The Settling Dust Collects Around Your Ankles

My act of complicity had earned me a new friend. I had fully expected Billy to threaten and instruct me in the finer details of his personally administrated witness protection program. This would, I imagine, protect him from any dangerous witness that may endanger his freedom. He stepped around the brawling throng fists still clenched. To my surprise, he was altogether pleasant, apart from the smell. He insisted he buy me a drink and suggested we catch up. We left the ensuing fracas and Clive tagged along, upwind. As we walked towards the Dog and Frog I somehow knew that this encounter would end with the words “No hard feelings eh?” and Billy feeling a little bit better about himself.

Billy from the outset was set on telling me and anyone who would listen about some of his greatest fist fights. Clive who had clearly been at, if not instigated most of them, gilded each haymaker and broken jaw with a rundown of the victim’s injuries and if at all possible ongoing medical treatment. Billy intrigued me. His wild and brutish appearance was balanced by the generosity of spirit and the humour with which he bestowed his violence. With every swing and swipe, I gathered that Billy couldn’t resist the urge to verbalise his innermost joy.

“The things he says,” Clive was almost in tears, “Last week he squares up to this kiddie from up the road, winds up a nutcracker and says ‘Tallyho!” The barman, Clive and a few locals exploded in laughter all around me. “I reckon he thinks it’ll just sound better in court.”

“So how come those two goons, came in? Did they hurt you?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“They were trying to get out the back.” Clive said.

“What’s out the back?”

“Well nothing. That’s the funny thing.” Clive and his cider leant in and he whispered. “Everyone thinks there is something out the back but in reality it’s just a big room with an old boxing ring and some training equipment, a bog standard boxing gym.”

“So why did they think we have it?” Billy asked.

“I guess Pinky and Perky just put two and two together and came up with five. I mean we don’t have it.” Said Clive.

“Have what?” I tried to butt in.

“I bet that fooker up the book shop said we’d got it. He’s not forgiven you yet.”

“He knows we wouldn’t have anything like that.”

“Like what?” Billy and Clive turned and faced me simultaneously. The barman grabbed a newspaper from behind the bar and planted a firm finger on the front page. I looked down as everyone within earshot of the conversation said at once.

“The golf buggy!”