Deadfall (14 page)

The venue was packed and the landlord had fastened back folding doors that led from the lounge bar to the function area, making one big room. The five-member band was playing on a raised dais at the far end, surrounded twenty or more deep by their enthusiastic audience.

‘I don't think we're going to get very close,' Linc said apologetically.

‘It doesn't matter. They're great, aren't they?'

He agreed readily, though in truth Irish jigs had never really been his thing. In the event, he enjoyed the music more than he'd expected and, even had this not been the case, Josie's shining eyes were reward enough.

The band were well into their second set of the evening, and Linc was wishing that the plump female directly in front of him had a slightly less piercing whistle of appreciation, when Josie turned and looked up at him with unmistakable distress in her eyes.

‘What's the matter?' he asked, concerned, leaning close to make himself heard.

She forced a smile and shook her head, but Linc wasn't accepting that. He took her hand and gently but firmly led her back through the crowd in the lounge bar and into the foyer beyond.

‘Now,' he said turning to look at her, ‘tell me what's wrong.'

They were much of a height but she bowed her head to avoid meeting his eyes.

‘Would you like to go home?' he asked.

‘No . . . yes . . . I don't know,' she said, glancing up at him helplessly. ‘Sorry, I'm not making much sense, am I?'

‘Come on. Let's go.' He held the door open and she went through, swinging her cardigan about her shoulders as she did so. Together, they moved round to the side of the building where it was blessedly cool and, to Linc's mind, just as blessedly quiet.

‘I'm sorry,' Josie said. ‘I didn't mean to spoil it for you.'

‘That's okay. I'm about jigged out anyway,' he reassured her. ‘Is it Abby?'

‘Yes. I know it's stupid but it suddenly seemed awful that I was having such a good time, and with . . .'

‘With me,' he supplied, understanding.

‘Yes. I know there wasn't anything going on between you and Abby but it felt almost as though I was betraying her trust.'

‘Come on. Let's walk a bit,' Linc suggested, putting his jacket on. ‘Unless you'd rather I took you home?'

‘No. I'd like to walk.' In spite of her confused loyalties, Josie tucked her hand through his arm again as they set off.

At the upper end of the High Street, where the road curved, they turned in unspoken agreement down one of the two narrow, cobbled-stone alleys that led, between the buildings, to the top of Gold Hill. Linc and Josie emerged beside the unlit window of a daytime café to stand looking down the lovely old street, which was softly lit by three or four orange wall-lights. The night was essentially quiet; even the chatter and laughter from the beer garden of an unseen pub didn't unduly disturb the sense of peace. A couple of distant lights twinkled on the other side of the darkened valley and as a gentle breeze blew his hair, Linc felt deeply content.

He moved his arm so it squeezed Josie's hand. ‘Feeling better?'

She nodded. ‘Thanks.'

They stood for a few moments longer, then
turned to make their way back. As they did so, a group of nine or ten youths came towards them down the narrow alley, chattering amongst themselves. They were all dressed in the current teenage uniform of baggy jeans or combat trousers, with tracksuit tops and a variety of headgear.

Linc instinctively stepped to one side a little to give the youngsters room to pass but as they did, one of them, a tall beefy lad in khaki combats, a hooded sweatshirt and a knitted beanie hat, swung his shoulder and bumped into him.

‘Sorry,' Linc said, out of habit.

The youth rounded on him.

‘Why don'tcha watch where you're fuckin' going?'

The others had turned back now and began to gather round enquiringly.

‘What's up, Bro?' one of them asked.

‘He fuckin' pushed me!'

‘I didn't, you know,' Linc said quietly. The youngsters had formed a semi-circle, effectively blocking any retreat, and at his side he could feel Josie's tension. He found her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

In the poor light it was difficult to tell the age of the kids; all were probably teenagers but they could have been anywhere within that bracket, and regardless of age, two of them were easily as tall as Linc, and quite possibly heavier. A couple of them, he realised on closer inspection, were girls.

The lad with the beanie leaned closer, an ugly expression on his face. A ring gleamed in his eyebrow.

‘You callin' me a liar?'

‘No. I'm saying you're mistaken.'

‘Nobody calls me a fuckin' liar!' It was as if he'd rehearsed his lines and wouldn't be put off.

‘Nobody has,' Linc pointed out reasonably.

The lad obviously wasn't in the market for reason.

‘Think you're fuckin' tough, don'tcha? I'll show you tough!'

He accompanied the words with a sudden, powerful push, and Linc stepped back involuntarily. As he regained his balance he caught sight of Josie's face. She looked pale and frightened, and he felt a rush of anger.

‘Come on, guys,' he said, trying to keep a rein on his temper. ‘You've had your fun, but enough's enough, don't you think?' He was glad his voice sounded steady; he could by no means say the same for his pulse rate. The other youths were crowding round now, almost jostling them, and he sensed that the situation was on the verge of turning very nasty.

This couldn't just be dismissed as a bit of posturing bravado. Teenagers these days, empowered by too complete a knowledge of their rights, were a force to be reckoned with. They were clued up, often tooled up, and the possibility of some of them being drugged up couldn't be discounted, either.

He tried again. ‘Look, whoever's fault it was, I said sorry so just let it go, will you? You're frightening the lady.'

‘Oh, boo-hoo!' Beanie sneered. ‘Somebody bring me my violin . . . Anyway, there's no need for the pretty lady to be afraid. My boys'll take care of her, won't you, lads? My quarrel's with you.'

Taking their cue, three of the other youths moved
behind Linc and Josie, and two of them took hold of her arms, pulling her away from his side.

‘Linc!' she cried, struggling to free herself.

‘Leave her alone!' he said sharply, following and pushing one of them roughly aside.

‘Or what?' came Beanie's sneering voice and someone grabbed Linc's shoulder, spinning him around and sending him stumbling away. As he straightened up, he found himself facing seven of the youngsters spread out in a ragged line across the walkway, with Beanie striking a belligerent pose slightly ahead of them. They looked like nothing so much as the cast of a pop video, but they obviously had something a deal more serious than singing on their minds.

Then one of them produced a flick knife from his pocket and activated the blade.

Linc felt a spasm of fear.

‘Put that away!' the ringleader hissed, looking sideways. ‘I don't want him cut.'

For the first time that night, Linc found himself in complete agreement with the lad. He looked over his left shoulder to where Josie stood, flanked by two boys, one of whom had put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. She was standing still now, her eyes wide with fright.

‘Don't worry about her. You're the one in deep shit,' Beanie observed.

Linc knew it. He looked desperately around but it was still half an hour until last orders and Gold Hill, so popular during the day, was deserted save for the kids. Even the cottages were for the most part in darkness; a few of the windows glowed but the only real illumination came from the rising
moon and the sodium wall-lights, which were spaced at unhelpfully long intervals.

He supposed he should shout for help but something – maybe pride – held him back. If Josie were being attacked, he wouldn't have hesitated, but it seemed that
he
was the object of their spite, and he couldn't bring himself to let them see his fear.

The ringleader approached, his eyes locked menacingly on to Linc's, and as if by prior arrangement his gang closed in on either side. Linc tried to memorise the lad's features but it was difficult to concentrate and in the poor light he looked like hundreds of others. It was as if they were turned out, en masse, from a mould. Even the pierced eyebrow couldn't be considered a distinguishing feature in this day and age.

Determined not to back off, Linc waited until Beanie was about two feet away, then launched himself at the lad's waist with his head down and arms spread, rugby-style. He had the satisfaction of hearing a grunt of pain and shock as his shoulder drove the breath from the boy's body and they landed, with Linc on top, on the cobbled slope.

Unfortunately, the incline caused Linc to fall sideways as soon as they hit the ground, and it took a moment for him to regain his feet. The rest of the gang seemed temporarily stunned by this unexpected attack but Beanie unfortunately still had his wits about him.

‘Shit!' he exclaimed, lying on the cobbles, clutching at his midriff. ‘Get the bastard!'

Linc started towards Josie and her captors, but before he reached them he was surrounded once
more. The group was closer now and he was aware of a strong smell of cigarette smoke. A foot hooked behind his knee and someone shoved him hard, and suddenly he was down on the stones again at their feet. Hands pressed down on him, keeping him there, and one or two experimental kicks were tried.

‘Let me through!' The ringleader was back in business once more, and from the tone of his voice, his temper had not been improved by Linc's stunt.

The gang separated to let him through and Linc tried to get up. The attempt was doomed to failure. Beanie let him get one foot under him before putting his boot against Linc's shoulder and giving a powerful push.

Combined with the degree of slope, the action was enough to send him somersaulting backward, cracking his head painfully on the stones. He would have continued to roll if something narrow and hard had not caught him across the shoulders, halting his downward progress. Muzzily he remembered a row of wooden posts that ran down the right-hand side of the hill, about two feet from the wall, supporting a metal rail to aid less agile members of the public.

It seemed that the gang hadn't finished with him as the light was suddenly all but blocked out by their crowding forms. It felt bizarre but somehow all the more unpleasant that the assault was being carried out by what was, to all intents and purposes, a bunch of kids. It reminded him of a camp 1960s film he'd once seen. He couldn't remember what it had been about, but in it somebody had been attacked by a horde of dolls with vicious metal teeth. At the time he'd found it funny, but the grotesque image came back vividly now. Most of
these kids were still school age, for God's sake, and at least two of them were girls! Where did their parents think they were? Or didn't they care?

A fist closed on a handful of his shirt and another on the neck of his jacket, pulling him away from the support of the post and pitching him down the slope once more.

This time, with no post to break his fall, Linc rolled and slid several yards before friction slowed his descent. By the time he was sure which way was up, the gang was already following in his wake. He managed to get his feet and hands under him and was halfway to his feet before they attacked again, pushing and tripping him so that the cobbles came up to meet him bruisingly for the fifth time in quick succession.

This time he rolled over one shoulder and was able, by some fluke, to find his feet almost straight away, albeit wildly off-balance. He was obliged to hop and skip several yards further before he could stop but it was a definite improvement.

The group came warily on, and Linc decided the time had come to shelve pride and involve a third party. He headed, in a stumbling run, for the nearest cottage that showed lights behind the curtains, and thumped heavily on the door.

The youths, some of whom had rushed, unsuccessfully, to head him off, now halted uncertainly, looking to their leader.

Linc thumped again, urgently, and a movement of the curtain showed that he'd been heard, but nobody came to the door and after a moment the light went out.

‘Damn you!' he shouted in frustration, hitting the
door with his fist for a third time. Even so, as the gang moved forward with renewed confidence, he couldn't find it in himself to blame the unseen watcher, and could only hope that he or she would at least call the police.

‘Looks like you're on your own, lover boy,' Beanie observed. ‘Well, come on, then. Whatcha gonna do now?'

Linc had absolutely no idea. He felt bruised, battered and defeated. There had been a judo club at university but he'd done orienteering instead; somehow, map-reading skills weren't much of a comfort just at the moment. Breathing heavily, he turned his palms up, shrugged and waited for the first of the youths to come within reach.

Possibly taking this for a sign that Linc had abandoned any thought of self-defence, one of the smaller, cockier youngsters approached unwarily, ahead of his mates. Trying not to let consideration of the lad's size stay his hand, Linc grabbed him and flung him back at the others with enough force to floor two of them. Amidst the confusion he slipped through the gap in their ranks and set off in a limping run, back up the hill to where Josie was being held.

This simple plan was frustrated, firstly by the distance he had to cover, and secondly by the better physical shape of Beanie, who had obviously read his intention immediately.

Coming at him from an angle, the lad caught hold of the back of Linc's jacket and pulled hard, swinging him round, off balance. He stumbled sideways once more, feeling weak and tired, and without allowing him to recover, Beanie hit him
hard across the face with the back of his hand.