"Dirty Larry" Part II

“Outta my face before I lock you up for the night you waster,” responded O’Callaghan, flashing his badge and an ice cold stare at the vagrant.

    “Awl right, chill mate, leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.”

    Larry watched Thompson turn the corner back onto the main road and out of the alley way. The uneasy feeling hadn’t shifted. He gave a glance back down the alley, to his left, then right, but as he turned towards his house he could only watch as a baseball bat swung at his temple. There was pain, and then there was darkness.

    As he awoke, feeling and sensitivity to Larry’s body returned in stages. At first a searing pain tore through his chest. As unidentifiable an ache as it was, it was entirely there and excruciatingly raw. A sensation of openness tore through his torso in waves, something quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The second sensation was one of confinement. His arms had been bound at the wrist, feet at the ankles, legs spread, and arms spanned. His limbs were burning where they had been bound, his shoulders and knees aching simultaneously. A point of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. Then, as he began to rouse to a more vivid state of consciousness, Larry realised that his head was covered in a coarse, translucent material and bound tightly around the throat. His mouth, now devoid of teeth which had been considerately replaced by lacerations, began to spurt blood as he attempted to speak. Realising the futility of his plight he lay there, bound to dog knows what by dog knows whom! Ah fuck!   

    Doing all he could, mustering every last drop energy and clinging to the wisdom of his Royal Ulster Constabulary training, Larry listened. There was silence to begin. His senses dulled and orientation extracted, Larry had no concept of time and space. This having been his original intention earlier in the evening, one would be forgiven for appreciating the irony of his predicament. As he peered with his ears into the silence he identified what he believed to be muffled groans. Or perhaps they were sputtered expletives. Maybe they were thuds and further groans. He hadn’t a fucking notion. It took the rest of his energy not to cry. Then, as if tapped of all his resources, the darkness came once more.