Scott Tuplin

I play (or used to, not so active nowadays) a text-based RPG, and this is one of the pieces I wrote a while ago. I was thinking about writing more on Sean Norton and the growing problem that is becoming England's new criminal underworld, but wanted to know your opinions first.

It was slow for a Thursday night. Usually there would be no end of people stopping by the car park behind the community shop off Riseholme Road. More often than not it was cars with smoke billowing from the small cracks at the tops of the windows. Rap music pumping from the subs in the back. Some seventeen or eighteen year old kid slumped in the front seat with his hand crimped on the top of the steering wheel like he thought he was 50 Cent or somebody, clutching two twenty pound notes in his left hand cut fresh from his pay packet.
Payday had become the best night of the week since cocaine and ecstasy had become cooler than weed. But tonight there'd been nobody about. A regular had stopped by early on, around half six, and bought out one of the four dealers standing hands-in-pockets but apart from that nothing.
It was starting to get cold too.
Winter and summer were still fighting it out over who was going to rule the town for the next few months, and winter was digging in its claws for the nighttimes.
Sean Norton stood leant against the back wall of the shop, burying his chin in the neck of his zipped-up jacket, jigging his leg to keep some kind of motion so that his toes didn't go numb.
His three friends Tom, Fuge and Kenny stood nearby, kicking a football about and talking about the latest match none of them had seen. They didn't have a TV back at the house, not because they couldn't afford one but because they'd been told they weren't allowed one.
It made sense. The house was, to anybody who cared to notice, supposed to appear empty. If it didn't, it would get unwanted attention, and nobody wanted attention bringing to the God-knows-how-many grams of cocaine and ecstasy pills that were stashed there.
Suddenly, the car park was illuminated by somebodys high beams and a red hatchback car rolled down the ramp at the entrance, coming to a stop by the three guys playing football, none of whom payed it any attention.
Sean pushed himself away from the wall and walked over toward the drivers window, which was being rolled down for invited business. Behind the wheel sat a tall guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked pretty uncomfortable cramped up in such a small car, but he didn't get out.
Sean placed a hand on the door and crouched down so he was at eye level with the newcomer, who was now wearing a lop-sided cocky grin.
"Alright, bruv?"
Sean said, patting his younger brothers arm through the open window. James, the driver and younger brother, nodded and took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one out the window.
Sean shook his head. He'd been unable to buy cigarettes for so long that he just didn't crave them anymore. It was no bad thing, as it left him more money for food and clothes.
"Now then. Hows it going?"
James said, lighting up his cigarette and pulling heavily on it. He was a heavy smoker, heavier since Sean had left home, and he was fast getting himself a reputation as a bit of a wild-time, ladies man, hothead in town. It was a reputation Sean wouldn't mind carrying himself, as opposed to the one he had now as one of the biggest cocaine and ecstasy dealers.
"You know me, bruv. Hanging on."
Sean replied. He then straightened up and walked around the front of the car, nodding to his friends as he went to let them know everything was ok. Inside the car, James reached over to unlock the passenger door and let his brother in. Sean pulled the door shut and leant into the heater, rubbing his hands together and hunching his shoulders a little.
James paid his brother a moments look of sympathy, then swallowed it. The whole family was from a very proud background, the one exception being their mother who'd earn a penny any way she could, even if it meant throwing away her dignity and her children.
"So, what can I do for you?"
Sean asked, helping himself to a pack of Walkers crisp that had been discarded in the footwell. Watching his brother begin to devour the crisps with impressive speed, James reached onto the back seat and produced a Subway bag.
"Here, I've got this left over."
He said, taking out half a sub sandwich and giving it to Sean, who took it gratefully with a wink and began to pack crisps into it.
For a few minutes they were silent, James watching the three outside the car playing football whilst Sean ate his food noisily.
When he had finished, he stuffed all the rubbish into one bag and shoved it inside his jacket. James didn't ask what he was doing, because he already knew. Packing stuff between the layers of clothing kept you warm. Newspaper worked best, but James doubted his brother could afford The Daily Mail.
"There's a bit of a get together tonight in town, thought I'd let you know. Maybe you lot could come down and sell some stuff."
Sean thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, some other supplier would be running things down at the pubs and clubs, which meant there'd be other gangs hanging about waiting for business, just like him, Tom, Fuge and Kenny.
On the other hand, they hadn't sold enough for the month, and it would be his head under their own suppliers boot if he didn't sell more before the week was out. As he was thinking, a dark blue car pulled in across from James' and Fuge approached it.
Sean watched as his friend spoke with the driver and then shook his head, pointing toward the exit. The driver was persistent. Whatever he wanted, he wasn't leaving till he got it. He called Fuge back and seemed to start the same conversation over again, because Fuge had exactly the same reaction, only this time a little more firmly, pointing his finger in the guys face and telling him something along the lines "fuck off now".
Sean turned to his brother, who was watching the arguement with little interest.
"Alright bruv, cheers. I'll catch ya in a bit, yeah?"
They gripped each others hands for a second in a brotherly kind of handshake and then Sean got out the car, seemingly at just the right time. Fuge had kicked the door of the Astra and was being ushered away by Tom, who was trying to tell the driver in a more polite way to leave the car park. Behind him, Sean heard his brothers car turn around and head out the exit, beeping once as it left.
"Sean, this idiot wants to see you."
Tom said as he walked away from the Astra and went after a cursing, kicking Fuge. Out of all four of the lads, Fuge was the reknowned firecracker. When people didn't listen, he got mad. When people mouthed off, he got mad. When people didn't pay, he got mad. In fact, if you weren't a friend, you had to work pretty hard to keep him happy.
Sean watched him out the corner of his eye as he drew closer to the Astra, making sure Tom had him under control and that he was calming down, because he didn't want to be stood at the car if he came back swinging.
Kenny lingered close by with the ball under his foot, watching the driver of the Astra who had just, perhaps unwittingly, made himself disliked amongst the gang.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Sean demanded of the driver, standing a couple of feet back from the window so he could see the man inside without being in reach.
Somewhere behind, Fuge had stopped shouting and had either calmed down or, more likely, was indulging in the pleasure of his own stash.
The driver of the Astra was a middle-aged man who reminded Sean of America's personification of the alpha male - square jaw, jet black hair - the only thing out of place was his sharp eyes.
"You better get your friend under control, before he gets hurts."
The man said, peering past Sean with what was either fear or humour. With eyes as small as his, it was impossible to read them.
Sean glanced over his shoulder. Tom had left Fuge to himself, and was making his way back toward the car, his hands back in his pockets and looking less than a little impressed.
"Yeah well, maybe you should just remember where you are," Sean said, turning back to the driver, "And tell me what you want."
The driver stared long and hard at the younger man before him. The only answer to this guys attitude was that he was a somebody - a supplier or something along the same lines - because only somebody who was a somebody would be brave enough to drive into a strangers patch and bring his mouth with him.
"What else? I wanna buy."
He said, taking off his seatbelt. Sean's hand slipped into his pocket, and then he closed his eyes in irritation for a split second - he'd forgotten his knife.
He kept his hand in his pocket anyway, because the guy didn't need to know he wasn't carrying.
He felt rather than saw Kenny step up to his left. Back up.
The driver used his newfound flexibility to straighten himself at the waist and slip his hand into his back pocket, producing a wallet, from which he took a five pound note.
Sean stood waiting for him to show something else, something more, but he didn't. He simply sat brandishing the five pound note with no expression on his face.
"I don't humiliate easily, mate, maybe you should go elsewhere."
Sean said, nodding toward the exit, without expecting the car to move an inch.
If the guy had stood his ground against Fuge's small but very stocky build, he would tip toe before Sean's own lean look. And he did, with a great big smile on his face.
"This should buy your next meal. Now all four of you fuckers better empty your pockets onto the backseat."
He said, but Sean wasn't listening anymore, he was busy watching the four young boys who had just appeared from over the hill and were slowly approaching.
He recognised one of them, Nib, as a popular, go-to-it dealer from downtown, but he had no idea who the other three were. He knew what they were there for, though.
The driver of the car was talking again, but Sean was busy thinking about what to do. Run and lose a little face, but save their stash and avoid a kicking from their supplier, or stand and fight, with a strong chance of losing their stash and getting a harder kicking from their supplier.
The driver opened his door, taking something metal and heavy looking from the door panel, and Sean had his answer.
He lunged forward and kicked the door back against the driver, crushing him. Kenny grabbed the metal instrument, whatever it was, from his hand and smashed him over the head with it, knocking him unconscious.
Nib and his three friends were running now toward the skirmish, one of them pulling a hammer from his pocket.
"Bollocks! Let's go!"
Sean yelled, grabbing Kenny's arm and pulling him away from the car.
They sprinted off in the opposite direction, Fuge cutting ahead of them as he came down the right hand side and leapt over the wall that served as a perimeter around the car park.
Sean was next over, followed closely by Tom and then Kenny. The embankment on the other side led down to the road, which went up to the left toward housing estates and the dual carriageway, which ran parrelel with the road they were on, or down to the right toward toward more housing estates and a supermarket.
Fuge was already across the road and heading toward the subway that cut under the carriageway, so the other three followed. Sean afforded a glance behind as he entered the subway to see Nib and his friends just climbing the wall.
"Fucking pricks!"
He called, before turning his attention back to running. The other three had got a little farther ahead, so he pushed himself to go faster, trying to catch them. If he fell behind, he'd stand no chance.
"Take a right!"
He heard Tom shout to Fuge, who was still leading the way. Tom had lived in the area his whole life, which meant he knew every alley and every good hiding place, since he'd spent most of his youth hiding from bigger lads he'd pissed off and the pigs.
Fuge either hadn't heard or wasn't listening, because he kept running at the subway exit up the grassy knoll and onto Middlefield Park.
Tom and Kenny hung a left, headed alongside the carriageway and slowed to call after Fuge.
Sean kept running up onto the park and tried to catch his friend, waving Tom and Kenny away as he did. They'd have to meet up later.
Fuge slowed as he reached the edge of the park and turned so that he was jogging backwards. He said something when he realised what he'd done, probably "fuck", and waited for Sean to catch up.
"Bobby's over on Dorton, we should head there."
He told Sean, turning when Sean drew up beside him so he was running forward again.
Behind, Nib and his friends had split up, two going after Tom and Kenny, two coming after Sean and Fuge. They sprinted down the gulley at the back of a line of houses, then cut right at the end, through someones back garden and out onto The Drive.
Away to the left there was a police house, but nobody was ever there. It had been vandalised over the years and, eventually, abandoned by the police as a lost cause.
They went right, away from it, heading down toward Marshalls Football Yard. Their cut through the houses and the garden would throw their pursuers off a little, maybe enough to lose them if they didn't know the area, but Sean doubted that.
Ahead, a group of three guys were stood by a phone box waiting for someone inside it. Sean recognised them immediately, and they Sean. They were members of the Park Springs Iron, the same gang Sean was a part of.
"Anybody carrying?"
Sean asked, bending over double to pant as he came to a stop by them. The guy, Bobby, inside the phone box hung up, whoever was on the other end was unimportant now that friends needed him.
He stepped out and walked past Sean, staring at two guys who had just burst from The Drive and stopped, their hands on their hips, one of them holding a hammer, both of them out of breath.
Sean turned to see them and went and stood by Bobby. A defiant stand of ground. In this kind of town it meant "fuck off or are we having a go".
"You tired over there, fag?"
Bobby joked without taking his eyes off the two guys who still stood at the roads end. Sean would've told him to fuck off, but he was too knackered.
From behind, he heard running feet and turned to see Tom and Kenny bounding around the corner. They must've rounded back on themselves and cut across the park at the other end. If they'd been outnumbered, this would've been bad.
Two groups coming from either side would've rounded them up and made short work of them. As it was, with Bobby and his friends there too, they stood a much better chance and standing their ground wasn't even a choice, it was nature.
Sure enough, Nib and the fourth guy appeared from round the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Nobody moved for what seemed ages.
"Fuck this."
Sean said, taking a couple of steps toward the two on The Drive and holding out his arms. They still didn't move, and Sean saw them glance toward Nib for help. They weren't going to get it.
Just when he thought they were about to turn and run, Sean heard the rush of feet behind him and turned to see that one of Bobby's lads had attacked Nib. Everyone watched as Nib was made an example of and left in the gutter. None of the other three moved to help them, the two on The Drive ran off and the one stood next to a now groaning Nib backed off until he'd backed around the corner. Bobby and his friends dispersed, leaving Sean and his to do what they wanted with Nib.
"Leave him."
Sean ordered as a still panting Fuge advanced on their would-be attacker. He turned and began walking down the road, back toward the community shop. The others followed.

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Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.
- E.L. Doctorow