Going Underground

Chapters Twenty-six to Thirty

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TURNING BLUE        

                 For Jonathan, the prospect of having to scoop up a dead man’s ashes was almost as bad as losing them altogether, so the relief he felt when he did manage to spot something in the undergrowth only one hundred per cent intensified, thanks to the fact that Malcolm’s urn was, praise the Lord, still in one piece.

                 He respectfully stood aside to allow The Ace Face the honourable task of retrieving it.  Albeit, in underestimating the extent of the injury to his travel companion’s bleeding hand and it wasn’t long before he essentially wished he hadn’t.  The Ace Face’s damaged prehensile subsequently and unexpectedly failed to take the casket’s weight and before Jonathan knew it, Malcolm’s remains were once again on their way back to hitting the ground.  And this time, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that the urn would, indeed, smash into smithereens if he, himself, didn’t do something about it.

                 “Nooo!” he yelled, as everything around him suddenly seemed to move in slow motion and as he lunged forward in a heart stopping, goal keeper like, penalty save, he only just managed to catch it before it landed on the floor.

                 “You need to get that seen to mate,” he exhaled, his relief almost tangible as he took a moment, before getting back to his feet.

                 “What a mess...” he said of their predicament, looking from the mangled scooter to The Ace Face to Mickey P. 

                 Saying that, at least Mickey P.’s pallor had returned to a more healthy shade of pink, he was glad to note, signalling enough of a recovery for him to be able to at least take some interest in what was going on. 

                 “We need to get him to hospital,” he said, although quite how they were going to do that was something of a dilemma. 

                 On the one hand, with Mickey P. in charge of the Lambretta and The Ace Face clearly unable to take responsibility for the Vespa, Jonathan knew he would’ve had to have been an idiot not to realise what that meant.  However, on the other hand, he was also aware he hadn’t been behind the handle bars of a scooter for nigh on twenty-five years; not that now was the best instance in which to be thinking about that time of his life. 

                 He thought back to the heartfelt promise he’d made to Melanie all those years ago and suddenly felt the colour begin to drain from his own face.  No, now’s definitely not the time, he re-iterated; particularly as it seemed he was going to have to break his word and do the exact opposite of what he’d previously vowed.

                 Still, there was the option of flagging down the next motorist that came along to consider, he grasped, hopeful.  But with The Ace Face’s hand still oozing blood the way it was and no guarantee that a Good Samaritan was going to pass by any time soon, he had to admit it was fair to say that probably wasn’t the best course of action. 

                 Which is why you’re just gonna have to get on and do it, he reluctantly told himself, at the same time trying his utmost to ignore the fact that he desperately didn’t want to. 

                 So come on, Jonathan, he instructed.  What are you waiting for?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ONE STEP BEYOND

                 Much to each and every customer’s surprise, Tracey suddenly burst through the doors of the greasy spoon cafe and began hastily scanning the room for the ‘Ladies’.