No Sharks in the Med and Other Stories (20 page)

And he paused as there sounded a second crash—which this time was loud enough to suggest a table going over. The music stopped abruptly and some girl gave a high-pitched shriek.

We warned you!
said several dark little voices in the back of Gavin’s mind. “What the Hell—?” he started down the corridor from the toilets with Harper hot on his heels.

Entering the hall proper the two skidded to a halt. On the other side of the room a village youth lay sprawled among the debris of a wrecked table, blood spurting from his nose. Over him stood a Hell’s Angel, swinging a bike chain threateningly. In the background a young girl sobbed, backing away, her dress torn down the front. Gavin would have started forward but Harper caught his arm. “Look!” he said.

At a second glance the place seemed to be crawling with Angels. There was one at the entrance, blocking access; two more were on the floor, dragging Angela Meers and Tod Baxter apart. They had yanked the straps of Angela’s dress down, exposing her breasts. A fifth Angel had clambered into the disco control box, was flinging records all over the place as he sought his favourites. And the sixth was at the bar.

Now it was Gavin’s turn to gasp, “Look!”

The one at the bar, King, had trapped Val Harper on her bar stool. He had his arms round her, his hands gripping the bar top. He rubbed himself grindingly against her with lewdly suggestive sensuality.

For a moment longer the two men stood frozen on the perimeter of this scene, nailed down by a numbness which, as it passed, brought rage in its wake. The Angel with the chain, Leather, had come across the floor and swaggered by them into the corridor, urinating in a semicircle as he went, saying: “Evenin’ gents. This the bog, then?”

What the Hell’s happening?
thought Harper, lunging towards the bar. There must be something wrong with the strobe lights: they blinded him as he ran, flashing rainbow colours in a mad kaleidoscope that flooded the entire room. The Angel at the bar was trying to get his hand down the front of Val’s dress, his rutting movements exaggerated by the crazy strobes. Struggling desperately, Val screamed.

Somewhere at the back of his shocked mind, Harper noted that the Angels still wore their helmets. He also noted, in the flutter of the crazy strobes, that the helmets seemed to have grown horns!
Jesus, it’s like a bloody Viking invasion!
he thought, going to Val’s rescue…

It had looked like a piece of cake to King and his Angels. A gift. The kid selling tickets hadn’t even challenged them. Too busy wetting his pants, King supposed. And from what he had seen of The Barn’s clientele: pushovers! As soon as he’d spotted Val Harper at the bar, he’d known what he wanted. A toffy-nosed bird like her in a crummy place like this? She could only be here for one thing. And not a man in the place to deny him whatever he wanted to do or take.

Which is why it came as a total surprise to King when Allan Harper spun him around and butted him square in the face. Blood flew as the astonished Angel slammed back against the bar; his spine cracked against the bar’s rim, knocking all the wind out of him; in another moment Bill Salmons’s arm went round his neck in a stranglehold. There was no time for chivalry: Harper the PTI finished it with a left to King’s middle and a right to his already bloody face. The final blow landed on King’s chin, knocking him cold. As Bill Salmons released him he flopped forward, his death’s-head helmet flying free as he landed face-down on the floor.

Gavin McGovern had meanwhile reached into the disc-jockey’s booth, grabbed his victim by the scruff of the neck, and hurled him out of the booth and across the dance floor. Couples hastily got out of the way as the Angel slid on his back across the polished floor. Skidding to a halt, he brought out a straight-edged razor in a silvery flash of steel. Gavin was on him in a moment; he lashed out with a foot that caught the Angel in the throat, knocking him flat on his back again. The razor spun harmlessly away across the floor as its owner writhed and clawed at his throat.

Seeing their Angel at Arms on the floor like that, the pair who tormented Angela Meers now turned their attention to Gavin McGovern. They had already knocked Tod Baxter down, kicking him where he huddled. But they hadn’t got in a good shot and as Gavin loomed large so Tod got to his feet behind them. Also, Allan Harper was dodging his way through the now strangely silent crowd where he came from the bar.

The Angel at the door, having seen something of the melee and wanting to get his share while there was still some going, also came lunging in through the wild strobe patterns. But this one reckoned without the now fully roused passions of the young warriors of the Athelsford tribe. Three of the estate’s larger youths jumped him, and he went down under a hail of blows. And by then Allan Harper, Gavin McGovern and Tod Baxter had fallen on the other two. For long moments there were only the crazily flashing strobes, the dull thudding of fists into flesh, and a series of fading grunts and groans.

Five Angels were down; and the sixth, coming out of the toilets, saw only a sea of angered faces all turned in his direction. Faces hard and full of fury—
and
bloodied, crumpled shapes here and there, cluttering the dance floor. Pale now and disbelieving, Leather ran towards the exit, found himself surrounded in a moment. And now in the absolute silence there was bloodlust written on those faces that ringed him in.

They rolled over him like a wave, and his Nazi helmet flew off and skidded to a rocking halt…at the feet of Police Constable Charlie Bennett, Athelsford’s custodian of the law, where he stood framed in the door of the tiny foyer.

Then the normal lights came up and someone cut the strobes, and as the weirdly breathless place slowly came back to life, so PC Bennett was able to take charge. And for the moment no one, not even Gavin, noticed that Eileen McGovern and her new friend were nowhere to be seen…

Five

Chylos was jubilant.
“It’s done!”
he cried in his grave.
“The invaders defeated, beaten back!”

And:
“You were right, old man,”
finally Hengit grudgingly answered.
“They were invaders, and our warnings and urgings came just in time. But this tribe of yours—pah! Like flowers, they were, weak and waiting to be crushed—until we inspired them.”

And now Chylos was very angry indeed.
“You two!”
he snapped like a bowstring.
“If you had heeded me at the rites, these many generations flown, then were there no requirement for our efforts this night! But…perhaps I may still undo your mischief, even now, and finally rest easy.”

“That can’t be, old man, and you know it,”
this time Alaze spoke up.
“Would that we could put right that of which you accuse us; for if our blood still runs in these tribes, then it were only right and proper. But we cannot put it right. No, not even with all your magic. For what are we now but worm-fretted bones and dust? There’s no magic can give us back our flesh…”

“There is,”
Chylos chuckled then.
“Oh, there is! The magic of this stone. No, not your flesh but your will. No, not your limbs but your lust. Neither your youth nor your beauty nor even your hot blood, but your spirit! Which is all you will need to do what must be done. For if the tribes may not be imbrued with your seed, strengthened by your blood—then it must be with your spirit. I may not do it for I was old even in those days, but it is still possible for you. If I will it—and if you will it.

“Now listen, and I shall tell you what must be done…”

Eileen McGovern and ‘Gordon Cleary’ stood outside The Barn in the deepening dusk and watched the Black Maria come and take away the battered Angels. As the police van made off down the estate’s main street Eileen leaned towards the entrance to the disco, but her companion seemed concerned for her and caught her arm. “Better let it cool down in there,” he said. “There’s bound to be a lot of hot blood still on the boil.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Eileen looked up at him. “Certainly you were right to bundle us out of there when it started! So what do you suggest? We could go and cool off in The Old Stage. My father owns it.”

He shrugged, smiled, seemed suddenly shy, a little awkward. “I’d rather hoped we could walk together,” he said. “The heat of the day is off now—it’s cool enough out here. Also, I’ll have to be going in an hour or so. I’d hoped to be able to, well, talk to you in private. Pubs and dance halls are fine for meeting people, but they’re dreadfully noisy places, too.”

It was her turn to shrug. It would be worth it if only to defy Gavin. And afterwards she’d make him see how there was no harm in her friendships. “All right,” she said, taking Cleary’s arm. “Where shall we walk?”

He looked at her and sighed his defeat. “Eileen, I don’t know this place at all. I wouldn’t know one street or lane from the next. So I suppose I’m at your mercy!”

“Well,” she laughed. “I do know a pretty private place.” And she led him away from The Barn and into an avenue of trees. “It’s not far away, and it’s
the
most private place of all.” She smiled as once more she glanced up at him in the flooding moonlight. “That’s why it’s called Lovers’ Lane…”

Half an hour later in The Barn, it finally dawned on Gavin McGovern that his sister was absent. He’d last seen her with that Gordon Cleary bloke. And what had Cleary said: something about having to drive later? Maybe he’d taken Eileen with him. They must have left during the ruckus with the Angels. Well, at least Gavin could be thankful for that!

But at eleven o’clock when The Barn closed and he had the job of checking and then shifting the stock, still she wasn’t back. Or if she was she’d gone straight home to The Old Stage and so to bed. Just before twelve midnight Gavin was finished with his work. He gratefully put out the lights and locked up The Barn, then crossed to The Old Stage where his father was still checking the night’s take and balancing the stock ledger.

First things first, Gavin quietly climbed the stairs and peeped into Eileen’s room; the bed was still made up, undisturbed from this morning; she wasn’t back. Feeling his heart speeding up a little, Gavin went back downstairs and reported her absence to his father.

Burly Joe McGovern seemed scarcely concerned. “What?” he said, squinting up from his books. “Eileen? Out with a young man? For a drive? So what’s your concern? Come on now, Gavin! I mean, she’s hardly a child!”

Gavin clenched his jaws stubbornly as his father returned to his work, went through into the large private kitchen and dining room and flopped into a chair. Very well, then he would wait up for her himself. And if he heard that bloke’s car bringing her back home, well he’d have a few words to say to him, too.

It was a quarter after twelve when Gavin settled himself down to wait upon Eileen’s return; but his day had been long and hard, and something in the hot summer air had sapped his usually abundant energy. The evening’s excitement, maybe. By the time his father went up to bed Gavin was fast asleep and locked in troubled dreams…