A Quick Lesson In Happy Slapping

Dogfrog
It’s an interesting concept. A device that makes all hell break loose at the touch of a button. If you could invent one, it would destroy the world, probably through a series of pub fights. Everyone would want one in the office, to cover up the fact that you've been stealing stationery or banging the secretary, at home - to get out of the washing up or mowing the lawn, in the pub - when its your round or you’ve looked at someone the wrong way. You push the button and fights break out spontaneously. Lovers quarrel and seethe, pets bite and fly, paper spreads itself like confetti, all the lights go out and the photocopier stops working.
That night it felt like I had one in my hand at the country club. We'd moved inside from the patio. Beth had gone off to look for some drinks. I was stood around looking at the dozens of self congratulatory club members, thinking for the first time in my life, that I could be the best dressed person in a room. I spotted Bamber, the golf pro, looking casual dumb; he was holding that rat-like dog that belonged to his wife. And what was going on with his hair? Photo-opp I thought and I touched the button.

Beth
OK confession time. Me and Bamber did have a 'thing' once. It makes me sick to think about it now. He's a dirty fucker. It's laughable that he has the word 'professional' in his job title. Soon as he saw me tonight, my bet is that he made any old excuse to get away from his wife. I had never gave him what he asked for back then; In some ways I wish I had, perhaps he'd leave me alone from time to time. The worse thing is when he comes into get his hair cut. He came into the shop this morning. Bamber talks dirty and makes sure I notice he’s got hard. I grunt, nod and try and give him a truly bad hair cut. He’s so obsessed, he never even looks in the mirror. As soon as I see that hand reach around the chair to try and touch my arse, I jab his hand with the scissors. I charge him triple.
Tonight he caught me off guard. Out on the patio, he span me round and shoved his tongue down my throat. I could have bitten it off. Instead I squeezed his balls hard. He was still holding that rat between us. Eventually he let go.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shout-whispered.
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me?”
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“Why don’t you just give me what I want?”
“Go fuck yourself Bamber.”
“I wish.” He turned to go back into the party adjusting his trousers.
“Oh and Bamber.”
“What? Change your mind.”
“I think I felt a lump down there, you want to get that checked out.”

Mike
You don’t need me to tell you that Ray is a crazy bastard. He’s unbalanced. I mean that sometimes he goes too far, sometimes he doesn’t go far enough. That’s unbalanced isn’t it? And if anyone knows how to tip the scales, it’s Beth.

Dogfrog
At first I thought the flash had startled the dog. Then again I'm not so sure. I don't think Bamber saw it coming. Looking at the photo now I can see that it's not surprise in his eyes, it's terror.

Ray
That hasn’t happened for a while, the red mist I mean. I must be feeling better. It’s amazing the inspiration that anger gives you. I think I know how these sick bastards who torture people feel. It’s not about the torture it’s about being creative. I can tell you exactly how I came up with the idea, it was like a chain reaction. I knew I had to do something.
Where am I? At the club. What kind of club is it? A golf club. What do golf clubs have? Balls, clubs, greens, bunkers, all this was running through my mind like a runaway National Express coach with a blocked toilet. And then it came to me.

Beth
I was at the bar.

Mike
I was watching from the bushes. It was nothing to do with me.

Dogfrog
I took the photo.

Ray
I hotwired a mini tractor full of fertilizer and reversed it through the patio doors of the club.

Dogfrog
Bamber, stunned by the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass, fell backwards on the shiny tiled floor.

Beth
As soon as I heard all the noise, I turned away from the bar. I think I smelt it before it registered what had happened. Bamber was on his back trying to crab his way backwards. His slip-ons provided no grip on the Italian marble floor as two tonnes of golf course fertilizer slid off the back of the trailer until he was literally up to his neck in shit. One Rolexed hand held the rat in the air, like a man saving his pint as he falls into a swimming pool. The rat was licking his face.

Dogfrog
I took another photo. One for the paper.

Mike
Ray stepped down off the tractor, wiped his hands down his jeans and uttered those immortal words, “Right Michael, time to fucking leg it.”

Ray
We legged it across the golf course. On the way, Mike said I’d gone too far this time. Makes a fucking change I said.

Dogfrog
I looked over at Beth. She smirked whilst everyone around her either backed away, or froze in abject indecisiveness. She signalled for me to make for the back stairs. This was the diversion we had been hoping for.