Tube Riders, The by Chris Ward Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t ride anymore he usually took it to St. Cannerwells with him as a kind of ceremonial memento, but after riding this morning he had gone home first. The others carried theirs everywhere like a badge, but Paul found the extra weight unnecessary, especially when he met Owen after school.
    He reached out for whatever he could find, and his hands closed over the bent wheel of an old bicycle. He pulled it in front of him like a shield, unsure how much use it would be against the looter’s pipe.
    ‘You boys got any money?’ the looter said, voice slurring a little. He smacked the pipe into his palm. ‘That looks like a school bag you’ve got there. Hand it over and I won’t fuck you up too bad.’
    Paul heard the sounds of sirens in the distance. ‘Back off,’ he said. ‘The police are coming, and probably the DCA. They’ll get you.’
    ‘Those fucking idiots? No chance. Not before you and your gay little brother here bite it.’
    Paul’s heart was thumping. The bicycle wheel shook in his hands. He wasn’t much of a fighter; he had other means he used to get out of most trouble. He had no idea what to do if the man came for him, but so long as Owen got away...
    Something grey flew past his face. The triangle of concrete hit the looter’s shoulder, throwing him off balance. He grunted and swung the pipe at Paul, who managed to half block it with the bicycle wheel. He stumbled sideways against the alley wall and the bicycle wheel fell out of his hands. He started to raise his hands in a useless gesture of defense, but then Owen was beside him, something metallic in his hands. His brother screamed a war cry and jabbed his weapon at the looter’s stomach. There was a meaty squelch. The looter gasped and stumbled, then Owen was stabbing him again. Paul grabbed the man’s metal pipe and landed a weak punch on the man’s cheek. The looter went down. His hands clutched at the screwdriver handle that protruded at an odd angle from a wet hole in his t-shirt.
    Owen wasn’t done. While Paul watched in horror, his brother grabbed the discarded metal pipe and slammed it down on the man’s nose. Blood sprayed across Paul’s shoes and he jerked back out of the way. ‘Jesus Christ, Owen–’
    ‘Come on!’ Owen shouted. ‘We’ve got to get out of here! The pigs are coming!’ He kicked the looter square in the face, and Paul was dismayed to see a couple of the man’s teeth fall loose. ‘Fuck you, man!’ Owen shouted and aimed to kick the looter again but Paul dragged him backwards.
    ‘Owen, what did you do…?’
    ‘Nothing he didn’t deserve. Now let’s get out of here.’
    Owen tugged on his arm and Paul let himself be dragged away. Behind them, the looter groaned, trying to pull the screwdriver free. Paul was sure that would only cause the flow of more blood, speeding up his fate.
    His brother had effectively just killed a man.
    They dashed out of the alley, crossed the street and slipped through a small city park, overgrown with weeds and with pulled-up swings lying on their sides across the path. On the other side of the park they slipped down a quieter residential street, then another, and finally the sirens and the shouts of the looters were gone or too distant to fear.
    Paul stopped and grabbed his brother’s arm. He swung Owen round to face him. While he knew his brother had maybe saved them both, he was angry.
    ‘What did you do back there, Owen? Is that what Mum or Dad would want from you?’
    ‘Someone had to do something,’ Owen looked at his shoes, a kid again.
    ‘That man might die because of what you did!’
    ‘No, Paul. He’ll probably die. I say fuck him. Eye for an eye, Paul,’ Owen said, looking up, his eyes defiant.
    Paul flicked his ear. ‘Don’t get cocky with me! I know what he did, but that doesn’t excuse you. Look at the mess this country’s in. Perhaps if people just stopped hurting each other–’
    ‘The government wouldn’t have to worry. They could just continue to