Blog Fiction #1: Endgame

It was never intended to end up like this.

Jesus, if I’d had a pay check for each time somebody had uttered that I’d not be in a position to be writing this now. Yeah, it’s a cliché and an easy one at that but a cliché is only there because it happens enough to stick. This one had stuck up to its bony knee-caps.

Somewhere even now it was incredibly likely that an assigned lawyer would be sighing under his breath as he heard his charge for the day trotting the line out like a trained dog. It was easy to imagine his eyes glazing over and the face of his watch becoming suddenly interesting as the words hit him for the third or fourth time that day.

To be fair, it may well be the case that some of those bleating the phrase hadn’t intended for what had followed - they were most likely too stupid to have had a choice either way. Their idea of free will would have been to have a thought trek the distance to the tip of their tongue before being extinguished by the lack of planning the journey.

No, screw that whole chance thing – chance is throwing a couple of sixes when you need them, not for things like this. Not for real things.

Then, of course there were those with a little of both. The balls to rise out of their swamp and push for something but without a chance of ever succeeding. They deserved all they got. Cruel but fair. Natural selection catching up with the terminally unlucky.

But this was me. That puts a whole different flavour in the stew.

I’d never intended it to end up like this.

I’m not unlucky and never have been. Damn, that had never been an issue before and I’ve no reason to credit chance with the honour of getting its foot in the door now.

As for stupidity, that was an affliction that caught other people with their pants down and their brain disengaged. The idea of being placed somewhere in a fuck-up of my own making is a stinking joke and, even then, one with a punchline that doesn’t make me laugh.

Counting out the two obvious suspects in a list of two leaves the obvious question though – how the fuck did I get into this mess ?

Every mile driven I could see the lights flashing in the rear view. Bright as the Christmas lights that usually festooned the house painfully framed for me in the view from my kitchen window.

Christmas lights – there’s a sick joke in itself. October to fuckin’ January lights is nearer the mark. I‘ve never considered myself to be the Scrooge type but even so what were they doing with the lights up so damn early each year, training fucking elves ready for December ?

As the less than festive display gradually gained on me I realised that there were a handful of obvious differences.

Fir trees didn’t carry badges, houses don’t holster their guns in plain sight to show their potential and anything decked in fake snow didn’t pack the authority to kick my ass around the block and back should it see fit.

Compared with getting a snot-dribbling carol singer that sounded like she’d swallowed the wishbone whole that year, or having to pretend to be overjoyed at an unwanted gift, this was a whole step up the ladder.

Time to cut the crap of the festive thoughts with some razor sharp decisions.

Screw it, in a jam like this I’d take a blunt half-baked thought shoe-horned in where it’ll fit.

If I don’t floor it, giving them a gilt edged reason to take my tyres out, I figure I’ve got maybe five minutes tops before they’re close enough to see the beads of sweat starting to build on the back of my neck. From that point it’s going to be a bit late for spontaneity so I’d better start piecing my story together.

Driving in the dark and watching the road ahead is ok. Keeping one eye in the mirror and one finger flicking through the file in my head marked “Smart-Ass Excuses” is hard. About as hard as the one time I’d tried playing Twister with baby-oil as an added hazard.

Shit, that’s one fuckin’ memory I don’t need distracting me now. Other times it would be welcomed but not right now. If I can get out of this I’ll make sure to kick back and enjoy it. Let myself wallow in it for a while in a smug manner. Man, this must be a tight call – where the hell did “if” come from, I mean when I get out of this.

Three or four minutes. This is like watching the bullet head for you with your finger on frame-by-frame.

Maybe I can just lean on the gas a little, enough to keep the status quo. Don’t make it obvious I’m doing anything out of the ordinary. Heck, I could even touch the brakes for a moment, hit him with a red glow and lull him into thinking I was watching my speed and not trying to head it away.

Come on, think, you dumb bastard, that’ll just bring him nearer.

I’m meant to be getting further away not inviting him in for a beer and asking him about his fuckin’ kids. Gotta be both faster and smarter this time. This is how I get to show I’m good at this shit. This is where I get to make it look effortless and planned to the last detail.

I mean, it’s going to do no harm for the old reputation if I can pull this out of the bag in this heap of junk on wheels, especially with a boot full of……….

Shit.

I’d forgotten about that.

How in the name of god can you forget that sort of thing – it’s not one of those things that sit at the back of your mind waiting to fuck you up at a later time. This is what sits with its finger pointing an inch from your forehead, enough whiskey on it’s breath to ignite the lighter in the dashboard.

This is where you realise that Chance, that thing you’d dismissed so easily earlier, had been listening to your thoughts. It’s been laughing under it’s breath all along, knowing it’s time would come round to show who’s boss. Oh, and it’d brought its new friend Unlucky round to give you the finger just once. For the fun of it. Bastard.

So, that’s the strength of it then. I’m now having to take on flashing-boy behind me and the thoughts in my head giving emotion and intellect to abstract ideas.

This is getting more fucked up by the minute and that’s not good considering a minute or two is all I’ve got.

Get a damn grip, muppet. Just bloody sort it.

Forget the contents of the boot, even if only for now. Stick it on a fucking mental to-do list until there’s plenty of time to work out what to do with it properly. Getting to that stage of relative luxury is slightly more urgent.

What do I do then when the inevitable headlights flash me over ?

There’s always the radio.

Stick something on chilled and light, something to distract from the whole situation. Give him a whole different mood when the window winds down. Just sit there nonchalant and polite, yet coldly uninterested.

Yeah, that’s fuckin’ smart. Trying to look nonchalant with a collar so soaked it’s going to need ringing out, not hanging up. How the hell am I meant to look cool with a forehead dripping so nervously wet that my eyes are going to need wipers of their own soon.

Movies are shit but the cool one always has a way out of things with some gimmick, something so simple it brings a smile to even these cracked lips of mine.

Think. What do they generally do ?

A witty line or a dry joke – that’s the baby. Let him wait while I wind the window open for as long as I can get away with. Turn the radio down to make it look like I give a fuck and then hit him with a line to throw him entirely.

Who am I kidding though. I’ll open my mouth aiming to sound like Noel bloody Coward and I’ll end up with a quiver in my voice big enough to hold sodding arrows. I’ll have all the charm offensive of Mr Bean with a sore throat.

Just don’t let things come to that. It’s easier and safer. The ideas aren’t coming and he is - leave being clever to people without the guts to do anything physical.

Drive. Nice and steady.

Why did I have to glance in the mirror ? It really doesn’t help to know you’re close enough to realise that one headlight is slightly brighter than the other. The left one. If I can tell that then he’s seeing the silhouette of me sitting here stiff as the peak on his damn cap.

Was that an engine rev from the bastard ? It’s an innocent fucking noise but right now it sounds more like the growl of a predator knowing it’ll soon have its jaws wrapped around something four steps down the food chain.

This is it.

This is the moment I get the lights hitting me, I pull over and it all falls apart.

Don’t look back. Don’t make it obvious you’re acknowledging him.

Closer now. Nearly on me. Still no lights.

Come on, you bastard, get it over with and put us both out of our misery. I know I’ve got a hundred things to do more fun than this.

Things like emptying the boot, preferably before somebody like you gets near it, car or not. You’re not seeing that, not in the state it is, never mind getting your grubby hands on it. That’s my domain. I’m the only one that gets to touch it, that’s the deal and you don’t have a cut in it. After all you’re the one that………

There it is.

One flash. One stinking flash.

Cocky bastard is so sure of himself he’s not even giving me the pleasure of a second hit. In any other situation he’d fucking regret that and I’d be the one deciding how much grace he gets. Probably fuck all.

Here’s the deal. Time to slow down and pull over as far down the road as I can get away with. Somewhere dark enough to cover up whatever the fuck happens. Something to shade the fact I’m actually starting to think I’m well and truly up shit creek without a damn boat this time. I’m just going to have to wing it.

He’s taking the bait. Shadowing me in. Maybe this isn’t such a bad omen.

I could launch off at a moments notice and he’d be the one having to react – if he’s not sharp enough to realise that then I’ll have him for breakfast yet. Come on, stick with this and turn it round.

Brakes. Gently. Easy now and come to a rest. Let him move in behind me and make the next move.

Sod this, I’m switching the bloody radio on even if only for myself. Whatever goes down can do so to music. Maybe some cool British jazz, something treading the fine line between urban grit and sweater wearing coffee shop wanker. Make the guy underestimate who he’s messing with and make him think he’s got an easy catch.

I’ve got a few seconds to find something on there cooler than I am. Normally a line like that would get followed by a witty one-liner but right now that sucker punch is better used against other things. The other thing opening the door in the car behind me for one.

Move on in, buddy. I’m here making you come to me. I’m in control of this and I’ll take this at my pace now. Consider the baton passed.

Take it easy, no sudden movements. No reason to screw things up at this point.

Shit, he’s walking up by the passenger window. Don’t look round. Just be cool.

What’s with the hand movements ? I’ll give him bloody hand movements he’ll not like and they’ll get more response than I’ll give him credit for. Just ask me to open the window and let me fuckin’ ignore you through the glass.

Reach for the handle….slowly, give him chance to hear the music long before he even thinks to open his mouth.

One turn. Pace yourself.

Yeah, I’m dropping you a smile but it doesn’t mean I fuckin’ like you – teeth bite too, you know.

Drag out the second turn.

The cold air is good. It’s seeping into the car and it’s almost like I can breathe again, even though I’m too hopped up on this situation to exhale it afterwards.

“Sir……?”

Yes. 15 bastard love.

He called me “Sir”.

You’re then one with the uniform, the badge, the flashing fucking fairy lights on your car and yet your first word to me gives me the damn respect. Who pays your wages, you fat fuck ?

“Sir…can you turn off your engine please.”

Oh, now we’re getting to it, now we’re moving into an endgame you really haven’t thought through.

“Hang on, can’t quite hear you, I’ll just turn the music down”

Reach for the radio, turn the knob and leave it exactly where it is. Another notch to me and he’s going to have to ask again. Come on, ask again. You know the words are sticking in your throat so let them out.

“For one final time Sir, can you please turn off the engine. Now, if you will.”

Ok, give him a little and reel him in. Soften him up.

A little flick of the hand to acknowledge the request. Smooth. Now over to the ignition, reach across without looking and gently turn the……….

Shit.

Not that. Not now.

You stupid bloody fool.

Now is not the time to flip the boot. Not here and definitely not bloody now. Accident or otherwise that’s betting on black with a whole wheel of reds.

Do the engine and do it now. He didn’t hear the boot open and he won’t have noticed. It’s dark and the veneer on this expression is holding. Cut the bastard engine.

“Thank you, Sir”

Still polite. Still under control. Smile, be warm and this will end.

“I’m sorry for using the lights back there, seems a little heavy handed, but you hadn’t seemed to notice me. You’ve something snagged on your right rear wheel arch and it may be nothing but you never know – it’s those sorts of things that turn into something unfortunate. It’s a cold one tonight; do you want me to grab it for you ?”

You must be fucking joking. What sort of sick bloody wind up is this ? Squeak out a yes before he sees the donkey ears appearing on me like some damn Warner Brothers cartoon.

“Thanks Officer, that’s very good of you”

Grab whatever your eagle eyes have spotted and go – you’re the hero now and all your colleagues can hear the tale of how you saved a wreck. Just this once have it on me – be the big man.

Shit. The boot. He’s going to be so close to it. He’s going to sense something and this all goes to hell in a really shitty and unfortunate hand-cart. Just grab the junk and fuck off. Give me one reason, just one reason. I can have this in reverse, fired up and it’ll be more than junk under the car.

“Sir, your boot ?”

Do it, do it now. It’s self defence of sorts. Get in first and take him down before he gets a look at it. If he claps his eyes on it I’ve no chance. Not one. I’ve been dumb tonight but that’s one thing I know for certain.

A thud, what the fuck ?

“There you go Sir, I’ve knocked it shut. The piece of tyre stuck in the arch has come out cleanly and there seems to be no damage, Get it checked out in the morning, ok ? You’d better move off before the frost drops and before I catch my death out here”

“Thanks for that, I will. Have an easy night”

Have an easy night.

What sort of lame fucking sign off is that? He’s just been a glance into the boot away from earning his stripes, admittedly from my tyres, and I’m sitting hear like a fuckin’ stiff thanking him.

That’s it, pull away and throw me a wave. You don’t realise how lucky you’ve been.

Kiss the wife when you get in and enjoy the fact you’ve still got lips left to do it with. Suck the air into your lungs and savour it because next time you come that close to something that’s taken so much planning and so much of my time you won’t be getting another breath after the one you take in shock.

After all, you won’t have wanted things to end like that, would you………….