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The Smell of Fear |
| Written by Philip Neale | |
| Tuesday, 05 August 2008 | |
 This was becoming ridiculous and high time that something was done about it. The neighbourhood never used to be like this until George stuck his pug-ugly nose into everyone's business, and boy was he ugly. A broken leg resulting from a hit and run, a nose spread across his face after a fight in another area and a fearsome cut diagonally from above the right eye to just below the opposite jaw line lent him all the attributes of a real bruiser. Mickey would not have liked to bump into whoever dealt that one out in a dark alley. He shuddered at the very thought of it.
Nevertheless George had continued undaunted in his terrorism of the streets, and a system of early warning signals had been set up across the neighbourhood in an attempt to forewarn the unwary of his approach. Today was Mickey's lucky day; Scotty had seen the bully turning the corner of Linden Avenue and the word spread like wild fire. Pretty soon the streets were empty as doors were shut tight behind the backsides of fleeing escapees. Anxious faces peeped out from behind a multiplicity of curtains as George's swagger took him down the road like some gunslinger out of Dodge City - you could almost hear the theme from Sergio Leone's "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" ringing out in the background. No prizes for guessing which one the bully wasn't.
He stopped at the corner of Springfield Road and looked back one more time, scanning the bushes and hedgerows for any hidden stragglers who hadn't made it home in time. He snorted his disgust at another day without satisfaction. If things didn't return to normal pretty soon, he'd have to look elsewhere for his entertainment. Yawning long and loud, he finally stomped his way down towards the town's main street and other pickings. Fear has its own particular smell, and the area bore an odour which you could almost taste; it was a taste which George found irresistible.
Slowly, and with much nervous glancing up and down the street, emerging residents breathed a sigh of relief at another successful daily running of the gauntlet. They all knew that it would only be a matter of time until one poor unfortunate would be caught unprepared, and when that day came all of George's frustration would be meted out indiscriminately to the stranded individual. They needed a plan, not just some imported ‘anti-bully' who would then set the area up for himself. No, it would need to be one or more of their own number, and for the sake of permanence they would need to stick together, watching each others' backs in case the retaliation failed to remove the perpetrator for good.
George's initial activities had been restricted to basic needs. He stole whatever food and drink he could from them and had often lain in wait for his victims at street corners. A simple startling was all that had been needed then and he would simply pick up whatever it was that had been dropped. However, as his reputation began to grow and potential victims adopted a more cautious routine, he was compelled to actively seek out his next target. Mickey could cope with running that risk himself, but when the lout picked on Molly it made his blood boil. She was the smallest of the group of friends and quite unable to defend herself against the unwelcome attentions of Ugly George as they had come to call him. Those attentions had also graduated from merely mugging, to ones of a more amorous nature.
Mickey and Molly had lived next door to each other since forever. Growing up so close provided an opportunity for their relationship to develop, and down the years the rest of the group of friends had come to regard them as an item. There was nothing that Mickey wouldn't do for her. George's intrusion into the neighbourhood and the relationship with Molly in particular was the catalyst he needed.
George had a tendency to drool when faced with something particularly tempting, and the thought of him blocking the alleyway where they all usually met when Molly had been caught alone had Mickey in paroxysms of fury. This had definitely been the final straw. That she had been able to escape relatively unharmed was not the point at issue, and it would not take much more reluctance on the part of the rest of them before he committed some far more serious act. A council of war was convened at Robbie's house that night.
George would have to be tackled head on, and one of them would need to be the sacrificial goat. Eight pairs of eyes flitted nervously around the garage where the meeting was held out of the way of prying faces. The silence was deafening and seemed to go on forever. In the end Mickey knew that it would be down to him as unofficial leader of the group, and he sighed as his volunteering was enthusiastically accepted by the rest of them. The relief of the other seven was overwhelming, but Mickey stomach was now beginning to churn uncontrollably. The matter would have to be dealt with quickly and soon, before anyone got seriously hurt.
The idea was simple; Mickey would ‘lie in wait' for George at the mid point of his favourite route and issue the challenge. He closed his eyes and swallowed deeply at the thought of what might be about to happen to him, but summoned up all of his courage and smiled at the rest of the group - it was going to be fine he said. The last thing that a bully wanted was someone standing up to him; in all probability he would simply turn tail and run. ‘In your dreams' Mickey thought to himself, but kept that one from the rest - now was not the time to crush their fragile bravery, he was going to need their back up when the time came.
He didn't sleep much that night, tossing and turning, kicking the blanket off his bed and rising the following morning bathed in a thin film of sweat. Breakfast was not an option, and he was out of the house before anyone else spotted him. It was a Sunday morning and the day for the communal ‘lie-in' - for everyone else that is. They were all waiting for him at Robbie's garage and it became clear that no-one had rested at all since the preceding day.
Mickey laid out the details of the plan which had been buzzing around in his head all night, and each member of the group was assigned a position and a specific role. All clearly understood what is was that they had to do. It would only take one slip up and George would be off the hook with God only knows what consequences for the rest of them. As the time ticked inexorably towards midday, Mickey sat with a package on the wall at the end of his yard waiting in a state of heightened tension for the approach of his nemesis. Right on cue the stocky form of George emerged from behind the fence at the top of the street. He slowed his walk as he caught sight of the smaller form standing some thirty yards away. An evil leer spread across his battered face and with his characteristic swagger he bore down upon the defenceless figure now getting closer and closer. He stopped and glared down at his smaller opponent, puffing out his ample chest.
"Mickey. Well, well what a surprise. Caught you napping today have we? Now tell me, what do we have here then?" Nodding in the direction of the ill-concealed bundle.
Snatching Mickey's lunch he took a huge bite out of it in his usual coarse manner. The smile disappeared from his face almost immediately as the tell-tale taste of urine, donated generously by everyone in the group, spread throughout the inside of his mouth. Dropping the remainder of the meal, and with eyes now bulging, he coughed and choked his way into the middle of the street quite unable to make out exactly where he was going. It was the signal for the rest of the action to begin.
From several gateways and concealed hiding places, the remainder of the gang emerged to surround the temporarily incapacitated bully. Mickey moved to the middle of the road to face George as he fought to regain his senses; he grinned at the now pathetic figure as it writhed before him. It was now or never, and if they failed at this point they would suffer for the rest of their lives.
"Now!" Mickey barked out the command, and from every angle teeth and claws descended upon George as he tried in vain to defend himself from the concerted attack.
Mickey had been right in the end. The last thing that a bully expected was someone, much smaller than himself, standing up to his terror tactics. Not only that, George had also badly miscalculated the effects of his regime on a group of close friends. ‘Divide and conquer' was all very well with a fragmented opposition, but he had polarised all eight of them into one ferocious and effective unit. He was powerless against the smaller, more nimble and highly motivated squad. Bites and nips were coming in from all angles and with eight sets of claws to deal with in addition to razor sharp teeth, he took the first opportunity to turn tail and run. Even at the death it was Molly, who had arguably suffered the most unpleasant treatment from George, who got in the final blow.
Latching onto to the middle of his tail, she brought a set of crocodile-like teeth clamping down firmly and with enormous force. The squeal of pain brought several householders running from their gardens to investigate. There was, of course, nothing to see by the time they arrived apart from a celebratory lap of honour around the street. As if in tribute to their successful campaign, an ice cream van turned into the top of the road playing its familiar jingle. The tune, as if it could be any other, ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly' - Sergio would have been proud of them all. George left one reminder of his presence, and the smell of fear which emanated from the pile he deposited was one which they could put up with for now.
News of the humiliation spread like wild fire throughout the district, and stories came back to the group of a number of similar confrontations as other groups of former victims extracted similar acts of vengeance on the now bruised and battered Labrador. Copyright 2008 Philip Neale |
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