Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

The youth club door opened. There was a blast of coloured lights and loud dance music from the disco inside. A couple of youngsters came out, one went back in and the door slammed shut.

Henry saw that one of the ones who came out was Charlotte Wickson. She was staggering about drunkenly, falling against the walls and the window of the charity shop next door. Henry’s mouth went dry. Drunk? Drugged? She fell back against the window again and shouted an obscenity. The other kids laughed at her and suddenly the little gang seemed much darker and less friendly.

He started to wish that Leanne would come out, so he could take her back to the safety of home.

From around a corner a youth appeared on a mountain bike.

Henry gasped.

The same one who had dealt drugs to the gang down on South Shore. His name was Kevin Long and he had been dealing for a couple of years around Blackpool. Henry had never had any direct contact with him, but he knew Long well enough. His MO was to deal on the hoof from his bike and to evade capture by using his extensive knowledge of the backstreets and short cuts around town.

Long cruised up to the group outside the youth club door and stopped.

Charlotte Wickson pushed herself up from the wall and staggered up to him. He handed her a package and she shoved something in his fist. Then he was away around the corner.

Bursting with anger, Henry moved. He ran hard across the road.

Long saw him coming. He was always switched on for the surprise appearance of the cops. He clicked up a few gears, rose high on the pedals and tried to get some speed up.

Henry was almost on him.

Long pushed down — and his right foot slipped off the pedal. Before he could recover, Henry got him and drove him off the bike, smashing him bodily into the building line, against a clothes shop. He was easy meat, being all bone and no weight. Henry punched him hard in the lower gut. Long gasped and fell forwards, clutching his abdomen. Henry then swiped him hard across the face with the open palm of his right hand, sending the dealer spinning down to his knees. Henry flat-footed his ribcage and Long sprawled out, hurt and wheezing.

Henry, who found he had more strength than he could have imagined, dragged Long back up to his feet and put him face up to the wall again. He started going through his pockets, hoping like hell there wasn’t a needle in one of them. Instead he found numerous wraps of drugs, a bundle of five pound notes and two pockets crammed with pound coins. Henry pulled these pockets inside out, scattering all the coins.

‘Hey, man. . fucker!’ said Long.

Henry placed the palm of his hand against the back of Long’s head and with a quick thrust, smashed his face into the wall with a very satisfying crunch.

‘Jesus. .’

Henry did it again for good measure, then he let go, as gurgling with the blood from his now shattered nose, Long sank to the floor. Henry went to a drain by the kerb and stuffed the drugs and money down it.

He crossed back to Long and placed a foot on his neck.

He was in a rage like he had never known. Blood pounded through him.

‘If I ever catch you dealing around here again, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear? This is my patch and I don’t want scum like you on it. Do you hear me?’ Henry pushed his foot down hard. The way he felt now, he could easily have murdered him.

He raised his foot, stepped back.

‘Go.’

Long scrambled to his feet, collected his bike and disappeared into the night.

Henry stood there for a good long time, controlling his breathing, wondering what he had become in that moment. A vigilante? Or just a father out to protect his daughter from the scum of the earth.

The moment was over. He had acted rashly, but now it was gone.

He decided there and then there would be no post-mortems on the incident. He took a deep breath and walked back around the corner to pick up Leanne.

The disco was over. The doors were open, the music finished, and the kids were disgorging untidily. Parents’ cars were lined up outside, rather like school collection time. Henry stood near to the door, keeping his eyes peeled for Leanne, Charlotte and Tara Wickson.

Leanne emerged from a sea of sweaty kids, looking hyper and excited.

‘Hi, kid,’ he greeted her.

‘Dad,’ she said and gave him a hug.

‘Good time?’

‘Excellent.’

‘Take any drugs?’

She came upright and looked at him, a deeply troubled expression on her pretty face. ‘No. What was that supposed to be about?’

Henry was still uptight. He got a grip of himself and forced himself to come back down to planet earth. ‘Sorry, nothing. You ready to roll?’

‘Yeah.’ Leanne hooked up to him. They walked arm in arm.

Behind them was the shriek of a girl.

Even before he turned, Henry knew it was Charlotte Wickson. She was being manhandled into the big fat Bentley by Jake Coulton, her father’s security man. He had grabbed her bodily, his big arms wrapped around her in a bear hug. Her feet were lifted off the ground and she was kicking like mad, writhing and trying to break free.

‘You get in the bloody car,’ Coulton growled.

Her right heel kicked back and connected with his shin. He howled and threw her aside. She landed on her knees on the pavement.

All around, the other kids’ parents simply stepped back and let it happen without interference.

That night Henry was not in the mood to be a watcher.

He pulled away from Leanne.

‘Dad,’ she said, warningly.

‘It’s OK.’

Coulton had got hold of one of Charlotte’s arms and was dragging the unfortunate girl towards the big car.

Henry stepped up to him.‘ Leave her,’ he said. His anger was transparently evident, even from just those two words.

Coulton released her and stood upright, turning slowly to face the challenge that was Henry Christie.

‘Back off, Henry.’

‘Uh-uh.’

They stood face to face.

Behind them, Charlotte had rolled into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘I’m here to collect her on Mrs Wickson’s instructions. This is none of your business.’

‘When you collect her like that,’ Henry explained, ‘I make it my business.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw a patrolling police van crawl in their direction. Coulton spotted it, too.

‘She’s a bit pissed and doesn’t know what she’s doing,’ Coulton said. ‘I’ve come to take her home — so get stuffed.’

The police van drew parallel with them. The driver wound his window down and leaned out. ‘Gorra problem?’

Henry and Coulton looked at each other. Coulton tore his eyes away first and said, ‘No, not at all.’

Henry said nothing.

‘I’ll just stay in the vicinity,’ the PC said, sensing the tension.

He U-turned the van in the street and parked opposite.

Kids and parents who had been glued to the encounter started to drift away.

Henry bent down to Charlotte. She looked up at him with pleading, watery, drug-filled eyes. ‘Come on, love,’ he said. ‘You need to get home. Come on, get into the car.’

‘I don’t want to go with that bastard,’ she whispered.

‘Come on, it’ll be OK.’

‘Yeah, come on you spoilt twat, get in the car,’ Coulton said to her over Henry’s shoulder. Charlotte howled.

‘Shut it, Jake,’ Henry warned him. ‘Come on, come on love.’

‘Please, please, you take me home.’

‘I can’t,’ Henry said pathetically. ‘Come on.’

All the fight drained out of her. Henry almost thought he saw it leave her, like a ghost. He helped her up and led her to the back door of the Bentley. Coulton opened the door and Henry guided her in. Instead of going on a seat, she prostrated herself in the space between the front and rear seats.