feet from the group, and tried to catch the eye of the one heâd temporarily christened Kenny, to urge him to make a run for it while the bulliesâ backs were turned. But he seemed rooted to the spot.
The ringleader, presumably Mal, took a couple of steps forward and leered unpleasantly at Ben, showing teeth already stained by tobacco.
âWell?â he said.
Ben stared back at him, silently. He couldnât think of any response that wouldnât further inflame the situation.
His very stillness seemed to unnerve Mal a little. His confident snarl faltered and he glanced to his side, as if to reassure himself that the gang were still there. They were, and one of them advanced a step or two, stabbing a finger in Benâs direction.
âWhy donât you fuck off before you get hurt?â
âI expect you know youâre on CCTV,â Ben said quietly. âHow long dâyou think youâve got before the cops get here?â
Two of the gang looked round uncertainly but the one called Mal shook his head crossly. âHeâs bluffing.â
He was right. Ben had no idea if CCTV was operational in the vicinity, but the thought of it was clearly unsettling them.
âCâmon, Mal. Letâs get the money and go,â the spotty one said, and at that moment the ALSA lad made a break for it, dodging round the tables and heading away towards the car park.
He wasnât quite quick enough.
Mal threw an arm out sideways as he passed and fastened on to the ladâs bomber jacket, swinging him round and gathering him in like a spider with a fly.
The others abandoned Ben in favour of easier prey, and the youngster squealed in fear as the collecting box was torn from his grasp and he was pushed backwards to the point where the fixed bench of the picnic table caught him behindthe knees, forcing him to sit down. The thugs gathered round, Mal leaning over the lad and resting one hand on the table either side of him, his face not six inches from the boyâs own.
The youngster whimpered, petrified, and Ben saw red.
With clenched jaw he strode forward, caught hold of Malâs shoulder and pulled him roughly away.
The ringleader staggered back, a look of incredulous surprise on his face, and Ben shoved him backwards, hard, before he could regain his balance. He stumbled back a few more strides, then lowered his head and charged like an enraged bull.
Ben sidestepped neatly, casually hooking his toe round Malâs ankle as he passed, and his would-be assailant measured his length on the tarmac amongst the table legs.
That was all very well as far as it went but, unfortunately, the idea that by taking out the leader, you take out the gang, didnât hold true. Ben turned his head to see what, if anything, the rest of them were going to do about this manhandling of their comrade, just as the spotty one launched himself, with a kind of primeval scream, at his back.
3
EVEN THOUGH SPOTTY was the smallest of the four, the combination of his weight and momentum, catching Ben off balance, was enough to send him crashing sideways into another of the wooden tables, and from there to the ground. The fall shook the two of them apart but, even as Ben rolled and came to his feet, the others, emboldened by Spottyâs success, joined the attack.
Ben managed a couple of wild swings with his fists before he was overpowered and pulled backwards. The hard edge of the closest bench caught him behind the knees and, with one of the lads holding each arm, his upper body was bent back over the tabletop and held there, the planking digging painfully into his ribs.
He couldnât move.
For a moment sheer, blind panic took over. Reason went out of the window and, with no regard for the discomfort of his unnatural position and the fact that struggling would make itworse, he fought against them, writhing and kicking out blindly with both feet.
âChrist! Hold him! The bastard nearly took my knee
The ringleader, presumably Mal, took a couple of steps forward and leered unpleasantly at Ben, showing teeth already stained by tobacco.
âWell?â he said.
Ben stared back at him, silently. He couldnât think of any response that wouldnât further inflame the situation.
His very stillness seemed to unnerve Mal a little. His confident snarl faltered and he glanced to his side, as if to reassure himself that the gang were still there. They were, and one of them advanced a step or two, stabbing a finger in Benâs direction.
âWhy donât you fuck off before you get hurt?â
âI expect you know youâre on CCTV,â Ben said quietly. âHow long dâyou think youâve got before the cops get here?â
Two of the gang looked round uncertainly but the one called Mal shook his head crossly. âHeâs bluffing.â
He was right. Ben had no idea if CCTV was operational in the vicinity, but the thought of it was clearly unsettling them.
âCâmon, Mal. Letâs get the money and go,â the spotty one said, and at that moment the ALSA lad made a break for it, dodging round the tables and heading away towards the car park.
He wasnât quite quick enough.
Mal threw an arm out sideways as he passed and fastened on to the ladâs bomber jacket, swinging him round and gathering him in like a spider with a fly.
The others abandoned Ben in favour of easier prey, and the youngster squealed in fear as the collecting box was torn from his grasp and he was pushed backwards to the point where the fixed bench of the picnic table caught him behindthe knees, forcing him to sit down. The thugs gathered round, Mal leaning over the lad and resting one hand on the table either side of him, his face not six inches from the boyâs own.
The youngster whimpered, petrified, and Ben saw red.
With clenched jaw he strode forward, caught hold of Malâs shoulder and pulled him roughly away.
The ringleader staggered back, a look of incredulous surprise on his face, and Ben shoved him backwards, hard, before he could regain his balance. He stumbled back a few more strides, then lowered his head and charged like an enraged bull.
Ben sidestepped neatly, casually hooking his toe round Malâs ankle as he passed, and his would-be assailant measured his length on the tarmac amongst the table legs.
That was all very well as far as it went but, unfortunately, the idea that by taking out the leader, you take out the gang, didnât hold true. Ben turned his head to see what, if anything, the rest of them were going to do about this manhandling of their comrade, just as the spotty one launched himself, with a kind of primeval scream, at his back.
3
EVEN THOUGH SPOTTY was the smallest of the four, the combination of his weight and momentum, catching Ben off balance, was enough to send him crashing sideways into another of the wooden tables, and from there to the ground. The fall shook the two of them apart but, even as Ben rolled and came to his feet, the others, emboldened by Spottyâs success, joined the attack.
Ben managed a couple of wild swings with his fists before he was overpowered and pulled backwards. The hard edge of the closest bench caught him behind the knees and, with one of the lads holding each arm, his upper body was bent back over the tabletop and held there, the planking digging painfully into his ribs.
He couldnât move.
For a moment sheer, blind panic took over. Reason went out of the window and, with no regard for the discomfort of his unnatural position and the fact that struggling would make itworse, he fought against them, writhing and kicking out blindly with both feet.
âChrist! Hold him! The bastard nearly took my knee
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