"Have you got this on your mobile? The moment
your friend died? You can post it on the Internet. Should get you a laugh or
two. Seems fair to me - one death for two laughs. I don't care. Ridding the
world of a little s**t like this just means that there is one less of you to
go."
I had been walking down the
High Street when I'd witnessed an incident that had become known as 'Happy
Slapping'. A
new trend working its way into society, a nasty attitude brought by a nasty
element. Copy cats exist everywhere. Not an original idea of their own. Simply
not bright enough to think of anything. Led by the nose by simple suggestion.
What advertising says is fashionable. TV doesn’t even require the ability to
read. Things that are acceptable to a twisted mind.
"Hey, Mister, we were
only 'avin' a bit of fun."
I had followed this group for
a little way up the street. They were all too dumb to imagine that there may be
consequences.
"Your idea of fun is
assaulting an innocent member of the public who you've never seen before. Just
a child. Doubtless you've never heard of ABH. Actual Bodily Harm. Your idea of
'Happy Slapping' is to punch someone in the side of the head. In the ear and
maybe make them deaf or worse?"
That's the nasty act I'd
witnessed: a young girl maybe only 15 or 16 years old. Hit around the side of
the head from behind. An easy victim for a street thug. A common assault in broad
daylight.
"Well, you are going to
find out what an assault really is. Big Boys games and no more kids' stuff. You
want to play with the Big Boys, don't you? Whether you like it or not I'm in
your game."
One of the gang was laying on
his back in front of me on the ground with my foot across his throat. I wasn't
pressing hard. Yet. This animal could still breath, but he was pinned down
nevertheless. I'd struck him from behind with the palm of my right hand. Just
behind the right ear. Instantly disoriented. No lasting effect, but totally
dazed maybe for only a few seconds, but he had dropped to the floor as though
poleaxed.
"Hey Mister, what are you
doin'. Let him up, will yer?"
What a ridiculous request.
Clearly, this youth had no conception of where this was going. No conception of
the gravity of their situation or what had caused it.
"Do what? Let this
cowardly piece of rubbish up? You don't just look stupid then, you really are
stupid, aren't you? Don't waste your time trying to work that one out because I
really don't care what you think."
After the young girl had
fallen to the ground unconscious the thug carrying a mobile phone, the type of
phone that contains a camera, went up to the girl and took her picture to add
to those already taken of the attack itself.
"I want you to take a
photo with your mobile of each of your friends. And don't forget to take one of
yourself. If you act quickly, you might be able to save your friend's life. You
can show the police the evidence of you beating up a child. And me standing
over a live body - at the moment alive anyway."
By this time a small crowd had
gathered. The commotion had interested a lot of people. Each thug being
carefully watched and scrutinised. Faces remembered. Details noted. The young
girl had come around and was being looked after by some passersby. These thugs
were caught in a circle of spectators and were clearly becoming very agitated
and frightened.
"What's the matter with
you lot? You aren’t saying much. I know what it probably is. You have no idea
what to do. This bit of dirt underneath my foot must be your leader. The one
who tells you all what to do. Amazing. A collection of morons."
The look on their faces
suggested I was right. The blank look of terrified kids. I felt quite sorry for
them, but only for a fleeting moment. Until I looked over at the young girl.
One of their numerous victims. With any luck, the stupid morons would have kept
the photographic images of their cleverness on the mobile camera phone.
Pictures of their triumphs.
"So that's how you
imagine the uniform looks. Hoods up during the day as though you're cold.
Baseball caps under the hood, I expect. Orange will suit you all quite well
when you go out into the community to do good things. Yellow would be more
appropriate though. No hoods, I'm afraid. Take your hoods down."
No movement.
"Take your f***ing hoods
down," I shouted.
That got an instant response.
Baseball caps were revealed in every case. All good little soldiers, dressed
properly in uniform: dirty white trainers, coloured sports trousers and the
ubiquitous baseball cap.
Movement stirred underfoot. I
trod a little heavier.
"If you move again, you
will definitely not even see this afternoon. The police should be here any
minute now. Your friend with the camera phone just called them for me."
© Louis Brothnias (2005), Rev
2 (2008)