(Incidentally this was the key to the same gate that had raised questions on the bonfire night Manson had attempted to flee with the stolen laminium and murdered his cohorts in their van in cold blood. No one had been able to explain to the dragon authority investigators, in their human guises, how the gate had been opened that night, and of only three keys to that particular lock, how two had disappeared. Of course little was made of this at the time amongst the sports club members, due to the fact that the memories of all the spectators from that night having to be quickly and permanently erased by an elite team of King's Guard, put together for just such contingencies.)
With few other bar staff about, and understanding the urgency of the situation, Janice knew what she had to do, despite really not wanting to.
"I'll go and grab the key from the chairman's office and bring it out to you. Shouldn't be too long," she said, smiling reassuringly.
"Thanks," replied the player, turning and sprinting back out to the pitch.
Shaking her head at the thought of what was to come, she headed hastily up the stairwell at the end of the bar, all the while telling herself to be calm and polite whilst dealing with the chairman... after all, it would only be for a few brief moments. Reaching the top of the stairs, she nipped round the first door on the right and into the function room. From where she was she could just make out the door to the chairman's office was ajar. Keen to get on with her urgent quest she strolled over, knocked lightly on the door, and started to push it open, while at the same time politely saying,
"Excuse me." As she entered, the chairman swivelled back round from the wooden desk in his high backed chair, his freckled, bony hands trembling, his narrow face the colour of beetroot, barely able to contain his erupting anger.
"OUT!" he ordered, pointedly, signalling with his arm.
"But, but... I... I... I need the..."
"I DON'T CARE... OUT! NOW!"
Thoughts of the poor injured hockey player out on the pitch, awaiting an ambulance, and Peter's idea that all hockey players are friends all across the world, whether you've met them or not and if not, then they're a friend just waiting to happen, buoyed her spirit and strengthened her resolve.
"The, the... hhhockey pplayers... on the... ppitch need the kkkey to open the bbig gates," she stammered horribly. "Ooone of thee players has bbbbeen hurt," she announced, managing not to burst into tears, but shaking more than a little.
Deep inside the chairman's world of total and utter madness, the tiniest hint of sanity started to filter back, his breathing slowed to long, ragged breaths, his hands almost having stopped quivering. But still, he looked a state. Janice wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that he hadn't slept not only last night, but for the last few nights. In fact he looked so bad, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been sleeping rough.
With the colour of his forehead having almost turned back to normal and his breathing under control, he dismissed Janice with a casual wave and an overwhelming arrogance.
"The key's on the wall. Take it and go," he commanded.
Turning to look at the key on the wall, because of her diminutive stature, she knew that she'd struggle to reach it, and so with the chairman having already forgotten about her, she got as close to the desk in front of the wall as she could, leant over against the table and reached for the key. As she did so, the table jarred ever so slightly. Instantly, the chairman turned with an angst on his face the like of which Janice had never seen. In an instant his face had turned pale, his forehead clammy, and his eyeballs looked as though they were about to pop right out. This time it was his turn to stutter.
"Ssstop," he whispered, his arm outstretched, his palm turned up.
Janice had gone right the other way now, and didn't have a clue what on earth was going on.
"Okay," she replied, mystified.
Tiptoeing over in a bizarre manner, almost as if walking through a minefield, he carefully leant in front of the beguiling beauty, snatched the key from its hook and handed it to her.
Taking a step back from the table, she gratefully accepted the key. It was only then that she noticed the dark, matte black metal box on his desk, a tiny window adorning the front, through which she could just about see a series of red, digital numbers, counting down by the looks of things, and in the background the most captivating shard of metal she'd ever seen. Slinking over in front of her, strangely, the chairman knelt down and checked the box from that perspective, anxiously making sure it hadn't moved in even the slightest of ways. He didn't touch it mind you, looking too terrified to get his hands or fingers anywhere near it. Janice just stood back and watched, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Once he had determined the box hadn't moved, he got to his feet, visibly relieved, looking deeply uneasy. Momentarily, she thought about questioning him about the box, but of all the things in the world she was certain of, right at this very moment, asking about it would be the worst thing she could do. So in a flash, she dangled the key in front of his face, and declared,
"Better get this downstairs and let the ambulance in. Thanks once again," and with that she dashed purposefully across the function room, back into the corridor, down the stairs and across to the hockey pitch, all the while seeking the player that had originally come into the bar. During all of this, her inquisitive mind tried to put together all of the preceding events and answer the really big questions. Not only: what was going on in the chairman's office? But also: what was going on in his mind?
* * *
Tank was the first of the three friends to arrive, the ever increasing sun glinting off the metallic finish of his car like some kind of 80's disco ball. Looking dapper in his shirt and tie, the look increased exponentially when he casually slipped on his blazer. Manhandling his huge kit bag from the boot of his car, he headed off towards the changing rooms, pleased to be soaking up the rays from the almost midday sun.
* * *
Next, it was Peter who pulled into the crowded car park in his five year old blue Ford Fiesta, carefully weaving in and out of the other cars until he found a parking space that he liked the look of. Ideally, there would be just one space left in any car park he pulled into, but very rarely was that the case. Never having had any trouble parking his car in any sort of space... it was simply the choice that bewildered him, always making him wander round and around, ignoring space after space, just because he couldn't choose which one to pull into. Today was no different, and after passing over four different spaces, he finally settled on one, almost identical to the others. Crazy!
Pulling the handbrake tight (it had a habit of slipping off), he checked to make sure the car was in gear and got out, snatching his kit bag off the back seat as he did so. Opening the boot, he retrieved his stick bag, turned the key in the lock and strolled casually across the car park towards the changing rooms, all the time, like Tank, soaking up the sun's rays. The warmth on his skin reminded him of the first time Tank had hooked his television up to the buffer of the nodes that carried the telepathic newspapers around the world, and gradually the sandskimming on the new course in the Sahara desert had flickered into view. At the time he could remember feeling so envious of the natural heat those black and white pictures had conveyed, and had even vowed to save up so that he could holiday there at some point.
"Pete... how are you doing?" called out a voice from behind one of the rows of cars, startling the young dragon from his thoughts of flight and hot skies.
"Hi Andy. I'm fine thanks... how are you?"
"Oh... you know," replied the second team captain, winking. "Bit of a late one last night if you know what I mean. Out nightclubbing with some of the lacrosse girls."