Like a Bat Out of Hell; last song I heard on the radio before I left the house. Amazing isn't it? How the fuckers stick in your head? Rolling and bouncing through mine just now, bat out of hell; bloody watch me.

Totally tits up blag, nightmare. "How Not To Do a Robbery", I could write the book. Saturday afternoons, betting shops have money. Great plan, eh?

And it all went wrong, mess, alarms and fucking shot some old dear. She's gone, right through the napper. Oh fuck me in trouble. Never got near the counter, let alone jumping it. Blew clear daylight through the little old lady's head, mad old cow. She went for me, can you believe it? Oh, fuck me, fuck me...I shot a little old lady.

I fucking run. Run my bollocks off. Some other silly old sod turns and holds his arms out. Half a clip and he's gone the same way as the old dear, top of his face skittered on my didgerees as I bounce past, brains on my trainers. All I can hear is my heart.

Legging it, running my cock off. Hurting now, legs screaming at me, lungs bleached and raw. Flaying sand storm in my chest, feel the dry burn.

Cannot do this, can't breathe. Fucking Bambi here. Old Bill up my arse already. How did they get here so quick? I'm knackered, can't run no more.

I stop. Grab a bird, stick the gun in her neck.

"Fucking alright, stop, FUCKING STOP!" I yell. The coppers slither all over the street, arse over tit, trying to put the brakes on in the rain.

Skinny bitch is wriggling. I clump her with the gun, hard. She has gone out. I choke her throat and keep her body upright between me and the coppers. I cannot see any guns amongst them. Men in black not here yet.

Got a chance, if it's just fuckwit pointy heads so far. Think, think quick. I drag the skinny bird into the doorway behind me. I smell pies and bread, fucking bakers.

I am standing in a bakery, my right arm around the neck of an unconscious bird. I drop her on the floor, sack of spuds, and scuttle to the back of the shop and into a kitchen. Rows of stainless steel fittings. Two blokes, in cook type white clobber. Big, bigger than me.

"OI! OI!" says the biggest one . "What the fu..."

"Get out, get out."I shout. I guess the barrel of a gun looks big when it's pointed at you because they start to do as they are told. I make them walk into the shop. Big and not happy, not moving fast enough for me.

Both hands and steady. Smack bang in the left eye, five shots left. Pivot on the other fella, he's moving. Pull. I shoot him in the stomach, hard to miss it really, big target. Down and someone has turned a tap on in his fat gut, claret pouring out of him.

I walk past the shiny metal rows of kitchen stuff to the back door.

DOGFUCK!

I don't believe this. Who puts armour on the back door to a bakery? Never in a million years will I be leaving by that.

Back into the shop. My hostage is awake and pissing on the floor as she lays there, tremendous. Some bloke is kneeling down next to her. Just me, the dead bakers and them.

Looking through the windows it's all fucking blue, the Police, all of them by the looks.

Switch on, fucking switch on.

I shout at the bloke kneeling next to the bird on the shop floor.

"OI. Bring her back in to here. Now mate, here in to the kitchen."

I point the gun at him. Oldish bloke, bit fat, red faced. Pisshead by the looks. He looks back at me steady, a bit too steady for me. He's not scared.

"I am not mucking about mate, bring her in here NOW."

"OK son" he says to me. Still looking at me calmly, he picks her up and walks into the kitchen. I shut the door behind him as he walks in with her. She's gone out again, all floppy and dopey looking.

"Over there, over there." I point to the poxy armoured door at the back of the kitchen. "Sit down over there."

She's moaning now. Urine is going all over his arms as he carries her. Dark stains on his check jacket. He is holding her like a baby, gentle like. The son of a bitch still doesn't look scared. I wedge a big trolley thing up against the door to the shop and sit down on the floor, resting up against it. I've been gripping the gun so hard it's imprinted the pattern of the butt into my palm. I hold it more loosely in my lap. I'm dead. Big boys will be outside soon, men in black, the nutting squad. Shit, shit, shit.

The bloke is talking to the bird, stroking her hair and talking as he holds her.

"Sshh, it's alright my darling, everything's going to be alright, sshh. You'll be all right, don't you worry.'

"I doubt that mate" I say to him. He looks up at me.

"She's hurt, just let me comfort her."

"Whatever mate, I don't give a shit, I'm a dead man anyway." I bang my head back up against the trolley. BOLLOCKS.

We sit there like this for an hour or so. I cannot think of anyway out of this mess. Take them to the door with it at their heads? Shoot one as a threat? Demand a helicopter? Everything I think of ends up with me getting blown away by a sniper. I'm going fucking mad here as the memories wash over me like heroin shivers. Crappy bike, crappy trainers, crappy mates, crappy birds, crappy life. All fucking crap from day one.

The bloke is looking at me again, still holding the bird and stroking her hair.

'Why did you do this son? Why this...this madness?"

"Shut up, what would you know about it?" Great, confession time in a bakery, my brain is popping, swimming.

The bird is moving now, he lets her out of his arms and helps her sit up against the door. She puts her hand up to her face and wipes some of the blood from her cheek onto her hand. She looks at her hand like she can't work it out. Pretty sort of face, big brown eyes,
skinny though. She sees me. Pushes herself back up against the door.

"What's the matter love? This?" I wave the gun. "Or is the brains on me shoes?"

"Leave her alone, you've done enough already" he says.

"No, no" she says. She sort of wobbles a bit and then pushes her hair up off her face. "I'm fine, just fine."

"You will be OK darling, just you sit still there and catch your breath." He puts his arm around her but she don't like that, she shrugs it off.

"No, honestly I'm fine." Very prim and proper. She sees she's wet herself and starts to flush, pulling at her trousers. He leans over.

"Don't you worry about that, happens sometimes."

"Yeah? When was the last time you pissed yourself then mate?" I laugh.

He gives me that calm look again, I do not like that.

"Before you were born son, last time a man pointed a gun at me."

"Yeah?" I raise the gun and aim it at his head. "Have another go." She flinches and ducks but he don't move at all.

"No son, once was enough. I won't do that again, ever."

"So who put the drop on you then?"

"Just a man, a man in the middle of madness, very much like yourself. Only he was doing it for a cause. Still madness though."

"What are you on about old man? Bloody riddles. Tell me who pulled a gun on you." I put the gun back in my lap. "Go on, tell me, I'm interested."

"I was a soldier and it was in Northern Ireland, that's all."

"You wet yourself because some bloody paddy had a gun? Ha ha ha, thought you soldier boys were supposed to be hard."

"Harder than you son. Killing does not make you hard, living with it afterwards does."

The bird looks up at this and stares at the bloke.

"Is that true?" she asks him. She has gone all bright eyed, really intense. I'm just watching them now as they look at each other. How bloody crazy is this?

"Why, my darling? Why would you want to know that?"

"I need to know. Is it really hard afterwards, to live with it?"

He points at me.

"Ask him. Ask him, is it hard? Is it? What do you think about it, man with the gun?"

"Shut the fuck up." I stand up and point the gun at them. "This is a mental conversation, just shut up. What are you on about? Bloody war stories and some silly tart who probably never killed a fly, just shut up or I'll blow your heads off."

He looks at her again.

"See darling? That's how hard it is. Soul destroying. Hey, you. Alright if I have a little drink?" He pulls a bottle out of his jacket.

"Whatever." I can hear sirens and noise outside. Jesus, I'm trapped like a rat. Two nutty hostages and no way out of this one. No one ever walks away with hostages, shit, shit, shit. Shoot myself or let them do it? I'm not doing life. Christ, how many have I shot? Two dead bakers in the shop, the old lady and the old man. Four, plus the armed robbery. This kidnap as well. I'll never get out.

"Why do you want to know about living with it afterwards anyway?"I spit at the bird. "What's that all about?"

"May I have some of that?" she asks the bloke. He hands the bottle over.

"Vodka and lime, lime makes the medicine taste less like medicine. It's the other way of dealing with it, takes the edge off life. Right son?"

"Just shut the fuck up and let her tell me why."

She tips the bottle to her mouth, she really is very pretty, long neck and good skin. I am losing my mind here. They are shouting to me from outside now but I cannot hear the words, too muffled. Don't take a genius though to guess what they're saying though. Fucked up the arse, with no kisses.

"My mum wants me to kill her."

WHAT?

"She has a...disease, you see. She wont ever get better and she wants me to kill her to stop her suffering." She takes another big glug from the bottle. "I don't know what to do."

"Should have brought the old cow shopping I could have done her a
favour." Now that's bad, even from me. The bird starts crying. He still looks calmly at me. Right at me. Eyes to eyes. Right into my skull. It's all shrinking as I look at him.

"Do it son, do it now. Do it quiet, over there. I know, I know son. No way out for you. You don't want to live with all this in a cage for the rest of your life."

I'm trembling now, really shaky, totally gone, smelling stuff and light-headed. My bike was not the best bike, just a copy of the make that was the best. My trainers too, not Adidas, fakes, not pukker. Fucking shaking la, shaking mental. Shit fuck trainers, rubbish trainers, ugly, club foot trainers mate. Bits of brain on the laces.

"Fuck you." Point it at him. "Take you with me? Fucking take you with me then?"

"I really don't mind son." He sighs and puts his arm around her, she doesn't shrug it off this time. I'm so alone. She is crying on his chest now and he has his head pointing up with his eyes closed.

It's heavy now, in me hand. I put it in my mouth, suck in a deep breath, wipe those betrayal tears that are leaking.

He is still holding her close, Father and daughter painted scene.

I have to pull the trigger, got to, aint I?

Bollocks in both hands and here we go.

And fucking fuck you.