Free Surefire by Ashe Barker Page B

Kenny’s ribs as he’s lying on the pavement is obviously intended to settle old scores, and I can’t say I blame him.
    A couple of minutes, no more than that, and there are three more would-be heroes rolling in the muck alongside the noble Kenny, and the other two are backing away, obviously no longer so keen on the day’s entertainment. He of the bicycle chain is among the fallen, and Nathan uncoils the chain from around his pudgy, tattooed hand, clearly intending to make sure he doesn’t get to wrap it around anyone else’s head any time soon.
    Tom, meanwhile, is intent on hauling Kenny into a sitting position and he deftly pulls his arms through the sleeves of the jacket. It’s seen a lot of wear, in fact it’s distinctly tatty now and I have no doubt that Tom won’t be wearing it again. It’s a point of principle though, and the jacket, newly restored to its rightful owner is soon stowed in the boot of the Porsche along with the bike chain.
    “Right, you lot can fuck off and take that pile of shite with you.” Nodding casually in the direction of Kenny and the other three fallen heroes, Nathan’s tone is as hard and implacable as Tom’s, and I begin to appreciate how formidable he must be when in Dom mode. I bet Eva loves it. These guys though, are just plain cowards, bullies with the tables turned, and they can’t get away from us fast enough. Not especially gently they drag their fallen comrades to their feet and the whole pack of them shuffle off back across the street to bundle their semi-conscious colleagues back into their van and clamber in behind them.
    The least battered limps around to the front and hauls himself into the driver’s seat, offering a two finger salute in passing to Mrs Whatsername, my mother’s old next door neighbor. She’s ventured as far as her front door to watch the goings on and from the expression of utter disgust on her face is no doubt silently noting that Norman’s mother would never have caused such a commotion in the street. I can’t help thinking she’d have been better employed calling the police rather than watching from her doorstep, but I suppose it was all over so quickly it hardly seems worth it now. By way of peace-making, as we all watch the van lurching down the road, Tom offers her a cheery “Good evening” before she nips back inside a bit sharpish and slams the door on us all.
    As Kenny and co. disappear around the corner, my instinct is to make a run for it, to get away. I can’t believe we’re still alive, let alone all of us standing around as if nothing much has happened.
    “You could have been killed. Both of you…” I’m staring from one to the other as they casually check over Nathan’s Porsche for any mucky finger marks in the gleaming black paintwork. “Christ, there were six of them…”
    “Mmm, decent odds this time. I’m glad I had him to back me up, especially as my ribs are still a bit delicate.” Tom smiles at Nathan. “Thanks, mate, I owe you one.”
    “You’re welcome. Any time.” Nathan crouches to check his tires.
    “Six, for God’s sake. Can’t either of you count?”
    “Yes, six. Same as the number of dans on his black belt. The Karate Kid here.” Again he nods in Nathan’s direction, who seems quite oblivious to my concerns as he now checks his lights. “Mind, I always knew he’d come in useful in a scrap. I’d have been a lot more nervous on my own. Like before, in Bristol.”
    Karate? Black belt? Bloody hell. Kenny’s little band of numpties wouldn’t have known what hit them. Nathan scattered them like skittles. And even though, in fairness, Nathan did do most of the work, Tom was pretty lethal himself. For old times’ sake I don’t doubt. As my heart rate at last settles down into a more sedate canter I notice that his knuckles are scratched—no doubt Kenny’s chin is in worse shape though. He smiles, rubs his sore knuckles ruefully as he sees where my gaze has landed.
    “It was worth it. Been