Free Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) by Peter Carroll Page A

aforementioned scumbags who preferred to leave one earpiece swinging free. Sports-boy duly obliged.
    I stood up, snatched the phone from his grasp and made off down the carriage. He was too shocked at first to react. However, the round of applause and the whooping cheers of my fellow passengers soon shook him out of his torpor.
    “Hey, you thieving motherfucker, give me my phone or I'll fuck you up real bad!”
    If I didn't have something more pressing to attend to I might well have spent the next twenty minutes laughing. His voice was so high-pitched it sounded like he borrowed it from a member of the audience at a Justin Bieber concert. Even if I didn't hold as many physical advantages over him as I did, that pre-pubescent outburst would not have induced any sense of foreboding in me.
    As the carriage swayed and bucked, I carefully did what I had to do, then turned to face my accuser.
    “Ask nicely and you can have it back.”
    “Fuck you, dickhead! I don't need to do anything you want - it's my phone. Now, give it back, before I call the cops.”
    “How will you call them, son? With your  phone? Oh dear, that might be a little tricky,” I replied, blatantly mocking him.
    Poor little Sports-boy became very agitated but, now I was standing right in front of him, he realised he had no chance of intimidating me. The humiliation of being confronted and now taunted, burned like concentrated acid. However, even a retard like him could recognise conciliation was his only chance of getting his precious electronic friend back.
    “Come on, man. Just give it to me!” he said as calmly as he could.
    I shook my head and, as he made to grab, pushed him forcefully back.
    “What's the magic word, sonny?”
    This provoked a hilarious and totally unexpected response from the onlookers. A chant of “What's the magic word, sonny?” rose up, with every person on board joining in the chorus; all of them keen to encourage the boy to show some manners.
    Sports-boy looked around in a fury that threatened to burst every zit on his face and shower us all with rancid, teenage pus. The impotence of his rage became clear to him as I effortlessly thwarted another attempted grab. The chant grew in volume and finally he acquiesced.
    “Can I have my phone back...please?”
    The final word whispered so as to be barely audible.
    “I'm sorry, I don't think I caught that.”
    This time he screamed like a little girl.
    “Can I have my phone back, PLEASE?”
    The cheering, foot stamping and clapping was thunderous; a collective outpouring of relief, gratitude and schadenfreude. Finally, one of the unbearable few who made the lives of the many a misery had received their comeuppance. I don't mind admitting it made me feel good. This was not quite the end of it though.
    “As you asked so nicely, yes, you can have it back. However, there is one condition.”
    He avoided my eyes and responded sullenly.
    “What?”
    “I want you to put both ear pieces in and turn down the volume. If you don't, I'll do more than just take it off you. Do you understand me?”
    Again, he looked at the floor and mumbled, “Ok.”
    “I don't think I heard that.”
    “YES, OK!”
    I handed the phone over but, as I did, I made sure he stuck to his promise and pushed the ear pieces into both ears for him. With a final, venomous glower, he took off up the carriage.
    Almost immediately, we entered a station. The doors slid open, he alighted, and I returned to my seat. Much back-slapping and plaudits came my way but I kept my eyes on Sports-boy. Standing on the platform, he pulled at his ear pieces but they refused to budge. I saw him frantically looking back toward me as the train started to draw out of the station. He'd been left with no option but to stick to his promise - thanks to the super glue. I waved and gave him a salute.
     Only now did I afford myself the luxury of laughing heartily. To be fair, I was laughing a lot less heartily than Garry, who was getting