Tattoo Vigilante

Chapter 1

If this day was to be a normal day I would need the three money pouches, my old shoes and the extra padding I took to wearing around my waist beneath my clothes. The latter was a recent addition due to Joe's fondness for punching me in my stomach. When the idea came to me I quickly rejected any type of cushion. Even the thinnest would be difficult to disguise, and a cushion would only protect a small area of the body. I found layers to be the best way to protect myself without significantly altering my appearance. It got hot at times but the benefits certainly outweighed the disadvantages.

One of my daily challenges was hiding one outfit from the thugs and the other from mother and my teachers. I would stay in my room until just before I left the house to get my tatty, old shoes past my mother. She was used to me not coming down for breakfast, seemingly resigned to the new routine having not mentioned it for some time. However, in a week or two I would have trouble explaining the absence of the new shoes. It had been around four weeks since their purchase and the old ones were in a particularly sorry state after regular contact with concrete on all sides. The new ones wouldn't last five minutes these days. I would have to either rough them up so they would go unnoticed or go back to taking two pairs to school.

I carefully followed the movements of the school football team. Not because I was or wanted to be a participant, I couldn't have been less suitable. And not because I was an interested spectator either, I could think of nothing more mind-numbing. The reason I kept up with their timetable was because Jake was a member of the football team and when he was away with the team I knew I was free to move about the school and town as I pleased. I didn’t need to worry about my route home, where he might be or what I needed to take to school. When the footie team was away life was easy. Some of Jake’s cronies were not part of the team, but they were much more easily outwitted on their own and rarely tried anything without him. As you would expect, the bullies were nowhere near as active when their numbers were diminished and their leader was away.

In the early days I had often considered exacting my revenge on individual bullies when I came across them on their own. I spent many of the numerous hours I had on my own entertaining myself with pleasurable fantasies in which I surprised them with violence they would not expect and then delivered succinct warnings. But the realm of fantasy was where such ideas remained as brief consideration of the possible repercussions did not bear thinking about.

Since becoming friends with Al the risk at school had diminished significantly. Al was a huge boy, both taller and wider than anyone else in our year by some margin. Not an obvious victim for bullying you may think, but Al’s size did not bring him confidence or physical dominance. Instead his extraordinary dimensions brought an exceptionally shy boy more attention than he had ever wished for. He became a target as soon as the bullies realised this hunched, quiet giant would never strike back. It was as if being seen to beat up a boy much larger than them would enhance their reputation.

Al never fought back and never responded verbally either. Not because he thought this would provoke the bullies but because he didn’t really speak to anyone except me. Even the teachers had given up trying to get any kind of response from Al some time ago. I felt a strange sense of pride when they directed questions for Al to me. To be honest he didn’t say much to me either. More often than not I would answer for Al based on assumption without talking to him at all. It demonstrated the trust he had in me that he was happy for me to do so. I never did find out why he selected me to communicate on his behalf, presumably he saw some similarities between us.

Little and large they called us. I had been called much worse so I did not mind and Al did not express an opinion. We must have looked like an odd couple, one of the smallest boys at school next to one of the biggest. Even though neither of us would ever fight back it seemed there really was safety in numbers. Unfortunately Al lived on the other side of town which meant he disappeared in the other direction when school finished. As a result the unwanted attention did not diminish as I had hoped, it simply moved outside of the school gates when I was on my own.

For a while I was able to avoid them on the route to and from school. Regrettably Jake did not suffer from many of the flaws of the bully stereotype. He was not stupid, indeed I would say he was both resourceful and creative in his methods. As a result my route to and from home usually involved an encounter of some sort. Co-ordination via mobile phones, a heinous invention, meant the bullies were able to cover several different routes at once and converge in a matter of minutes.

Speedy assembly of adversaries was not the main reason I hated the invention of the mobile phone. Far worse was the abuse by text message which allowed the bully to reach their victims even in the safest of havens. I rarely switched my phone on any more as the vast majority of contact was unwanted and uninvited. My father assumed I would be delighted with the phone when he handed it over as a birthday present. At the time I was uninspired due to a lack of friends, after all aren't these an important part of the equation? But my lack of enthusiasm in the device turned to disgust after Jake decided to take just my number rather than the whole phone as expected.

So I set off at a dash, past my mother half-heartedly shouting the usual questions after me. Mission one accomplished. I had already decided on my route having weighed up the pros and cons. Via the big gas containers and past Granny's house. It used to be a safe haven halfway to home, but not any more after the sudden death of Granny nine months ago. The familiar feeling of having nowhere to turn flickered in my mind, but only for a moment as my practised mind moved onto the next challenge. This being the long alleyway between the gas works.

You may think an alleyway such as this would be extremely risky given the reception the bullies had for me. My hope was that my adversaries would also think this and therefore neglect this secluded spot, so perfect for an undisturbed ambush. It was with little expectation that I made my way. But three quarters of the way along my traitorous mind allowed hope to sneak in and make an appearance. This was the signal for Billy to appear, jabbing away at his mobile as soon as he saw me. Cursing my fatal dalliance with positivity I ran through the options, quickly discarding my violent, vengeful favourite. As the smallest member of the crew Billy was always the most likely target, but he was still a lot bigger than me. I decided to be quiet, not cause a fuss and hope they went easy on me. Even bullies needed to be on time sometimes. In fact I too could have done with being on time a bit more often. Mother was almost at the point of taking my truancy and tardiness letters to my dad. It must be a big issue given the fact she hid most things from him. All these thoughts were still spinning about my head as Jake arrived with Joe in tow.

Morning fuckface. he shouted amiably, Anything to say before I fuck you up?. Taken aback by the unusual invitation to speak, I hesitated. Didn't think so Jake smirked and quickly followed this up with a punch to my stomach. This was intended to catch me by surprise, but I'd been here before and tensed to the blow.

How much have you got today?

Not much. I said in a slightly defiant tone, brought on by my irritation at being caught speechless.

Sounds like attitude to me. What do we do with attitude, Joe?

Give it a good kicking Joe said gleefully. A quick response for a stupid boy, but only because this was a well rehearsed routine. And they did. Shoving me to the ground and aiming kicks at my body. Not for the first time I wished Al had been here as I curled in a ball.

Billy piled in with gusto, as if all the words beforehand had been entirely unnecessary. Edged out by Joe for a moment he moved up and kicked me in the neck. I choked and gripped my throat slightly theatrically.

Not the head! shouted Jake.

It was the neck grunted Billy indignantly.

You can still see it. Don't be so fucking stupid, what did I tell you. A look of fear crossed Billy's face and he took a step back. This I enjoyed and I considered adding to it, but sensibly chose to say nothing. This was the first time Jake had explicitly mentioned the no-head policy in my presence. I had suspected as much. As if sensing my thoughts Jake explained to Billy again whilst looking me straight in the eye. We don't want this nice little arrangement to end before it's begun do we now. Stating it aloud, so calmly, indicated the thought and effort that Jake had put into continuing this 'arrangement'. It was this more than anything which caused the sense of despair to wash over me, much more than any kick to my body.

They finished up quickly. At the time I put this down to Jake sensing he had a new victory having found a new way through my defences. Afterwards I rejected this as crediting Jake with too much intelligence and perception, although this was probably just part of my self-defence mechanism. I handed over one of my money pouches and they quickly discovered the backup, which earned me an elbow to the chest for not surrendering it immediately. A flicker of panic crossed my mind as they came close to discovering the third stash of cash. Not so much for the loss of funds, I had gone without lunch often enough, more for Jake’s reaction. He would not look kindly upon this additional deception. But it did remain hidden and it was all over quite quickly. I knew I had got off comparatively lightly, but I felt distinctly uneasy as Jake's words repeated in my head.

Chapter 2

Sticking with Al all day we successfully avoided them at break and lunch. Very few classes were shared with the thugs. I was not in top set for most classes, but the thugs were way down the academic ladder. Even Jake was low down in the academic ladder, his invention and planning reserved for activities outside of the classroom. Maths was the highlight, one of very few sessions I did look forward to.

Back at home mother found a bruise on my neck and freaked out. I didn't help by delivering a weak excuse she saw through immediately. I should have had something prepared, like irritation from contact with plant or insect. Why do the best answers always come far after the event? With nothing clever ready, I plumped for the traditional clumsy bump. The neck was not the most protruding of body parts and her expression told me she didn't believe it for a second.

Who did this? Were they trying to hurt you? For the second time today I cursed myself for not thinking quickly enough on my feet. Something was different, she was sharp, attentive and had that tone which suggested she was not going to let this go. It had been a while since I had heard that tone which was why I had not been expecting the third degree. She had been distant and far too easily accepting of my excuses for some time.

Well? What's wrong, cat got your tongue?

It's nothing, I jabbed myself putting my jacket on. Much better.

You said you bumped it...?

Bumped, jabbed, same difference. She stared at me as if the more intently she stared, the more likely she was to get to the truth.

I got another letter from the school today. I'm worried about you, what's going on? Ah, that explains the scrutiny. I hoped she wouldn’t take this to dad. I said nothing. It was amazing how adults thought they had to fill a silence. I had avoided answering many difficult questions by simply not saying a word.

Are you being bullied again? They had forced this out of me about six months previously, a few months after it had begun. I quickly learned that when you tell, nothing happens except an increase in violence when it all gets out. I really didn’t want another pep talk from dad.

It's nothing, honestly. I just need to slow down a bit. It was one of those vague phrases I often heard adults use as an explanation for many things. It seemed exceptionally weak to me but the other adults always seem to swallow it. So I gave it a go, and after a bit more intense staring she silently left it there.

Safely ensconced in my room again, lost in the world of Mystery Man, I heard the front door slam. Mystery Man was not your typical comic book hero, he was the greatest. He had no fundamental physical flaws which immediately rendered him vulnerable. His only weakness, and often also a strength, was his belief in anyone and everyone to do good, no matter how bad they had been in the past. It was usually what got him into most of his scrapes, and I was always screaming at him not to trust people. It was his unique and varied approach to extricating himself from these situations which caught the bad guys out and which kept me coming back for more. More often than not the best solution was not founded in physical strength, but in clever logic and lateral thinking, outsmarting even the cleverest of villains. This was important for someone like me who had very little physical strength.

The loudness of the door slam interrupted my enjoyment of the story, although I had read it several times before. There were two possible reasons for this level of door abuse, a bad day at work or mum had told him about the letters. I checked my watch, 7.43pm. That was early for dad, not much got in the way of his fourteen hour days at the bank. This didn't bode well, a bad day at work usually led to him being later not earlier. Which meant it was more likely to be...

Boy, get down here he shouted up the stairs. That was quick, no time spent talking between themselves. This suggested he had already seen the letters. Well, 'boy' can only be me as I had no brothers or sisters. So I steeled myself, remembering how uncomfortable this had been six months ago, and trudged down the stairs as slowly as I dare. Dad was sat with the offending pile of papers in front of him. He pointed at the chair directly opposite his, watching me intently as I sat down.

Five letters. He stated. I frowned, where had they all come from? The pile didn’t even include the two the school gave me to deliver by hand which had never quite arrived at their intended recipients. Five letters since our last chat. That’s not exactly what I was hoping for. I was hoping you would go to school every day and I wouldn’t hear about this truancy problem again. I didn’t know what to say. Again I should have had something prepared, but I had been lulled into a false sense of security by the letters given to me. I should not have assumed these would be the only correspondence. I made a mental note to prepare thoroughly for every eventuality in future so I would never be caught out again. Well? Answer me boy. What have you got to say for yourself? I sensed dad would get even more angry if I didn’t answer him, but I also knew that whatever I said next would define the rest of the discussion. All I could come up with were the same excuses I’d used before.

I er... I hadn’t done my homework for...

If you’re being bullied you must tell us. He leaned forward, locking his eyes on me.

We can help. Mother had entered the room silently behind me. I disagreed. They couldn’t help, but they could make things worse.

It really isn’t something you need to worry about...

Well that’s not what it looks like to me. He waved the letters at me menacingly. An idea came to me.

I have to deal with it my way, stand up to them! Essentially this was a repetition of dad’s advice from the previous chat. I hoped he would think I had taken this to heart and now had the right attitude.

You’re not standing up to them, you’re running away! He waved the letters even more violently.

From outside a cackle of laughter and whooping noises indicated the gang had returned. They should pass on by soon enough, but they would only do so if no-one reacted to them. Are these the little bastards doing this to you? He leapt up and peered out of the window. Dad didn’t seem to understand that the more you shouted at them the more they came back and the worse it got, getting more and more worked up wasn’t going to help. One of the boys outside pushed one of the smaller gang members heavily into the bush in our front garden. Such was the force he almost disappeared inside, causing the bush to sag and lean over. I prayed dad wouldn’t shout anything at them, but as soon as the thought entered my head he rapped on the window pane and started shouting threats at the teenagers in the street outside our home.

Some of these boys were indeed the kids who had been bullying me. They had found out where I lived, despite my best efforts, and then tried their best to extend the torture to my home. My bedroom was at the back of the house, so I was able to shut them out relatively easily. Mother also had a policy of not confronting them, preferring to spend most of her time in the kitchen at the back of the house, never straying too far from the medicine drawer. Dad rarely had to deal with the gang as they had usually got bored and moved on well before he arrived home from work. This was working fine, and I was hopeful that they would eventually stop coming once they realised they would not get any type of reaction. Even when they had thrown eggs at the house nobody had emerged and when they returned the next day they found a spotless house as before. Dad screaming at them was the worst thing he could do. In fact it was exactly what they wanted.

The exchange was predictable and escalated quickly. If dad thought a few strong words from an older man would send them running or command their respect he was quite wrong. After a few verbal exchanges through the window the boys started to get closer. One by one they all ended up in our tiny front garden, shouting and gesticulating at dad. He responded in kind until a large rock was launched from the back of the group, hurtling through the window, missing dad by inches. His surprise at this act stopped him mid-sentence. He turned to look at the large rock and the broken glass on our living room rug, dumbfounded for a few moments. I silently implored him to shut the curtains, turn out the light and retreat to the kitchen, but I knew he would not back down.

Come away from there! Mother squealed, but dad ignored her. He continued his tirade through the window whilst looking out for more flying objects. Mother started sobbing and backed out of the room. This was my opportunity to escape too and I took it without looking back.

I thanked the mob outside for releasing me from the sticky conversation with my father. There was some irony in all of this given the lecture I was being subjected to. If I had been thinking about the longer term consequences I would have worried about what my dad would do next. How the gang would step up the abuse and be here more often, what additional trouble this would cause me. But I was an expert at pushing such things to the back of my mind, I had to be. I knew they were there and I would have to deal with them, but now I would hide and pray I would not be disturbed again tonight. Mystery Man had been interrupted, I would start from the beginning to ensure I didn’t miss a thing. Little did I know I had seen my dad alive for the last time.

Chapter 3

12 years later.

In a dark, dilapidated estate in Northwood a row of five shops existed to serve the needs of the local community. On most evenings a gang of youths, aged between twelve and seventeen, hung out at the shops. Trips to other parts of the estate to defend their territory against other gangs gave the local residents short-lived respite from the torment the youths handed out to any passer by or patron of the shops.

On a dark evening in November Ryan, the leader of the gang known as ‘The Barebacks’, was surrounded by seven or eight members of his gang, a number which fluctuated over the course of the evening. Intimidation took on various forms but only happened when the victim or victims were outnumbered by at least three to one.

The owner of the off licence refused to serve the underage gang with alcohol, but he was on his own in standing up to them and suffered for it. He certainly never stopped them getting the booze. His wife served them when he was not looking to avoid trouble. When he was on duty they either harassed passers by to buy it on their behalf, or simply stole it. Both methods took place on this night. A man in his mid twenties handed over twelve cans of beer as he left the shop. This should have secured his release from the gang as agreed in advance. But they weren’t done with him yet.

Any change? asked Ryan.

You gave me the right money, you know you did, said the man, his expression quizzical, but also betraying his fear.

Don’t try and stiff me in my own backyard, bastard. Come on, where is it?

There is no change. Immediately the gang pressed in, several determined faces fixed on the man.

Show us the money. The man took a moment to consider his options and then bowed his head in defeat as he realised they didn’t look good. He produced a screwed up note and some coins. Is that it? Ryan looked around the bloke spotting the bag of his own purchases he was trying to hide behind his legs. As you’ve short-changed me I’ll have that too. Defiance flickered in the man’s eyes, but only for an instant before he realised an escape route had emerged and the gang was done with him. He trudged away wearily, leaving his bag of purchases behind, along with his dignity. As if to confirm their power the gang shouted insults after the man, but Ryan didn’t take part. He distributed the spoils and milked the appreciation his gang lavished upon him.

This scene was not unusual, far from it. No-one ever helped. Shops there did not prosper. There was no such thing as repeat business. The man would not come back.

Ryan popped into the off licence with one of the beers to taunt the owner whilst meticulously avoiding the areas covered by the CCTV cameras. Often the gang just smashed them. The video store had closed early and the owner of the off licence was thinking about it too. He did consider calling the police again, but not for long. He couldn’t be bothered waiting up several hours for them to arrive only to waste his time answering their stupid questions. That’s if they came at all.

Out front three unknown youths walked by, with no interest in visiting the shops. They had that familiar swagger of gang members. They were on the other side of the road so The Barebacks had to go to them. Ryan’s posse numbers just six, of which one was female. The odds were in their favour, but were not favourable enough for a full confrontation. As a result the encounter was little more than walking at a safe distance behind, exploring the full range of imaginative insults they had learnt and made up.

In return the three lads shouted their own favoured abusive messages, but were always walking backwards, maintaining the important gap between the groups. They were obviously from another gang but it was not clear which one as they had sensibly covered up any recognisable marks or colours for the trip outside of their territory. The Barebacks hated them regardless, but without knowing who they were, it was not clear what for. As a result, no one was up for a full skirmish. In effect The Barebacks were doing little more than escorting the unwanted visitors off their territory. Gang territories in this part of London were not large and when the boys got to the bridge over the dual carriageway both parties knew The Barebacks would go no further. After a few final obscene gestures the three disappeared into the neighbouring estate which was the HA6 gang’s territory. Ryan had not recognised any of the three yet they had entered the territory belonging to the gang Ryan hated the most. He wondered if the HA6s had increased their numbers.

Back at the shops the owner of the off licence had taken advantage of the brief moment of peace and quiet to close as quickly as possible. All was quiet with just the convenience store still open. When the gang returned there were just four of them left, showing all the signs of packing up for the night. It was late on a quiet night, there were unlikely to be rival gangs turning up, and with just one shop left open there wouldn’t be many more customers to harass. The real hell raising usually came at the weekend when The Barebacks gathered in greater numbers. They travelled beyond their own territory to find other gangs and chanting ‘Havoc!’ over and over again as they attacked people and property.

As the store closed and the booze ran out the gang dispersed. Ryan and his girlfriend Micheala walked to the back of the shops where his Vauxhall Corsa sat in the small car park intended to serve patrons. Customers never used it as there was not a lot of space among the burnt out wheelie bins and litter that the gang had spread around. Any parked cars were quickly broken into and vandalised, but Ryan’s car would always be safe. Everyone knew the car with it’s distinctive double spoiler sitting proudly about a foot higher than the roof of the car. On the side was the same graffiti tag as was found on the walls all around the estate. It was Ryan’s way of proclaiming his ownership of the area, and to him that included all those who dared to enter into it.

Behind the car park was a tall, dense hedge intended to separate the residential gardens on the other side from the comings and goings at the shops. The hedge also served to protect the gang’s many illegal activities from prying eyes, although these days it was more the fear factor which did the most to maintain the unwilling silence in local residents.

It was from this hedge that the dart emerged at speed, coming to rest embedded in Ryan’s right thigh producing a yelp from the boy. His right arm was around Michaela’s shoulders so it was quicker to reach across with his left hand to drag the dart out. As a result the dart came out at an angle and broke off about a third of the way up. Ryan squinted at the broken part of the dart, comparing it to the type you’d find in a game of darts.

What the... His sentence was cut off by a scream from Micheala as she too peered down at a dart jutting from her own thigh. Who the fuck? He shouted, and took a step towards the hedge. But it was an unsteady step and a look of surprise crossed his face as he realised his ability to walk was diminishing rapidly. Michaela started to wail as she tried tentatively to remove the dart. Ryan changed his objective and direction from the hedge to his car, which was around ten metres from where he stood. Three uncertain steps on and he crumpled to the floor. He shouted and screamed various insults, but there was not a lot of force behind them as his strength dissipated. His last word before he lost consciousness was a strangled No! Micheala was already an unmoving heap three steps back having succumbed more quickly.

When the two targets had been still and silent for a minute or so, a small figure dressed head to toe in black emerged from the bushes. He hesitated for a moment next to the prone body of Ryan as if he might be playing dead. He poked the body with his toe which seemed to satisfy him the body wouldn’t rise up and assault him. His concern was real as the man in black was several inches shorter and much slimmer than Ryan, who would certainly have made short work of him, given the chance.

A battered white van appeared and drove slowly towards the man in black, stopping right next to Ryan. A huge hulk of a man in black stepped down from the driver’s seat causing the van to pitch up as the weight on the driver’s side was suddenly removed. He slid open the side door of the van, handed a syringe to the smaller man and then launched Ryan’s body into the dark depths as if it was a carcass in an abattoir. The smaller man injected Micheala with the syringe and then both got into the van and drove away. In total the two men were in view for no more than a minute.

All was quiet and no-one emerged from the houses nearby, not even a curtain twitched. The locals had been well trained by Ryan and his gang not to interfere when they heard screams, shouts, swearing or broken glass. They were normal sounds for this time of night, and even looking out of a window at the wrong time could have resulted in smashed windows and the inevitable ongoing abuse. So no-one came to Ryan’s aid, and all that remained to indicate anything out of the ordinary was Micheala’s body.

Chapter 4

The first sensation Ryan had when he woke up was how very cold he was. He immediately started to shiver which quickly removed the fog of sleep which was preventing him from making sense of the unusual situation he found himself in. With his eyes open and certain he was not dreaming he hoisted himself onto his elbows to see what was going on. With the movement a second physical sensation came to him – pain. His muscles ached and he recognised the dull feeling of bruises in several places. It was usually Ryan giving these out, but he had received enough of them in his time to