sabre Six : File 51 (14 page)

Then as we were leaving
the pub, by which time Pete was completely arse-holed, the boyfriend shouted out to me with his mates from across the street. I walked on, half carrying my good mate Pete back home, trying not to notice that three of the guys were crossing the street behind me. I manoeuvred Pete to a taxi rank and managed to get him in the back.  I gave the cabbie the money and told him the address. There was no other taxi on the rank and, thinking about it now, I should have gone with Pete, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I just wanted him safe. I didn’t hang about for another taxi to turn up, but started to make my way home on foot.

“Oi, y
ou! You wanker! You think you’re something hard do ya, ya twat!” I tried not to listen and kept on walking.

The girl Pete got the blowjob from was now screaming at her boyfriend to stop, she wanted to go home.

“Oi! Yeah, you! Are ya listening to me?” I turned around to face my opposition.

“Look, g
uys, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t know what you’re on about. Just go home and sober up.” They stopped and started laughing at me.

I carried on walking.
I could see a taxi dropping a couple off a few metres up the road, but before I could get to it the taxi pulled away. I probably looked like trouble with the gang following me.

“Oi, you pussy! Come on then.” That was it!

I walked up to the tossers, giving myself a little space: I was ready for it.

“Can you calm down
and tell me what you want, lads?”

“We want you, you cunt!”

“Fair enough, mate, but I need to ask you a question. Which one of you is the hardest?”

“What
you want to know that for?”

“Because the other two can fuck off whilst I skull fuck the Mr Big Bollocks.”

They were throwing their weight all over the place. They looked like your typical chav yobs. A gang of useless thugs, living on benefits, cheating their way through life.

“I’m the hardest! Come on then!
”

He walked towards me, but I could tell he was nervous, his hands were shaking. Before he got too close, I dropped him to the floor with one punch and then repeatedly smacked him in the face. The other two had legged
-it down the road. I picked the lad up by the throat.

“You think you can fucking talk to me like that
, you cunt!”

“Sorry mate!
I’m sorry – alright? Let me go, blood!”

“I bet you’re the kind of bloke that robs old ladies aren’t you, you fucking wanker?”

“Na, blood, na! I don’t rob no old folks, mate. Promise, blood!”

“If I ever see you around here again, I going to rip your fucking hea
d off and piss down your throat. Do you understand me, cunt?” The bitch started crying, and I threw him on the floor like a piece of garbage.

“Go on, fuck off!” He legged
-it, but it wasn’t long before the Old Bill turned up. I was arrested on the spot and put in the back of a police van. Everything had been picked up on camera.

“You’re having a laugh, m
ate. Let me go, I haven’t done anything wrong!” I kicked the back doors as hard as I possibly could: the Old Bill just told me to shut up.

When we arrived at the station, I had no idea where we were. I was now in
front of the Reception Sergeant at the main desk. “Stand there and empty your valuables into this box please, Sir.” They laughed amongst themselves; it had been a full on night for the guys and girls. I was still pissed off though.

“What is your name, S
ir?” I kept my head down and told them nothing.

“Sir, can you hear me? What is your name?” I told them nothing.

“Ok, put him in the back cells, lads.” They chucked me into a cell on my own, but I had a bed, so it was all ok by me. It was only when they slammed the door in my face that it really hit me. I picked myself up off the floor and banged on the door.

“Oi, you lot! Let me out!” I screamed at them, but no-one came. The cell stank of sick. I had a bed w
ith no pillow and nothing to wrap myself up in; it was as bare as you could get.

I came to in the morning, woken by an all too familiar smell and sensation. I sat up on my now damp bed. I must have wet myself in the night. It took me a good while, but I soon came back to reality when I noticed my door being slammed shut by a man in a black uniform. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and put my hands over my face. I felt bloody awful; my head was throbbing and I seriously needed a few painkillers. It was very doubtful that these bastards would give me anything. I stood up and banged on the door, my hand throbbing. I got an answer at last from some young sprog of a copper who opened the small peeping hatch outside my cell.

“What do you want, mate?”

“Is there any chance I could get a nurse to give me a couple of headache tablets please?” He slammed the hatch and walked away from my cell; I did not hear from him again.

I walked
about my cell, staring up at the ceiling, repeatedly reading the wall art that the previous occupiers had left for us during our stay. I could not quite work out what half of it meant. There was lots of ‘init – u no wat I is sayin m8.’ It was all very strange; was this what our youth was coming to nowadays! “U no wat I is sayin m8, init.”

I sat down on my bed, scratched my feet and pulled off a piece of dead skin that was hanging off. I looked down at my hands,
and there were bloodstains on them. It suddenly hit me what had happened last night! I slapped myself across the face, jumped back up onto my feet and did a bit of shadow boxing before repeatedly banging on my cell door.

I could hear the officer’s boots coming closer and closer towards my cell. My little hatch opened
and I could see his blue eyes. He looked tired.

“What do you want now?”

“Obviously that’s a no to the nurse then, but can you tell me what the time is, and how long I will be with you please, and then I will shut up and let you be!”

“It’s quarter past eight and someone will b
e here to see you in a moment. Now stop banging on the bloody door!”

“Lovely!” I ran around in circles, hearing a song playing repeatedly in m
y head – it was Chesney Hawke’s ‘The One and Only’. I continued running in a loop and was on my forty-third lap when my cell door burst open.

“Bloody stinks in here! Have you wet yourself?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” I smiled at him; he didn’t look too impressed.

I stopped running and stood there look
ing a right prat. I didn’t feel much like a man that had fought for his country, and I felt ashamed.

“Are you ok
, Michael? Are you feeling ok?”

“Yes, S
ir, I’m fine.” He told me to follow him down the corridor. I had a police officer in front, and one behind as they escorted me into an office.

“Take a seat there, Michael; someone will be with you in a moment.” I sat my butt down and waited for the stranger to arrive, the police officer standing by the door in silence.

I watched the clock’s hands going round and round, and it freaked me out a little to know that I had been arrested.

The door opened and in walked a short
, white haired detective in a cheap suit.

“Hello Michael, sorry we took so long.” He looked through my record and sat down in the chair opposite me.

“Yes, mmm! Oh yes, well, maybe.”  He sat there talking to himself as he read out my file while I continued to sit there in silence. At last he sat up in his chair, closed my file and looked me right in the eye.

“You’ve been a busy boy Mr Fox, haven’t you?” I continued to sit in silence.

“It’s ok; you don’t have to answer that question. Um, Officer, that’s alright, you can leave us alone. I’m sure Michael is going to behave himself in my presence, aren’t you Mr Fox?” I nodded in agreement, but still keeping my mouth shut. As the officer walked out, the tall detective threw my file over for me to read.                                                                     

File: 009JKL/67AT              Interpol – Mil Ext 0800 678 876             

Name:
                                          Michael Robert Fox

Date of Birth:                            24/12/1977

Military Record:                            Exemplary service

Military Army Number:
              25036984

Rank:
                                          Sergeant Acting

Service:
                            Northern Ireland, Africa, Iraq, Canada, Malaya, Brunei.

Corps/Regiment:
              2 PWRR – 22 SAS

Decorations/Medals:
              General Service Medal, Clasp Northern Ireland, Iraq Medal,

Special Forces Clasp.

I passed him back the folder and continued to sit in silence.

“Is there anything you’d care for – maybe a cup of tea?” I nodded and he got the officer to get the brews on.

“With reference
to your report, you have an excellent record of valour towards this country: I truly respect any man that has had such courage as yourself, so why did you commit such an awful crime last night by attacking a young victim? He ended up in hospital, and is still there Michael. If he presses charges of assault, you could face up to two years inside. Do you understand Michael?”

I took a swig from my plastic cup.
“Yes, I do understand. Now, can I make a phone call please, so I can get myself out of this?”

“Of course you can, Michael, but you won’t be able to just stroll on out until this mess is cleared up.”

“Can I have my call or not, Detective?”

He passed me over the phone.  I dialled Stan’s mobile number and left him a message.

“So why did you lash out at him, Michael? I would like to know before I get a phone call from some official asking for me to let you go without charge. Will you give me the decency of just that, Michael?”

“I have nothing to say, S
ir.”

The brew was
bloody alright as it goes. One hour later two men arrived at the police station, asking for Detective Mark Dupey. He shook my hand and that was that. I on the other hand was about to get a right bollocking from Stan.

“You’re a knob-head, Michael.” I lowered my head in shame. “You’re bloody lucky I got you out; they wanted to press charges, you know.”

“I know! I’m a prat, mate. I shouldn’t have done it, I know. I should have walked away.”

“Well, the past is in the past now, so let’s move on. Fancy a brew?”

“Yeah, go on then! Only if you’re paying, though. I’m bloody skint, Stan. I spent all my cash last night.”

“Yes, Michael. Come on
! – I’ll pay.” He looked at me sarcastically.

When we sat down in the café
it was starting to get hot outside. Stan finished his brew, and we decided to part ways. Stan wanted me to go home, sober up, and then report to him on Wednesday at 10:30am: it sounded good to me. When I got home I discovered that Griffer had shat all over the floor. I walked into the kitchen and trod in his shit: it stank! I opened all the downstairs windows, feeling sick at the stench, got my mop out and scrubbed away like a demon possessed. It took me twenty minutes to sort it! I let Griffer outside to do his business, fed him, and gave him a bit of cuddle, before falling up the stairs and into my bed. I spent the next few days monging it around the house. I did a bit of gardening, DIY etc. but mainly just sat in front of the box watching films. On the Tuesday I popped up to Nan’s to see Frances. She was very pleased to see me, jumping all over the place. I took Griffer up with me, as he would be spending a little time up there whilst I was away in Pakistan. I gave my girl, Nan and my little boy Griffer a kiss and cuddle, and went on my way.

By the time I got home
it was dark out and the wind had picked up. I shut my car door and walked inside the house. It felt weird without Griffer jumping up at me: I missed my family so much. The following morning my bag was packed and I re-checked that I had my passport and my flight tickets, which had arrived in the post from Stan. I called the taxi and we drove to Heathrow without any dramas.

On arriving at the terminal
I found that my fucking flight was delayed and no-one knew how long it would be until normal service was resumed. Nothing new there then! I spent the next four hours walking around Heathrow Airport with nothing to do. I must have been in every shop at least six times, and the prices they charged were criminal.

“That’s £2.56 please
, Sir.” I gave her the cash and sat down with my luke-warm cup of tea, (these coffee shops can’t make a decent cup of tea). I leant back in my chair and took part in a game of people-watching. I loved it, and it sure passed the time of day. Some of these people, if you could call them that, were quite strange. I had to bite my tongue at one point, just so I didn’t go and deck a young scoundrel for pushing past an old biddy. I didn’t want Stan on my case again.