Boosting - Chapter 31

"Who the hell are you?" Andy asked Joe.

"Erm…a gatecrasher?" Joe ­lamely responded, looking towards Fenton and lifting his chin slightly. "What's goin' down, dudes?"

Bobbie's head came out to take a quick look, full of hope, but when she saw only Joe there she went back under cover.

Andy didn't even bother to consult with Pete this time. He just looked around at the other men to confirm they were looking to him for a lead and nodded. Moving in one mass wave, the men, except for Pete, descended. Taken by surprise, Joe skipped back with his palms up, "Whoa! What's the problem, I've no argument with you guys!"

"We're finishing this now, Pete!" Andy spat and joined his colleagues.

Fenton could see Joe was trying to reason with them, but he'd made a bad judgement call. If his plan had been to distract the men and win them some time, he'd achieved that all right…but at what cost?

Joe's stance was now defensive; he'd pushed one leg back, widening his bearing to improve his balance, and had raised both hands in readiness – although still to curl them into weapons. Through a gap between the men, Fenton and his son connected briefly before Joe ran his tongue along his teeth, set his jaw and finally fisted up.

He went into action, launching first rather than waiting for someone to make the initial move, preferring to be the aggressor. He turned to the largest of the group, took a couple of half running steps and hit out with a solid, thunderous roundhouse, driving the man back and onto his butt with a punch as hard as brick. The power of that single punch stopped two of the men in their tracks, his brutish strength disquieting them for an instant.

Joe followed up by bringing the arm back into a backhand slug to the next man's jaw, slamming him hard – although this time he didn't drop his victim, it did spin him.

Fenton predicted that although Joe appeared to be holding the upper hand, it was unlikely to remain as he was slowly being flanked – one man was moving round behind and the man he'd felled was already getting to his feet and looking plenty pissed. Fenton started to desperately free himself. There was some give to the rope, but he was far from being liberated.

The next man fronted up to Joe and made a move to grab and wrest him to the ground, but Joe latched onto his wrist, twisted and trapped it into his armpit. Using a flat palm, the younger Hardy followed the line of the man's arm to travel straight up and chop him in the neck, the man gasped and staggered as Joe carelessly tossed him away by the throat into the path of the man he'd first punched, knocking him down again. Joe immediately made for his next intended victim: One-arm.

"Joe! Look out behind you, son!!!" Fenton bellowed.

Starting to turn, Joe was possibly in time to register the danger, but wasn't in time to stop it. Andy had stepped forward and was swinging his clenched hand into the small of Joe's back, his recent operation scar right on target. The punch came in devastatingly hard, crippling and expelling all the air from his lungs. Joe dropped to his knees and Andy ensured he carried on to the ground with a savage booted shove to his back. Triumphant cries preceded the men surrounding Joe as they began kicking. All Fenton could see now of his son were his thrashing legs.

Throughout, Pete had been yelling for the men to stop, but his words had failed to cut through – or no one was taking any notice. Fenton could see that Pete was getting desperate, that he'd have to do something soon to reinstate his tattered position within the group. Pete spun around and looked down at Fenton seeing him as the one instrument he could use to restore his standing.

"Stop struggling!" Pete shouted, dipping and grabbing Fenton by the scruff of the neck and shaking him hard. "Stay still!"

"You don't want to do this!" Fenton said as Pete's hand twitched for the gun.

Bobbie lost hold of her senses and started screaming shrilly and desperately, and Frank limped into view, holding up his cell phone. "I'm gonna phone the cops!"

"What the—?" Fenton gazed at him, his mouth dropping. Until this point, he'd been assuming Joe was working alone, so he hadn't seen this bombshell comin'! Neither had any of the other men luckily, and Frank's surprise appearance had caused them to stop beating on Joe for the moment.

Frank lifted his stick and gave Pete a jab. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is assault and unless you stop, I'm calling the cops."

Pete looked at the stick and then panned slowly back up at Frank. And then Fenton knew, just knew, that Pete would use Frank rather than him to prove his point. This was a flash point he wasn't sure his oldest was in a mental state to handle. Pete made a face that Fenton didn't like. Fenton cursed.

One-arm decided that Frank wasn't a threat, began laughing and went back to kicking Joe.

"You asked for it!" Frank yelled at the gang and started dialling.

Immediately, Pete yanked the stick from Frank's fingers, tossed it, and went after him. Frank tried to get out of the way, but wasn't dexterous enough to move quickly and his knee gave. He fell back, reaching out for the first thing to steady himself: Pete. They both went down in a heap with Frank beneath.

As Fenton suspected, Frank wasn't ready for this, illustrated by one arm being wrapped protectively across his face while the other reaching out to push Pete away. "Get off me!" Obviously the clash with the Pandora Posse and what had been done to Frank at their hands was still too fresh and raw.

Pete forced Frank's arm down and held it firmly against the ground.

Panicked, Frank tried to utilise his phone again, but it was quickly dispatched from his fingers by a swift hit.

"I gotta stop this," Fenton muttered and started trying to free himself again. Bobbie now silent beside him, frozen but watching.

Frank held onto the man's jacket and said one single pathetic word: "Please!"

Pete started punching down into Frank's scarred face.

*****

Minutes earlier:

"He threw me! I can't believe he threw me again – we had a pact dammit, a pact!" Frank lay in the dumpster and hit out at the boxes covering him, unable to have seen Joe's departure. He'd not even had the opportunity to negotiate with his thick-headed brother as that damned cardboard had enveloped him the instant he'd landed. But he knew Joe had gone, the "Later, Dude…" had given it away.

The frustrated punches caused Frank to slip even further – a full two feet before he felt able to start struggling free – and a struggle it was, akin to being in recyclable quicksand! Every time he put his left leg out to thrust himself up, his foot slipped and he didn't have anything firm to grip onto for leverage.

He growled and dug with his left hand, unable to use the other as he still had hold of his precious walking stick. Eventually, with some effort, he found he'd shifted enough to see sky. His legs were angled lower than his body; so effectively he was now sitting on the boxes. He could also see the edge of the dumpster so he javelined his stick out with the intention of retrieving it later.

Suddenly­, Frank saw the funny side of his predicament – a mental image of him being tossed into the dumpster entered and made him chortle. Frank understood exactly why Joe had done it and he couldn't bring himself to be angry any more.

But, Joe was underestimating him, was worrying too much. Yes Frank hadn't been well – still wasn't – but he'd been feeling heaps better after a couple of decent sleeps and his thinking processes were so much clearer. Although his leg was useless, there was so much the rest of his body and brain could accomplish. He wasn't as weakened as Joe believed.

Throughout his musing, Frank had been continuing work on the boxes, picking and throwing them to one side and over his shoulder until he'd cleared a section of floor. He placed his foot down on to Terra-firma, followed gingerly by his right.

It was when he was finally facing the sidewall that he started hearing yelling coming from the direction Joe had gone. They were a mixture of shouts – some jeering, others panicking and pleading. Fretful, worrying noises.

Frank reached up and gripped the lip of the dumpster, gritted his teeth and did a pull-up, feeling the effects of not having used a gym for so long. He slowly lifted until his shoulders came level with the top, put his forearms down and wriggled until he was on his stomach. Finally, he allowed himself to roll and drop down to the ground, break-falling as he landed. He came to a stop right next to his walking stick. "Skill!"

He was back on his feet and reaching for his stick when he heard his father's voice clearly shout out: "Joe! Look out behind you, son!!!" his head snapped towards where the noises which had now become a heckling roar. He scooped up the stick and he did an awkward, half dragging run towards the noise, which was emanating from an open area just ahead of him.

Frank was in time to watch Joe disappear under a mass of flaying limbs – at least he thought it was Joe, it was only confirmed by his father's reaction, which was to start to shout and struggle. The girl – who he assumed was Bobbie – was curled into a frightened ball.

The man guarding his father bent and pulled Fenton by the collar aggressively and began shaking him, his head rocking back and forth with the force of the violent action. Then Fenton said, "no, you don't want to do this!" and the man's hand was dancing over something in his pocket…a gun! The girl started screaming, guessing his intention.

All the above observations were downloaded and processed in Frank's mind in a millisecond and one of his madcap plans began to formulate and upload. The type of counteraction Frank was often forced to go with because his brother would go off on a whim, reacting on impulse alone. Frank was surprised; he thought that aspect of his personality was gone, lost amongst all those shards of mental debris.

Coolly, Frank took out his phone, thrust it up, and limped into the open. "I'm gonna phone the cops!" he yelled.

He couldn't believe how calm he felt. It was just like when they'd been in that bar, when those guys had been threatening to that girl. Again he felt no uneasiness, apprehension, worry, fright, barely even adrenalin…just total, blinding white, control. He didn't care if he got hurt, not one smidgen and that alone was disquieting, dangerous even. He quite liked it…and quite didn't, all at the same time. He was concerned for Joe, his dad and Bobbie, but himself? No!

Fenton quit struggling and looked up, gaping in surprise, as did the other men. Joe was the only one who didn't, his arms and legs weakly flapping.

Making straight for the guy with the gun, Frank started 'telling him off' and poked him with his stick. "I don't know what you guys think you're doing, but this is assault and unless you stop, I'm calling the cops. Man, my lines are way corny! How is anyone falling for this?"

The man looked at the walking stick, then at Frank and lifted his lip into a sneer.

One of the men who'd stopped attacking Joe began kicking again and the others also looked like they were preparing to continue, so Frank knew he had to act quickly. "You asked for it!" he said and began 'dialling' his phone.

The man took the bait and ran straight at him causing Frank to 'panic' and back off. His 'knee went out from under him' and he staggered.

The man reached him, yanked his walking stick from his grasp and threw it to one side as Frank grabbed at him for 'support', allowing his body to fall backwards and taking the guy with him.

Beneath and feigning fright, Frank shouted, "get off me!" and made an attempt at wrapping a forearm over his face protectively, still holding onto his phone. He groped forward with his right towards his attacker's eyes.

Joe was out of sight behind the man who was sitting atop him, so Frank had no way of knowing if he'd caused enough of a distraction for the attack on his brother to stop again, although he couldn't hear anyone striking out at him any more. All eyes were now hopefully focussed on Frank alone.

As Frank predicted, the guy grabbed his flailing arm and pushed until it was held against the asphalt. Frank moved his other arm from over his face as if to start dialling 911, but his handset was immediately knocked from his fingers.

What the man was unaware of was that Frank had already keyed 911 as soon as he'd walked out into the open with the phone in the air. So although Frank hadn't spoken directly to the dispatcher, he or she had been listening to the whole incident and was hopefully tracking his phone via his GPS software.

Now that his hand was free, Frank held on to the side of the man's jacket and made a 'clumsy' attempt at pulling him away. "Please!" he begged.

The man made a fist and brought it down into Frank's left cheek.

Anticipating the blow, Frank twisted his head aside as it made contact to lessen the impact, so although it rocked his face sideways, the hit wasn't as hard as it could have been – certainly not as hard as his own punch would be, not by a long way…and there would be one, once he'd evened the odds.

Frank began feeling for the gun in the man's pocket as the second punch came in. This time, he wasn't as ready, his mind focused on what his hand was doing. This one was harder and it stung, but it didn't matter, his probing fingers had found their prize. They encircled the gun and gripped on, his forefinger sliding into the trigger casement.

Looking up into the guy's face, Frank waited for the optimum moment, half closing his eyes in anticipation of the next strike. And for good reason, he had to let himself be hit properly to ensure enough distracting movement. The man began to swing and his fist connected explosively with Frank's cheek and Frank was immediately tasting the tangy coppery-ness of blood – but he retained his coolness and at the point of impact, when the man's body was moving the most, Frank freed the gun. At the precise time the man's arm reached its full arc and was coming back, Frank swung the weapon up – right between the man's eyes. "Surprise!"

The guy jerked his arms back, startled, releasing Frank's right arm which immediately struck out, pounding the man in the temple, Frank's middle knuckle pushed outermost, ensuring his fist was a mini-knuckle duster. It hit hard, and man's head spun, the clattering momentum driving his face and upper body around one hundred and eighty degrees and then returning. He stayed upright on his knees for a couple of swaying seconds with an astounded expression before his eyes rolled and he flopped sideways out for the count, still half over Frank's lower legs.

"Now that's a punch!" Frank thought and immediately transferred the gun to his right hand. He was able to see the gang of assailants still encircling his fallen brother, but they were all now frozen and staring down the barrel of the gun, bemusement as to their change in fortune. "Get away from my brother!"

Obviously 'One Arm' still to considered Frank a lightweight, his small brain unable to work out he'd been faking. So shrugging his shoulders he brought his foot back to kick Joe again, this time in the head.

Big mistake!

Frank lowered the gun's trajectory and fired. 'One Arm' screamed, toppled over, and groped at his sneaker with his good arm, a sneaker that probably now housed toes floating in a pool of red gloop.

Once the crying had reduced in volume to a sobbing groan, Frank said, calmly, "perhaps I didn't make myself clear – get away from my brother and take that idiot with you. If you're not against that export container in two seconds flat, I'm gonna start popping kneecaps, and I don't care who I start with, so move, NOW!"

And this time they did move…quickly, dragging their shot comrade with them. Shifting so fast they were tripping over one another. They backed up to the side of the crate and Frank tipped his head on one side and levelled his gaze, daring someone to move. He swept the weapon from one end of the line of men to the other, menacing them into total subservience.

In the distance came the sounds of sirens. The cops had arrived too quickly to have responded to Frank's call alone, so he supposed Joe must have phoned them too – smart.

"You okay, Bro?" Frank called without releasing his gaze from the men, settling back on his elbow, keeping his gun arm up. With his foe still lying across his legs, Frank couldn't get up, and besides, he didn't want to stumble on his knee and give the opportunity for anyone to get away. "Joe?"

No response was forthcoming, and Frank couldn't see any movement in his peripheral vision. "Dad – any chance of assistance for Joe?"

"Hang on, Son, I'm almost…got it!" and then Fenton was freeing his ankles and turning his attention to quickly untying Bobbie.

Joe started coughing, rolled himself onto his side and began clawing at the ground and whimpering, fighting towards his summit, climbing hard.

"Joe?" Frank asked again, growing even more concerned, this time allowing his attention to shift and dart quickly towards him.

His brother fought himself into a seated position and leaned forward over his knees, shaking his head, his shoulders heaving. Joe looked up through his eyelashes, ghosted a smile, and flopped back down.

Fenton was at Frank's side with Bobbie clinging to him. "Stay with Frank, Bobbie, I'm going to see to Joe. Don't worry, honey, everything's going to be fine." Fenton unpeeled her from around himself and transferred her to Frank. Immediately, she encircled her arms tightly around Frank's torso and pushed her face into his chest, shaking from head to toe.

Frank sat up straighter and put his free arm around her as his father tugged Pete off his legs.

"Good to have you on board, Frank." Fenton muttered and moved to crouch down at Joe's side. He whispered a few words and Joe nodded before Fenton patted him on the cheek. Grimacing, Joe allowed himself to be assisted slowly to where Frank and Bobbie were and out of the danger zone.

"Stay there," Fenton commanded and eased him down. "Lie here for bit. I'm going to wave down the boys in blue." He laid a hand on Frank's shoulder and leaned into his ear. "Whatever you do, son, don't let your guard down. There's one guy missing, they must have left him somewhere as he has a leg injury."

"Small-fry," Frank muttered.

Fenton started to sprint away, but pulled up short as he started to pass Andy and looked him up and down in disgust. Andy steadfastly refused to meet his eye until Fenton suddenly hit out and socked him hard in the mouth, knocking him into the crate. Fenton watched him slide down to the ground and pointed back at Bobbie. "She's just a girl, you stinking coward!"

Frank smiled slightly as his father left Andy in a heap, holding his mouth. "I think you've made quite an impression on our dad," Frank whispered to Bobbie and set his gaze to concentrate wholly on the men again.

He must have tranced out because suddenly someone was talking and interrupting his visual pinprick of absorption. "Frank, drop the gun in here, you can stand down…Frank…Frank!" he jumped and snapped his head up, finding Chief McGuiness, River Height's Chief of Police standing there.

"It's okay son," Fenton said from where he was on his haunches next to Joe. "Lose the weapon."

Frank saw what was in front of him. It was a plastic resealable evidence bag and finally understood what was being asked of him. He loosened his grip and let the gun slip, depositing it and Chief McGuiness instantly took it away.

His slipping conscious mind was something welcoming before, but now, losing all sense of time was something Frank didn't like. The men were gone from the side of the crate and he must have been sitting there with the gun aimed at nothing while the police worked around him. He hadn't even been aware that the girl was no longer there. It wouldn't do – he was going to have to deal with it. "Where did Bobbie go?" he asked his father.

"Cop took her, but I don't think she's going to keep her away for long though."

Frank turned his attention to his brother who was still flat out. "Has someone phoned for an ambulance?"

"They're on their way."

"Joe? What hurts, bro?" Frank asked, leaning over him.

"Just about everything," Joe muttered, aggrieved. "But especially my back. Can you check it for me, my scar, it feels like something tore."

Between them, Fenton and Frank carefully rolled him and Frank lifted up Joe's shirt and took a good look. "No blood or anything, although there's a nice imprint of someone's size tens. So if they've done any damage it's on the inside," Frank observed. They rolled him back.

"I wouldn't advise moving any more, let the paramedics take care of you," Fenton advised and grinned at Frank. "What are you doing here, Junior? Joe didn't say you were coming."

Frank smiled back. "Well, I could hardly let him come on his own, could I, huh? Look what happened. Thank God I was able to get out of that dumpster."

"How did you end up in a dumpster?"

"Joe threw me, lifted me over his head and tossed me in!"

"Joe!"

Joe's eyes darkened. "You freakin' snitch - you suck, dude! You'd have done the same thing, Dad."

"No I wouldn't, I'd have put my back out!"

Frank laughed. "Bro, we seriously need to have a talk about what making a pact means."

"Great. I get told off by my brother and my dad, followed by another trip to the hospital strapped to a backboard – my evening is complete!"