The feral youths had no idea who he was as he walked home to his humble flat with his two kids. He had been away for nearly twenty years, and they’re parents hadn’t even had the drug and drink induced one night stand that had spawned these feckless youths.
As they, his nine year old smiley all the time daughter just happy to be with her great and lovely dad, and his ten year old head full of all the cars that he’d seen on Top Gear son, walked towards the low rise ‘mature’ block of flats, she said “Oh…Ooooh!”
In the doorway was a large group of less desirables, ages ranging from about eight to twelve or thirteen, complete with cans of Stella ‘giving it large’.
“Don’t worry, darling, just say nothing as we walk past.” The dad said reassuringly. As they walked up the path to the door, one of the adolescents was just about to pee up the front door.
“Oi!” bellowed the dad gruffly.
“Oops, sorry mate” the youth nervously and hurriedly tidied himself.
The rest of the youths cleared a walk way to the door, some looking sheepishly, wondering if the ‘Tough’ ones in the gang were going to allow this middle aged biker jacket clad dinosaur to shout ‘Oi’ at one of the gang?
Handing the keys to his daughter, saying “Let yourself in!” he turned back towards the pack. His daughter hurriedly opened and closed the slightly frosted door, behind her. Peering through the hard to see through glass, her anguished face looked nervously on as her dad walked towards the obvious gang leader.
“That’s my front door, and this is my garden,“ He indicated to the fenced of area of grass that they were standing in. “You are now gonna leave!”
He took a slow sip from his can of Stella and looked straight into the dad’s eyes, they were cold and his face was full of small scars, trophies of violent encounters throughout his life. Even though the Stella was cursing through every testosterone filled blood cell, he knew that going up against this guy would be a bad move, tooled up or not. His horde of subjects looked on hoping their chief would tell this guy what to do, and they could carry on there al fresco party. Instead, he begrudgingly turned towards the gate and said “C’mon let’s go.”
They retreated to the adjacent shops, as he went inside the block and took his daughter an son into the flat. Taking his beloved biker jacket off, and replacing it with a black hoody he said to his kids, “Don’t answer the doors to anyone, and if I’m not back in an hour call the Police!” He said to his brother who was sitting on the couch watching the rubbish put on the telly at Christmas.
“Why?” he asked with a fervent curiosity!
“Just gonna play with the kids outside!”
“Leave the kids alone, you don’t want to upset them, just leave it!” he begged.
“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” he chuckled sarcastically, quoting from the T.V. show Sledgehammer.
“We weren’t doing Fuck All!” they protested to each other. Amongst all the gang this was the sentiment most were howling, along with “Bald headed prick, he’s no fucking body, he’ll pay for this, who the fuck does he think he is?”
“Well I don’t give a fuck” said the number two in the gang as he picked up a brick and walked back towards the flat. What he didn’t expect was for the ‘bald headed, goatee bearded middle aged twat’ to come straight back out a walk straight toward the gang. Why wasn’t he scared, there’s twenty of us, he’s still coming straight towards me, he thought as he dropped the half ender on the floor and turned back towards his mates looking to the ‘cock’ of the gang to stand up to this loser.
He had the look of thunder on his face, not a tall man, but big, the lower caste members of the gang were not used to this, a challenge to their authority.
“Is he an Hell’s Angel?” one of them fearfully quipped.
“What?” The leader quizzed.
“Oh, SHIT!” Another snapped.
“I’m outa here!” another said panicking turning and sprinting away. Soon all of them ran back to safe distance up the road. He was still walking towards them, he kept coming and coming, closer and closer, so they turned and ran, this time frantically texting for back up on their mobile’s whilst running for the alley that led to the playing fields. Consumed in darkness their bravery would return.
Help was on it’s way, a big brother, with mates, with bike’s, were on the way. The rendezvous was the road at other end the fields. Through the second dark alley they ran, towards the reinforcements, he‘d be a right dim wit to follow them over here now! The streetlight at the end of the alley that led out to the road, where help was coming from, was like a beacon to them When help arrives we’ll show him, the collective thoughts echoed through the panting breathes as they ran.
But wait, They all froze, as in the shadows of the streetlight, was a figure, a dark menacing figure.
IT WAS HIM.
How did he do that, how did he get there in front, the gang looked to their leader in hope as he sunk to his knees. What now, they thought, who was this man, who should be scared but wasn’t, was he really hard? Surely he couldn’t take us all on, why’s the chief running too, he wasn’t scared of adults, they’re scared of ‘us’, we do what we want.
Then the dark cold winter’s night was punctured by a rasping sound, the rasping sound of three scramblers. It was the big brother. They turned into the entrance to the alley, revving their bike’s violently. As the man slowly turned to face the big brother and his mates, they switched off their engines and dismounted. They stood in front of their machines, like gladiators before their adoring fans, who dares challenge their authority of fear over the neighbourhood?
The man walked slowly out of the shadow’s, the light slowly revealing to big brother who the hell this nutter is!
“OH SHIT, IT’S ******!” he shouted to his mates, “Let’s go, QUICK.” Jumping back onto his bike firing it up and hurtling away with his companions very close behind.
When he turned back, the gang had scattered, dispersed to the safety of their own homes and parents who were normally blissfully unaware of what they’re little darling’s normally do on a night, when they’re told “Get out from under my feet, can’t you clear off round your mates?” They’d find them home remarkably early tonight. Shivering and saying it was the cold to hide their unaccustomed fear.
He’d returned slowly to his flat, well within the hour he’d told his brother, to find a quivering snivelling adolescent on a bicycle at the gate.
“My brother sent me, he’s told ‘em all to stay away from your flats, ‘e just don’t want anyfink to ‘appen to him, ‘e dain’t know it was you.”
“Tell him, as long as keep of my lawn(echoing Clint Eastwood) nothing’s going to happen.
The following day, the leader was stood outside the paper shop as the man exited after getting his daily pint of milk.
“Sorry for last night mate” He looked, the child back in his eyes, a crushed leader who’s authority and status amongst his mates had been blown open in one night.
The following night was a peaceful night. The wail of the banshee’s, Police/Ambulance/Fire were tonight speeding to other run down ghetto’s. Throughout the week, offers of give us a call if you need any help, came from all manner of local inhabitants. Living in fear of the ‘kids’ had been lifted by the return of this guy, news stories of dad killed by the gang he confronted was not going to happen. His brother bemused and somewhat confused, his daughter was proud, her dad was hero, she had often thought it, but now he’d proved it. His son, well, he knew his dad was tough all the time. “But how did you know they’d run Dad?”
“I didn’t, I was shitting myself all the time!” he replied.
(Based upon real events. Names and Identities have been omitted to protect the innocent and the guilty)
