Death & Back

Chapter 6

6

I untie the apron from around the small of my back.

"Ooh, careful Daz," says Gaz. "He's taking his pinny off."

The boys laugh. They go loose. I lift the apron over the top of my head, I toss it in Daz's face. It buys me a split second. I barge him onto the bonnet of their Jag saloon.

Gaz reacts, swinging his bat. I pick up a bin and use it as a shield. The bin spins out of one hand, but I get both on the bat handle. We wrestle for control. Daz is up off the bonnet. I rotate the bat and catch him in the face. He drops to the ground. The tyre iron clangs against the concrete. I run Gaz backwards and slam him into the nearest brick wall. I drive a knee into his ribs. He doubles over. I ram his hand against the wall and he lets go of the bat. Before I can use it, he rugby tackles me to the ground.

It takes me by surprise. I drop the bat and it rolls off under the car.

I kick Gaz in the face. Roll away as Daz tries to smash my skull with the tyre iron.

It connects with the alley floor.

I pick up the other bin and bring it down over Daz's head. It wedges tight around his shoulders. He drops the tyre iron and stumbles blind. I shoulder charge him to the floor.

As Gaz comes back at me, I greet him with a fist to the jaw. He wobbles. I grab the collar of his blazer and pound him a few more times. His face is a bloody mess. I ram his head into the wall again. Gravity lends a hand and he lands face-first in a bag of rubbish. It splits in two, painting his face in thrown-out spaghetti.

Meanwhile, Daz wanders in circles, trying to prise the bin off his upper body. I realise the engine of the Jag is still running. I climb behind the wheel and put it in first.

Daz forces the bin off his head in time to blink into the headlights.

I floor the accelerator and drive straight into the bastard.

He pops off the bonnet and rolls along the alley. Nothing fatal, but enough to finish him off.

I climb out of the Jag and approach Gaz. I dig around in his pockets. Find his phone. He hasn't bothered code-locking the thing. A quick search through his texts reveals an old police mugshot of me. It says: Alive. £20k. Whereabouts unknown.

Not for much longer. Not when these two clowns wake up and word spreads.

Then I'll have all kinds of dickheads showing up at Dubois' door.

And I really needed this bloody job.

I gather the bins and double-back through the kitchen door. Dubois is close to boiling point. I open the oven door and get a face full of smoke.

Bollocks. I burnt the garlic bread again.