The Payback

Henry looked up from his magazine and watched the three boys taking their seats on the bus. All pushing and swearing. The loudest one had a school tie wrapped around his fist and he used it to cushion his hand as he began slowly punching the empty seat in front.

Some of the passengers looked before quickly turning away. An older couple in seats next to them moved closer to each other. She pulled her scarf tighter around her and reached a hand to her handbag strap. Henry saw the back of the old boy’s neck flushing red.

The loudest boy punching the seat was also the tallest. Henry recognized him from the CCTV. He was the boy caught kicking Mickey's head like a football. The two other boys sprawled back on their seats, staring at anyone brave enough to look.

Henry rolled his thick shoulders inside the tailored suit he was wearing that day. It was unpleasantly warm. He could see the older man’s head sweating. Henry pulled at his seventeen-inch collar, loosening the button as the heat on the bus increased. He turned back to his magazine and flicked through the pages, listening as the boys bragged on.

‘I smashed him.’

‘I told her to do one...’

‘What's she gonna do? Fuck it.’

The other passengers seemed to be ignoring them, but Henry was clenching his hands into fists. He was a fighter. A strong violent man familiar with the boy’s boys’ language but tonight he was dressed like a stockbroker. Tonight he wanted to blend in with the commuting crowd. The bus pulled in before the petrol station, the last stop before the dual carriageway out of the city. It was getting dark outside and the streetlights started up as more passengers departed. The bus continued, with only Henry, the old couple and the three boys left. An ambulance powered past on the outside lane, sirens calling and it reminded Henry again of Mickey, lying in a hospital bed with a fractured face and a ruined eye.

‘Do you know who did it, Mickey? Did you see them?’

Now Henry knew. It was the tallest loudest boy sitting five seats in front with his two hooded mates.

Their swearing and noisiness increased now the bus was almost clear and one of them spat snot on the window which made them laugh.

‘Do you mind?’

The old man turned, scowling at them. He was sweating, gripping his walking stick and leaning some of his weight towards them.

The three boys looked at him.

‘No need to swear...' he pointed at the window, ‘...and that is disgusting. The driver should have you removed.’

He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief while the boys considered his words. His wife didn't look, I’d stick a semicolon in here. Or make it two sentences she was staring ahead at the seat in front. The spitting one cleared his throat, while the smaller one thumbed at his mobile, head down.

‘Fuck off,’ said the tallest boy.

The old man didn't react. A few minutes later he said something to his wife. They got up, the old man taking a while to steady himself using his stick. They walked carefully towards the front of the bus, supporting each other while the boys laughed. The old man turned before sitting down.

‘You're a disgrace,' he said, 'and each one of you needs a slap.’

Henry checked the carrier bag he'd brought was still upright against his seat. The bus powered past the first stop at the end of the dual carriageway without slowing and carried on through the main road into town before turning onto the Shipway Estate. Here, Henry could see the waste ground in the darkness where the old Margarine Works had been. He remembered playing in the rubble from the demolished chimneys and recalled the fight, nearly twenty years ago, which landed him in a Detention Centre at fourteen. The Judge ruled the violence excessive and rejected his claims of self-defence, but Henry learnt an important lesson that night and nobody got the better of him ever again.

The bus stopped next at Longford Park and the old man and his wife got off. Now it was just him and the boys. He knew which stop they'd be getting off. He checked the contents of his bag once more. Waiting. As the bus approached Ferry Hill, Henry pressed the bell and moved down the aisle. The smallest boy, who looked like a boxer's younger brother, left his leg trailing and Henry knocked into it as he walked past. He turned and looked at them. They stared back. Henry smiled.

‘Sorry mate,’ he said, walking past. The doors opened to let him off and he heard them talking as he felt the welcome fresh air on his face.

‘Suit’s got a death wish.’

‘I'll fucking stab him.’

and And so on.

Henry stepped onto the pavement, at the foot of Ferry Hill in the dark. He had to hurry now. The plastic bag rustling, so he gripped the handle of the baseball bat inside to stop the noise and increased his pace. The boys would be off at the next stop and they'd be getting home by cutting through the Square on the old Precinct. Taking the disused path between the church and the Bowling Green, he sprinted up towards their stop, smiling and blowing for breath when he reached the road in time to see the bus pulling in at the shelter about 50 yards ahead. He watched them getting off from a safe distance then followed, keeping the length between them at 50 yards or so as they headed towards the Precinct. He saw the spiked mast looming, overlooking the Square with its four CCTV cameras. Henry knew all of the camera’s cameras were broken.

Ahead, the boys turned left into the Precinct, so Henry sprinted to catch them up. The streets were empty here and most of the tenants in the flats opposite wouldn’t see anything anyhow. On reaching the end of the street he slowed left into the abandoned concrete shops. He was now in The Square. An overgrown paved arena surrounded by boarded shop fronts and littered with junk food wrappers. It was quiet. Henry's heart beating hard as he sucked in for air. Looking around.

The boys weren't there.

A thud in his chest. A can rattling in the gloom.

Then.

‘Hey big cunt.’

The tallest boy moved out from behind the wall in front. The other two boys stepped out next and moved to Henry's side.

He nodded at them. ‘’’Sup, lads?’

‘Fuck all, mate.’ The tall lad walked up to him. Standing feet to feet, they were a similar height although Henry was twice his bulk.

A few seconds. Then.

‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You’re Mickey’s brother’

Henry looked as the other two moved behind him, He let the bag dangle by his side, his grip tightening around the bat handle. He looked the boy in the eye.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘and I know you.’

The tall boy pulled a face. ‘Do you steal money off people too? Or,’ he looked down at Henry's bag, ‘is smacking school kids with bats more your thing?’

Henry leaned into him. ‘Mickey doesn’t steal, he just...’

‘...sells shit saving clubs. Screws people over…he's a scummy bastard.’

‘No, he...’

‘...helped himself, didn’t he.? Cunt.’ The boy nodded towards his friends. ‘His Dad lost all his money, loads of people did, he screwed everyone, with them loans and his fucking scams.’ He paused, turned a slow full revolution within the concrete arena, with his arms out wide. ‘Your generation, mate, are a bunch of thieving bastards, whichever way you look.’

Henry shook his head. 'Whatever happened, Mickey didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to lose his...’

‘.. eye? The boy turned his back, moving away now, with his friends following. ‘Yeah, well, sorry about that, mate. For your brother like.’

There were voices and Henry looked as a group of fifteen or more lads emerged from the furthest corner next to the boarded-up florists. The tallest, loudest boy opened up his palms to Henry and smiled.

‘Looks like the cavalry’s arrived,’ he said. ‘Now...why don’t you take your bat and fuck off?’

Henry watched them walking to their friends, some on bikes, some smoking, most of them staring in his direction. Within a minute though, they were gone.