Danny McMurdo gazed into the now empty glass like a trainee fortuneteller then reconsidered. Another brew would go down a treat but he needed to keep his mind on the game.
He was dressed in his 'old man' clothes again. Faded green army jacket, a rip in the left sleeve. Baggy corduroy trousers and scuffed boots. The moth eaten flat cap finished his tattered ensemble perfectly. He hadn't shaved for three days and knew the coarse stubble shot through with silver added to his mock persona. He'd recently added a pair of glasses to his disguise. A pair of ready readers from Marks & Spencer. Only a couple of quid and the lens strength he had chosen was so weak they did not affect his sight in any noticeable way.
He made a show of paying for his pint, allowing several twenties to fall from his wallet onto the bar. He looked down his nose at the money and took his time putting it back into his wallet. It was a ruse he'd used many times before. Just like a fisherman baiting a hook. Toss it out there and see which species of pond life would take the bait.
The barman nodded and gave him back the change.
Danny stepped out into the street. The northern night air carried a slight chill. He pulled up his collar and hunched his shoulders. He then set off in a slightly waddling walk. Further along the road, he used a shop window to see if he'd been followed. A tight smile crept across his face. There were two of them. Both walked with the same rhythm, half swagger- half fear. The taller of the two wore jeans and a brown leather aviator jacket, the smaller man was dressed in a dark purple tracksuit. The shiny logo on the tracksuit glinted as it reflected the streetlights.
McMurdo turned off the main road into a quieter side street. He knew there was a few car parks nearby, in one of which his own vehicle was parked. He added a little speed to his walk to be sure that they were still following him. Sure enough, he heard the pair's footsteps quicken in response.
Another two corners and he'd be ready for them in the doorway of a multi story car park.
What Danny didn't see was the taller of the two men talking into his i-phone.
Some half mile away, six men sat in a Hyundai Chaser I-10 people carrier. The man in the front passenger seat smiled at the phone as a photo of an old man in a green jacket pinged onto his screen. The voice on the phone was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“We'll be there in two minutes,” said the passenger.
“Go?” asked the driver. He looked at the top dog in the car expectantly.
“Fast and furious my friend,” answered William 'Snap' Jones. Snap had been so named due to his distinctive shock of red hair when he was growing up in nearby Altrincham. His friends had dubbed him 'Ginger Snap'. They later shortened it to just Snap. He'd hated the moniker when he was younger, at one time shaving off all of his hair in an effort to shake off the tag. In response, his friends had called him 'Baldy Snap'. He'd given up after that and let his hair grow out. In the intervening years he'd almost doubled in size and muscle mass. He loved the gym. Now when asked why he was called Snap he offered, “Because that's what I'll do to your neck if you piss me off!” Most enquiring minds tended to believe him.
Danny monitored the two men behind by their approaching footsteps, which echoed against the graffiti decorated walls of the car park. As he turned onto the entrance ramp he staggered to one side and bumped against the wall allowing the men to get closer. Turning, he registered the two approaching men with a look of surprise tinged with just the right amount of apprehension.
“Er…hello lads.”
“You can drop the old man act. We know who you are.” The taller of the two glared at McMurdo as he spat out his words like bullets. He rubbed the fur collar of his leather jacket as he spoke.
But Danny kept up the facade for a moment longer. His voice slow and unsure. “What? Who do you think I am?”
“Well, you're not the old cobweb-cock you want us to think you are, that's for certain. You pulled the same shit on a couple of my boys up in Carlisle last year. Then you had the balls to pull the same shit again three months later but with some big fucker of a Yankee to back you up.” Johnny Phelps knew how dangerous the 'old man' in front of him was and was definitely not going to fall for any of his sneaky tricks. Like his dad always told him. 'Son, only a sucker gets sucker punched.'
Johnny smiled as the harsh headlights from the Hyundai people carrier framed the old dude like a star in a Hollywood spotlight. A bobble-head in the style of a small space alien wobbled it's oversized cranium at him from its perch on the dashboard.
Snap climbed out of the SUV clapping his hands slow and loud as he stepped into the light. “Nice one Johnny boy. I've been waiting to catch up with this fucker for a long time. He's got some big time payback coming his way.”
“And from me too. He pulled some Ninja shit on my cousin up north a while back. Pretended he was all old an' shit. Then next thing he was givin' it Bruce Lee an' shit. Fucking Mosher!”
“Don't worry Johnny boy, he's not fooling anybody tonight. We know who he is. And we know what he's getting.” Snap looked around at the seven men that now blocked the entrance. “Right?”
All of the men responded as one. “Right!”
A spider of dread crawled it's way down McMurdo's spine. His hand moved out of reflex to the waistband of his trousers. No pistol was tucked there. He seldom carried on roll 'em jobs. He did these for his own self-gratification; he'd never needed a shooter before. It kept him sharp with his hand to hand and there was always some ass wipe who needed a bit of lifestyle restructuring therapy.
Five of the seven produced ASP batons. Police specials. A series of metallic clicks sounded as the telescopic weapons were extended to their full length.
'Sounds like God cracking his knuckles,' thought Danny.
Snap pulled a Bowie knife from behind his waist. The blade looked to be around a foot long. The brass hand guard was shaped like an oversized 'S'. Big knife. Crocodile Dundee himself would have approved. The last man, smaller than the rest, held handcuffs and a roll of duct tape.
Danny rolled his neck and flexed his hands. He knew that the pain train was just about to pull into the station. But the sight of the tape and cuffs was both good and bad. Good: they meant to capture him not kill him here. Bad: they probably meant to capture him and kill him somewhere else.
Snap waved the knife in the air like an orchestral conductor. “You don't remember me do you?”
Danny searched his memory but came up with nothing. “I can't say I do, but once you've seen one ugly bastard you've seen them all.”
“Funny.” Snap pointed the blade directly at him. “Three years ago. Outside Oxford Road Station. You did a number on me and two of my mates. Knocked three of my teeth out with a snooker ball inside a sock.”
Danny nodded as he recalled the incident. “Now I remember. Trying to bag snatch women as they came off the trains. You were the skinny fucker with the Sideshow-Bob hair. I mean, a ginger afro…what was that all about?”
“Never mind my fucking hair.”
“Looks like you've been chompin' on the 'roids since then.”
“Tell you what Mister fucking Mc-Murder. When my boys are finished beating the shit out of you I'm going to cut off your balls and keep them as a trophy.”
Danny bristled at being called McMurder. When his friends used his old army tag he smiled, it was a badge of honour. But when an ungulate like Snap used it, it just grated on his nerves. He growled, “If you're planning on cutting my balls off, you're gonna need a bigger knife.”
Snap roared out a command and the five men charged as one.
Danny sidestepped the first man and sent him slamming face first into the wall behind. As the other men rained down blows with the batons, Danny used one arm to cover his head and the other to drive repeated elbows into the first man's kidneys.