“Get the buggers. Show ‘em they can’t come messing ‘round our patch,” one of them shouted.
There were shouts of “It’s them bloody foreigners; snooping where they aint wanted.”
He caught a glimpse as Bob swung a punch at their assailants. In no time they were both engaged in what his father would have called a rough house brawl. Ralph felt a rush of adrenaline as he felled one of them with the torch. Must be about eight of them, he thought, as he kicked out at one. He managed to shoulder charge another who went flying backwards into a ditch at the side of the road. He saw Bob trying to get one of them off his back while he gripped one of the others around the neck. Someone kicked him on the shin. When he swung around, he found himself face to face with what looked like a 300 pound gorilla who had been trying to weigh him down by climbing on his back. An elbow in the giant’s fat stomach put a stop to that. Ralph wondered how they would escape before they were battered to death. He considered their chances if they tried to make a run for it. He had no qualms about making a swift retreat no matter how undignified, but the odds were stacked against them and time was not on their side. Suddenly everyone froze as the wail of a police siren pierced the night air. When the squad car came to a halt next to the milieu, its flashing blue light cast a surreal pattern over the scene. Ralph stood there gasping for breath as he let his assailant slump to the ground.
“Can I help you lads?” asked the young PC as he got out of the car and slowly walked up to them. He carefully put on his cap and surveyed the mayhem.
“Just a friendly,” said a voice from the dark. “These two blokes aren’t from ‘round ‘ere an’ they were askin’ fer directions.” Someone laughed.
The policeman came closer and looked directly at a tall man who was holding a wrench.
“You’d best be on your way gents. It’s late and ‘National hate crime week’ is finished. Strangers don’t count as a threatened minority especially as we want the tourist trade now beef and wheat prices are down.” The gang of local self-styled vigilantes laughed self-consciously.
One lone PC had handled brilliantly what could have been a dangerous situation.
“Get this road cleared, and off to bed, you lot. I’ve got an early start, and I expect some of you’ve the same.” The young PC climbed back into his car and waited while vehicles were reversed and maneuvered and the road was clear before he drove off. Bob climbed back in the Land Rover and grinned at Ralph.
“Great story for someone, but not with me as editor and participant.” They both laughed, but Ralph felt an anger inside him.
The adrenaline was still pumping, his wrist ached and his knuckles were sore. They had been set up and he knew who was at the bottom of it.
“That bullying session had Fred Bishop written all over it. We need to get over to Long Acre Farm and beard the bugger in his den,” he shouted at Bob.
Bob had always seen Ralph as one of the most laid back people he had come across. This was a side of Professor Chalmers that he had not seen before.
“Let’s just leave it, Ralph. No broken bones; just one of those things.”
“I’d rather settle this now, Bob. I don’t want to have to creep around every time I come over this way. We know that Fred Bishop was selling drugs and I think that he knows more about Daniel Kaminsky and that bike accident than he’s letting on. He’s expecting us to slink off into the bushes and lick our wounds. If we confront him now, he might just crack and tell us everything he knows. You might even get a lead on your ‘Mr Big’.”
Bob could see the logic. He also saw that Ralph was determined. Without a word he swung the Land Rover around and headed for Long Acre Farm.
There were no welcoming dogs this time, but the lights shone from the kitchen window.
Ralph dispensed with the niceties and barged straight in. Fred Bishop and his daughter sat in front of a few logs that sputtered in the fireplace. A kettle hung from a hook over the logs. It was a miserable scene.
Fred jumped up.
“Wot the heck. You was meant to be ----.” He stopped in mid-sentence and starred at them.
“Dad?” said Ann.
“You set it up to have us thrashed,” said Ralph. “We saw you dealing drugs at the pub, Fred; no use denying it. Tell me, Fred, was Daniel Kaminsky one of your customers?”
He hadn’t rehearsed it, but after their confrontation with the youths in the lane, he was in no mood for procrastination. They had narrowly avoided being beaten up.
Ann grabbed her father’s arm. “You never told me you was sellin’ stuff to my Danny.”
“I never mean’t to go that far,” Fred whined.”
Ralph stepped closer to Bishop.
“Was Daniel on drugs when he crashed his bike? You might as well tell me the truth; the police’ll find out sooner or later.”
Fred Bishop slumped into a chair and stared at the smoldering logs. Then he started to talk. He told them how he had supplied drugs to youths in the area for a couple of years. He said that Daniel had boasted to him that he would marry Ann whether Fred approved or not and that they would go away together. Fred said that it made him really angry and that he wanted a way to get rid of Daniel once and for all. He said that his supplier had come over from Ireland with some heroin that was meant to be a lot stronger and faster acting than the usual stuff and he had
