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by Charlie Wade

As Kenny pulled onto the slip road, he checked his rear view mirror. The black Ford behind hadn’t indicated. He shook his head; the car hadn’t been following, just keeping to the speed limit as Kenny was.

He looked at his glove box as the car neared the top of the ramp: a car waiting and what looked like a motorbike in front. He checked his mirror again: the Ford had stayed on the dual carriageway.

Top of the ramp, he stopped. The motorcyclist was off his bike, standing next to it, staring at the stopped car. Kenny checked his glove box and rear view mirror again; nothing untoward. Looking again, the bike was actually a moped: 50cc piece of crap. The rider, just a lad, seventeen top, was shaking his head, his arms flailing at the window of the stopped car.

Kenny checked his mirror again then looked at the car. No passengers, just a driver; blonde hair, fairly long. Looking in the car mirror the driver reflected was definitely a she; maybe late twenties, maybe older. The moped rider was still waving his hands around, also walking towards the driver window.

“Don’t need this.”

He checked his mirror and glove box again as the moped rider reached the car window. Banging on it. The woman inside, mobile phone clasped to her head, moved out of the way. Kenny knew he couldn’t see tears from where he was, but she was crying. He knew she was scared shitless.

She tried to pull away but the rider jumped in front of the car. Arms spread wide. Helmet visor open as he shouted.

Kenny took one last look in the mirror and at the glove box before pulling the baseball bat from under his seat. If she’d rung the police he’d have a few minutes, maybe more. She might have already rung them — this being the second, more urgent call. Outside, no sirens as he walked around the back of the car.

“What do you want?” The lad. Cocky, still waving his arms about, he hadn’t seen the bat.

“Let’s just calm down. What’s happened?”

“She tried to run me off the fucking road, that’s what happened.”

Kenny turned. Saw not only the tears in her eyes, but noticed she’d seen the bat. He waved her on. “Go, just go.”

“She ain’t going nowhere,” the lad said.

“I think she is.” He pulled the bat from behind his back. “We’re having a chat.”


Kenny got back in his car and drove on. He’d have to swap cars again; two witnesses, both would report what they’d seen, one from the safety of her home, the other from a hospital bed. Both had seen his face and wouldn’t forget it.

He looked again at the glove box. He hoped its contents were worth it.

Charlie Wade is a 40-year-old finance manager. Born in Oxfordshire, he’s lived on the edge of the Peak District in Derbyshire for the past 11 years. He spends his spare time reading, writing or at the allotment. He’s written three novels and many short stories. His debut novel, Seven Daze, was published by Caffeine Nights in 2013. www.charlie-wade.com.