Mike Dixon

His other ear was tweaked.
„Something lower perhaps?‟
The secateurs left Humphrey‟s nose and moved slowly
down his chest towards his groin. He struggled to hold them
back.
„Harder!‟ Footsie shouted. „Harder! I‟m getting there.‟
Humphrey‟s mind was ready to explode. His fly was un-
zipped.
„I‟m almost there!‟
The secateurs probed.
„You‟ll soon know the exquisite agony of being parted from
an old friend.‟
Footsie‟s face came closer. Humphrey saw the scars and
broken nose. He expected to suffer the agony of emasculation
and was summoning up his last reserve of energy when
a body came crashing in from the side. It hit Footsie with a
flying tackle and Humphrey rolled over gasping for breath.
He recognized his rescuer as one of the bouncers in the beer
garden. Footsie soon had him pinned to the ground.
„You are an impertinent fellow.‟
The secateurs were thrust at the young man.
„You should not interfere in matters which do not concern
you. Do you not read your bible, my friend?‟
Humphrey got to his feet and hunted for a weapon. An
empty beer bottle lay nearby. He picked it up, staggered
back and brought it down on Footsie‟s skull. The blow would
have felled a normal human being but the effect on Footsie
was minimal. The ugly man swayed a little and relaxed his
hold sufficiently for the young man to break loose.
„Run! Run!‟
He grabbed Humphrey and propelled him towards the
road.
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