The Bach Manuscript. Scott Mariani
which was the bustling hub of the city centre and more choked than ever with buses and milling shoppers. At Carfax Tower they jumped on a double-decker going north up Banbury Road, and climbed to the empty top deck to sit at the front. To Ben, it felt like being a student again. Except back in his day, you were allowed to smoke upstairs. Do it now, and they would probably cart you away to serve ten years in a max-security prison.
They took their seats, Nick by the window, Ben by the centre aisle. Small tremors rocked the bus as more passengers boarded downstairs. Nick was about to resume their conversation when heavy footsteps came up the double-decker’s stairwell. The footsteps paused at the top of the stairs, then approached. Nick glanced back, Ben felt him go as tense as a spheksophobe near a wasp’s nest.
‘Oh Christ, it’s one of them,’ Nick muttered sotto voce.
‘One of who?’ Ben asked him.
‘Crusties. Beggars. Whatever you call them. They cause a lot of trouble on the buses. Don’t make eye contact with him. Maybe he’ll leave us alone.’
The guy was on his own, walking up to the front of the top deck with a shoulder-rolling swagger to his step and a cocky grin on his face. He was large, over six feet tall and thick-chested, somewhere north of thirty. Which meant he probably hadn’t taken a shower since his twenties. It was hard to tell which were dirtier, his jeans, hoodie or his straggly hair and beard. From under heavy brows he eyed Ben, then Nick. He raised a grubby finger as if it was a gun and pointed it at them.
‘You’re in my seat.’ The guy’s voice was harsh and crackly. Ben got a whiff of body odour and unwashed clothes coming off him like rotten cabbages, mixed with the sour smell of stale booze.
‘We’ll move,’ Nick said quickly, starting to get up. Ben touched his arm to still him.
The guy’s eyes flickered back to Nick and lingered there. ‘I know you.’
Nick seemed to hesitate and looked uncomfortable for a moment. He replied anxiously, ‘I … I don’t have any money for you today.’
‘You’re in my seat,’ the guy repeated. Heaping on the menace. Trying to.
Ben turned to gaze up at the guy from where he sat. He motioned at the empty deck and said, ‘Plenty of seats free for you back there. How about you make yourself comfortable a few rows behind us, where I can’t smell you?’
‘Ben, no,’ Nick warned in a low whisper.
‘You mean, don’t provoke him?’ Ben said. ‘This moron was born provoked. But that’s okay. He doesn’t worry me.’
The big guy fixed Ben with a glare. His pupils shrank down to the size of pinheads. Eyes rimmed red. ‘I don’t think you heard me, arsehole. This is my seat.’
‘I heard you fine,’ Ben said. ‘Except I don’t see any reservation signs. And I like the view from up front here. I think we’ll stay.’
The hand pointing the finger disappeared into one of the pockets of the guy’s hoodie. It came out again clutching a small paring knife.
‘Oh, God,’ Nick quavered in Ben’s ear. ‘I told you—’ Like it was Ben’s fault that one of the passengers was waving a blade at them.
‘You got a mouth on you,’ the guy said. ‘Maybe I need to teach you a lesson.’
Ben looked at the paring knife. ‘Thanks, but I already know how to peel potatoes.’
‘Give me your fuckin’ wallet, prick. Now.’
The bus was starting to move. The driver obviously hadn’t bothered to check the fish-eye mirror above him that gave a view of the upstairs. Or maybe these things happened so often on board that he’d given up caring. Welcome to the city of the dreaming spires. Ben had almost forgotten how colourful the streets of Oxford could get at times.
The big guy reached out with his free hand to steady himself against the sudden lurch of the transmission as the bus lumbered forwards. Then the driver braked sharply as a couple of kids darted across the road in his path. The big guy rocked on his feet. The knife stayed pointed at Ben.
Ben used the momentum of the braking bus to come forwards out of his seat, faster than the big guy could register. In the next instant, the knife was out of his hand and in Ben’s. Boggle-eyed with surprise, the guy swung a clumsy roundhouse punch Ben’s way. Ben could have run down to the nearest coffee shop to order a takeaway espresso in the time it took coming. He trapped the arm, twisted it up and under the guy’s ribs and behind his back, and used the leverage to dump the guy into a seat a row back on the opposite side of the aisle. Up close, the guy smelled even more strongly of stale sweat and booze. He tried to struggle and kick. Ben jammed him up against the window and pinched off the carotid artery at the base of his neck to shut down the blood flow to what little brain he had.
It normally took between five to eight seconds before the subject lost consciousness. This guy’s system had been running on bad fuel for so long that his bloodstream was already starved of oxygen, and he held out for much less time. Ben kept the stranglehold clamped down tight until he felt him go limp.
The bus rumbled on up the street.
Nick was staring.
Ben checked the big guy’s hoodie pockets. He found nearly fifty pounds in rumpled and grimy notes, along with a small bottle of ecstasy pills and a paper bag containing some dried-out magic mushrooms. ‘That’s your lesson for the day,’ he said to the unconscious hulk as he counted the money and shoved all the stuff in his own jacket pocket. ‘Cost of doing business with the wrong people.’
‘What did you do to him?’ Nick gasped.
‘He’s just grabbing forty winks,’ Ben said. They were approaching another stop, crowded with people waiting to board. ‘Smells in here. I vote we change buses.’
‘I can’t believe what you just did,’ Nick said for at least the dozenth time as they hopped on another bus going the same way. ‘Oh, my God!’ He was as high and starry-eyed as a young boy after his first ever pint of beer. ‘I mean, how did you do that?’
‘It’s just a simple gimmick. A granny could do it. I’ll show you sometime.’
‘It’s incredible.’
‘It’s nothing.’
This time they took a seat downstairs, in the back. Not a knife-wielding mugger in sight. ‘What did you call them?’ Ben asked.
‘Crusties. Didn’t used to be a problem, but now there seem to be more of them all the time. When they’re not selling dope or drinking in the streets, they’re intimidating people for cash.’
‘Well, there’s one who might think twice next time,’ Ben said.
‘I’ll bet. I suppose you’ve done a public service.’
‘He said he knew you. What’s that about?’
Nick paused a second before replying. ‘I’ve given him money now and then.’
‘Voluntarily? Or on demand?’
‘They can be pretty forceful. It’s hard to refuse. I’m not like you, Ben.’
‘It doesn’t take much just to say no. Extortion and bullying don’t deserve a reward.’
‘Giving in is just exacerbating the situation, I know. But I suppose part of me feels sorry for them.’
‘You’d be feeling sorrier all sliced and diced with a knife hanging out of your guts,’ Ben said.
Nick couldn’t argue with that. ‘What are you doing to do with the, erm, items you took