Smell of Fear

Ch 6 The Smell of Fear

When the ambulance finally turned up, an air of professionalism set in and everyone knew Neville was in the best place with the best care. But what a scene he left behind, and everyone knew it was all over bar the screaming. Neville had screamed fit to burst, once he had seen what the man had done. For him, it was more the shock of wondering what his life would be like, now he had no hands? The screams from the onlookers were worse.

Some men screamed because they had never seen anything like this before, outside of TV. They just could not believe it was happening in front of them, in real life. Several just ran away. Some threw up; some just stood and cried, but most, like Charley, just stood and watched. One man ran out through the main door and was never seen again. With even his wife and kids not being able to give an explanation. All in all, it was just the terror of factory life finally being too much for them. They simply could not take any more.

One thing they were all sure about, was the wrath that would be heaped upon them from Eurco. Once the ambulance raced away, he came out onto the shop floor to walk amongst the blood. It still dripped from the machines as he strode about and looked from the red pools to the disbelieving faces of the men.

"How could you let it happen" was all he could say. As if they had done it to spite him. "This is the end. The end for all of you."

No one spoke, as they knew it was just a cue for Eurco to launch into a tirade of hate.

"The end for him too," whispered Charley.

"Who did it?" was all he asked, the blood squelching under his polished shoes. He looked around at the group, quite expecting one of them to break down in a tearful confession. Not that Eurco was upset about Neville and the loss of his hands, but he was worried it might end his reign of terror. "How did it happen?"

"He brought it on himself," said Old Dave. "He wouldn't listen to what we were telling him. I tried to say heaving the sheets like that would end in misery, but he wouldn't have it. Even brought in one of those new lads from over there." Old Dave pointed a thumb in the direction of the asylum seekers.

"Accident waiting to happen," put in Bob.

"Not on my shift it isn't, and you lot know it. Don't think you are getting away with it either. The Police will be here soon and they'll want an explanation, as to what happened."

"What about all those bloody asylum seekers? They won't think much of that, because they shouldn't even be here! After all, it was one of them that did it."

Eurco looked up from the blood-soaked floor and smiled. "You go and see if you can find one now."

Sure enough, when the men looked over the fence, the whole place was empty. Every trace of their ever having been there was wiped out.

"When the Police get here, they will still want an explanation for it." Old Dave knew it was a battle of wills between them and Eurco now. "What are we going to tell them? That he ran off back to his own country? Or some flea pit he's staying in?"

"The Police will pin it on one of you lot, standing around here now. Who else could it be? You lot work here, and it's you that do the very job which cost that idiot Neville his hands. Sweet dreams." With that, he was gone.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Bob was more worried than most. It has been his post that the asylum seeker had taken to try and prove Neville right. So it was he that was well and truly in the frame. Once the Police arrived, they would be looking here first.

"Just tell them the truth," put in Charley.

"About the asylum seekers?" replied Bob.

"Why not? We haven't done anything wrong? They brought them here? I wonder if Neville will keep his mouth shut? He'll get no compensation from the firm."

"If Health and Safely come here, we'll have no job." Old Dave was weighing up the consequences. "This is the big one. From this day on, everything changes. You realise that, don't you?"

It was as Charley was walking back to the factory that afternoon, that things did change. The place had been crawling with Police, all asking awkward questions, that no one could answer, and as predicted H & S came down on them like a ton of bricks. They truly believed they would be sent home, but the management convinced the Police that certain parts of Cobol, could carry on making things. But the men on the guillotines had been scattered to the four winds.

As the Police began to ask more searching questions, they came closer to the truth. An air of gloom settled over the workforce, as they knew something was about to happen. When the H&S people arrived they were shown the spot by a very concerned policeman. They took one look at the general condition of the shop floor and hit the fire alarm. This caused everyone to slope off slowly to gather in the yard, as was the fire drill. No one paid a lot of attention to it, save a quick glance at the roofs to spot smoke, in case their dreams had come true and the place was burning down after all.

When the H&S men began putting their own padlocks on the doors, panic set in. Strangely Eurco was not as bothered as everyone thought he might be. Watching the whole event from the window of the managers' office on the other side of the yard.

"What the hell's going on?" asked Nigel, running about like a scared rat, trying the door for an escape route.

"They've locked us out," laughed Old Dave.

"What's that mean?"

"That's the end of your job mate!"

Soon word got out that the H&S men were holding a Kangaroo court in the canteen, to try and find the guilty party. Bob had panic in his eyes.

"They've got it in for me! I just know it! What am I going to do?" The whole world was caving in on him now, and escape seemed his only option.

Charley was just about to come up with another master plan, when he saw Bob running between the pallets, across the yard, and into the bushes, beyond.

"Where the hell does he think he's going?" cried Charley as they watched him disappear into the world beyond the factory. "The Police will pick him up. How far does he think he'll get?"

"We have to come up with something fast," Old Dave looked worried. "He thinks he'll actually go down for this one."

"I'll go and see if he's in the Rabbit."

Charley managed to escape the same way and slipped through the pallets to escape the factory. There was a path through the industrial estate, and soon he emerged into the centre of the market town itself.

It was whilst walking to their favourite pub: the Dirty Rabbit; that Charlie spotted the sign in the shop window. An announcement of the Lottery had been posted, as the people who ran it, desperately wanted to find the mystery winner. Known to live in that area, they wanted them to get in touch as soon as possible.

What a cruel irony, thought Charley, that his numbers might come up now? In the face of all this chaos? Cruel indeed. But Charley felt a shiver run down his spine as he was about to walk away, and something stopped him.

There before him, lay their numbers.

Charley shook his head in case the days' events were getting to him.

"NO!"

These were the numbers, and there they sat. What was he to do?

This was what their whole lives had been leading up to. Here it was! The dream that had entered his head every morning, and stayed with him every moment in that factory, and Charley was looking at it now.

Funnily enough, Charley had never thought much about what he would do once he won the lottery. Sure, he had played out the usual scenarios about limousines and things, but not what he would do on the spot. Just collect the cheque and say thanks, was all that had ever played itself out in his head. Now, he just froze.

What if he just went to the company, collected the cheque, and ran like hell? Would they catch him?

But the memory of all those years, and all that pain, was too much. No, he could not run out on his friends, they were all part of this terrible thing, and they could not escape each other.

He walked into the shop and spoke to the girl.

"That's us." he pointed behind her, at the sign proclaiming fabulous wealth for the lucky stranger.

"Good for you," was all she would say. Bored with life, she never even looked up.

"No, seriously, we have won it."

"Sure," the nasty sneer never left her face, as she leaned on the counter.

"Really, our syndicate has won it. How do we get in touch?"

The girl thrust a leaflet into his hand and carried on chewing.

Charley studied the leaflet carefully. Clearly, the Eurco Lottery company were very concerned about getting in touch with the winning ticket holder. Little wonder, when Charley read out the jackpot figures.

£50,000,000 on the first prize, and £200,000,000 on the second. They knew the holders of both tickets lived around the Ampswell area and desperately needed to get in touch. There was a phone number which Charley memorised as he rushed to the phone box. Looking in his pockets, he found he had no money.

Other than running back to the factory, or back home, he was at a loss, as to what to do next. On the street stood a young man selling the Big Issue.

"Lend us some change mate, and I'll give you 100!" pleaded Charley.

"You must be joking! It's my job to beg for money. This is a first." The man was taken back by the request.

"Look, this watch is worth at least ten quid, just give me a couple of pounds in change." Charley held out the battered Rolex fake from the market.

"Alright, but I still want the hundred quid."

Charley thanked him and ran to the set of phone boxes in the market square. The first was vandalised; the second only took cards; but the third, although recently used as a toilet, was working.

When Charley finally got through, he was down to his last pound and knew he would be in big trouble if this didn't come off.

"Hello sir, this is the central office of the Euro Lottery, how may we help you?" The girl sounded thoroughly fed up with the whole routine which had been pushed her way.

So Charley tried to explain, as best he could, that he and his friends had found themselves in the fortunate position of winning the lottery.

"Yes, sure. Please tell me where you are, and when you could contact one of our representatives?"

"Why?"

"To make sure you are the genuine holder sir."

Charley could feel the girl sneering at the other end.

"Just name the place."

The girl went on to name a local solicitor that worked in the town.

"Yes, I know it! We'll be there."

"Please bring some proof of identification and bear in mind that we prosecute people for fraud. And finally sir?"

"Yes?"

"Remember to bring the tickets? You'll be surprised how many don't bother."

As he stood outside the box, Charley concentrated hard. What should he do next? Go to the solicitors' office on his own, or go back to the factory and pull in the help of the others? The longer he left it, the more explaining he was going to have to do. Might be better to let the others know? If nothing else, it might take some of the pressure off him, when it came to making all these decisions. Charley was useless at it, as most of his adult life had been lived hiding in that hell hole, and now he was having to make too many of them. All at the same time.

When he got back to the factory, things had changed.

The Police brought in to execute the will of the Crown over an H&S issue, now had a riot on their hands. After several men had been led away in handcuffs to face charges, the rest of the shop floor smelled blood. They were not about to have their livelihoods taken away by these thugs, who they saw as simply being brought in by the management to close the place down without paying them any redundancy money.

Now, the truth of the matter was exactly that, but no one wanted to let on. The Police were wonderfully efficient in getting the backs of the workers, well and truly, up. And the workers behaved like perfect sheep. Ignorant and arrogant.

Charley wondered if he dare mention the little matter of the lottery, to his mates, as chaos reigned all around them. When he finally found Old Dave, he was so preoccupied with thinking up new swear words to hurl at the police, that the money seemed almost irrelevant.

"We have to talk," shouted Charley above the noise of jeering men. "I've got some exciting news on the Lottery."

"The pigs are going to haul us in," replied Old Dave, taking no notice of Charley. "Haul us in, for an accident, that was brought about by the management."

A riot van drew up outside the factory door, for squads of helmeted men to leap out and glare at them, menacingly.

"I think we've won the Lottery," Charley shouted over the noise of the bull horn, warning them of their terrible fate.

"This is a clear battle between the working class and the oppressive state.

"I said the lottery!" shouted Charley.

"It's Thatcher and the miners all over again."

"Are you listening?"

"This time, we won't be beaten!"

"For the Last time, we have won the Lottery!"

As Charley pulled his hands away from his mouth, he realised they had finally heard what he was saying. Even the Police stood still to listen.

"What did you say?"

"I said, we have won the lottery. One of our tickets has come up on the Euro Lottery."

"What the hell's that?" Along with Old Dave, the whole shop floor was gathering around to hear the news. "We never played that?"

"We do this time," Charley pulled the leaflet from his pocket, for the whole factory to see. "I spread the bet. That business of the numbers from every guillotine would never have worked, on our old system. So I moved it about a bit."

"Let me see," Old Dave grabbed the piece of paper and studied it. "And these are the numbers?"

"Yes."

"Your sure?"

"Quite sure."

"So how do we get the money?"

"A firm of solicitors in the town."

"Right, let's go!"

"What about the struggle of the workers?" Charley pointed back at the Police vans.

"Stuff

'em! We've left all that behind now."

So with that, the 5 lottery winners walked out of a nightmare, and into a dream.

The riot fizzled out behind them, as they walked out the factory gate, and up the hill. But they could not escape that easily. Eurco had been informed of their good fortune and came rushing out of the office. He had been enjoying the revolt, as it was saving him a lot of work, getting rid of the men. This business of winning a huge sum of money sent him into a panic. First, because he saw some of his prize pigeons getting away before they were well and truly plucked. And secondly, because he wanted it.

"Where the hell do you think you are going?" he shouted after them as they were about to walk up the hill, and escape.

"Get stuffed Eurco!" shouted Stuart, one of the jubilant winners.

"Come back here and say that."

"We don't have to take your shit anymore," Kevin replied, laughing as they went.

"You don't get away from me that easy." Eurco was fuming, now they were deliberately defying him. His hands were clenched in fists of rage, and froth was bubbling from his mouth.

"We'll have expensive lawyers on your case as soon as possible," Old Dave laughed over his shoulder leading the way.

"I'll hire a hitman and blow your bloody brains out!" shouted Kevin.

The matter would not end there.

The solicitor was naturally nervous when they walked through his door. Here were 4 rough working-class men, claiming to have won a huge sum of money, and he had to prove it. Of course, his fee for doing it was huge too, but this was business.

"Now let me see," said the solicitor as he studies the paperwork laid out on the desk before them. "You are making a claim with the Euro Lottery over their winning prizes?"

"Yes, like they said on the phone." Charley looked nervously around the room. They were all gathered there to try and get their money as soon as possible. The tension was so thick in the air that you could cut it with the paper-knife on the desk before them.

"We have a claim for £50 million and one for £200 million?" The solicitor reeled off the figures as if he handled this amount of money every day. Whereas the truth was, that he only handled a few wills and the paperwork surrounding the sale of houses. Local stuff but it kept him going. There simply was not enough wealth in Ampswell for anyone to make a fortune, so he was grateful for a break like this. Cobol has been the only source of wealth in the town for years, and no one understood more than he, the need for escape. "Where are your claim tickets?"

"Here they are!" Charley pulled the well-worn slips from his pocket and handed them over.

"That's good," said the solicitor, as he studied them against the fax copy sent by the Euro Lottery from their offices in Brussels. "You have the receipts for both, but only the playing copies for one." The man carried on writing, holding the slips before him.

"What does that mean?" asked Old Dave looking nervous and confused.

"Well you can have the £50 million straight away, but you need the original ticket to claim the £200 million," replied the solicitor coolly.

"You mean we won them both?" Charley could hardly believe his ears.

"Yes, that's right. Well done, not many people can win 2 prizes on one draw." The solicitor allowed himself a smile.

"What were you saying about the playing tickets?" Old Dave smelled a problem here and wanted to know more. "Which of the prizes can we have right away?"

"You can have the £50 million as soon as the banks wire the money to your account. Here is a sample cheque." The solicitor held it up for all to see. The men stared in awe at the colourful cheque. Like a magical parchment held before them, it promised untold wealth.

"What about the £200 million?"

"For that, you need the other slip like this?" The solicitor held up the piece of paper. "The playing ticket which goes in the machine. You have the receipt, which shows you played the game, but we need the original ticket which you wrote the numbers on, as final proof."

"Why?" Charley felt panic grip his throat.

"Because this is a large amount of money, and we need proof that you are the owners of the winning tickets." The solicitor was genuinely surprised at this request and could not understand why the men felt so anxious.

Tension began to run high in the office. They had just left a riot and their old jobs, and now this.

"You sure as hell don't need them with any other lottery?" pointed out Old Dave.

"This sir is no ordinary lottery. The Euro Lottery is a very large organisation, who have been doing this for years. They are very well aware of the pitfalls, surrounding claims for large sums of money. Still, what's the problem? Just bring in the other ticket and everything will be fine." The solicitor looked at the men, who looked at Charley.

"Where is it?" asked Old Dave.

"Bob must have it," replied Charley sheepishly.

"What? Why the hell give it to him? And why that one, and not the rest?" Old Dave could not believe he was being thwarted at not being able to get his hands on the money.

"It was whilst the accident was happening," Charley tried to explain. "Bob asked if he could have the original numbers, so he could write them up on the board."

"Accident?" asked the solicitor.

"It will be on the telly tonight," Old Dave put in.

"So I handed him some of the tickets, and was just about to give him the rest when Neville got his hands chopped off."

"Oh my God!" cried the solicitor.

"Where is Bob now?" Old Dave searched his memory for a trace of the man.

"He must be still in the Rabbit!" said Charley, realising he never tracked him down.

"Then we have to get him."

Kevin was left behind in the office, just in case, the money came through. This was how naive they were on international money transfers. Whilst the rest went to the pub to find Bob.