Tales Of WasteMan PART 3

Pierson walked around the car until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Marcus. He smiled and asked again,

“What ya doin in my car?”

His ever present smile and his relaxed tone was unnerving to Marcus. He was ready for a loud mouth or even a brawler but this calm and collect individual was something different.

“What!” said Marcus digging deep to find a fibre of courage “oi listen yeah, this is my car” he flicked out the Stanley knife pushing out half the blade “tell me I’m wrong, blood”

Pierson smiled again, it wasn’t a nervous smile or even a fake one, he genuinely seemed amused.

“What, ya think this is joke?” said Marcus.

“Actually I do, blood” he looked into the car, into the back seat “but ya just woke up Choc-Ice and she looks pissed”

Marcus slowly looks over his shoulder into the back of the car. With a name like Choc-Ice he expected it would be a dog, but not such a big one. Choc-Ice was a fully-grown male Doberman, black with a white stripe from its chin running down to its stomach. Suddenly a lot of things made sense to him, the unlocked car, the over confidant and smiley Pierson.

“Sorry, blood” said Pierson, laughing mildly “who’s car was it again?”

He swallowed hard. Look at those teeth, he thought. Marcus was a proud man, who would tell anyone who’d care to listen, how brave and fearless he was. Except when it came to dog’s, especially dog’s big enough to take down a man.

“Sorry I didn’t hear you” said Pierson.

Though he didn’t say anything Marcus looked back to Pierson and said,

“I said, it’s my car...blood” he stepped back quickly and slammed the door into Choc-Ice’s head. Pierson runs to him.

Marcus steps back slices Pierson’s face but is knocked over in the process, Pierson falls onto of him. They struggle for possession of the Stanley Knife. Pierson was strong, though he didn’t look it from his medium build but he was very strong. Marcus did the only thing he felt he could do. He took a bite of Pierson’s hand, he screamed but loosened up his grip on the knife. Marcus punched him in the face and rolled to his feet.

Pierson stood and reached round to his back and pulled out his black chrome nine, a certain taste, it matched the colour of his car and his dog, obviously this was a man who liked things a particular way.

“Yeah what, blood” he said, he spat out a wad of blood “what now”

For real, thought Marcus, what now. The Stanley knife in his hand now felt like a cream éclair instead the intimidating weapon it once was. He looked into the barrel of the gun, then to the bloodied man holding it. He dropped his arms and waited for the ‘bang’, because he knew death would shortly follow.

Suddenly the over confidant Pierson started to shake, it wasn’t a nervous shake or even a cold one. This was uncontrollable and erratic, almost like a seizure. He dropped the gun and fell to the ground, crouched up, his body convulsing and shaking like nothing he had ever seen before.

Marcus picked up the gun and turned to walk away. Something within him, the true force that was Marcus Handly urged him to stop. He grabbed Pierson by the head and forced the closed Stanly knife between his clenched jaws. He felt a better for while.

Then he turned to the car, the door slowly opened. Choc-Ice jumped out and started running for him, its growls ran down his spine and to the centre of his back. The extravagant Pierson must have taught Choc-Ice how to open the door.

It barked.

“What!” said Marcus, and shot Choc-Ice in the face.

The dog rolled into a slump next to its shivering owner. Half its face gone.

Marcus gently removed the key’s from Pierson’s pocket, now foam was forming around the Stanley Knife lodged in his jaw. He had never seen someone having an epileptic fit but he was once told to put something between their jaw, to stop them swallowing their tongue or something like that.

He drove away from Newtown towards Nechells via Park Lane in Aston. Police cars shot toward him from Aston Cross. He casually turned onto Upper Sutton street and headed for Victoria road.

His phone rang.

“Yo, you got my ting’s” said Lewis.

“Yeah I got ya ting’s, blood. I’m still in da car now”

“Well tek out my ting’s and ditch the car, simple” he hung up.

Marcus clenched his phone almost smashing it against the dashboard. He had no credit to call back, all he could do was as he was told, for now at least.

Instead of going to Nechells he rolled the car into Aston Park off Frederick road, driving up the curb. He drove over the dusty football pitch that had seen far too many passionate games and parked in the largest garden behind Aston Hall.

He gazed at the old building for a while, it was lit up and almost glowing in the darkness of the park. He had never seen Aston Hall at night, but now that he had he found some appreciation in the old building. It looked almost pretty.

He searched the car but found nothing, only an extra clip for the black chrome nine, and an eighth bag of Bud. Something very strong and very sticky. He pocketed the extra clip and rolled a smoke from Pierson’s stash. He leaned against the stolen BMW smoking borrowed weed, thinking about lost time. The time lost with wifey and baby.

His phone rang.

“Yo, you got my ting’s!” said Lewis.

“The car’s clean, blood. Nufing in it”

“What, ya mean?” he sucked his teeth “Don’t try play me, blood, ya know betta than dat”

“Listen, yeah!” said Marcus “The car’s clean, man must have dropped it off time ago”

“Where are you” said Lewis.

“Aston park, behind Aston Hall”

“What ya doin in Aston Hall, blood”

“I’m parked behind it”

“Don’t be clever, yeah. Me and Beez is gonna pass chu to check for ourselves. Stay there ...wasteman”