Free The Storm Without by Tony Black Page B

been buddied with at the outset of my career.
    ' You ' re nothing but a daft laddie, Doug, ' Billy Morrison had said when I told him I was taking the RUC job. ' You could have been set up for life here … all you had to do was keep your head down. '
    I was never any good at that. The memory was as clear as Technicolor to me now. I ' d well and truly strayed from the path of least resistance.
    I took another draw on the filter tip and headed off Cathcart Street, back towards the old school. At Dansarena I dowped my cigarette on the wall and pulled up my collar. The road back to the guest house was dark, the night cold, and my thoughts edging into ratiocination. I needed to relax, unwind and let my aching head find some form of distraction. Football. Car-crash television. It didn ' t matter to me.
    On Citadel Place I started to become dimly aware of footsteps behind me; heavy footsteps. I turned, looked back up the road I ' d travelled but the footsteps stopped and in the darkness it was hard to trace more than the outline of car-roofs beneath the direct sheen of the street-lamps. I halted, wondered if I ' d imagined the noise and returned to the path — but with a hurried gait. It ' d managed a dozen or so steps when I heard the footfalls again, this time they were running. As I turned, I suddenly grasped for breath: I doubled over with a fist in my gut. I lunged, felt another fist in my kidney and then I fell to the ground in a hail of sharp, fast punches. The fists moved quickly, were joined by dark, heavy boots that connected soundly with my ribs and my stomach and my chest.
    I felt blood rise in my mouth. I spat out a mouthful. Tried to make a sound but was unable. I was outnumbered and, I suspected, outclassed. The pair were not even drawing heavy breath when they halted.
    I was rolled onto my back. I raised my hands to shield my face in a defensive movement.
    ' Get his arms. ' The voice was loud, certain. It carried the authority of someone who was used to giving orders.
    I managed a low blow, kicked out and caught the smaller of the two in the groin.
    ' The arms, get his arms behind his back, ' came again.
    I recognised the manoeuvre: they were preparing for a cuffing. Probably on instinct.
    As my arms were locked the larger of the two assailants came into view, his face obscured by a balaclava. He grabbed my cheeks in his hand. I noticed the gold ring on his finger as he spoke. ' Right, Michie, you ' ll only get this warning once, so you better take it or the next step for you is off the brig. ' He squeezed tighter. I could see the jagged tips of his grey teeth. ' Stay away from what doesn ' t concern you ... '
    I found a line of ferocity. ' And what would that be? '
    My arms were twisted tighter. ' Want me to panel him? ' said the voice behind me.
    The balaclava spoke again; he seemed to be smiling. ' Oh, you are that stupid, eh ... The Donald lassie isn ' t your concern, Michie. Stay away, stay well away. '
    As he leaned back he raised his boot off the ground. His heavy sole was the last thing I saw before it connected with my forehead and the night went from darkness to blackness.

Chapter 17
     

    The brightness of the hospital ward struck me like another assault. I opened my eyes only briefly, but long enough to take in the full glare of industrial lighting and white walls beyond white bed sheets. I scrunched my 'brows, tightened my eyelids. Nothing seemed to block out the glare. Then the pain kicked in. Shooting pain, around my eye-sockets and clean across the top of my head. I felt like a bandsaw was being operated on my skull. On instinct, I tried to lift a hand to my face; at once, I knew my arm was too heavy. I ventured another squint into the room to confirm my suspicions. I was right, my arm was in plaster.
    I let out an elongated sigh. My head swam as I leaned back into the pile of pillows behind me; it was enough to alert the nurse.
    ' Mr Michie, ' she said. ' I wouldn ' t be making too many drastic