Chapter 8

Gladstone Avenue was dead quiet at two in the morning. There weren’t many houses with their lights on. The only movement on the street was coming from the property Tatiana entered earlier. I still wasn’t one-hundred per cent she lived there. I walked past the house, taking a quick glimpse into the front garden. The two bold goons I saw earlier were still standing by the front door. They were guarding the entrance like a couple of bouncers outside a nightclub. I carried on walking down the street. When I was sure I was far enough from being noticed, I went to the opposite side of the road. I walked back, my vision glued on the two goons.

I did a quick scan of the two properties opposite the house. One of them had a thick hedge. It would have made it difficult for me to look through the big bushes. The other had a couple of recycling bins in the front garden. I could use them to hide behind. When I was certain no one was looking, I went into the garden, crouching behind the large bins. I checked the house behind me, which I was intruding, making sure the owners didn’t see me. The last thing I needed was someone calling the police. How do you explain yourself? When you get caught trespassing in someone’s garden at two in the morning. There were no lights on, upstairs or downstairs. It was safe. When I was sure I wasn’t disturbing anyone, I concentrated on what was happening across the street.

It didn’t take long to figure out what was going on with the two goons. Cars would drive past, stopping outside the house. One of the goons would walk up to the vehicle. He would exchange words with the driver or passenger. They would finish the encounter with a handshake before the car drove off. The handshake wasn’t a standard hand gesture. It was an exchange of money for drugs.

The two thugs were selling drugs to the public. For an hour I watched them and studied every move they made. They would take turns approaching the cars. Every time one of them would stay at the front door, guarding the entrance. The short time I was there, I counted twenty-two cars, almost two dozen. Cannabis, Cocaine, Meth or Ecstasy, I wasn’t sure yet what they were selling. For them, it was easy money. What were the neighbours doing, why didn’t they call the police? I guess it was fear that is why.

It was time to make my move. In my right hand, I held the baton tight. My other hand I turned it into a fist. My adrenaline was rising. I could feel my heart- rate pumping faster. One of the goons had finished with a deal. The car started moving, a few seconds later it disappeared down the street. The thug began to walk back to his comrade. I revealed myself from behind the recycle bins. Crossing the road, I walked towards the house. The goon guarding the front door saw me. He nodded to his friend who had his back to me.

“Behind you Charlie,” the thug said, standing by the door.

Charlie turned and smiled. He thought it was another customer. He started to make his way back to the gate. We both met at the entrance. He stood on the inside holding the gate, and I stood on the outside, my right-hand holding the baton behind my back.

“What’s up bro,” Charlie said.

“I’ve come back,” I said.

“Well if it isn’t the pussy,” he said. Turning to his comrade, he shouted, “Hey Jack, the pussy is back!” Turning back to face me, I didn’t give him the chance to say anything else.

I wanted to do this quickly. Do what I needed to do and be out of there in less than five minutes.

I swung the baton across his face. There was a loud crunch. It was the sound of his jaw breaking. Bringing the weapon back, I forced it across his face a second time. With the second strike, he collapsed over the gate. Jack charged at me, gritting his teeth. I leapt over the gate. Once my feet were back on the ground, I went into a roll, whirling the baton towards the charging goon, smashing it into his kneecap. He went face first onto the pavement.

He started screaming, “You broke my fucking knee, you bastard.” It was what I wanted, whoever was in the house to hear him?

Just as I predicted the front door than the gate flew open, two more goons appeared. One of them had a baseball bat and the other a knife. The one with the bat charged first. What does one do with a bat? He swings it. What do you do when someone swings something at you? You duck as fast as you can. I dodged the bat by moving back. The second swing I ducked, forcing the baton on his leg. His leg folded, his body collapsed a heap onto the pavement. He was in agony, screaming from the pain. The one with the knife ran back into the house. The mistake he made, he forgot to close the front door behind him.

Grabbing the baseball bat, I rushed into the house to encounter another member of the gang. He was steaming down the stairs. This one had a chain in his hand. I threw the bat low, towards his legs, at the same time I manoeuvred to the right. The bat caught his shin. He tumbled down the stairs, going head first into the front door frame, knocking himself out.