Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Fifteen

Several things occurred to me in quick succession, each realization progressively worse than the last. Firstly, the dazzling light from the full beam headlamps of my car were extinguished as if on cue with the protesting screech of rusty gates swinging shut behind me.

After using a length of scaffolding pipe to wedge the escape route closed, two figures moved towards me with clear menace in their stride. They dressed in identical fashion, with almost absurdly baggy black hoodies obscuring their build and drawn up tight over their heads.

Beneath the overhang of the hoods, the faces of both individuals appeared to be obscured by better-than-average party shop masks; one a lion, its plastic moulded mane resplendent, the other a rosy cheeked princess I found especially disconcerting as it covered the face of either a very large man, or a small female giraffe.

"Hello, can I help you?" I called, feeling like a fool but nothing else came to mind.

I turned at the familiar sound of my car's doors clunking closed to see two more hooded characters approaching me, having disembarked. Cat and Frog masks staring from beneath hoods with menacing implacability.

This, it seemed, was no chance encounter. These four people had not moved my car because it was blocking in their camper van and holding up a fancy dress road trip. This was intentional and bore all the sickening hallmarks of a trap.

I wondered briefly whether this might be Mr. Peterson out to exact revenge for missing out on the clock at the auction, but that seemed pretty unlikely. He couldn't have known which car was mine, and I doubted the world of antique collecting was so competitive that its participants travelled with three incognito lackeys ready to jump anyone who outbid them.

I tucked the worn leather case more firmly under my armpit and assessed my options.

The gate was closed, and it would take me precious seconds to unjam it, during which time my apparent assailants could make a cup of tea, compose a thoughtful haiku, then beat the shit out of me.

I quickly ruled out the chances of getting out that way.

I scanned the yard. I had only moments before some of the four would be within striking distance. I wasn't sure that they had striking in mind, but it most assuredly felt like they did, and I didn't want to hang around to find out.

Dotted around the area were several mounds of twisted metal from a series of semi- and fully disassembled cars, trailers, white goods, and other assorted long-abandoned crap in the process of being broken down. Some were an irretrievable tangle of rust that might have been there since Stephenson woke his wife up with an idea about a rocket that didn't cause her to complain of a headache. These sank lower and outward over time like a melting jelly at the end of a summer barbecue. Others stood proud, some up to two-and-a-half metres high.

I chose a suitable looking gap between piles stacked against the outer fence and ran for it. If these four people wished to do me harm, their greatest advantage was the ability to come at me from several directions at once. I had no chance remaining between them, but if I could get between the mounds of metal, I would have a fence at my back and my flanks would be somewhat covered by the scrap. My attackers would have to come at me from the same direction, my front, and in so doing would get in each other's way to a degree. I might even be able to scale the chain link using one of the ramshackle piles as a platform.

Notorious and apocryphal pub hardmen were often said to exclaim the battle cry "One at a time, or all at once!" to the crowded bar full of opponents. This was a losing tactical proposition.

I definitely preferred one at a time, and preferably not at all. My only chance of getting favourable odds was to make it ten metres across the broken ground of the breaker's yard before any of them got to me.