Jamie 6

[Lothian]

I : II : III : IV : V

Jamie 6

The ambulance sped from the town centre, lights and sirens enabling it to cut through the late night traffic with ease. As one paramedic concentrated on the road and on appraising the fast-approaching Royal Infirmary of the vehicle’s status his colleague worked on the patient lying prone in the rear.

As they drew up outside the main A & E emergency entrance a gaggle of staff emerged, collected the patient and quickly disappeared back inside.

The driver turned to his partner, ‘Well?’

A shrug of the shoulders. ‘He was out when we got to the scene, there was no sign of activity en route; I dunno.’


****

He’d forgotten to draw the curtains again. The strong sunlight of … wait … yes … surely around 11am shone through the window and onto the bed. His head was aching and he was late. Really late and really aching. He thought of movement, but decided against for fear that it would make the pain more intense.

‘Ok,’ he reasoned ’status check. Head – fucking killing me. Body – dunno. Bed – oh!’ he shifted his position slightly, noting that the bedclothes and pillow were not his own, ‘Unknown. How ah goat here – unknown.’ That was the worrying part. He had no recollection of going to bed, which had not proven to be an encouraging sign in the past, however they tended not to supply crisp white sheets and fresh-smelling pillows in the cells, so that was a possible good sign.

He stirred, and moaned slightly. A female voice advised, ‘He’s awake.’ The sound of a footstep or two towards him, then the voice again, ‘Take your time. You’ve been in an accident. Drink this.’ The sensation of a cup to his lips, which he parted. Water flowed into his mouth and he swallowed uncomfortably. The cup was withdrawn.

‘Leave him be just now. He’ll be confused, so don’t get him excited.’ The voice moved further away as it spoke. The sound of a door opening and closing.

He breathed deeply.

‘Alright, bruv?’ a familiar voice. ‘Been in the wars, eh?’

He frowned. The identity of the voice wasn’t clear. His location wasn’t clear. Just at the minute, he seemed incapable of any sort of reasoning. This wasn’t good. He opened his eyes, closing them quickly from the resultant glare.

‘Ah’ll get the blinds’ the voice suggested.

He tried to sit up. He managed, but his head exploded in a sea of colour and sensation. He collapsed down on the pillow. Then the room felt duller through his closed eyes and he risked opening them again. This time he was rewarded with vision.

A vaguely smiling face swam into view. A dark haired kid or around eighteen or so. Dark eyes with heavy brows and stubbly cheeks below. His brother.

‘Chris?’ he ventured.

‘Francis’ was the beaming reply.

He frowned. ‘Naw …’ he began.

‘Frankie! I kent ye wur ok!’

‘Still beat the crap outta you. Even frae ma deathbed. An does this no’ feel like death.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I cannae remember onythin’.’

‘You got beat up, Frankie. Ye aw did. Docturs reckon yer memory micht tak a day or twa tae settle. The rest of the guys are lined up down the corridor. Polis are workin’ their way roond ‘em.’

‘Fuckin’ pigs.’ Frankie was starting to get his wits back. ‘Everyone awright?’

‘Yeah. All of them were knocked cold, but I dinnae think there’s ony damage.’ He paused. ‘They say ye goat concussion.’

Frank tapped the side of his head, wincing internally, ‘Thick head, me. Need tae dae better than that to take me oot.’

Chris’ grin returned. ‘Sure. Doctors say they want tae keep you in fur a couple o’ days. Say it’s fur the best.’

Frankie considered his options. ‘Nae wuy am I speakin’ to the pigs. Goat my clothes?’

‘Yup. Yir shirt goat ruined, but I goat you another an’ stuff.’ A bag of clothes was handed over.

Frank rose from the pillow, his head pounding unforgivingly. He peeled back the bedclothes and planted his feet on the ground. ‘Pills?’

‘Yeah.’ Chris threw over a bottle, which Frankie failed to catch. ‘Double vision?’

‘Maybe. I see yin o’ ye, but that’s still yin tae many. Go see how the rest ur.’

As Chris left the room, Frank opened the bottle and swallowed four pills, swigging them down with a mouthful of water. He tipped the bag upside down and began to assemble his clothing. Removing the hospital gown, he caught sight of himself in a mirror on the far side of the room. He paused, then nodded approvingly and began dressing, finishing as always by buttoning up the bottom half of his trademark white shirt.

His headache returned with a vengeance. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and opened them again in surprise at the half-forgotten image that had flashed into his head – the girl’s shocked face as he landed the first heavy blow home.

Flipping open the bottle once more, he dispensed a further handful of pills and swallowed, before sitting heavily down onto the bed to await the return of his brother.


****

‘Mr. Knight, we really can’t allow you to go just yet. We must savour the moment.’ Sergeant Lennon was enjoying this. ‘The rarity of discussing a crime with you as a witness.’ The delight on his face was evident. ‘I’m sure you agree that this is unusual indeed.’

Frankie stood at the edge of the bed, his path blocked by the two policemen standing in the door.

‘After all, PC McManus here has spent his entire night looking after you and your friends. I think the least you owe him is a chat over a cup of tea, eh, Constable?’

‘Aye. Tea, an’ maybe a word of thanks.’ suggested McManus.

Frankie’s eyes flashed in anger. Recognising the look, Lennon stepped into the room and gestured Frankie to sit on the bed. ‘It’ll be, what, quarter of an hour before they get your prescription and your discharge papers. What harm would a chat do? I’m sure McManus can find us a cup of tea in the meantime …’ he turned and shot his colleague a furious stare.

McManus retreated, closing the door behind him. A curious Chris peered through the high window in the door.

Lennon sat in the chair next to the bed. ‘C’mon, Frank. We both know the score. You should be dishing out this sortae thing, no receivin’ it. It’s embarrassing fir ye, I know. But mah joab’s the same whoever the …’ the right word was wrong ‘ … victim.’

Frank had been gazing at the floor, but now fixed Lennon with a stare.

‘Ah cannae remember onythin’. Jist wakin’ up here.’ He raised a hand to his head.

‘Aye. The Doctors’ll back ye up oan that. But ye must remember something; this wisnae a random attack. These guys chased yir gang halfway across the toon centre; now why wid they dae that?’

Frank remained silent.

‘Will ah tell ye whit yir pals said?’

He glanced up, half curious as to what had happened and half angry that the police had been told anything at all. ‘Gaun.’

‘They say that this big guy appeared oot ae nowhere whilst ye’s wur havin’ a smoke at the back of the Clutha. He just showed up an’ began layin’ intae ye. Mr Naylor said it was a big blond guy wi nae shirt and a … now let me get the quote … ah yes, “A great fuck-oaf beard.” Huv ye’s been pissing oaf the Norse gods again?’

Silence.

‘Mr McGeady suggests that he was … now let me see “A giant hippie. Like one that’d been left in a grow-bag or that.” Still nothing?’

Frank looked up blankly.

‘Mr Caldwell concurs, “It’s no fair, hippies shouldnae be that size.”’

Lennon leaned in closer. ‘You know what I think? I think ye’s goat yir story straight before ah stairted. Ah think yir brither’s ‘concern’ has been passin’ oan information raither than receivin’ it. Ah think ye’ve pissed oaf anither crew an’ ye’ve bin warned oaf.’

He frowned, then stood.

‘Well, Mr. Knight, allow me tae gie ye a further warnin’. Strathclyde Police dinnae tak kindly tae gangs, we niver have. The last thing we want tae see is the city revert tae the bloodshed o’ the fifties an’ sixties, so we’re always very keen to hear o’ any organised crime. An’ when we do hear o’ it, de ye ken whit we dae?’

He brought his face to within a couple of inches of Frank’s. ‘We stamp it oot. Hard. An’ god help onyone wha’s involved, whether they feel they’ve tae retaliate or no’. Whither ur no they cun remember wha stairted it ir why.’

He straightened and headed towards the door. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Knight. I’ll be in touch if we should detain a suspect.’ He left, shooing the returning tea-bearing Constable down the corridor with him.

Chris returned. ‘Ye set?’ he asked. ‘Here’s yir prescription an’ some forms. Docturs are pissed but the taxi’s here.’

They left.


****

In the back of the taxi, Chris was not happy.

‘Bit ye cannae! Yir nae well!’

Frank’s patience was running thin. ‘Ah’ll be fine. Ah’ll no be long. An hour or twa.’

‘The doctor said ye shouldnae be oan yir own. I’ll come in wi ye.’

Frankie’s patience snapped. ‘Will ye fuck! Scrawny wee cunt, yer gaun naewhere near Delancys.’

The cab pulled up near the industrial estate off Polmadie Road. The estate consisted of a number of low-slung units constructed in the early 1990s, the majority of which had been given over to manufacturing, though some attempted to offer their wares to the public. A single track railway line ran between the estate and the nearby river.

Frank thrust some notes in Chris’ hands and opened the door, ‘Take him tae Shawlands’ he advised the driver.

As the car drove off, Frankie caught a glimpse of Delancys. It provoked a physical reaction as he breathed easier and his anger at Chris’ attempted intervention subsided. North or South? He wasn’t sure. South was the riskier, not knowing what news of last night had filtered through. North would be a cop out. He headed for Delancys South.

A few steps in, he felt light headed and involuntarily closed his eyes. They jerked back open as the image of the man being crushed under the train flashed up.

‘Whur ar aw the guid memories?’ he wondered.


****

A sarcastic cheer and round of applause went round the back room as he entered. About a dozen guys were present, seated, playing pool or standing in a small group near the door. Frank was pleased to recall almost all their names. Shaking his head and sighing he made for the group of seated men, Joe Wilson in particular. Wilson, a large and powerful (in the majority of senses of the word), balding, bearded man, the owner of both Delancys premises, was holding his usual court.

‘Joey!’ he tried a warm greeting.

‘Frank, fer fucks sake wur no in a fuckin’ gangster film. How often huv I telt ye?’

‘Aye, Joe.’ Better suck up to the boss until he knew how the land lay.

Wilson stretched back into his chair. ‘So. Whit’s yer story?’

‘Whit’ve ye heard?’

‘Dinnae come the smairt cunt. You work fur me; I ask, you tell. Shall we start again?’ It really wasn’t a question. ‘So, whit’s yer story?’

‘It’s a blur. We wur oot watchin’ Chris’ band …’ there was a ripple of amusement from the other side of the room. Frank shot an angry look in the general direction of the noise. ‘Watchin’ Chris band, an’ ah went oot fir a smoke an this fuckin’ massive guy comes ootae naewhur. Aifter that aw I ken is wakin’ up in the Royal.’

Joe nodded. ‘Same as ah heard. Nae idea wha he wis?’

Frankie shook his head.

‘Hiv tae be a hell o’ a size tae tak ye doon, Francis. Guess we’ll need tae gie ye a stronger programme tae follow, eh?’

No reply.

‘Trouble is, Frank, he didnae jist stop at you, did he? Six o’ yis ended up in the Royal. Whit wur ye really up tae?’

‘Nuthin’. Jist as ah said, Joe. Mindin’ wur ain business.’

‘See, that gies me a problem, Frank. If ye’ve dun nuthin’ then ah huv tae ask whither ah’ve dun sumthing an’ yir jist the paper the message is written oan.’ He paused. ‘Is thur ony message, Frankie?’

‘Naw.’ he shook his head quickly and an explosion of pain resulted. ‘But they say ah’ve goat amnesia, sae ah cannae be sure, like.’

‘Ah, Frankie, loyalty wis nevur yir problem, was it?’ Joe shook his head, thinking ‘Stupidity, oan the other hand …’

Joe stood up and Frank followed. ‘Tak a couple o’ days. Gaun hame, catch up oan ‘The Sopranos’.’ This caused a further ripple of amusement round the room. ‘Pop back in at the stairt o’ next week an’ ah’ll fund ye somethin’ tae dae.’

Frank’s face fell. ‘Ah’m fine. Ah cun work!’

‘Naw, Frank. Ye need a couple o’ days. The rest ur takin’ the same. Ah’ll cope, an’ ah’ll phone if ah need ye.’

‘But ah wanted tae keep up the programme!’

‘Ye’ve earnt a break. Tak it.’

Slowly, Frank left the room, tempted to turn round and argue further but not quite daring. He left and Joe watched him trudge across the gym’s car park.

‘Fuckin’ haird work, eh?’ one of the men seated at the table offered.

‘Aye. Cannae see whit’s right under his naise, bit handy if yaised richt.’ He turned to another seated man, ‘Split his pals up when they git back. Each o’ yis tak wan or twae an’ hiv yir lads fund oot if it’s aw as innocent is he says.’

A younger member of the group asked, ‘Is it right whit awbudy says aboot ‘im?’

Joe looked over, ‘The kid’s name’s Danny’ he thought, then said ‘An’ whit dae They say?’

‘That he kilt twa folk last Christmas.’

‘Aye. Dumb fuck thit he is. He did. An’ if ye aisk him, he’ll tell ye thit ah telt him tae dae it.’

Confusion on Danny’s face.

‘Wan o’ ma ‘regulars’ hid a problim wi bein’ cheated oan bi th’ wrang sart if ye git ma meanin’. No knowin’ ony bettir, ah aisked Frankie boy tae take care ay the mattur. Ah’d meant thit he shid huv a wee wurd, maybes gie thum a scare, but no Frankie. He wis oot tae impress.’

‘Whit did he dae?’ asked the youngster.

‘He smacked the wuman in the face until such time as no’ even hur dental records cid tell ye wha she wus. An’ he shoved the guy undur a freight train. Thur’s nae haff measures wi Frankie-boy.’

‘An he jist went oot an’ killed thum? The cheatin’ wuman an’ hur bit oan the side?’

The room burst into uproarious laughter.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Joe walked over to the youngster and put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Son, ye’re new, eh? Either that or yer as thick as Frankie. Dinnae worry, ah’m shiare ye’ll git it afore he dis.’

The room laughed collectively once more.

****

Frank left, cursing furiously to himself.

‘Seven years. Seven fuckin’ years it took us tae git in thur, an noo ah git chucked oot cus o’ a bump oan the heid? Fuckers!’

Frank had always known about Delancys Gym. It was legendary throughout the city. Stuck in a dead end estate on a street which had never been formally named, but which had been known as Delancy Street for decades. To the front of the estate, on the north side, was the public face of the business; a respectable if tough place for those with the means and the commitment to work their bodies into a state of physical perfection. Frank had attended since his school days, and indeed Delancy’s had been largely responsible for their premature end. Having been invited to choose between his body and his future, Frank had given a short and sharp piece of advice to his careers office, which had led to a suspension from which he’d never returned. Aware that the business was more than had met the eye, he’d spent every available moment there, taking on a part-time job which had gradually become full-time by the time he’d reached 18.

He loved that the regulars looked to him for advice and compared themselves to his example, but was soon aware that the heart of the business lay in the less-public sister premises. The lure of the underbelly, coupled with his love of mobster movies compelled him to work even harder in a bid to be noticed. Finally, Joey had asked him to take care of some business last Christmas and Frank had jumped at the chance.

The deeds done, he had returned to his workplace, hands bloodied. Joey commanded that he be taken to the South and cleaned up. As he was led from the room he heard Joey advise ‘We’re gonna have tae keep an eye oan that wan. Move him ower the road.’

Since then, he’d continued in his day job, but now dealing with Joey’s associates rather than his customers. They were serious guys, most as big as Frank, and none discussing their business, which often seemed to go on into the early hours of the morning, when Frank often heard them screaming at each other as they resolved issues.

Some days Frank would be asked to deal with non-gym business.

****

Delancy I love you, I need you
You're the only one for me
Delancy I love you, I need you
I miss you on the South side of the street


****

A week later and he was called back to work.

‘Francis!’ called a beaming Joe. ‘I’d like ye tae meet Mr. Robson. He’s daein a spot o’ work fir us up at the University. Ah thought ye might like tae gie him a haund.’

‘Mr Robson.’ Frank nodded.

‘Mr Knight, or may I call ye Frank?’ the tone was polite enough.

‘Aye, Frank’s guid. Whit are we daein’?’

Robson laughed. ‘Jist as ye said Joe, he’s keen tae please.’ Then to Frank, ‘Follae me, son.’

The job was to be easy. The University was receiving new computer systems that day and so there’d be a number of guys running up and down wearing overalls and carrying boxes. The legitimate IT company would deliver, just as Robson’s crew, dressed in similar overalls removed. Simple.

Frank was on his sixth and final trip. So far, everything was going according to plan and the second van was almost full. The guy behind the front desk had been a real pain in the arse, but Robson had managed to talk him round.

Peering over the three hard drives piled up in his arms, he thought he saw a familiar face. ‘Fuck. Naewhur tae hide. Best brave it oot.’ He thought, quickening his pace. Maddeningly, he couldn’t place a name to the face.

The guy walking the other way appeared to be concentrating on taking a set of keys from his pocket. As the drew closer to each other, Frank thought he might not be noticed, but a few paces apart, the other figure produced the key and looked up, right into Frank’s face, and gave a wan smile and a weary nod before continuing down the hallway. Frank turned and saw him pause before a door.

Frank hurried to the waiting lift, keen to put as much distance as possible between himself and the other. ‘Wha wis he?’ he asked himself, but no answer was forthcoming.

A few seconds later he was depositing the hard drives in the rear of the van, Frank moved into one of the passenger seats. Robson was behind the wheel.

‘Sorted?’ Robson asked.

‘Aye.’ replied Frank.

‘Cid dae wi a drink efter aw this, mind.’ commented Robson.

‘A drink? The Clutha!’ thought Frank. ‘The guy wi the keys wis at oor table an’ offered us aw drinks.’ He suddenly felt uneasy, as if he knew there was more to come. His brain was not yet compliant, however.

On impulse, he slid from the van, advising Robson, ‘Ah’ll make ma ain wuy back.’

He hurried back into the Royal College and returned to the door at which the man from the Clutha had paused. The door was now closed and Frank could hear two voices arguing. Pressing his ear to the door, he could only make out the odd snatch of conversation -

‘… that necklace. The charm from …’

‘ … it’s more than that.’

‘ …Whit’s happenin’ tae ye?’

‘ …Whit dae ye take me fir?’

‘ …Bollocks! … a bit ay metal an a bit ay coo … how come ahm no … rippin’ the shirt oaf ma back, eh?’

A long pause, then

‘It’s you! Bit … how?’

‘ …beast, or man, or whatever,’

‘ … in the necklace?’

‘ …effects take a little while to…’

A shorter pause, then a raised voice.

‘…watchin’ …? Watchin’ me? Watchin’ us?’

Surprised at the mention of surveillance, Frank removed his head from the door and quickly walked down the corridor. One of the nearby doors was unlocked and he gratefully sought refuge in the office beyond, adrenaline flooding through his system. Had they known he was there?

In his panicked state, his mind flashed images from the night of the attack; his brother’s band, the mocking little queer cunt at the same table, deciding to take revenge, inviting him outside, shock and awe … and then …?

Frankie struggled to make sense of it. He had looked away to drag the kid to the other side of the gravelled alley, during which the kid had seemed to get lighter, but when Frankie had turned back the kid was no longer there. It couldn’t be, he’d had a grip of his hair the whole time.

Frank’s mind offered the final piece of the puzzle, but it made no sense. The alley wasn’t gravelled. The kid had become the oversized longhaired freak. The sound he’d heard was clothes tearing, sinews stretching and bones reforming.

He recalled the look of detached curiousity on the guy’s face, as he had cocked his head and gazed into Frankie’s eyes. The eyes had narrowed slightly, then disappeared from view, replaced by a moving skyline as Frank had been thrown through the air and back into the club, crashing to rest on a table near the stage.

He slid down the wall of the office, coming to rest on the floor, eyes closed. ‘It happened.’ he thought to himself. ‘It really happened.’

Almost immediately a further thought dominated, ‘I’ve gotta get me some ay that.’

Rising to his feet, Frank opened the door and looked out into the corridor. It was empty. Desire overcoming his fear, he slowly and stealthily made his way back to his previous position, outside the other door. Crouching down, he continued to listen to the conversation. The two guys inside seemed to be having a regular chat, joking about how bad the coffee was and about some wrestling match they’d had with each other a few days ago. Frankie settled into a comfortable position and continued to listen.

About twenty minutes later, he heard the sound of chairs scraping on the floor as the two got to their feet.

‘Gaun oot on the lash tae celebrate a defeat? Yir still Scottish, eh?’

As the pair laughed, and Frank could hear the sound of footsteps. They were leaving! He looked round desperately for cover, for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. He improvised.

‘Tonight. Definitely. Meet you for something to eat, then maybe a club?’ the deeper voice suggested.

‘The Garage? Bit ay food first, though? Seven?’ said the other.

The pair entered the corridor and Frankie desperately dropped to one knee, pretending to tie his shoelace.

‘Garage. Tonight.’ Agreed the deeper voice, moving much closer to Frankie as he continued to keep his head bowed.

The man with the deeper voice, walked straight into Frankie’s low form, and instinctively bent and outstretched his arms, in case harm had been caused. Seeing that Frankie appeared unharmed the big guy offered a mild ‘Sorry, man.’ before heading down the corridor.

Glancing up, Frank saw that the other had disappeared. Growing in confidence he gazed at the big guy who’d just collided with him. He was massive, perhaps as tall as seven feet. His long blond hair flowed behind him as he walked, barely concealing a wide torso which tapered to a narrow waist before expanding once again to encompass powerful legs. Sartorially, however, he was somewhat less impressive and appeared to have been dressed from a lost property box. Frankie, however, remained fixated by the form underneath the fabric, rose to his feet and began to follow.

The guy wandered in to a large and mostly full lecture theatre and sat down near the back. Careful to remain unseen, Frankie selected a seat some way to his left and slightly behind him. The lecturer began, and the guy seemed to be somewhat bored, but took notes effortlessly. Frank did not, instead keeping a careful eye on his target and mulling over the snatches of conversation he’d overheard.


‘… that necklace. The charm from …’

‘ … it’s more than that.’

‘… a bit ay metal an a bit ay coo … how come ahm no … rippin’ the shirt oaf ma back, eh?

‘ …beast, or man, or whatever,’

‘ … in the necklace?’

‘ …effects take a little while to…’

‘Garage. Tonight.’

The words continued to flick through his head as he continued to watch. The blond tossed his head back, allowing Frankie sight of a thin leather strap round his neck – the charm.

Nodding, Frankie quietly left the lecture room. He had work to do.


****

By 9pm the club was rapidly filling up. Frank had been lurking in one of the store rooms since it opened, peering out of the door every now and again at the customers being served at the bar. One of the bouncers was a regular at Delancys (‘North’ thought Frank, dismissively) and had managed to get Frankie in. None of the management were likely to turn up, after all it was expected to be one of the quietest nights of the week. Frank had persuaded the bouncer to keep an eye out for a large blond long-haired man, most likely with a smaller male companion and the word had spread around the staff.

Less than an hour later, word spread to him that a man matching the description had arrived. Frank left the store room and began scouting around, finding cover in the shadows and lurking behind the groups of dancing bodies. The club had only a few main areas and he quickly found the big man and his smaller companion. Installing himself in the opposite side of the room, Frank observed them for around an hour, dancing then drinking and laughing before the pattern repeated itself. He was unable to take his eyes of the large man, the sole thought running through his mind was ‘Mine.’

After a while, the two men parted, the larger heading on to the dancefloor alone for the first time of the evening. Seizing the opportunity, Frank quickly followed, slipping a pair of scissors from out of his pocket. He’d bought some leather shoelaces that afternoon and had spend a substantial amount of time practicing cutting through leather. His technique was perfect.

Moving to within touching distance of the man, Frank raised his hand, brushing the man on the shoulder, using the movement to get a grip of the leather strap. His other hand quickly moved up and cut smoothly through. With a final fluid movement, the scissors were returned to one pocket and the charm deposited in the other.

He melted back into the crowd.


****

He threw the charm off the store room wall.

‘Fuckin’ piece o’ shit.’ he called after it.

It bounced off the wall with a dull thud and came to rest behind a couple of crates of beer.

‘Disnae wurk’ Frank said to himself. He’d tried wearing it, gingerly placing it round his neck and bracing himself, but nothing. He’d then asked one of the bouncers to hit him, but nothing. He’d rubbed it furiously, but nothing. It didn’t work. If anyone discovered what he’d being doing for most of the day he’d be a laughing stock- and he might still have to explain the theft to Joey.

With a shake of his head, he finished his drink, placed the glass on the floor and moved to the door. Looking out, he saw that the big guy and his companion were still at the table, but the big guy’s head lolled to one side and his friend was looking at him with amusement. The big guy was asleep.

Frank heard something behind him, and in panic he closed the door and looked round the room. There was no-one there. He turned to leave, but heard the sound again, this time louder, ‘Hate.’ it said.

He swallowed. ‘This is fucked up’ he thought. His heart beat faster as he heard it again ‘Take you’ it advised.

He shook his head. ‘Ah’m hearin’ things, mebbe the docturs wur richt.’

Then the voice again, growing in strength, ‘Give you all you need.’ A pause, then again, this time more resonant, ‘Am the prayers.’

Trembling, Frank moved over to the wall, reached behind the crates and located the cool, hard surface of the charm. It tingled as he touched it and his quickly withdrew his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he forced his hand back down, this time grabbing the leather strap and retrieving the necklace.

With an unsteady hand he brought the charm level with his eyes. It looked the same, but the voice continued, ‘Take you where you want to go … Give you all you need to know …’

He brought his other hand up and grabbed the charm firmly, an almost electric sensation ran up his arm, and an image flashed into his mind - landing the first punch on the girl’s face. He missed a breath and coughed slightly before sinking to his knees.

As he held it, the charm continued to sing out to him, ‘Am the high you can’t sustain … Am the need you have for more.’ It was quite intoxicating. As he listened, he could make out three clear voices, that he’d heard before and two others. The others, much more distant, spoke over each other, “Get me another … can’t countenance your proposal … back in five minutes… will never succeed …’

Somehow he knew that the big guy, ‘No,’ he thought, ‘Jim!’ was on the move. Somehow he knew that his time had come. He considered placing the charm around his neck, but instinctively knew that the time was not yet right.

He stepped forward towards the door and the face of the girl swam into view again, his fist lashing out at her. He shook his head and moved out into the club, seeing the tall figure of Jim disappear through a pair of fire doors. Jim’s friend, ‘Greg’ the charm helpfully suggested, was moving towards the bar. Careful to keep his face hidden from Greg, Frankie followed Jim out into the cool night air, closing the doors behind him as quietly as he could. Keeping to the shadows, he moved towards the large figure which was walking towards the end of the yard.

His eyes flashed a vision of his fist smashing into her face once more, causing Frankie to pause, mid-step and involuntarily suck in a breath. He glanced up, and he breathed out realising that he had not yet been observed.

Jim reached the end of the yard and pressed his forehead and hands against the heavy wooden delivery gates there. He exhaled deeply, inhaled and then spat on the ground.

The charm told Frankie exactly what to do. Reaching down, he placed the necklace in his trouser pocket, then readily located the gun he’d stolen from Joey’s safe that afternoon. Holding the gun in his right hand, he removed the safety catch. It made a slight clicking noise.

The large figure spun round in surprise.

‘No such a fuckin’ big cunt now, eh?’ Frankie suggested, coldly. Touching the charm with his other hand, he asked ‘Loast sumthin’?’

Jim’s eyes screwed as he tried to see into the shadows. Frankie adjusted his position, readying himself to fire.

Jim took a step forward, then another, advancing on Frank. With a grin Jim advised, ‘Still able tae take you. You should pose no significant problems whatsoever. Now why not step into the light and give me a good look at your face before I beat the crap out of it so nobody can recognise it ever again?’

The face of the girl swam into Frank’s vision again. Involuntarily he jerked.

The bullet tore into the flesh below Jim’s left shoulder. He twitched and took a step back, not quite comprehending what had happened.

Frank gasped. The face and his fist appeared once again, he responded and a second bullet impacted centrally on Jim’s chest.

Confused, Jim raised a hand, placed it on his shirt and raised it to his face. It glistened a wet, rich, darkness in the glow of the neon light and he slowly slumped to his knees.

The voice returned to Frank’s head, louder even than before, calling ‘I am the bullet in the gun …I am the truth from which you run.’

Frank fired again and the third bullet smashed into Jim’s gut, causing him to double over and then thump heavily to the ground.

Above the voice of the charm Frank knew that the threat was now over. Jim was losing blood rapidly and seemed barely conscious. Frank walked to the prone figure and noted the outline of a mobile phone in the back pocket of the tight jeans. Bending over, he deftly removed it and casually tossed the battery out onto the street then threw the remainder of the phone towards the club. There’d be no calling for help any time soon.

Recalling the outcome of their last encounter outside a club, Frank felt the moment required a personal touch and so kicked Jim squarely in the guts as hard as he could. Jim retched and twisted into a foetal position.

Sensing that the time was now right, Frank turned. The image of his fist impacting on the face swam into view once more, but he was becoming enured to it and continued about his task. He removed the necklace from his pocket and, feeling his heart quicken he placed it round his neck.

The image of the girl became suddenly enhanced, no longer did he see himself landing the first blow, but he felt that he was reliving the incident.

Thump. He hit her as hard as he could. Gasp. She fell to the floor.

The incident replayed. And again, and again, quickening. He convulsed at the unexpected intensity, dropping the gun in the process.


Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump Thump Thump Thump
Thump Thump Thump Thump

‘I see you’ve warmed it up for me.’ he gasped in the direction of the body before him, forcing a smile.

The charm overwhelmed him and he gave himself to it, letting out a low moan of pain and bowing his head as a burning sensation engulfed his entire being.


His head suddenly snapped up and gazed heavenwards. The moan increased to a shriek of pain as his bones began to crack and rearrange themselves and muscular mass was added as if from nowhere. His white shirt exploded as his cries dropped two octaves and became a roar of triumph, his power matched only by the raw energy exuded by his now massive form.

Then silence.

He breathed deeply. The world had changed. A thought struck and he bent to collect the discarded gun, stowing it in the remains of his trousers.

There was one burning thought on his mind; Delancy. He began to run, narrowly avoiding Jim, then tensing his mighty legs, leapt over the gates and out to the city beyond.

Jim remained on the ground. Just before he passed out he thought of jogging early that morning –

Mr. Blue you did it right,
But soon comes Mr. Knight,
Creepin' over, now his
Hand is on your shoulder,
Never mind, I'll remember you this way.

[redroger11]

You, Man, are a crafty one. I think you have a lot more to say. And what you've already told us is very good indeed. Excellent work. You pulled the Bobs into the story. It looks like each one of them wants some fun. Some fun.
And do please..
Keep Writing.

redroger11

[Lothian]

Glad you're enjoying it. It's been fun to write so far - I keep losing track of time whenever I do another bit.

There's only one Bob though, he's just reacting to the personality of whoever he's associated with.

When I started this thing of I had a rough idea of the characters and an ending. Actually, it was better than that, it was An Ending. I'd stol ... uh ... homaged it from a radio play I heard a couple of months ago. It had everything. And it doesn't work now. Dunno why, but it just doesn't. The upshot of which is that I've really no idea where we're ending up. I know where we're going in the next couple of installments, but that's about it. As we're heading towards the end I reckon I'd better think the whole thing through a bit before going on. It's a bit like a Rubik's cube - easy enough to do the first face, but it gets trickier to keep track of what you're doing. You really want it to look proper when it's done and peeling off the stickers is cheating.

[Reeza]

What ever happened to this story?

Perhaps a small band of enthusiastic followers could coax the author out of hiding. He can't be allowed to abandon such a rich plot at this point, can he?

Where else can we get good tunes and a dose of Scots dialect? Please don't force us to rely on old Bond films!

[redroger11]

well here's another enthusiastic follower, waiting for the next chapter in a great story! We love it Lothian.

redroger11

[Lothian]

Originally Posted by Reeza

What ever happened to this story?

It lives in my head. It's perfectly happy there.

Perhaps a small band of enthusiastic followers could coax the author out of hiding. He can't be allowed to abandon such a rich plot at this point, can he?

Well, the next part's drafted. It's ok, but it tails off at the end. Needs a little more work before I can honestly say that it's done. If anyone wants a look I'll send them it, but it's not getting posted until the rest of it's written. Which won't be for a while. I'm a pretty seasonal sort of person and the Spring is when I'd do this sort of thing. Haven't really been in the mood to write for a while. It's all sketched out - I just need to write it up. And figure out Frank a little more. And get re-enthused about the music that just about fits it.

Where else can we get good tunes and a dose of Scots dialect? Please don't force us to rely on old Bond films!

What on earth's wrong with watching some old guy fondle a pussy for a couple of hours? Is that not your thing? Oh, and the Lazenby one is the best by a mile - if only for the music during the skiing escape bit.

[redroger11]

Dear Lothian; I would love to read whatever you have written. How ever you wish to send it along is fine with me. Just let me know if you want an email address. Great story, Man.

redroger11

[ts1976]

Well, I look forward to reading the next installment of the story whenever you post it. I don't mind if you take your time, I certainly understand what being seasonal is like. ;-)

Cheers!

[Lothian]

Originally Posted by redroger11

Just let me know if you want an email address.

Originally Posted by ts1976

Well, I look forward to reading the next installment of the story whenever you post it. I don't mind if you take your time, I certainly understand what being seasonal is like. ;-)

No need for an email, when a PM will do.

[redroger11]

How very appropriat for me to add a comment/Compliment to Lothian's story and note that his ending comment phrase for his posts is "If avatars were possible..." Five months since we last posted back and forth and suddenly we no longer have avatars when we post our stories or comments. I was looking for another story and ran across Lothians story. And while he claims its a bit of a redo from some other media, I think it's still mostly his story and very well written. I'd love to find a way to help him post the next chapter. And I'd love more information as to why he posted that remark on all his posts. It has now come to pass that we don't have avatars. The management has not posted any explanations as to why they no longer are available. Didn't this site once have links to images for the posts to be linked to? Does anybody know the story as to what's going on at TEF MMG? Are they running low on funds and in need of help? Is their new system refusing to do images? It's always good to get the facts straight from the source( The Source? Flashpoint?) but I've had trouble getting feedback from the management before and I don't want to be rude or foolish in asking them a question they think I should already know the answer to.

Any way, here's a new guickpost on a story, I think, should have a lot more chapters to.

redroger11

[redroger11]

Just a friendly reminder that Spring is almost over. I'm hoping you still feel like continuing this story, cause it really has been one of the better ones, here. At least in my opinion. Twists and turns, and our hero is still alive while the thief of his huge body, is still messed up and waiting for his boss to do something to his huge body as it's held in a jail of sorts. I would dearly love to see how you want to sort the rest of the story. Please Keep Writing.

redroger11

[Lothian]

Haven't forgotten about this. Trouble is that Frankie still needs a bit of work in the convincingness department. I'll finish it. Honest. Our villain aside, it's all pretty much worked out and just needs the fleshing out that comes with putting the damned thing to [virtual] paper.

[redroger11]

That's nice to hear. But knowing your doing OK is better. We don't hear from you and we get worried. The way you write, I keep on getting the idea you have a lot more to say than for just one story. I hope you'll think of writing more stories when you wrap Jamie up. I'll be one of the many guys who will be ready to read what ever you want to write.
Take care man, and..
Keep Writing

redroger11

[Mass Driver]

Hey Great story! From the other chapters it looks like there's more to come.
Can't wait for the next one.

I hope you...
Keep Writing.

MD

[Mass Driver]

Just keeping great things in view. Hoping for another chapter.

MD

[Mass Driver]

Just a friendly bump.

MD