Wilson

It was now 01:30am as the hooded youth swaggered down the centre of the road in Harrow Street. The rows of run down terraced houses either side swathed in darkness.

The scarf he had been having trouble with all night, now hung loosely around his neck

The only sound was the scuffing of his feet; the only light was from a single street lamp that cast a long shadow as he approached the end of the road.

What a buzz man, he thought to himself, all that kicking off. What a laugh!

The rucksack on his back weighed heavy, and he thought with excitement at the proceeds from his evenings activities.

All them losers trying to run with stuff; dropping it in the street. Not me, I was prepared. I brought me bag for stuff.

He thought of the handfuls of chocolate bars that he had stuffed in the bag, the jeans he had snatched from a rail, he had even checked to make sure he had the right size before strewing the rest of the rail contents across the shop and kicking in a glass front under the counter of a till that was being removed by his mates.

What a laugh. What a buzz. We showed ‘em!

He had even nicked a decent pair of Nike trainers from JB Sports.

Expensive like, over seventy quids worth.

He had been drinking from a half empty bottle of whiskey he had found in the gutter. This was also in his rucksack, along with some cans of Coke and Red Bull he had grabbed from the shelf in the newsagents.

He had felt proud that it was he that had suggested grabbing the cans of drinks and stuff from the chiller and using it as ammo to throw at the Feds.

Man, they weren’t up for it. We was taunting them. Daring them to come at us, but we just kept throwing bricks and stuff. They just stood there.

We’s in charge now, we don’t need no Feds.

Fascist bastards; No, we don’t need no police state. The Possee rules the streets.

Man what a laugh. I hope it kicks off tonight. I could do with a new mobile, I’ve had mine for nearly a year now. Need a new one.

He turned the corner of the road and left into the one that lead down to the estate.

It was dark, and he thought he saw something move down the end of the road by the lock ups. It was all in shadow…. He couldn’t be sure.

Then they were there; cast into shadow by the streetlight from a side street. Tarantino would have spent days trying to get that effect.

Four shadows standing side by side.

The first, fists clenched arms by his side, the second holding a baseball bat, the third a length of piping and the fourth a cricket bat.

One of the shadows hailed the hooded figure at the top of the road.

“We’ve been waiting for you, scumbag. We’ve been watching you on the tele…. You and your mates. Thought you wouldn’t get recognised, you piece of filth.”

“We’ve got friends work down there. I go to that paper shop every day. I get a coffee in that Caf!”

The youth turned and ran back into Harrow Street. The rucksack weighed heavy as it pummelled his back.

He ducked down and arched alcove of a communal passage between two  houses and he cursed violently as he kicked a can that was lying in the dark of the passage.

At the bottom there were two high gates. He kicked at the first. It was locked, the second flew back.

There was a bolt on the back of the gate and he slid it into place.

The youth crouched in the corner of the courtyard fumbling frantically in his pocket for his mobile phone.

He couldn’t hear anything, all was quit. Maybe they hadn’t chased after him.

Then he heard it. The can. The can in the passage. Somebody had trod on the can in the passage.

He tapped out the three numbers on his mobile.

“Help me. These men are chasing me. They’ve got baseball bats. I need help…”

“Police…. I need the Police…. Harrow Street…. I dunno what number…. Half way down. Please help me, I need the Police!

At that moment the courtyard gate was kicked in and the sound of splintering wood and aggression greeted the youth cowering in the corner of the yard.

What a laugh!