Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

Sly's approach to life was simple — you got ahead by keeping other people down. He'd learned it at an extremely early age. The years of bullying and piss-taking he'd suffered through having ginger hair and goofy teeth only ended when he'd picked out a weaker boy amongst his tormentors and jammed a sharpened pencil into his upper arm.

The action didn't gain him acceptance or friendship, just the respect people gave to the school nutter. It taught him the power of extreme and sudden violence and it was why he still carried a Stanley knife to this day.

So now, as he got closer to the man whose beggings he used to tax, the thought of walking past simply didn't occur. A display of his superiority was needed — something to prove to himself that he was above the other person.

The man had fully turned round now, and seeing someone in smart designer clothes approaching, had immediately begun to say, 'Help the homeless sir, copy of the Big Issue ?'

Sly stopped and with a sneering smile said, 'Moved up in the world, then?'

His voice made the Big Issue seller freeze and, on recognizing Sly, his stoop seemed to become more exaggerated, the posture of someone used to being victimized. Knowing that wasn't the end of the encounter, he said nervously, 'Sly.' No trace of a smile.

'I need some cigarettes; knock us some change, mate.' Sly held out a cupped hand and clamped his jaw on the lump of gum in his mouth. Its flavour was sharp and lemony, like every other packet he'd taken the other week from the garage in Didsbury. Although the taste was novel to begin with, he'd got tired of its sourness and had flogged most of it to a stallholder in the Arndale market. 'Here, I'll swap you for some chuddy.' He spat the lump out onto the other man's disintegrating trainers.

The Big Issue seller cast his eyes downwards and said miserably, 'You don't control the pitches around here. Leave me alone.'

Sly got his face up close to the other man's and cocked his head to one side. 'Do you want me to cut you?'

The man stepped back. He was still avoiding eye contact, but defeat was written all over him. 'No.'

'Then give me some money,' Sly hissed.

Resignedly the man reached into an inner pocket and produced three pound coins.

'Is that fucking it?'

'I've only sold three copies. It's everything I've got.'

Sly wrinkled his nose in disgust. 'Three copies? With these crowds? I know you're lying, but I'm not going through your stinking coat. I'd probably get fucking lice.'

He plucked the three coins from the man's palm, then produced a thick bundle of twenty-pound notes from his pocket. The man looked at the money, face devoid of any expression.

Slightly irked by the other man's failure to react to his cash, Sly said, 'I'll get the smokes after I've picked up my suit. 'With a mocking smile, he sauntered on down King Street and entered the Armani shop. When the assistant asked if he needed any help, Sly pointed straight to the pale green suit in the window.

July 2002

The sense of terror only began to subside once they'd fought through the traffic and made it onto the slightly less busy Oxford Road. Sitting in the back seat of the car, Tom shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and whispered, 'Could you turn the fan on, please? It's so hot in here.'

The female officer in the passenger seat immediately did as he asked, then turned round in her seat. 'What's your name, sir?'

The official note in her voice set his nerves off again and the muscles in his throat clamped up. A few minutes later they turned off into the grounds of the Manchester Royal Infirmary, the patrol car driving round to the Accident amp; Emergency entrance and parking in a bay marked 'Ambulances Only'.

Again the female officer turned round. 'Sir, you're being detained under section 13B of the Mental Health Act. As police officers we're required to take you to a place of safety — which is here. We're going to find a psychiatric nurse to check you over and make sure you're OK. Is all of that clear?'

His whole body trembling, Tom was only able to nod.

'Good,' she continued. 'I'll go in first and my colleague, PC Garrett, will stay with you.'

She got out of the car and walked through the sliding doors. A short while later she reappeared, walking back over to address her colleague first. 'Surprise surprise, no one is available.'

As the driver shook his head, she turned to Tom. 'Sir, we're going to have to sit tight for a while. Are you OK back there?'

Tom nodded, his heart still fluttering.

After what seemed like an age, a nurse emerged through the doors and beckoned to the officers.

'Right,' said the male officer, getting out of the car and opening up the rear door. 'Let's put that blanket around you again, shall we? We don't want the nurses getting all excited.' He grinned at Tom.

Tom looked down at his bare legs and boxer shorts as the officer draped the blanket around him. Shakily, he got out of the car and allowed himself to be guided into the foyer. Acutely aware of the entire crowded waiting room watching, Tom felt himself growing embarrassed and knew it was a sure sign he was returning to normal.

He was led quickly across into a room at the top of a corridor. Inside was a table and a few soft chairs. A children's mobile hung in the corner, garishly coloured tigers, giraffes and parrots stirred by the commotion as they entered the room. Sitting in one of the chairs was an overweight man in a white tunic, long hair tied back in a ponytail. He smiled at Tom and waved him to a seat. Turning his body so he wasn't directly facing Tom, he said, 'Hello, my name's Keith Pilkington. I'm the psychiatric nurse on duty this afternoon. PC Hines tells me they picked you up in Piccadilly Gardens. Can you tell me what was upsetting you so much?'

Tom breathed deeply and when he spoke his voice quivered only slightly. 'I'm sorry to have caused such a fuss.'

Apologetically, he glanced at each officer. PC Garrett smiled and said, 'Don't worry about it. By the way, these are your trousers. 'He placed them on the shelf near the door.

The psychiatric nurse had been watching Tom carefully and now he said to the officers, 'I don't need to keep you two any longer, thanks.'

The officers nodded in reply and quietly left the room. Once the door had shut, he looked at Tom. 'So what was it all about?'

Tom could still feel the sheen of sweat coating his face. But he knew how to put that right. The remedy lay in the top drawer of his desk at work. Looking at his bare knees, he said, 'I've had them in the past. But that's the first for years.'

The nurse was looking at his notepad. 'The first what?' he gently coaxed.

'Panic attack.' He raised a hand to show how his fingertips trembled.' It suddenly hit me. I just had to run.'

'Why did you feel the need to remove your trousers?'

Tom shook his head. 'They had chewing gum on them.'

'Had chewing gum on them?' Tom took another deep breath. 'I think I've developed a bit of a phobia. It's a long story, but it started with rubbery things. The mouthpiece of a diving mask, in fact.' He let out a short and cheerless laugh. 'Then it somehow got to be anything rubbery that's been in someone's mouth. It makes me want to be sick — I get flooded with a kind of revulsion. 'He stopped and looked up. 'I sound mad, don't I?'

The nurse's features were full of understanding. 'I've dealt with far worse. Could I ask your name?'

'Tom. Tom Benwell.'

'Are you using drugs, Tom? You look like you haven't been getting much sleep. And the sort of state the officers described… I assumed you were heavily under the influence of something.'

Tom shook his head. 'I've just got so much on at work. I was having lunch with a client. God!' He turned his head, and looked at the door. 'I left him in Mr Thomas's Chop House. Just sprinted out of there.'