SAVING A LIFE III

                                                                THE SQUAD

Minutes after Sally's chilling statement, the little melee is almost forgotten when we hear a loud business-like screech of car tyres outside. My first thought is “it is the police”. That is when I realise that Farouq had sneaked outside perhaps to have a cigarette or escape due attention. Too late, he’s gone, I think.

I rush outside and it’s anything but a squad car that had made that grand appearance. It is a battered banger of a vehicle with blacked out windows that had ground to a halt in front of the joint.

Out step a few individuals clad in black hoods and track bottoms. The youngest one of the lot remains behind the wheels and rolls his window down casually. The leader of the out-steppers who looks about 40ish walks purposefully towards Farouq’s group of friends. That is when I notice Farouq the spitter himself. He tries to make an escape by taking to his heels – which I suppose gives the game away – because he is given a chase and rugby tackled. 2 more men join the first pursuer who is now perched comfortably on the torso of Farouq. And, as you may have guessed my sweet reader, the blows start raining down. Right fist, left fist. At some point I swear I saw one throw both fists at the same time even. 

Farouq worryingly throws none back. All this while his friends stand and do nothing. Actually they do something – they take their phones out and record. Whether for snitching purposes or to taunt Farouq later, we will never know.

The occupants of the unidentified car throw Farouq into the bush and I breathe a sigh of relief. That is the end of his ordeal, I hope. But no, out comes the boots. Their massive boots disappear into the bush and a bit more of Farouq’s blood splatters out. Some ladies around try to intervene but all the high-pitched imploring falls on deaf ears. Time for the great hero; ME.(No need for the drum-roll).

“What are you doing fam?” I say with as much confidence as I could muster. I don’t think I pull it off but I say it again trying to sound as un-scared as possible. 

“This rasclart idiot spat at my cousin. He spat at my cousin.”(Oh so that was what the call was about).

“Yes, but that’s enough. Are you trying to catch a murder case fam? Leave the man alone please. I am sure he won’t ever try spitting at your cousin ever again.”

“I am sure he won’t even spit in his own bloodclot bath sink again, blood.”

                                                                    WATER

They casually stroll to their car. I turn quickly and attend to Farouq. He lays motionless. His face looks too bloodied for a CPR. And I have never called emergency services so I am unsure what the right number is, so I plead the assistance of a young lady nearby. She rings the ambulance. I Usain bolt to ASDA to get a bottle of water. But not before I roll Farouq into a comfortable position so he does not choke on his own blood. I come back and splash him and revive him (all facts!).

That’s when I see his attackers peel off. So they had stayed to be certain that he was not in a coma or something. Not nice.

Farouq comes round and initially he looks like he is still finding his bearings. Then he gives a sudden jerk as if it has just dawned on him that he has not been in a dream. He checks his phone, wallet and keys and miraculously, they are all intact in his Stone Island jacket. He collects his two front teeth from the ground next to him.

He says "I'm ringing the police". Farouq is calling the police. Wonders.

“Welcome back Farouq, I saved your life.”