‘That’s What it’s All About.’ – What if it’s All True About the Hokey Cokey?

‘That’s what it’s all about.’ What if it’s all true about the Hokey Cokey?

I’ve been searching for a spectacularly misleading title for the final entry on my blog for a while and came up with this. Having written the piece, I now find it has relevance after all. Bugger! Now I’ll have to write something else.

Anyway, this one contains violence and bad language – but no nuts. Although anyone likely to be affected should heed the usual warnings about the possibility that accidental contact could have been made during the creative process.

‘You from round here, are you? Not seen you around.’

I turned to face the questioner, standing behind me. Very close, almost touching, his jaw jutting aggressively. Even the most casual questions are dangerous. Everyone has an agenda. I’ve been undercover many times and this aspect of the job never varies. Learn your legend. Become that person. Every question may be the one that trips you up. Everything you say may be checked out and the closer the contact with the Target, the more likely it becomes that every word will be scrutinised.

Major criminals don’t hang on to power without becoming paranoid along the way. With good reason. Mostly, they’re immune, if not from arrest, from actual imprisonment. Highly paid lawyers and a system of buffers between the top man and the actual crime see to that. The real danger comes from within the inner circle; either from an internal coup or infiltration of an informer.

‘No,’ I replied, turning my back on the inquirer again. In reality I’d lived my early life within a mile of here, but had never, until now, worked so close to home. This job was big enough to break one of the unwritten rules. Undercover police duties tended to be short-term. They work in one place and are often part of the arrest process. Their faces become known. That didn’t apply to me. When I had the information I sought, enough to secure an arrest, I disappeared from the scene. Moved elsewhere, became a completely different person.

‘Where you from then?’

I sighed, half-turned to speak over my shoulder. ‘Nowhere near here. Okay?’

I was being deliberately obtuse. The man asking the questions was hired muscle, no more. Not anyone important. If I chose I could answer any question put to me and it would check out. It always did. That was where the support team earned their money. High profile criminals have access to police databases, official records. Anything I said could be checked. The person I claimed to be would always check out. Official records would reveal my existence. People would vouch for me; swear blind I was who I said I was, even though I’d never met any of them. That’s why my Control earned far more than I did, even though he rarely moved from his well-appointed office. It’s my arse on the line, me alone, but there’s a support system in place at all times.

There were two men in the basement room, but only the thug behind me was saying anything. The other man sat at the side of the room, reading a newspaper. He was stocky and looked as if he knew his way around, but there was nothing confrontational about him. He was prepared to sit and wait, read his paper, until the man we were expecting turned up.

I’d made a point of turning my back on his colleague when I’d seen his eyes. Steroid rage they call it, a result of too many pills popped in the search for even more spectacular muscles. I suspected he was spoiling for a fight, but wasn’t prepared to give him the excuse to start one. Turning my back was a means of evading confrontation.

“Shut it, Tony,’ the other man barked, peering over his newspaper. ‘Just stay calm, eh?’ He looked at me as if expecting me to speak but I faced him out until he went back to his paper.

Tony took a couple of steps forward, brushing past my shoulder, and stood directly in front of me, inching closer until he was almost, but not quite, chest to chest. ‘This twat needs to learn some manners,’ he said, reaching up with a stubby finger and poking me on the chest. ‘Don’t turn your fucking back on me for a start.’

I said nothing, tried to remain impassive. He was small time and the man I was waiting to meet was far more important, but there was a point to be made. It’s important never to back down. Hard men earn their rep through a refusal to ever take a backward step. My legend was that of a man with a certain reputation, qualities that made him in demand, and this was an opportunity to make a point. I hadn’t planned it, hadn’t intended it, but the situation was staring me in the face.

Literally.

Tony was bigger than me. A lot bigger, but his sheer size would have ensured most of the fights he’d attempted to start never materialised. Posturing and bluster were all part of the game, but like dogs meeting up on a street corner, will only take you so far. I’ve met a fair few supposed hard men who were all front.

‘Leave it, Tony,’ the other man called out, rising from his chair.

Tony curled his lip, not taking his eyes off mine. ‘No problem, Dan,’ he said. ‘Just going to teach him a few fucking manners.’

His eyes narrowed and I relaxed. It wasn’t posturing after all. He really did intend to fight, but he’d made far too many mistakes already. Too much talk, standing too close, now I was ready for him. He arched his neck backwards, readying the head-butt I’d been expecting for thirty seconds at least. The instant he triggered his intentions, I moved, throwing my own forehead forward and catching him full on the bridge of his nose. The bone shattered, blood spurting, and he took a rapid step backwards, piggy eyes blinking in shock. When I saw his fists clench I punched him, three times, in the area of his ravaged nose and he retreated another step, eyes watering and looking unsure for the first time.

The other man, Dan, remained standing, his mouth open in shock. ‘Nothing to do with you,’ I said, glancing at him. He nodded, grimly.

As I returned my attention to the stricken Tony, he rushed me, blood spraying from his open mouth, roaring like a gut-shot lion. I took a step to the side, planning to evade the initial rush and retaliate from a position of strength, but my foot became entangled in the rug and I stumbled and almost fell. Tony’s outstretched arm, swinging in a wide arc, caught me on the side of the head and I lost my balance, crashing to the floor.

Rolling to one side, anticipating Tony would throw himself down upon me and bring his greater weight and strength into play, I came up hard against the leg of a solid Victorian table and could go no further. Tony should have done what I’d been expecting, but he didn’t. The first kick took me under my right armpit as I tried to rise, knocking me back down with any attempt at escape blocked off by the table. I looked up; saw a smile on the face of Tony and behind him, the grinning face of the hitherto impassive Dan.

As the kicks rained in, I kept on moving, trying to protect my head and groin, but both men showed they’d done this sort of thing before and very few boots missed their mark. As always, the absence of actual pain was a surprise. The body is flooded with massive amounts of adrenalin and a reversion to the berserk state; familiar to anyone who’s ever experienced combat, takes over. Afterwards, of course, it’s a different story.

Tony leant over me, his massive fists clenched, awaiting the opportunity to add a few punches to the swinging boots and I jack-knifed forward, seeing a momentary chance of retaliation. His shaven head denied me an area to grasp, but I took firm hold of his fleshy ears and hauled myself upwards. The left ear tore away from the top and he screamed, an almost feminine sound that belied his size. Dan had moved to one side, intending to attack me from the rear, but the bulk of the other man blocked him for a moment. On my feet, at last, I took a chance and swung my right leg with all the power I possessed and felt the satisfying crunch as my upraised boot made contact with Tony’s testicles. Steroid abuse raises aggression levels and shrinks testicles, but even in their diminished state the effect was spectacular. Tony sank to his knees, then rolled onto his side, his mouth wide open but producing no discernible words.

As I turned to face Dan, the door swung open and a man strode into the room.

‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ He said.

Dan turned towards him with an obvious air of deference. The man I’d been waiting to meet, at last. I took a step forward, punched Dan on the side of his face and, as he staggered, took a further quick pace and butted him full in the face. He dropped like a stone, out of it, and I continued walking, hand outstretched.

‘About time,’ I said. ‘Still, at least the playmates you left for me kept me from getting bored.’

He took my hand, shook it, wiped a trace of blood away on the curtains. ‘I’m glad you found something to pass the time. Sorry to have kept you waiting. Ready now?’

I nodded and followed him out of the door. Neither of us gave even a passing glance to the scene of carnage behind us.