Without You...

As Mick pulled into the carpark he was mildly amused to see that the sports hall still had the same graffiti on the wall as 15 years ago. The town had expanded since he’d been away but this was reassuringly still the same. Someone had long ago painted “Give Violence A Chance” in bright green across the wall next to the emergency exit at the back. 

He smiled and turned off the engine just as his phone rang. 'John Mob', the screen flashed, probably wanting to know where he was. 

“Hi mate”

“Good morning old timer, where are ya?”

Mick chuckled. “Out back, just pulled in.”

“Great, I’m at the front I’ll nip round”.

The line went dead and in less than a minute John appeared, a big grin on his face. Mick stepped out of the car.

“Mickey!” John said, throwing his arms wide and Mick stepped forward and they hugged, clapping each other on the back. John looked at the car. “Christ! Can’t you afford better than that?” he exclaimed, his face creasing in mock disgust.

Mick laughed. “See your sense of humour hasn’t improved since you were a student. Put on a bit of muscle since then too I notice. You were so skinny back in the day, you had to hold your arms out to your sides every time you walked over a drain”.

John laughed again. “So good to see you mate. It’s been way too long. When I heard you were coming back I was over the moon.”

Mick was touched and nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, it’s been a while. What grade are you now? G5?”

John spluttered in mock indignation, “Err…no, E2”.

Mick whistled softly. “Impressive. I’m seriously pleased for you John, you were just a scared kid when I met you. Now look at you. Grading with Eyal and married with a kid”.

John smiled and put his arm around Mick’s shoulders. “Come on, the seminar doesn’t kick off for half an hour but I want to introduce you to a few people”.

As they walked around the front Mick noticed that the reception had completely changed and the interior of the sports hall was a refit on the previous times. Gone were the faded court markings and tatty nets that had hung in his day. The whole thing had been renovated and looked much more impressive. A large green net was drawn across the large hall, splitting the room in two. Only the facade, it seemed, had been left untouched.

At the reception was a young woman and John said “Honey, this is Mick. Mick my wife Jennifer. And the thankfully asleep baby in the push chair is Robert”.

Jennifer stood up and smiled as she extended her hand. She was dressed in a Krav Maga T-shirt and black sweat pants, her long black hair tied back in a pony tail. “I am SO pleased to meet you Mick. I have spent years hearing stories about you from John. You are quite the hero at our place”.

Mick blushed slightly as he shook her hand. “Pleasure’s mine. Your baby looks gorgeous.” Robert was fast asleep, oblivious to the reunion.

Jennifer snorted and said “Pain in the bum like his dad but I love them both”.

John gently pulled the pushchair out and wheeled it past the reception desk to the main hall area. About 10 guys were sat on the benches and stood around talking. All were in Krav logoed T-shirts and a few had the barred grade patches sewn onto the right leg of their trousers and shorts.

“You managed to round a few up then?” Mick said grinning. “They all want to listen to what an old fart like me has to say about Krav?”

“Yeah, these guys said they’d come. Couldn’t get any more unfortunately. Short notice and all that. They know you were around when Eyal was with IKMF and before KMG was formed. They want to hear what you have to say about things then and how it’s moved on. I mean Krav is a global phenomenon now, you’ve seen it expand. It’s gonna be good to hear stories from someone who was there back in the very early days.”

As they approached the group John said loudly “OK guys. This is Mick my former instructor. You’ve all heard about him. He’s hear to tell you what the good old days were like. Be gentle as he’s a bit long in the tooth and can’t hear too well”.

The students laughed and Mick shook their hands one at a time. All seemed happy to see him and he could feel his nervousness slipping away. To be honest, he hadn’t expected more than about ten students to turn up to hear him talk so he wasn’t disappointed.

“And…better late than never…Mick I think you’ll remember this young lady”.

Mick turned to see a very attractive woman in her early twenties walk towards them and put her kit bag on the floor. Mick didn’t recognise her at all. She walked up and stood before him and smiled, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side. “Now, Mick Tanner, don’t you DARE tell me you don’t remember me!”

The stance and the tone tipped him off and he spluttered “Chloe?!!” not quite believing that the scrawny 7 year old he’d taught Krav Maga to was now standing in front of him

Chloe laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “See John, told you he’d guess. That’s a tenner you owe me”. She stepped back and unzipped her fleece. “I even wore the T-shirt”. A faded JKW- Junior Krav Warriors T-shirt was underneath her jacket. Mick remembered that he’d had to give her an XL one as there hadn’t been any in her size left. At the time it had made her look like she was wearing a dress. 

Mick laughed. “My God, so someone still has one of those. I’m flattered you kept it. Might be worth something on Ebay in few years if you look after it”.

Chloe tutted theatrically. “I’ve been offered money for this, good money. Told them to get lost. Collector’s item”.

John stepped forward. “Mick we can kick off when you’re ready, I think everyone’s here who’s coming. Guys, two minutes just get near the front of the mats and we’ll come up for the first Kida and then take it from there.” 

John led Mick to where a desk and two chairs were standing, with a large pile of certificates stacked neatly on the desk. Mick chuckled “Think you over ordered on the certifs.”

John shot Jennifer a death glare who blushed slightly but looked away and continued feeding Robert, who’d now woken up, from a bottle. 

“Oh err…yeah, we ordered loads so we could use them for other seminars. Only the first 15-ish are for today.”

Mick nodded, taking off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. He began stretching his arms and said “When you’re ready mate”.

They walked to to the front of the mats and stood facing the students who formed a neat line, hands by their sides, ready to bow. 

John began to formally introduce Mick. “OK guys, you all know who this is. Mick Tanner, my former instructor back in Junior Krav Warriors 15 years ago. He was a big influence in my life and he’s here to teach you lot today and also tell you some tales about the good old days.”

Mick stepped forward slightly “Thanks John. OK guys…” he was about to bow when John spoke again.

“Chloe, can you do us a favour and open the net all the way. Don’t think we need it today. It’ll give us chance to spread out.”

Chloe grinned and moved quickly to the green curtain taking one end and began walking across the hall. Mick stood patiently waiting and then stared in shock at what he could see. 

As Chloe pulled the net back, there were other people standing behind it, all waiting silently. As the room became one again, they began moving forward to take up a place in the existing line. Some were wearing JKW T-Shirts and all were grinning broadly. 

“What the…?” he exclaimed and John said quietly…”You didn’t really think only 10 people would want to hear the legendary Mick Tanner talk to them did you?

The men and women spilled out and took up places till there were two ranks of people. Mick quickly did a head count and there were over forty people. He still didn’t quite comprehend what was going on. One or two faces he recognised but he was at a loss as to who most of the students were. 

When the final person had taken their place, and Chloe was back in the, line John then barked “KIDA!” and everyone bowed. “Now all of you take a floor” and the group sat down.

He turned to Mick. “I thought, as you said on the phone, that I’d get maybe 10 or 15 guys if I was lucky but as soon as your students found out you were coming back my phone didn’t stop ringing and my inbox is full to bursting. Less said about Facebook messenger the better”.

There was a ripple of laughter from the sitting students. 

“With the exception of the people I introduced you to at the start these are all your ex students. Where’s Shane?” 

A hand went up.

“Tell Mick where you came from to be here today Shane”.

“Brussels”.

"Indeed, Brussels. We’re going to make sure you get your flight home tonight in case you decide to stay”.

More laughter.

Mick looked totally confused. He remembered Shane. Big, sweet natured lad who had been brought to the club because as his mother had put it, “he’s too nice to hit bullies back”. He had a G2 patch on his black sweat pants. 

John then clasped his hands and said “Right, one at a time. Please stand up and thank Mick for whatever you feel you’d like to thank him for”.

A hand went up and John nodded. A woman stood up. “Mick, I’m Louise Jordan. You gave me special training when I got the flu when I was 9 so I could get my J5 patch. Thank you”. 

She sat down again.

Mick had to think for a moment before he remembered Louise. God yes! She’d been heartbroken when she was poorly because she’d have to miss her grading. He’d trained a few times with her to make up the lessons she’d missed and she’d passed her test with the highest score of anyone there.

Another person stood up. “Mick, my name’s Declan Jones. I was getting the living shit beaten out of me at school and the teachers told me that I shouldn’t hit back. You taught me to stand up for myself and the bullying stopped. Thank you”.

Laughter again as Declan sat down once more. Mick remembered the bruises and the fear in the boy’s 10 year old eyes. He’d told him to hit back if he had to and that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

A third person. “Mick, I doubt you’ll recognise me as I was, to put it politely, a bit fatter back then, but I’m Gary Miller and you got me to stop being a slob and look after myself. I can’t thank you enough.”

Gary had indeed been a fat kid. He was tall and athletic looking now, a P5 patch on his shorts.

One at a time the students stood up and gave him their gratitude for what he’d given them when they were kids.

The last person to stand up was a woman of about 30 and she said “Mick, I found new confidence because of you and on behalf of all of us here we just want to say thank you for what you gave us all. Without you none of us would be the people we are.” She sat back down again and applause broke out. Mick looked at John who was clapping as well. He smiled and Mick began to well up, tears filling his eyes. 

“Oh dear! Now look what you’ve done. Come on everyone, give the old man a hug” John said. 

They all stood up and mobbed him, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Further words of thanks and gratitude being spoken.

Finally the group thinned again and everyone formed two staggered lines. Mick knuckled his tears away and smiled at John. “Thanks mate” he whispered.

John smiled back and winked. “No mate, thank you”. He turned to the students. “Alright you lot, are you ready? KIDA!”

The Salvation of Josie

This is a chapter from my book THE SUNDER OF THE OCTAGON, the sequel to THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN.

Both are magical fantasy novels aimed primarily at young adults, with anti-bullying themes. 

The sequence below was inspired by the murder of Sophie Lancaster. The character of Josie is an alternate version of Sophie...but in this case there were otherwordly saviours on hand to save her.

The fighting that ensues was inspired by Krav Maga, especially the way the heroes don't announce themselves until they have to, with the first "baddy" getting ambushed rather than faced in the open.

It's set in Jephson Gardens, a beautiful park in the centre of Royal Leamington Spa, where I live. It's actually locked at night, but please forgive my artistic licence.

The artwork is by the ever tremendous Paul Rose.

Enjoy!

---------------------------------------

Excerpt from the The Sunder of the Octagon.

Out now.

Josie’s feet thudded across the wet grass as the rain poured down. Her breath was raw in her throat. The yells followed behind her. The gang had stopped her at the Jephson Gardens park entrance. She’d seen them before but stayed away. Tonight they were drunk and they had wanted to chat. She’d tried to be nice, her heat hammering in her chest and at first they’d been polite. She’d even given them a couple of cigarettes. Then as she walked away she heard one of them say, “Let’s get the freak!” Josie had run then, knowing that this would happen and praying she could make it to the main road through the park in time.

It was around 3am and no one was around to help her. There were seven or eight of them. She didn’t stand a chance. As she ran past the closed café she saw the lights in the distance, outside the old pump rooms. The rain was heavy but she ran faster, her old leather boots limiting movement and her long braided hair soaking wet.

Suddenly she skidded and tumbled forward on the wet tarmac. Josie fell hard, the wind rushing from her lungs and then they were around her, snarling.

“Well, well! Looks like we caught the freak!”

“Shouldn’t go out looking like that, you’re a disgrace.”

Josie looked up, tears burning her eyes as they stood around her. “Please, just leave me alone,” she said weakly, holding out one hand, the black nail varnish chipped on the first two fingers where she’d fallen. They laughed at her.

She looked up to their ugly, hateful faces. The circle around her got smaller. She could smell the beer on their breath.

“Shouldn’t be here,” one said raising his fist.

“Not in our park,” said another.

“Weirdo!”

“Mosher!”

“FREAK!”

She put her hands over her face and tried to curl up away from their hate and their beer and their violence, wishing she was anywhere but here. “Please!” she said again in a whisper.

As they moved in laughing and one drew back his foot to kick her he was suddenly yanked backwards, vanishing into the darkness of the bushes. The others looked around in shock. “What the hell…?” The circle broke, the teenage thugs looked around wildly. The lad emerged again, trying to get free from something that was holding him.

“Help me!” he screamed as he was yanked back briefly and then he seemed to fly from the bushes and sail over their heads, screaming in fear before landing with a splash in the ornamental lake in the middle of the park.

As the lads looked around, Josie took her hands from her face and looked to where a huge figure emerged dripping wet, his face hidden in the shadows of a hooded robe. Next to him was a smaller person, also hooded.

The leaves on the trees rustled in the wind but then there was silence except for the steady rain.

The taller figure then spoke slowly. A deep voice that was edged with menace. “You would attack a woman? What manner of animals are you?”

The boys simply stared, dumbstruck at this change in fortune. They glanced to their friend in the lake, splashing and yelling for help, then back to the newcomers.

The nearest lad overcame his fear and sneered back at them. “Think you’re hard do you? No one messes with the Bury Boys!” He clicked a knife open, the blade shining wetly in the artificial lights.

His friends regained their bravado for a moment and sniggered. One said, “Go on Steve, show them!”

Steve moved in smiling and the hooded figures separated. The other lads came at them, fists flying in wild, erratic curves. As Steve swung his flick knife the tall man blurred into motion, trapping his arm and throwing Steve over his shoulder and onto the ground with a crunch. Steve yelled and dropped the blade. He staggered to his feet but with a shove he was thrown sprawling onto the tarmac again. Two others tried to jump the man from behind but his hand darted out, faster than a snake and caught one by the throat. The lad’s eyes bulged as he was pulled off the ground, his legs spinning. As the other attempted to punch the hooded attacker, he kicked out without even looking over his shoulder. His foot caught the lad in the chest, who flew back gasping, hitting the metal fence. He span backwards over it and landed with a sopping thud in the wet earth.

Josie sat up, watching spellbound at the fight before her. Even though there were so many of the thugs, they were posing no threat to her saviours. She saw it as if in slow motion, time blurring as the two strangers punched, blocked and kicked out at the gang, effortlessly beating them back.

The smaller figure was facing three at once. He darted about on the balls of his feet, never letting himself get between them but keeping them to one side all the time. He struck out at the nearest, catching him in the head, then kicking him hard in the guts and the lad fell. The other two came to their senses and turned and ran, their trainers splashing on the wet ground. The hooded figure extended his right arm and with a click, a block of what appeared to be smooth wood and bright metal suddenly appeared from his sleeve into his open palm. As Josie watched mesmerised, the block changed shape. Warping, twisting and clicking into alignment. A tiny crossbow, merged with his gloved hand. He reached to his belt and slid a bolt into the firing groove of the weapon. Dropping to one knee he whispered a strange few words and the bolt glowed.

“No way,” he said quietly as he glared at the retreating figures. The arrow’s wicked point dripped as he paused to aim.

His partner whirled. “BUE! NO!!!”

The arm wavered; the figure cursed then lowered his aim a fraction. He triggered the weapon and the bolt sang out. As it flew it separated, with a flash of golden light, into two arrows and with an almost simultaneous thud, landed in the backsides of the two runners. They sprawled forward, screaming in pain as they rolled around.

Steve had managed to crawl towards his knife but as he turned holding it and tried to stand, the tall man simply kicked him in the hand. The knife span into the dark shadows and Steve shrieked, clutching his ruined fingers.

Josie looked around, the rain was heavy and it blurred her vision as the huge figure turned. He stood over her, green eyes glowing like fires in the depths of his hood. Gently he reached down and after a pause she took his hand. Helping her to her feet he asked, “Are you hurt Miss?”

She looked at him, then at Steve and then to the screaming lads on the ground 30 metres away, still trying to pull the arrows out. She looked further across to the lake and the lad who had been thrown there was splashing to the shore, yelling in fright and clearly having trouble.

For the first time she saw the huge sword, sheathed on the figure’s back, the hilt shaped like a kneeling woman with her hands clasped in prayer. His friend returned to them, his crossbow hidden once more.

She looked from one to the other and then slowly said, “No, I’m fine. Thank you."

The taller figure spoke again. “Come. Let us escort you to the gates.”

As they walked either side of her in silence, the rain dripping off their clothes she felt she was dreaming. She wanted to ask them who they were but couldn’t. Her voice was stuck in her throat. They were slowly scanning the area ahead and around as they walked. They passed the ornamental flower beds and she saw the fountain to her right. When they reached the gates the shorter figure spoke. “There you are young Miss, you’ll be safe now. Don’t worry about them; they won’t bother you or anyone else like that again.”

She looked at them, silhouetted in the light from the main road opposite the library and finally asked, “Who are you?”

The same one chuckled and said, “Friends. Now, please go Miss. You’ll catch a fever in this rain.”

She walked over the road to the libray. As she turned they were gone, just the entrance to Jephson Gardens standing open in the pouring rain.

As she walked away up the road the taller figure turned to the other and said, “We need to find Our Lady.”

The other chuckled and replied. “Couldn’t she have put the portal nearer to where she lives?”

The (Slightly) Kravvy Bit of the Holiday

Just winding up a wonderful 4 weeks in Plakias, Crete, Greece. Plakias is a fishing village in the south of the island with an official indigenous population of 130. However from May to October it's a haven for backpackers, returnees and ex pats who swell the residents to over 4000.

My father retired out here in 1996 and I try to spend at least a month a year here; going scuba diving, swimming, cliff jumping, hiking..and of course drinking till about 5am.

Some time ago a newbie at my club asked me if I'd ever had to use Krav Maga in real life. Answer was "no" as the only time the opportunity occurred it was in a bar brawl (ironically at a Plakias reunion in London) and I got my arse handed to me, mainly as I'd been doing Jager bombs and had sunk about 6 pints of lager when things kicked off. I'd recently passed P2 which made the experience all the more humiliating.

This summer I can now finally answer "yes" to that question, due to the unwanted attention of a lecherous and drunken gay bloke in a disco bar.

Me and a mate plus the girls we were dating went up to Ostraco, which has two floors, the upper one being used for dancing with a great balcony and the owner/ manager Iannis playing video tracks to dance to via a massive cinema screen at one end. I had had a lot to drink and was dancing merrily with my mates when I felt a pair of hands grab my chest from behind and start squeezing gently. Assuming it was my pal Eve, who has a habit of doing that, I played along for a few seconds before glancing down to see the hands were far from dainty and decidedly hairy. 

I broke the guy's hold by grabbing his hand and spinning round, attempting to wrist lock him. Being drunk I fumbled it and managed what could be best described as an "index finger lock". I stood there glaring at him while holding his finger and he squealed:

"NO DON'T DO THAT! DON'T DO THAT! DON'T DO THAT!"

I extended my other hand for a handshake (while still holding his finger and giving it a slight twist) and replied:

"Don't think we've been introduced. My name's Lance. DON'T do that again!"

He shook my hand, I let his finger go and him and his mate walked out.

I told Iannis the owner who looked furious and went "WHERE IS HE?!!" but I assured him that it wasn't a big deal and the guy had gone.

Very glad that I actually reacted to that the way I'd been trained to and that despite being three sheets to the wind my first instinct was to do what my Krav instructor had told me.