Bird Read online

  Bird

  By

  KW Finch

  Copyright

  All Rights Reserved. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, transferred, distributed, leased, or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author.

  The characters in this story are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Cherie x

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  ONE

  “What you looking at?”

  It was the fat bloke sitting opposite and growling through his gritted teeth at me. His long greasy hair shuddered even before the words had left his scabby lips. It was easy for me to just ignore the question and carry on staring. Until now I had been quite content to block out the people around me and just stare dumbly at the fire breathing dragons, leaping tigers and snakes coiled around evil looking blades and shooters.

  After the kind of day I’d just had it was a welcome release and I was more than happy to allow myself to be hypnotised by the colourful tattoos sprawled across the body of the huge, hairy fat bloke sitting opposite me.

  The mountain of oily hair and ink growled at me again but this time he pulled his face into some kind of horrific shape which I guessed was supposed to be a snarl. He was just as much an animal as the beasts painted on his body. The whole room felt like it was shaking and vibrating from the deep bass noise created deep inside his monster sized chest every time he spoke.

  “Oi, I said what you looking at?” He challenged again.

  The tone escaping from deep within him and filling the room wasn’t warm and comfortable. He would never make it as a radio 4 newsreader that much was certain. This was more like the deep rumble you would expect before an earthquake or a volcano exploding, not that I had been around many earthquakes or exploding volcanoes. None in fact now I thought about it.

  I knew this type of bloke though, caveman, not very bright, just a tool. There wasn't a how do you do pleased to meet you way about him but more of a, I'm going to beat you up because I like doing things like that, kind of way. I had to pause before answering the huge blob of lard and hair because I just couldn’t think of anything to say. I definitely had to say something though because he wasn’t going to let it go. The cavemen of this world never liked to lose face, especially in front of an audience.

  Any kind of comeback was normally a doddle for me but I was still feeling flat from the shock of what had happened earlier in the day. Now that had been a real knock-back. My head was still messed up from it all and on top of that I couldn’t get over the fact I was now sitting here with all these losers. So trying to think of something to say that would shut this muppet up was proving to be a bit tough.

  Among the beasts and weapons of death covering the fat blokes body I noticed there was a tat of a curvy yellow haired girl. It stood out to me because this bird was a beautiful thing surrounded by the ugliness of the other images and the brute they were attached to.

  “You deaf or what pretty boy?” He wasn’t going to give up.

  He tipped his head and moved his right ear towards me slightly as if to hear a little better. A puzzled look was on his face and he reminded me slightly of a mental version of Roy Wood only much larger and even more hairy. He didn’t look like he was about to give a medley of Wizards greatest hits though.

  He had called me pretty boy what was that all about? It was only now that I looked around the room quickly at the dozen or so blokes dotted about that I noticed I was the only one wearing a suit. Savile Row was obviously not a place they shopped and probably thought a three piece suit was something you sat on. Now what do I say? I really had to think of something quickly because this meathead just wasn’t going to leave it alone and sitting here hoping the situation would go away was not on the cards.

  Looking around the room again a dozen pairs of eyes were starting to focus their attentions on the developing situation. It wasn’t as if they had anything else to do though was it? A dozen pairs of eyes waiting for my response, a response that wasn't there. Then it came to me, the tat must be of his bird, why else would it be there? My answer was not exactly a classic of our time but it was never going to be with the way I was feeling. Hopefully it would diffuse the situation and take the heat off of me and then we could all have a good laugh about it. Sorted.

  “Nice girl.” Was my simple response, nodding towards the bird tattooed on his tree trunk sized arm. “Bet she's a good shag.”

  “Wouldn’t know you dickhead.” Came the angry reply as he lunged forward. “She's me mother.”

  I have to say that for a fat bloke he moved pretty quickly and this was something I found out to my disadvantage. He leapt towards me with the tattooed arm in question raised up high. The fingers on the end looked more like a bunch of bananas and they clenched together to form an almighty fist. I tried to dodge out of the way but wasn’t fast enough and the bunch of bananas connected with my chin. I don’t know what happened after that because he punched my lights out and I started to fall and then it all went very dark.

  When I finally came to the hard floor was pressing into my back and my sore jaw reminded me what had happened. I could feel the cold concrete through my Anderson and Sheppard suit sending a shiver down my spine. The fuzzy image of a bloke in uniform was looking down at me from a crouching position and squinting. His dark eyes were concentrating on my face. I struggled to bring myself up to a sitting position.

  “He's alright.” He muttered to the other blurry uniformed shape standing behind him.

  “He'll survive.” He finally said after studying me for a while.

  If this was how things worked in here then I wasn't so sure survival was going to be easy. As much as I liked a good fight I didn’t want to be constantly having a ruck with someone.

  The room began to come back into focus and I shook my head to get rid of the foggy feeling. I looked around me trying to find the fat bloke but he was nowhere to be seen. The bloke in uniform stood up and there was a clanking and rattling sound as he did so. I noticed it was the wooden baton attached to his belt which was knocking on the floor and a long silver chain made from heavy steel attached to a big bunch of keys. All the blokes in uniform had them, keys to get through the gates and doors and a big stick to beat us with. They all wore the same clothes as well, regulation white shirt, black trousers and steel capped boots.

  “Come on.” He said to the other bloke in uniform and they both walked back through the same door I’d used to enter the room.

  TWO

  My little sideshow seemed to have broken the icy atmosphere somewhat. A few of the other blokes were now talking amongst themselves. To my surprise and my dented ego it was clear that the ruck I had with the fat bloke was not the main topic of conversation. These guys were too wrapped up in their own problems to worry about someone picking fights with a hairy nutter. There was a bloke sitting alone a few feet from me and up until now had been intent on just watching. He looked at me and frowned as he spoke.

  “Mate, you got a lot to learn.”
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  “Thanks for the pearls of wisdom pal.” I snapped back at the dickhead. The last thing I needed was advice from a loser.

  “Yeah mate, whatever.” Was his blunt reply.

  With that he lowered his head and returned to his own limited thoughts. After staring at him for a few seconds with no hint of any further words of enlightenment it seemed best not to draw him into conversation. My jaw was sore from the last lingering gaze and it didn't seem like a good idea to upset anyone else. I really didn’t want any more aggro at the moment.

  The number of blokes in the room had been slowly decreasing since my arrival and it was painfully slow going. Every so often one of the blokes in uniform would enter the room from a door opposite to the one we had all entered hours earlier and call out one of our names. What happened on the other side of the door they passed through was a mystery. Eventually after what seemed an eternity it was my turn to find out. The door opened again and one of the blokes in uniform stepped out and called me in.

  “London.” He bellowed. I got up and walked past him to enter the room. Another bloke sitting behind a desk spoke to me in an abrupt tone as I got through the doorway.

  “Sit there.” He said while pointing to a wooden chair. “Put your jewellery on that tray.”

  “Why don’t you fuck off?” Was my immediate reaction to the arsehole in uniform. No one tells me what to do.

  He looked at me and smiled.

  “Your choice really.” He replied.

  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It doesn’t make much difference to me to be honest.” He continued while shrugging his shoulders.

  “I’ve seen it all before, you think you’re tough and maybe you are, I don’t know. More to the point I don’t really care. I do my job then I go home. So are you going to do as I tell you?”

  I sat in the chair and just stared at the prick, trying to work him out.

  “Jewellery.” He repeated from behind his desk and pointing again at the tray. It seemed best to play along for the moment so started to remove my precious Breitling Navitimer followed by my rings. I gave the uniformed man one of my evil stares.

  “Nice speech.” I murmured at him. He just stared back and not even a flicker crossed his eyes. I dropped a heavy gold ring onto the tray with a clunk. It was a real favourite of mine but not for its artistic design or its value or even its sentimental value. No this ring was special for another reason, it made a brilliant knuckleduster. Originally the Queens head was facing out but I had that turned around because it somehow seemed more appropriate to have St. George the dragon slayer at the front.

  I did enjoy a punch up now and again and luckily for me my chosen profession meant that violence was always going to happen at some point. My old man always told me that the successful people in life were the ones who enjoyed their work and he was spot on. I loved my job and was hugely successful at it. Seeing that ring sitting on the tray with my other bits of gold made me feel a bit odd. It was part of me and my style and at the moment my style was being seriously cramped. Still, shit happens I suppose and it wasn't as if it was gone for good. This was all a massive inconvenience for me but once I had seen Marcus I would be out. He would sort it all out.

  “You look after that.” I said, nodding at the arsehole behind the desk. “That’s worth a lot of money”

  “Someone else’s money, no doubt.” He added.

  That was it, this arsehole needed a lesson in manners. I flew across the table to grab him by the throat. Unfortunately for me, he and his sidekick by the door were ready. Normally, taking on two blokes wasn’t a problem but this little set up had obviously been well rehearsed and they had been waiting for my move.

  The bloke behind the desk was sitting on an office chair with wheels on and he pushed himself back as I lunged for him. I crashed onto the table and before getting a chance to realise what was going on the other bloke was on me. He leapt toward the desk with his baton raised and ready to give me a good shoeing. He was too quick for me and their routine was too slick, probably from months or even years of practice. He started to rain blows down on my arms in a horse whip fashion on one side and then the other. I rolled over and crashed onto the floor. With his baton raised he took a step back to give himself some space. I looked around to see the other bloke and he had moved from behind the desk and had drawn his baton too, ready to join in.

  “What’s it to be then London?” He laughed, “The hard way?”

  I made an attempt to raise my arms above my head and winced in pain from the lashing.

  “You win.” I muttered.

  “Learn from this London.” It was the arsehole from behind the desk again, he was turning out to be a proper little speechmaker. “Things are different in here, this is prison. You step out of line, you pay the price.”

  Things just weren’t getting any better for me today. I didn’t put up any kind of resistance. For the time being it seemed like a good idea to get through the day without ending up in casualty.

  THREE

  Next I was led through another door by the screw that liked to make speeches. We ended up in another small room but this time it had a counter instead of a desk. Stacks of shelves filled the space behind it and an elderly bloke who had been busying himself at one of them heard us both entering. He looked up and smiled.

  “Mr Briggs.” He said to the screw.

  “Wentworth.” Came his stern reply. “Sort some kit out for this smart arse would you.”

  “Yes Mr Briggs, right away Mr Briggs.” He replied.

  Wentworth looked me up and down and sized me up. He seemed at ease with himself and was confident with it. Within half a second he knew exactly what clothes would fit me, or so I thought. He handed me a pile of over washed, faded and tired looking clothes.

  “You can change over there.” He said while pointing to a corner of the room with a curtain across it. “Put your own clothes in here.” He continued while handing me a box.

  “What the fuck are these?” I said to Briggs, holding up the rags Wentworth had just given me.

  “And as for putting my suit in a box, you can fuck off. I’ll put you in your box. Your month’s wages couldn’t pay for this.” I yelled, holding the lapel of my suit towards Briggs, my earlier anger was returning.

  “Do as the man asked you.” He replied in a flat tone while taking a step closer to me. His unblinking eyes fixed on mine. He wasn’t messing about and I could tell he meant business. “Or do I need to get some assistance in here to help you dress?” He continued with a look of menace in his face.

  “Nah, I can do the getting dressed bit on my own thanks.” I sneered back at him while heading over to the corner to change. What a cock.

  The curtain was poorly fitted and it had a dated pattern in cream, brown and orange circles, how 1970s. I pulled it across as best as possible. Standing behind that curtain I realised my life was going on hold and I couldn’t even wear my own clothes. It all felt a bit odd still. My head was already messed up and this wasn’t helping things at all. My personal items were being boxed up and put in storage just like my life. It was all a bit too much for me to deal with at the moment. The sooner I saw Marcus the better, he would get me out. Don’t know what went wrong today but I wasn’t staying in this shithole that much was for sure. I was going along with this silly game for now because there was no other choice but that would all change soon enough.

  With my own clothes neatly folded into the dark green box Wentworth had given me it was time to try on the faded rags he had handed me. The charcoal colour socks felt rough and itchy. They were made from a coarse material and of the two pairs given me one of them had a yellow band around the top while the other pair had a red one. It could originally have meant different sizes but now after so many washes the original size was a thing of the past. Anyway, both sizes were too small and I decided to put my own ones back on.

  Next were the pants. These weren’t new and to me there's something not quite right about wearing
second hand pants, even if they are spotlessly clean. At the end of the day someone else, someone I've never known had been wearing these pants before me. They were nice enough pants but not really my style, blue and white check. It just didn't alter the fact that these weren't virgin pants were they? Another man had been there before me so to me they were soiled no matter how many times they had been washed. It could even have been several men and it made my stomach turn just thinking about it. I put them to the side and decided to stick with my Calvin’s for now so I left them on.

  I tried the jeans on next and like the rest of the clothes these were tired and faded as well. At 5'11" I was fairly tall and after managing to do up the waist buttons found I had a nice pair of ankle swingers. A sky blue tee shirt completed the new look. The colour of it was patchy and it looked as if someone had tried to tie dye it but only had a thimble full of bleach.

  Finally I tried my shoes. Again I wasn't the first person to wear the things so at least I knew they wouldn't need breaking in. That is sadly the only advantage to wearing someone else's shoes. Actually shoes are an exaggeration they were more like trainers. No, trainers are still a bit too glamorous a description. They were in fact plimsolls and not very good ones at that. They were probably designed in the late 60s and they should have been left there. With their white piping framing the black canvas they looked really naff. The white theme was continued with a rubber toe section. Silver eyelets for the white laces finished off the pathetic things. Oh yeah, almost forgot to mention, they smelled as if a dead fish had made it their final resting place.

  So there I was in my new kit and what a total dickhead I felt. I walked back to the counter where the expert store man was again busying himself on one of the shelves.

  “You done London?” Came Briggs steely voice.

  “Done? Yeah, done sounds about right.” Came my reply. What a day this was turning out to be.