His sixth sense kicked in as he passed a metal-shuttered betting shop set by itself on an expanse of cracked, rain swept concrete. A concrete and burned brick building looking like a graffiti daubed Second World War blockhouse. There was no attempt to soften this building or make it inviting. It was pure brutal function only.
One flickering street light at the edge of the parking lot cast more shadows than illumination. Fine rain blew in misty shrouds across the light. Like a local, his head was down as the rain drifted into his face, collecting wetly on his new stubble.
He knew he looked like an idiot or a drunk, walking along in a bright red Santa outfit. But that was better than sitting in a police cell waiting to be interrogated. Behind him, he heard footsteps. That little bit too close behind. Caramarin stepped to one side. Let them pass, no problem. One of the lads shoulder jostled him. Even then, Caramarin wanted to let it ride. He had more than enough on his mind to be going on with instead of dealing with three local toughs.
The young men were obviously from this estate. No one else would have any reason or wish to be here at this time of night. Two wore baggy low-riser jeans, no belts, crotch half way to their knees, the other trackie bottoms. All wore black padded jackets. Maybe it was a gang thing or maybe simply to make them harder to identify on CCTV. They all looked to be late teens. Even in this half light, they had a pinched, taut edgy look to them.
One, the smallest and spottiest of the three, said something to Caramarin. His accent harsh. Caramarin shrugged, spread his arms and gave a little smile. Tried to look friendly and non-threatening but didn't think that tactic would work tonight. Especially as with a bruised face and shaved head he had difficulties with both the friendly and looking non-threatening parts.
The lad looked to his two friends. No idea what he said but Caramarin picked up the word 'fucking'. Caramarin knew there was only one way this was going down tonight. The lad held his palm out while the other two split up to take him from the sides. Classic pincer movement.
No way. Get your retaliation in first. Not prepared to let these fools get the first blow in. With no warning. Caramarin jerked up his right arm, pivoted on his heel and smashed his elbow direct into the little guy's face. Throwing all his weight behind the blow.
The shot mashed the little guy's lips against his teeth, carrying on into his mouth, Caramarin felt teeth break in there. The young man staggered back, his face a mask of shock and pain. He said something through his broken mouth, no idea what but didn't sound like he was a happy man at the moment.
Instantly, his Paratrooper reflexes taking over, Caramarin wheeled on his left foot, facing the man on his left side. This guy was slightly larger but not up to Caramarin's height or build. Had a neck tattoo edging out from the top of his jacket. The lad looked tense and expectant. A tense grin on his face.
Caramarin smiled a terrible smile. All the frustrations with his day were condensed into that one punch. His old drill instructor back in initial training had told his recruits to punch through the thing you were hitting. Caramarin aimed at the back of the young man's head. Through his face. Thought he'd knocked the young man's head off. Like he'd care.
The blow hammered into the young man like a pile driver. Cartilage smashed as his nose moved to the side and spread out over his face. The thug gave out a small birdlike sound of distress, his feet shot out from under, then he collapsed. The man's head hammered onto the sidewalk slabs.
Suddenly Caramarin felt a huge blow of pain down by his kidneys. Rode the wave of red agony flooding his brain. Again, with his right elbow now up at shoulder height, he spun around on the ball of his foot, his hard elbow connecting with the third man's chin. The impact knocked the man back.
Caramarin jabbed out, with his left, another glancing blow, then followed through with his right fist. A harder blow but not quite hard enough. The young man's padded jacket absorbed much of the impact on his chest. The man fell back one, two paces.
Caramarin glanced at the first, smallest man. He was now spitting out blood and fragments of teeth onto the concrete. His eyes wild like a rabid rat's. Caramarin glided up and kicked him hard on the forehead. The lad's rat like eyes rolled up into his head. Then he hit the floor like he'd been hit by a truck.
The third lad launched a round-house kick at Caramarin like he'd seen in too many kung-fu movies. Caramarin grabbed the lad's ankle above his white trainer and flipped him over onto his back. His spine slammed onto the concrete with a crash. His head banged onto the floor. Not even his woollen beanie hat could save his skull from such an impact. The lad groaned.
Under other circumstances, Caramarin would have respected that lad. Give him his due, the young man had balls. He started to get up again, his mouth saying one of the few English words Caramarin understood. It began with an F. Enough.
Caramarin kicked out, connecting with the man's ribs, the force lifting him off the cracked concrete. The thug rolled over. Again, he tried to get back up, levering himself up with his palms to the rough concrete. Caramarin stamped on the man's right hand. Felt something shatter under his heel. No way was he using that fist again for a while.
This time the young man cried out, a shriek of animal agony. Howling up to the one remaining street light. The man raised his eyes from the concrete up to Caramarin towering above him. The man was gabbling something quickly. A grin flickering around his mouth but not reaching his eyes. No idea what he was saying but sounded like he'd had enough.
Caramarin stepped back. Away from the three young thugs. Two were lying still where they'd fallen. The third was now sitting up, clutching his broken hand to his chest. This man had lost all interest in carrying on with the fight. Caramarin reckoned Ewelina's friends at the Accident and Emergency at Manchester Royal Infirmary would be kept busy tonight.
"Wrong man, wrong time," Caramarin said to himself.
He arched his back. His kidney area flared with pain. More of Ewelina's stolen codeine tablets for him tonight. Didn't think the men would be calling up reinforcements any time soon but he still didn't want to meet up with any more of their rat pack mates tonight. He turned away from the battleground and carried on. The pain in his lower back descended into a throbbing ache.