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Authors: Phil Kurthausen
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desperate to keep hold on. He risked a look down. The dog was jumping up on its hind legs, jaws snapping back and forth in between its manic barking.
His fingers began to slip, there was engine oil on the pipe. His hands slid off the pole and Erasmus came crashing down on top of the Rottweiller, which splayed out beneath him, winded and defeated. Erasmus rolled off the dog quickly and gave it a sharp punch on the nose. The dog whimpered. Erasmus stood up and added a kick in the dog's ribs for good measure.
The dog got up on unsteady legs and turned tail, its head bowed. It ran back towards the man who had let it off the leash.
‘Princess, are you OK?’ said the man cuddling the dog. Erasmus thought the man may burst into tears such was the level of emotion in his voice.
Erasmus dusted himself down in a satisfied manner and then heard a click and felt cold metal against the back of his head.
‘You want to consider yourself lucky that Mo does not have a gun. He loves Princess, Mr Jones, more than his wife, though, to be truthful, the dog is more attractive. Trespassers are not welcome here and are likely to be shot.’
Erasmus slowly turned his head, the barrel never moving from his flesh until he was facing Ahmed. Purple Ahmed took a step backwards but never lowered the gun. Up close Erasmus could see the purple welts that covered half of Purple Ahmed's face.
‘So why do they call you Purple Ahmed?’ said Erasmus.
Purple Ahmed kicked Erasmus hard in the stomach. Erasmus sank to the ground, gasping for air.
‘You got some mouth on you. I could shoot you down right here as a trespasser. But instead I'm going to let Mohammed here get a little payback for how you treated poor Princess.’
Mohammed walked towards him, pausing only to pick up a heavy looking piece of pipe from the floor. He tested its weight by slapping it back and forth in his palm.
With an ill-judged timing responsible for so many of the ills in Erasmus’ life he heard himself speaking before his brain had time to veto his mouth. ‘Hey Mo, do you squeal like your dog when a man sits on
your
back?’
Mohammed raised the pipe.
Erasmus’ foot shot forward hard into Mo's left knee and he cried out and staggered backwards. Erasmus leapt to his feet and punched Mo hard in the face. It was like trying to stop a runaway train by blowing on it, Mohammed barely flinched. He felt his arms pinned back as Ahmed grabbed hold of them. Mo moved forward and swung the pipe. Instinctively, Erasmus closed his eyes and waited for the blow to land.
He didn't see the pipe go flying, but he heard Mohammed's yelp of pain.
Purple Ahmed, caught in two minds, moved his gun slightly to face the new, unknown threat. It was all the time Erasmus needed. He dropped his shoulder and swung his elbow fast and hard into Ahmed's throat. He made a deep gurgling noise, dropped the gun, and sank to his knees. Erasmus picked up the gun and pointed it at Ahmed.
Mohammed was rolling around on the floor, hands rubbing his eyes. Standing behind him holding a can of mace was the girl from the coffee shop with the notebook. She had one hand clamped to her mouth in shock.
Erasmus walked over swiftly and kicked Mohammed hard in the ribs. The girl raised the mace and pointed it at Erasmus. He snatched it off her.
‘Wait there,’ he said ‘And thank you.’
Erasmus turned back to Ahmed and helped him up.
‘What do you want?’ asked Ahmed.
‘You see, normal human discourse can be a wonderful thing. We could talk philosophy, economics, football – what do think of the Everton's chances this year? If we just take the guns and attack dogs out of the equation then maybe we could even be friends?’
‘Fuck you,’ said Mohammed, who had started to come round.
Erasmus kicked Mohammed hard between the legs. Mohammed gave a high-pitched yelp and started shaking again.
‘Do you have to do that?’
It was the girl.
‘What?’ said Erasmus.
‘If he doesn't answer do you have to use
His fingers began to slip, there was engine oil on the pipe. His hands slid off the pole and Erasmus came crashing down on top of the Rottweiller, which splayed out beneath him, winded and defeated. Erasmus rolled off the dog quickly and gave it a sharp punch on the nose. The dog whimpered. Erasmus stood up and added a kick in the dog's ribs for good measure.
The dog got up on unsteady legs and turned tail, its head bowed. It ran back towards the man who had let it off the leash.
‘Princess, are you OK?’ said the man cuddling the dog. Erasmus thought the man may burst into tears such was the level of emotion in his voice.
Erasmus dusted himself down in a satisfied manner and then heard a click and felt cold metal against the back of his head.
‘You want to consider yourself lucky that Mo does not have a gun. He loves Princess, Mr Jones, more than his wife, though, to be truthful, the dog is more attractive. Trespassers are not welcome here and are likely to be shot.’
Erasmus slowly turned his head, the barrel never moving from his flesh until he was facing Ahmed. Purple Ahmed took a step backwards but never lowered the gun. Up close Erasmus could see the purple welts that covered half of Purple Ahmed's face.
‘So why do they call you Purple Ahmed?’ said Erasmus.
Purple Ahmed kicked Erasmus hard in the stomach. Erasmus sank to the ground, gasping for air.
‘You got some mouth on you. I could shoot you down right here as a trespasser. But instead I'm going to let Mohammed here get a little payback for how you treated poor Princess.’
Mohammed walked towards him, pausing only to pick up a heavy looking piece of pipe from the floor. He tested its weight by slapping it back and forth in his palm.
With an ill-judged timing responsible for so many of the ills in Erasmus’ life he heard himself speaking before his brain had time to veto his mouth. ‘Hey Mo, do you squeal like your dog when a man sits on
your
back?’
Mohammed raised the pipe.
Erasmus’ foot shot forward hard into Mo's left knee and he cried out and staggered backwards. Erasmus leapt to his feet and punched Mo hard in the face. It was like trying to stop a runaway train by blowing on it, Mohammed barely flinched. He felt his arms pinned back as Ahmed grabbed hold of them. Mo moved forward and swung the pipe. Instinctively, Erasmus closed his eyes and waited for the blow to land.
He didn't see the pipe go flying, but he heard Mohammed's yelp of pain.
Purple Ahmed, caught in two minds, moved his gun slightly to face the new, unknown threat. It was all the time Erasmus needed. He dropped his shoulder and swung his elbow fast and hard into Ahmed's throat. He made a deep gurgling noise, dropped the gun, and sank to his knees. Erasmus picked up the gun and pointed it at Ahmed.
Mohammed was rolling around on the floor, hands rubbing his eyes. Standing behind him holding a can of mace was the girl from the coffee shop with the notebook. She had one hand clamped to her mouth in shock.
Erasmus walked over swiftly and kicked Mohammed hard in the ribs. The girl raised the mace and pointed it at Erasmus. He snatched it off her.
‘Wait there,’ he said ‘And thank you.’
Erasmus turned back to Ahmed and helped him up.
‘What do you want?’ asked Ahmed.
‘You see, normal human discourse can be a wonderful thing. We could talk philosophy, economics, football – what do think of the Everton's chances this year? If we just take the guns and attack dogs out of the equation then maybe we could even be friends?’
‘Fuck you,’ said Mohammed, who had started to come round.
Erasmus kicked Mohammed hard between the legs. Mohammed gave a high-pitched yelp and started shaking again.
‘Do you have to do that?’
It was the girl.
‘What?’ said Erasmus.
‘If he doesn't answer do you have to use
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