The Fate Line

The sandwich board man was there again. Every Saturday and most weekdays shoppers would see old George Timpson doing the rounds in the town square and at The Mall Shopping Centre. Most regulars knew of him and looked forward to sharing the odd joke and seeing the trademark top hat and multi-coloured jacket. He was a regular feature and if he didn't have a proper job on, like advertising the latest movie, special offer at a local restaurant, or the latest theatre production, he'd provide a bit of free light entertainment for patrons as they went about their shopping, or while they sat around grabbing a bite to eat between shops.

This would sometimes mean dusting off an old favourite of his - the old "THE END IS NIGH" wheeze, usually good for a laugh about once every two months or thereabouts.

Nobody ever took that one seriously. George had been doing it for nigh on 25 years and the world hadn't ended yet. But the main thing was, he put a smile on most people's faces and brightened their day.

But Sammy Bosco and his cronies weren't like most people. They had a low boredom threshold and a keen appetite for trouble. This particular Saturday afternoon they were in town giving it large with numerous cans of supermarket lager after being ejected from the Kings Arms public house for causing a lunchtime disturbance.

Sammy, Django, Chick and Wheelie specialised in wiping the smile off people's faces and had just procured the use of a bench seat all to themselves at the far end of The Mall after persuading a young mother and her two boys to move on. They were getting stuck into their cans and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Patrons gave them a wide berth, chose to ignore them and said nothing. No point in looking for trouble.

But you didn't always have to look for trouble because just occasionally, it found you first.

After wolf-whistling the local talent and making various lewd, suggestive remarks, Sammy and co tossed their empty cans very approximately in the direction of a nearby litter bin. These invariably ended up clanging loudly on the polished tiles and then rolling about under people's feet.

"What now?" Django said.

"I'm finking," said Sammy. He ran a comb through his black hair. He hated all that poncy, style-gel muck and refused to use it. "Okay, how about this..? We go up the other end and give that old geezer with the sandwich board a hard time. That'll kill ten minutes."

"Nah," said Wheelie. "Not me. I fancy a ride."

"Count me in, bro!" said Chick. "Got something in mind, Wheelie-boy?"

"Might have, yeah. I saw a likely set of wheels tucked down a nice out-the-way side street on the way in today, one of those early Fiestas, I can do them with me eyes closed." Wheelie emitted a loud guttural burp which echoed around the tall suspended roof structure. "Come on then, Chicky, let's split."

Sammy and Django headed for the far end of The Mall where George Timpson was plying his trade.

They called in at the wine store on the way to top up with some more cans. It was thirsty work being a pain in the backside to other people.

Before they'd even got out of the shop Sammy and Django had cracked their cans and were drinking. They were also spilling rather a lot of it down their shirts.

They shoved past a dawdling huddle of shoppers and made a bee-line towards George who was chatting to a woman who looked a bit like an owl in her horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Is there any truth in it, Mr Timpson?" she was saying, earnestly.

"Any truth in what?" George replied. "You know... What you've said on your board... about the world ending?"

"Don't you worry, my dear," said George. "I can see you've got a nice little guardian angel perched on your shoulder, so I think you'll be okay."

"Oh, how lovely!" The lady chuckled and kind of fluttered away in the direction of a sweet shop.

"Look at that silly so-and-so," said Sammy. "You'd think he'd have something better to do than scaring the crap out of people."

"Yeah," said Django. "What is this 'The End is Nigh' cobblers? Let's sort it."

Sammy came up behind George. The wording on the reverse side of the board read: 'PREPARE TO MEET THY MAKER'. The muscular youth sneered contemptuously and sent George clattering to the floor by accidentally-on-purpose stumbling into him and hooking his foot round.

"Oops, sorry mate!" he sneered. The trademark topper went skidding and spinning across the polished tiles. Sammy glowered over him. "What's the idea scaring the crap out of everybody, grandad?"

"Yeah," Django barked, ripping the printed sheets of paper off both sides of the board, which now lay twisted and broken on the floor. "Bloke your age ought to know better. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, grandad."

There was no shortage of people standing around gawping at the fracas, but nobody seemed willing to intervene.

"Listen," hissed Sammy. "If I see you round here again spreading your doom-and-gloom, you won't just be getting a gentle nudge in the back. You comprendi..?"

George got to his knees and rubbed his elbow. He looked coldly at the two yobs. "Be careful b-boys," he said, sounding a bit shaken. "You don't have a guardian angel... either of you."

"What's he going on about?" Chick looked at Sammy and sneered.

"Search me," said Sammy. "Come on, let's get out of here. I've had enough of this lark for one day."

"Be careful, boys," George called after them, getting shakily to his feet and brushing himself off with the help of a few passers-by who now felt it about the right time to get involved.

Outside The Mall Sammy and Chick, plugged in their iPods and headed for home. But listening to heavy metal music and swilling beer at the same time as crossing a road on a blind bend is not the most prudent of ideas.

Pity they didn't hear the car driven by two young joy riders hurtling around that same blind bend from the opposite direction at that very same moment. It seems like old George didn't always get it wrong... at least where some people were concerned.

THE END