Gimme Shelter II, 5

(Here y'go - last one & i hope it's not a fizzer. Off to Christchurch now, for i don't know how long - again!

cheers)

Jim stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Ronnie, your brother's up in the workshop. Give him a call on the intercom and tell him to get down here, right now.”

“Will do, Dad.”

“Good boy. He's not to go upstairs either. I'll be back.”

They tried to eat, but neither of them was very hungry. They were too worried.

“Gran, what do you think Dad's doing?”

“I haven't a clue. I'm no more a mind-reader than you are. We'll just have to wait and see. Don't worry, Boys. Jim usually knows what he's doing.”

“But not always.”

“But usually. Settle down, Ronnie. Patience is a virtue.”

They were still sitting at the table when Ronnie's Uncle Stephen came in. A big guy, Stephen was ex-army and it showed, in his bearing, in his clothes and especially in his haircut. He seemed really ezcited, for once. He was rubbing his hands together and all-but bouncing as he walked.

He grinned and greeted Boy with a firm handshake when Ronnie introduced them, and then he wanted to know where his brother was?

Gran replied, “I think Jim went back to his workshop by now.”

“He did? Damm. Now I'll have to go out again. I've just come in from the cold.”

“No you don't,” Ronnie smiled. “You could go up the stairs at the end of the south corridor. That'll take you up into the workshop without going outside.”

“He's opened the south stairs' entrance up? Great. About time too.”

“Yeah, Dad said he's sick of going out into the weather too.”

“Right, I'll go and check-in with Jim. See you soon, Boys. Take it easy, Mum.” He hurried out again.

Ronnie watched him going. “Someone's all excited.”

“He is,” Gran agreed. “My sons are never going to grow up. When they get together, they're like a pair of big kids.”

“You still don't know what they're doing?”

“I still don't know what they're doing.”

“Okay. Want to watch some TV, Boy?”

“Only if it's switched on.

“That can be arranged, and shut up!”

They lounged and watched TV for a program or two, then, when something good came on, Reggtie came in and switched it off.

“Hey!”

“What're you doing?” They both protested.

“Never mind,” Reggie grinned. “That's enough TV for one day. Dad wants you both to come with me.”

“With you? Where to?” Ronnie queried. “Up to his workshop?”

“No. To the garage on the front street. Come on.”

They went along the corridors, up the stairs and into the garage and Ronnie's cousin Marcus met them there.

“Hey, Marcus. What're you doing here?”

“Just doing what I'm told, Ronnie. It's easier that way. This is your mate, the maori boy, is it?”

“Does he look like a maori boy?”

“Shut up, Smart-Arse. Of course he does. Hey Boy. I'm Marcus, Ronnie's cousin. Good to see you, real good.”

“Hey Cousin Marcus.”

Yeah, it's good to see him, it always is,” Ronnie said. “What're we meant to do now?”

“Wait here a minute, I'll be back.” Marcus went out into the street.

At least the weather had improved out there; the sun was shining. In a couple of minutes, he returned, shut the door and stood looking at his watch. He waited, nodded, and then said, “Right then. Boy, you are to go out and stand in the middle of the street with no coat or scarf or anything on.”

“I don't know about this.” Boy was looking worried.

“Just do it, Boy,” Ronnie said. “They know what they're doing. If Dad doesn't Uncle Stephen does.”

“This was Stephen's idea,” Marcus said “C'mon, Boy – outside! You're holding things up.”

“Well . . . okay.”

Boy opened the door to go outside and a group of noisy motorbikes cruised slowly past. He slammed the door shut and leant back against it. “Whoah!”

“Come on, Boy, get out there!” Marcus opened the door again.

“But that's them!” Boy protested. “They'll see me.”

Ronnie said, “I think that's the whole idea. You've heard of whitebait, haven't you?”

“Yeah, of course I have.”

“Well, you're the Black bait. Go and stand out in the street.”

“Cheeky Honky! That'll keep,” Boy grumbled as he walked outside.

He stood in the middle of the street and looked up and down. The bikes were still visible in the distance; there was no other traffic around. He didn't know if that was normal or not.

Three bikes went around a corner, the fourth one stopped and the rider looked back, and then raced off after the others.

“I think he saw me!” Boy yelled.

“Good,” said a voice between two buildings over the street. “They're meant to, that's the plan.”

“Wait there, Boy,” said another voice on his side of the street. “Think like a bullfighter.”

“I haven't got a cape! Haven't got a sword either, wish I did.”

“You don't need them,” Marcus called from the garage. “Here they come – Bandits at one o'clock! Stay there, Boy. Don't move.”

“Sheeet!” Boy went as white as a ghost, facing the bikes roaring up the street towards him. All 7 of them were coming now.”

“We've got a full house, all 7 bikes!” Marcus yelled. “Holding, Guys, and counting. One, two, three, four. Go, go, go!”

Ropes were pulled tight on both sides of the street and what had looked like a couple of lines across the road turned out to be 2 walls of old fishing nets hauled up a couple of meters into the air blocking the path of the motorbikes skidding into it.

Three bikes went down in a jumbled, tangled mess. Another one skidded sideways, bounced over the kerb and smacked into a wall. The other 3 bikes braked and stopped.

One rough and dirty-looking rider put his bike on the kick-stand, the other two just dropped theirs and they advanced on Boy. “Shouldn't've done that,” the leader taunted. “Now you're gonna die!”

“He bloody is not!” Ronnie, followed by Marcus and Reggie, ran out to stand with Boy. Marcus and Reggie both had short, solid, wooden batons in their hands.

The bikers stopped and paused uncertainly when they were suddenly surrounded on all sides by a growing group of older youths, men of all ages and even a couple of women – they were not ladies. Many of the grim-faced crowd were big, burly guys, obviously manual workers, maybe miners, sawmillers and fishermen. A lot of them were carrying the same batons, slapping them on their hands.

Ronnie and Reggie's father and uncle, Jim and Stephen Martin, walked out and faced the bikers. They stood silently eyeballing each other until Jim said, “Pick up your rubbish, get the fuck out of our town and don't come back.”

“Or what?” a shaking voice replied.

“Or hurt – a lot,” Stephen answered.

They looked around; they backed off. Two of them got back on their bikes, wheeled around and left. The other helped one of his mates up and they got out of there. The remaining two, scowling, limped as they pushed their bikes away up the street and it was over.

“Choice! Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Uncle, everyone!”

“No worries, Ronnie,” his dad replied. “Nobody messes with our town and our family and lives to tell the tale. Boy, as long as you're here, you are family too.”

“Whoah, thanks.” Boy stood there like he was stunned, stray tears escaping his eyes.

“Well done, Boy,” Stephen spoke out. “I was impressed with how you stood fast with all that lot bearing down on you, you never even flinched.”

“Thanks,” Boy nodded. “I couldn't have moved if I tried, I was bleedin' terrified!”

“Would have been something wrong with you if you weren't, but you stood there. I'll be proud to call you family too,” Stephen nodded.

“Thank you . . I . .” Boy's bottom lip quivered, his eyes teared-up and he fled into the garage. Ronnie hurried after him.

“Okay, Guys,” Stephen smiled. “Get rid of those nets and we'll go for a beer. I think Jim's buying.”

“That's what you think, Mr. Money-Bags, but, yeah, let's have a beer.”

They all adjourned to the nearest pub.

Ronnie went into the garage, down the stairs and along the corridors to his room, looking for Boy. He was in there, of course, sprawled across the bed, face-down, like he'd been thrown there.

“Boy? You okay?” Ronnie sat and put a hand on his back.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” Boy sighed. He rolled over to look up at him. “I'm good now!”

“Why are you crying then, you Twit?”

“Because, well because I was getting overcome, whakamau and emotional. That was awesome what all those people did for me. I didn't want half the town to see me crying.”

“I can see you crying.”

“You can, but you don't count.”

“I don't? Why don't I”

“Because you're my Mate.”

“Oh yeah!” Ronnie bent forward and brushed their lips together. “I'm your Mate and you are mine. I love you, Boy. I'm so glad you came back.”

“Ronnie, I love you, I always have and I'm real glad that I came back too.”

They kissed.

End.