Slugline Challenge: Needs of the Business.

(Dedicated to my bro Alex Allen who set the challenge)

He was already up and running as the last bullet casing kissed the ground, his movements hampered by the canvas bag he guarded with his life. Barrelling through the first two attackers, he broke free of the enclosing circle and drove through the door to the freedom of the corridor beyond.

“Get him!” came the call and James realised that they were in hot pursuit, feet pounding the tile flooring drowning out the landing of his own. The corridor was coming to an end with a window showing the rail of the fire escape before U-turning round to the right and down another flight of stairs. More gunfire and the heat of a bullet passing his ear caused him to flinch away.

Stairs are suicide, he thought and instead dove through the window, hoping that that glass would shatter with impact. Another bullet passed through the air where his head was moments before as he ducked into his dive, piercing the pane. Thanks, he thought and leaped. The glass broke as his shoulder hit it and he flew through the opening, only to cry out as his back cracked against railing and his face slammed down to kiss the cold metal of the fire escape. He lay there stunned for a moment before realising his package had spilled free.

“A courier never looks in the package,” his mentor had told him, “nor does he let it fall into enemy hands.”

“He’s down!”

“Get the bag!”

One of the goons had reached the window and instead of firing was reaching for the bag which was laying beneath it. Groaning, James, pushed himself up enough to then twist his body into a spin and deliver a kick which rewarded him with a sickening crunch as it connected with the man’s jawline and he fell limp, blocking most of the window from those who followed. It was then that James saw the blood pouring from the glass impaling the suited man’s chest.

Knowing that he had only bought himself a few precious seconds, James grabbed the bag once more and charged down the fire escape and vaulted the railing. He landed and immediately ducked into a roll before racing down the alleyway and out onto the street beyond.

After he had gone, one of his pursuers casually pushed open the door to the fire exit and walked out into the alley, staring off into the direction that the boy had gone. Another emerged from the shadows and looked at his colleague with shaded eyes.

“Did he take the bait?” he asked, his voice cold, almost devoid of emotion.

The other man smoothed his comb over hair which was beaded with perspiration and  nodded. “We lost Morris doing it, but he believed it to be real. He’ll take it straight to them…”

“Good,” the newcomer smiled. “Now all we need to do is wait for the fireworks to begin.”

Role Reversal

The ding of the doorbell roused Laura from her doze with a start. The end credits of X Factor were rolling with the numbers people had to phone to support their favourite singers.

Dammit, she thought with a frown as she stretched out from her awkward position. Slept through it again!

The doorbell dinged again and she irritatedly looked around herself. “Where is that useless man,” she muttered under her breath before hollering, “Gary! Gary, get the fucking door, will you?”

Over the other side of the house, Gary sighed. Why do I have to answer it? The living room is nearer! Still, he dropped the towel that was in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and downstairs to the door. He poked his head through the living room door briefly, with a “Too much for you to move for it, huh?” and reached for the latch.

Laura grunted in response and resettled herself into her chair, while rewinding the show back to the point that she last remembered seeing while Gary opened the door. “Bob!” he said, inwardly wincing at the almost bedraggled state of his best friend’s face. “And Claire, you’re early, we’ve barely begun to get ready!” He pointed to his bare chest and suit-trousered legs.

“It’s alright mate,” Bob replied, toying with the lapel of his jacket. “You know how Claire hates to be late, so we left a bit earlier.” He ruefully ran a hand over his face as the couple stepped through the threshold. “In fact, a little too early for me, I don’t suppose you have a razor I could borrow.”

“Of course, of course.” Gary said nodding emphatically, “let me take your coat Claire, Laura’s just in the living room, should still be awake, you know how she can be at times, such a dear.” Claire nodded and pushed the door open to the living room open just as Laura stopped rewinding and played it from the new position. “They’re just up here mate,” Gary finished, nodding up the stairs, “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks. Hey,” Bob said, running a hand against the wall, “hallway’s different, redone the walls have we?”

“Yeah,” Gary replied, “did some over the summer. Claire loves her projects, but you know who ends up doing it.”

Bob nodded in agreement.

“Just through here mate,” Gary said when they reached the top of the stairs, and opening the bathroom door. “Top shelf of the cupboard there.”

Musings in Traffic

Travelling home from work today, I found myself sitting in really heavy traffic on the motorway. It was my own fault really, as there are warning lights at the junction’s entrance warning you of speed restrictions, which normally means trouble on the road ahead. However, as I normally head home around lunchtime, the signs had been known to be lagging behind events so would still be showing the restrictions set for troubles long since cleared.

Today, I thought would be such a day as I drove towards the roundabout before the motorway entrance. The amber lights of the sign flashing fifty did little to make me adjust my speed. I crossed the roundabout, onto the slip road and under the bridge, rounding the bend to take my first look at the motorway lanes,.. and then took my foot off the accelerator.

The lines of nose to tail traffic crawled along the speed highway and I felt my spirit drop with my speed and began the slow, arduous process of trying to edge my way into the nearest column. A guy in an artic-lorry decided not to crush my small punto and allowed me to glide into the left hand lane and crawl along with the rest of them. The guy in front of me was gesticulating wildly while edging from one side of the lane to the other, obviously wondering, same as most of those around me, what was wrong ahead.

I thought of all of those who were morbidly excited about what they were going to pass. How many cars this time? Was anyone seriously hurt? Ooh, would there be those fit firefighters there as well?

I, on the other hand, had a good idea and wasn’t particularly looking forward to the approach. Two police cars sped down the opposite carriageway, blues and twos wailing. I didn’t have to be psychic to know that they would come off at the junction I joined, spin round the roundabout and head past me. Sure enough, minutes later, the wailing returned and the police blitzed it down the hard shoulder, the area where broken down cars can pull over in relative safety, quickly joined by an ambulance.

Seconds after that, another ambulance sped up the opposite side, lead by a quick response car. With each new build up of emergency vehicles, my stomach dropped. I suppose I could have been hopeful that the ambulances had their ‘cargo’ already on board, which would mean that they were stable enough to be transported, a relatively good sign. If that was the case then the fact the lights were flashing was also a better sign than not. Live patient, not dead.

However, if they were heading with their patients on board, then they’d more than likely have gone in the opposite direction, to the nearest major trauma unit, not to one of the lesser priority hospitals behind me.

I shook my head, these kind of thoughts were never good. I stuck the jack into my phone and began to play some music, immediately setting my playlist to random. Stereophonics’ ‘Maybe Tomorrow’ started to play and I winced at the inappropriateness of it, however did nothing to change the track and instead put my wipers on as the light drizzle that had coated the roads and probably caused the crash started once more.

The lanes ahead of me slowly crawled onwards, so I sat there, singing along to my music, pretending my steering wheel was a drumkit. Eventually, as I crested the hill and began to gaze down into the valley below, the police’s lane constrictions began to take effect and the cars began to filter from three lanes down to one. I couldn’t see much from my perspecitve, vans and high rise cars were in front of me, however through their windscreen I could see the flashing lights of the emergency services.

The cars began to filter down again and I had a better view. The highway maintenance crews were out, repairing the damage to the central reservation. The police were racing back and forth, taking statements. The damaged cars were already onto tow trucks and the ambulances had all but gone.

Only one remained. Stationary with its lights still flashing away, despite being about fifty yards away from the rest. As if they had pulled away only to have to stop suddenly. There were no ambulance crews amongst the police so they had to be on their truck and my stomach sank. I slowly passed the remnants of the scene, staring sadly at the damage to the reservation as my mind replayed the possibilities.

Now that we were all single file, the traffic began to ease and as I passed the ambulance, ready to blast into fresh air and onwards to home, the lights on the ambulance went out. and the vehicle slowly pulled away…

Random scene

A man stood in the corner of a room tapping away at a piece of metal that glowed an angry red. He was a burly sort of man and dressed in the overalls that marked him as a blacksmith. His black hair was curly and hung down to his shoulders where it seemed to almost merge with his bushy beard and mustache. He inspected his handiwork and then tapped a few more times on the outer edges, moulding it to his design.

Lifting a pair of tongues, he gently, almost reverently, placed them about the metal and then committed it to the flames of the nearby fire. The heat of which caused sweat to bead the blacksmith’s forehead and run down his arms. The flames lapped hungrily at the metal, renewing the glow of what looked to be the makings of a horse’s head and reluctantly relinquished it back to the blacksmith who raised it once more out of the furnace and down onto his metal table where he took up a slightly larger hammer than before and began work once more.

His brow was furrowed as he focused in on his labour, his dark eyes critically inspecting his handiwork with each stroke of his hammer. The clang of tool on material was rhythmic, steady, dedicated, each indicating a level of purpose to his craft.

After turning back to the fires once more, he readjusted the grip of the tongues on the metal and then returned to his desk. He picked up the smaller hammer once more and lightly tapped at a series of thinner strands of metal that stretched away from the main piece. He shaped them, crafted them into semi-cylindrical stems and then mulled over what to do next.

He moved to the higher stems and then tapped at them, creating a small bend in their lines and rounded off the end. Looking once more at the whole piece, he nodded to himself and then picked it up once more in his tongues. He carried it to another corner that housed a basin of could water and doused the metal in its cold depths. Steam exploded upwards into his face, mingling with the bristles of his beard and he smiled at what he created as he lifted it free of the basin.

He carried it, almost reverently back to his desk and stood it on the stout lower stems and stepped back. He gazed at the horse rearing on its hind legs in grey steel and smiled. Marcus, a metal painter, would be round the next day to colour it to her liking. His smile spread to a grin as he knew she would love her tenth birthday present, once the finishing touches were done…

Scene (Apocalyptic-ish?)

Dust drifted across the open road, coating it in a fine grain. The sun beat heavily down on the land that was stark and barren. A few scattered trees hung limply, geriatric despite their youthful age. A lone figure beat a steady path along the road, his stride long. A white hooded cloak shrouded his head and torso in minimal shade while deflecting some of the sun’s harsh rays, the light breeze flapping the hem about his thighs, the odd gust lifting the cloak away from the body enough to reveal tan vest underneath and a pistol holstered to his hip. His trousers were a darker tan, almost a pale brown, and bore the scars of age, thread fraying in places. He also wore calf length boots that glistened slightly in the sun.

Slung over his shoulder was  a bag that had seen better days. The thread was fraying slightly in the strap and several of the pockets attached to the side hung loosely as if they could fall away at any moment. Tied to the front of this, held fast by the cord straps littering the bag, was a hunting rifle that looked several generations old and yet, despite the dusty terrain, it remained well polished.

 

 

Ok I’m going to admit, this is about as much as my tired mind can handle tonight, which to be honest isn’t too bad. Today was tiring beyond belief and yet I didn’t really do much, although the day was long. It’s the whole Captain lark that has left me so exhausted. It was a game that we should have one and yet some fundamentals let us down, in my honest opinion. Top order probably should have done better seeing as 3 out of the top 5 didn’t even make it into double figures and fielding let us down a bit today. If we had taken the catches that we dropped then the game would have been one. Still that’s the game isn’t it? It’s why cricket is said to be one of the most ruthless games going, although some people would scoff, but it’s true. As a batsman, you could be playing really well and yet one lapse in concentration and that’s your wicket gone, you are heading back to the pavilion (changing room) and that’s your main contribution over. There is s similar issue with bowling. With all the best will in the world, you can try to bowl who you want to. However, if they get smashed about the place, then you have to take them off. And in the field, if you drop someone when they’re in single figures, they normally go on to punish you for the mistake…

 

Apologies for the half-scene and half-rant… Just so tired… but still done today with 10 mins to spare…