“I’m your guardian angel,” Barry had begun. “Meet me in the pub after work tomorrow, and bring that young Goodright with you. He can keep me in beer all night whilst I reveal all and keep him out of the proverbial shite.”
As he had pressed the phone to his ear Hunter could almost visualize the smug grin on Barry’s face as they discussed details of when and where they should meet.
He dressed hurriedly, slinging on a T-shirt over a pair of jeans, and then stuffed his sweaty training gear into his bag. As he left the gym he could hear his father turning off the lights and closing doors behind him throughout the building.
Hunter popped the locks of his car and was about to open the driver’s door when the shuffle of feet resounded behind him. Before he had time to turn his head he felt a sharp blow to his back, directly over the region of his right kidney. The sickening stab of pain was instantaneous and his knees buckled beneath him. A sea of stars blurred his vision as he reached out to stop himself falling further. Another blow caught the side of his head, sending him crashing against his car door and throwing him onto his back. He let out a groan as he slumped to the pavement, but instinctively snapped open his eyes to see who his attacker was. There were three men towering over him and he instantly recognised two of them; Steve Paynton’s younger brothers; David and Terry. David, the younger of the two, was grinding his fist into the palm of his other hand. A menacing grin ripped across his face.
“Our Steve’s asked us to pay you a little visit. He just wants you to know that thanks to you and that fucking black tart of yours he’s on the Nonce’s wing at prison and we’re here to pass on his regards.” He sneered. “Oh and when we’ve finished with you we’re off to see to that black bitch as well.”
Hunter tried to scramble to his feet but quickly found himself reeling back against his car as a boot caught him mid-chest knocking the wind from his lungs. The three figures became shadows as a film of tears washed across his eyes, and expecting further blows he pulled his knees into his body. In that same instant, in the distance, he heard raised voices and the running of feet coming towards him. Scuffles broke out around him and as his vision cleared he saw his father and Barry Newstead grappling with his assailants. Feeling instantly buoyed by their presence he took on an inner strength and sprang to his feet.
He dodged another blow from David, twisted and lashed out with a tightly clenched fist. The punch he swung came from the hip and arced into his foe’s head. He knew he had connected well when he felt the crunch of gristle and bone. For a second Hunter stared into a young man’s face that was frenzied and distorted. The eyes were bulging and menacing. Hunter was hurting and he was also mad. Jumping instinctively to boxing stance he let fly again, raining punch after punch upon David Paynton. He could hear the cries and squeals flowing from David’s busted mouth, but he never let up until the man had slumped to the ground. As he pushed himself upright Hunter could see that in spite of his father’s and Barry’s age, neither had forgotten how to channel their aggression nor had they lost their touch. Barry had quickly overcome his foe and was standing over the man Hunter hadn’t recognised. The prostrate man was holding his chest and moaning.
The fate and suffering of Terry Paynton was still ongoing. It was only as Hunter took stock of the situation that he realised Terry was out of it. The only thing that kept him upright was the grip his dad had on the front of Terry’s sweatshirt, yet the viciousness with which his father still pummelled him was unrelenting.
A knot formed in Hunter’s stomach and he lurched forward grabbing hold of his dad’s swinging fist.
“Dad he’s had enough.” He caught his father’s stare and for a split-second he witnessed something in his dad’s eyes, which he had seen on many occasions during drunken street fights he had attended over the years doing his job, but never before seen in his own father. It was the look of sheer hatred and evil.
For a second his father tried to resist his son’s grip.
Hunter clenched his dad’s wrist tighter. “Dad, I said he’s had enough.”
Hunter saw the look in his father change dramatically. His command had registered.
Terry Paynton’s bloodied head was flopping around like a rag dolls.’ He let go of the sweatshirt and there was a sickening thump as Terry’s skull whacked the pavement.
Hunter saw the colour drain from his father’s face as though it had just registered what he had done.
Hunter reached for his mobile.
“What are you doing?” snapped Barry.
“Ringing for an ambulance,” Hunter replied.
“What on earth for?”
“So that we’re covered for the mess they’re in and they can be nicked later.”
“Don’t be so fucking daft. There’s no way they’re going to complain when they started it. If you were them with a reputation to keep up would you admit to be being beaten up by two old men? We’ve given them a bloody good hiding. They’ll lick their wounds and keep their heads down if they’ve any sense. Trust me I used to be a policeman.” A wide grin creased Barry’s face. “Come on there’s a well earned cold beer waiting for us.”
“Do you know I haven’t had so much fun since I gave Tam Watson a good thumping back in nineteen-ninety-one for taking my wee dram,” his father added in his broad Scottish brogue. “I’ve not lost my touch have I son?”
That comment disturbed Hunter.
It continued to play on his mind during the journey to the club. He kept glancing across at his dad who was staring out through the windscreen, eyes fixed daze-like. It was as if he was unmoved by the whole event and yet Hunter had to continually grip the steering wheel to stop himself shaking.
He swung into the club car park, pulled into a space and killed the engine.
“You seem a little quiet son.” His dad was still staring out through the windscreen, the gaze nowhere in particular.
Hunter took a deep breath. The image of his father pummelling Terry Paynton flooded back into his mind. That look in his father’s face. It was as though he was ‘getting off’ hurting the man. His stomach was churning.
“I’ve never seen you like that dad. I thought you were going to kill him.” He wanted to say more but it was his dad he was talking to.
“Nae chance son. He’s made of stronger stuff than that. Anyway the little scumbag deserved what he got. Anyone who goes toe-to-toe with my son goes toe-to-toe with me.”
“But Dad…“
His father held up his hand, giving him the stop sign. “Listen to me now son you need to understand where that came from. I had a hard life in Glasgow. I had to fight for everything I got — literally. I had to learn how to take a punch and come back stronger. That’s all I want to say about it. I don’t want to talk about it again. And I don’t want you saying anything about this to your mother.” Then a smile creased across his face. “Come on, mines a pint of heavy and a wee dram.”
Before Hunter could say anything further his dad was pushing open the passenger door.
* * * * *
Without exception, whenever a group of policemen get together conversation always turns to one thing — the job. Earlier that day whilst working out at the gym it had been a spur of the moment decision for Hunter to take his father to meet Barry and Paul Goodright, especially as he knew what the conversation was going to expose him to. However, having just dished out a good beating to three nefarious characters with the help of his dad and then agreeing to hide the fact with Barry had made him realise it had not been too difficult a call to make.
Hunter shot a glance at his father’s smiling face. He was still disturbed by his dad’s actions and he knew at some stage he would have to discuss the earlier events again with him, though this wasn’t the time or the place.