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GET WELL AND GET EVEN...

When something gut-wrenchingly awful happens, your mind can become paralysed, stuck in the headlights of the event and unable to think of anything else:Then there are those minutes before, when everything is tootling along without fuss and you are looking forward to another humdrum day... a day of congestion, of long waits to tip at Asda.ignorant goods inward, bolshy security guards and a cheeky wink from the bird at the services.

Between the before and the after is the moment when your whole world changes, when everything comes crashing down around you. From that split second on. nothing will ever be the same again.

He'd had plenty of time to reflect on those last few seconds, to thin slice every bit of the activity and try to make sense of it,as he'd lain in the hospital bed taking his nutrients through a pipe in the back of his hand. First he felt outrage how could it have happened to him? which turned to guilt why hadn't he carried on to Corley Services rather than Hilton Park as he'd originally intended -and then to outright despairwhy him?

If only he hadn't had the brew with the lads in the traffic office before heading south he wouldn't have been bursting for a pee by Junction 13 and just couldn't go any further by the time he got to Hilton.

He'd tried to recollect every last detail, to build a picture that would prove valuable when they came to interview him. But they never came. As well as having been beaten to a pulp, his truck had been stolen and the goods, worth somewhere in the region of three quarters of a million quid,flogged around the boozers of Christ knows where-and they'd never even bothered to interview him.The only contact he'd had was from some WPC who seemed to be accusing him of tipping off his attackers rather than investigating the crime.

The Scania was his pride and joy He'd spent months preparing to make his purchase: poring over the spec sheets and enjoying every minute of deciding on the rear axle ratio, the choice of tyres,and of course the colour-although Rachel, his mis.sus,chose that. She'd always supported him in the business and had given him her inheritance from her old man to start it back in 1992.The least he could do was let her choose the colour on his new motor. She'd opted for the burnt orange that Scania had used as the launch colour with the R-Seriesit reminded her of a rug that used to sit in front of the fire in the front room when she was growing up, she'd said.

He had no need for the Topline megacab so had gone for the Highline cab version. Besides, when he was pulling flatbeds on the brick work the slightly lower cab would be a bit better on fuel economy And he'd only had the thing six months when they took it from him.

The hours before

It had been a fairly nondescript morning; a load of tellies and other electrical stuff for a warehouse in Lutterworth. It was the sort of tip you could do with your eyes shut.They'd given him one of the new curtainsiders and it had looked really smart sat behind the Scania.

The white Ford Mondeo had been there when he'd pulled up at the garage. He'd paused at the pumps rather than finding a parking spot and going into the services. Having spent only a couple of minutes relieving himself he was soon on his way. He'd thought nothing of the fact that the blokes in the Mondeo had watched him as he went past their car parked on the side of the slip road. He'd been more concerned with meeting the 11 am tip at Lutterworth than someone in a car pulling out behind him.And he sure as hell wished he'd given his truck the once-over before he'd cranked up the 12-litre engine and headed south.

Just past Junction 7, heading down the slope past Great Barr, he spotted the car flash him as it came up alongside:Me fellow in the passenger seat was pointing to the rear of the trailer:Those bloody idiots on the loading bay hadn't shut the doors properly. Better pull over and sort them out.

He cocked his hand up to say thanks to the driver and pulled onto the hard shoulder. The Mondeo continued past as he flicked on the indicator and clipped off the speed of the 44tonner.

What happened when he got to the back of the trailer was something of a blur.There had been a car parked at the back of the trailer with its hazards on.The next thing he knew was a searing pain as the first blow came crashing down on the back of his head.The sodding doors weren't even open-funny how he remembered the smallest things.

He whirled round to face his attackers. There were two of them, armed and wearing hoodies. He lunged at the taller one, going for his throat. He'd throttle the bastard but it was too late. The skinny other one clubbed him on the side of the head and he felt something go crack and his left ear began to scream.Too late to cover up no his instinct was to fight but it was useless. Laying in the hospital bed, he'd been trying to piece together what happened next. He remembered getting hold of the throat of the taller one, but as the blows came thick and fast he'd felt more and more pain. First his nose, then his mouth, the taste of blood, more blows until... well.., he could remember no more.

The tears came as he recalled the indignity of al1.11 finally founc him three hours according to police reports, in a h on the grass verge in a pool of his own bloc completely defenceless. Him, the guy who worked out every day, proud of the fact he could look after himself, caught by a coupt thugs and left for dead cracked skull. bro jaw, perforated ear drum and three missinf teeth.The truck. his truck, was long gone, a with the load of electric goods. "Just let it go!" It was Rachel.She'd been b) his bedside nearly every day in the two weeks since the accident and she could tell when he was plotting to get even, to right the wrong.

The ambulance had taken him to the Selly Oak hospital and when it was clear he wasn't going to snuff it they'd moved him closer to home in Bolton. Apart from a mention in the Express & Star and a few lines in Commercial Motor, his ordeal hadn't even registered in the press and the Old Bill didn't seem bothered he was just another statistic.

-You've got to move on and let this go.Rachel said. wiping the tears from his cheek. The blows to the head he'd received had left him paralysed down his left side and with the drip in his right hand he was pretty useless. His jaw had been wired up following the accident and he could barely speak. but there was nothing wrong with his mind, thank God. His thoughts were sharp.

Rachel's ramblings about what was going on with the kids at school, how his mother was and the general state of things on the estate where they lived faded into the background. He knew she meant well and he loved her for it,really loved her, hut there were more important things to think about, He kept going over the events of that morning, trying to piece it all together, to make sense of it all, to find a reason. focusing on the events and the people involved.

The guys at the back of the trailer had been hooded and there was no chance identifying them. But the bloke in the passenger seat of the Mondeo... he was sure there was something about him he recognised.

Rachel's kiss on the forehead brought him back from his thoughts. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?" she asked.The strain on her was enormous. He'd been in a near-coma the first week after the attack, and even now he couldn't communicate with her very well. just squeeze her hand to let her know he was listening.

"Where you off to on Monday, mate'?" That was it! That was the fellow in the passenger seat!

It was the middle of the night and apart from the nurses cackling in their alcove by the computer all was still. He'd been going over his steps in the weeks leading up to the incident for any little clues or signs and now it had all come crashing back into his mind.

It was the Saturday afternoon before and he'd only popped in for a couple at the White Lion to check out the football results around teatime,The usual crowd had been in there Mick, the Punk, Gavin with the hair,Jason and the Gimp crowded around the bar watching the TV and having the usual craic as the results came in. Wanderers had been beaten by Villa, which was annoying as they had been on a decent run of late.

Main suspect The 'bloke in the passenger seat' had starting coming into the boozer with Jason three or four weeks before a mate from work, Jason had said. Matt. his name was. Seemed like a nice enough fellow:he certainly wasn't shy about getting the session in and was always rabbi ting away about this and that.

There had been no reason not to trust this Matt and he'd told him when he'd asked where he was going. Foolish, yes. but for God's sake he was mate of Jason's. He didn't wear a shell suit and seemed respectable. How wrong he had been. Now he had a reason to get out of this sodding hospital and put his life back on track.Should he call the police? No. Revenge was a dish best served cold and he planned to do the serving.

Over the coming weeks he made some startling progress. First, the wire in hisjaw was removed, then he started to feed himself and even walk again. He just had to get out of this hospital there was work to be done in bringing his attackers to justice. Four weeks after the incident he was well enough to get out of hospital -in his opinion. anyway.The doctors wanted him to stay in for another week or so; they were worried about his mental state. But he was a man on a mission, and sorting his head could come later.

He was a bit shaky on his feet when Rachel came to collect him, hut that would improve, they said he just needed to make sure he didn't overdo things.His left arm was still partially immobile and his speech was slurred.

To be honest, he was absolutely shattered by the time he made it home, but he had to begin his journey for justice. He went round to the White Lion to see who was about. Jason and 'the Gimp were playing pool -perfect. They welcomed him with the usual platitudes: "Good to see you, mate": "sorry to hear about the accident":"hopc you're feeling better." There had been no sign of them when he'd been laid up in bed -tossers! It didn't matter; all he needed was information.

He made small talk about the Wanderers, catching up on the results and any other gossip that had happened in his absence. His enquiries turned to the other lads in the crowd. Everyone was doing OK-and Matt? "Haven't seen him for a few weeks,"Jason said."He changed jobs and doesn't come in here anymore. I think he's drinking at the Legion." That was enough for one day. He finished his pint and shuffled off home,the first piece of the jigsaw secure.

That morning he woke up with his head pounding and feeling absolutely rotten. He'd have to have the morning in bed, but that was OK. He knew now what he was going to do and it didn't matter how long it would take.

Having Rachel fussing over him for the day was no bad thing and it would give him some time to catch up with the kids.They'd broken up for the Christmas holidays and were growing very excited about the big day. By mid-afternoon he was feeling much better, so i was time for some fresh air. He lifted his donkey jacket from the hook on the back door and checked the pockets. It was still there."I'm off out,he shouted up the stairs.

"Don't be long," said Rachel,"tea will be ready at half past five. I've bought a nice piece of fish." It was Friday. They always had fish on Friday. The Royal British Legion club was a 15-minute walk from the house. He drank in there a few times a year, usually if there was something on -such as the annual dominoes tournament. He didn't play, but it was a good night out.

The Legion was a single-storey,flat-roofed building on the edge of the park. From the outside it was a complete dive.which pretty much mirrored what was going on inside.'The beer was cheap. the floor was made up of lino tiles and the 'comfy' seats around the edge of the room had seen better days.

The car park was about half full when he arrived, with plenty of clapped-out old bangers and a burnt-out wreck in the corner. It was no surprise to see a white Ford Mondeo parked round the back of the building.

Time for revenge It was a cold, foggy day and the warmth of the bar hit him as he opened the door. It was busy, and he instantly clocked Matt and a mate sitting in the corner chatting over their pints. Yes, Matt had been in the passenger seat that day and it was fair to assume the guy talking to him had been the driver the keys were in the middle of the table.

He went to the bar and ordered a pint. He could feel his pulse beating at the back of his throat and his mouth had gone dry.His hand was shaking as he brought the pint up for a gulp. He stood and watched them for a while. They hadn't spotted him, yet, and he needed to see if they were with anyone. After five minutes or so.it was clear they weren't.

They never saw him coming and before he. or they. knew what was going on he was at the table."Remember me?he asked.The look of horror on Matt's face was obvious, but the time for talking had finished. From the righthand pocket of his donkey jacket he pulled the pistol and put a bullet through Matt's hea Bang! The accomplice jumped up and he for the door. Bang! Bang! He gunned hin down.The blood oozed from the bodies, t place was completely silent and the work still.He felt the relief lifting;justice had bi done. He smiled.

He walked to the bar and put the gun o of the drip tray."You'd better call the poll he said to the barman. He stood there at t bar and took a gulp on his pint. It was all o and the tears began to flow.

"Like I say,love, your mother's got the appointment for her hip operation on the 23rd of February." It was Rachel. He'd be( dreaming again! "I've said you'll be up an about by then and will be able to take her the pre-op and the operation."

He looked up at her as she mopped the from his cheeks again."Don't know if you been listening to a word I've been saying.

thought you were asleep. But you know ii I just keep chattering." He laughed. Layin here in the bed he was a long way off from dreams of revenge and Wild West shoot-o but the seed was sown...