GAS

It was home time. As the gates swayed gently on their hinges, leaves danced underneath them, celebrating their freedom. The sun peeked around the corner of the research and development block and cast long sepia shadows across the car park. An orange halo grew from the frozen roof of every car. Other than the slow October wind, the only other sounds were those of hurried feet in need of their homes, and the occasional zip being fastened in a bid to block out the cold. Gentle nods of goodbye were offered instead of parting words. It was too cold to stand and talk to your work mates whilst freezing. As you looked up the road away from the factory, you could follow the silhouettes of what looked like a hundred or so Ready Brek kids advancing on Trafford Park Road.

Every evening at this time the gates were opened by an elderly gentleman who wore a peaked cap and standard issue uniform. He opened one side of the gates and then stood in the entrance and enjoyed a cigarette before opening and securing the other, always managing to have both halves of the gates open before the horn sounded. He'd often stand there after finishing his cigarette and nod to a select few as they left, rocking on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. Tonight was no different. As he stood there with his back to the hut in which he lived out his working day, he gently swayed back and forth, almost in time with the gates. As the workers filed past, eight or nine men deep, car engines started to turn over. They complained at the cold and coughed into life as men in Parkas scraped the frost from their windscreens in silence. As always, the buses, pubs and chip shops were full at this time, much to the annoyance of most of those who had just left the factory. The workers at Swanns had the misfortune of starting at seven in the morning and finishing at quarter past five. That extra fifteen minutes had been responsible for many a drunken argument around closing time. Men who went for a swift pint whilst allowing the enormous queues at the bus stops to subside were often badgered, cajoled or embarrassed into sharing another round with those who didn't have a wife and kids to go home to. Quick drinks often turn into long arguments when your tea's in the bin and the kids are in bed before you get home from work.

"Three bitter and one lager love!" Andy looked at his watch and realised he'd just missed another bus as there was no way he could get served, drink up and get to the bus stop in about four minutes.

"Stop pullin' yer face Andy and pay the woman. I'm gaggin' fer another!"

"Aye awright, awright, Jesus Barry, I've only been at the bar a minute." Barry smiled and nudged the man next to him, amused by Andy's fluster.

"Come on, Andy," shouted Gavin from the fruit machine, winking at Barry as he did so.

"Fuck's sake," muttered Andy to himself, cursing his very presence here. He managed to pick up the four pint glasses in one and made it back to the fruit machine with most of the drinks in place.

"Where's rest of it?"

"Fuck off, Barry!" Gavin grinned again but kept quiet this time, more interested in trying to obtain a fourth nudge so he could get three Lucky Sevens in view and spend the rest of the night in the pub for free.

"God, you are so easy sometimes, Andy. I mean, yer not even clockwork and you let these two twats wind you up every time we come in here. Every time."

"Aye. Thanks fer those words of wisdom, Kev. If you can tell me how to keep these two in beer, birds and biryani long enough to shut 'em up, yer a better man than me!" Andy gulped at his pint and scanned the pub for the foreman from the factory.

"Anyone seen Johnson in here tonight?" The other three looked confused.

"Why?"

"Well Kev, if he's in here, he's not on his bicycle is he. So if he's not on his bike, I can do one with his bike rather than wait another forty minutes fer a forty two."

"Ahhhhh I see. The old ones are the best."

"You should know Kev, you've shagged enough old 'uns!" bellowed Gavin, without looking up from the machine.

"There he is, by the serving hatch. Yer in luck, he's just picked up a knife'n'fork so he must be havin' his tea." Andy took another gulp from his glass and nudged Gavin's elbow.

"Gis yer toolbox, Gav. You got a crowbar in there?"

"Yeah it's down the side of the machine. Help yerself, bring it back in tomorrow yeah?"

"Aye, lad. No worries." Andy gave a big smile and poured the remainder of his bitter into Gavin's.

"Cheerio, boys, make sure he doesn't move out of here fer five minutes OK?"

"Aye!" they all said as one as Andy exited toward the car park.

Johnson was a creature of habit. Always early for work. Always brought sandwiches for lunch. Always came to work on his bicycle, which would now be chained up behind the pub. Andy knew which was his immediately, as it was the only one with a sandwich box secured to the frame. Andy also knew that all bike locks break easier when it's cold. Despite the fact he hadn't done this for over ten years it only took a matter of seconds to snap the chain by twisting it with the crowbar. Giving it a swift whack was out of the question as it would have made far too much noise so close to the pub toilets. Once the chain was off, Andy unclipped the sandwich box from the frame, put the broken chain inside, and placed it on the window sill immediately above where the bike had stood. He smiled. As all this had taken less than a minute he popped his head around the door of the pub and handed Gavin his crowbar. Carrying it whilst attempting drunken cycling would be too much of a pain.

"Later," smiled Andy as he left again. He paused briefly to watch Johnson attempt to dislodge a blockage in his salt cellar with his fork whilst peering over the top of his glasses at the problem. As he walked back to the bicycle, Andy stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a two pound coin which he placed in the sandwich box, just in case Johnson didn't have his bus fare home with him.

By taking the bike journey home, Andy could avoid the usual round-the-houses route of his evening bus home and probably be a little early. As he wove in between the gravestones of Southern Cemetery, it occurred to him that the three pints of bitter he'd rushed were beginning to take their toll on his bladder. He wasn't used to drinking during the week and it showed as he began to feel an unwelcome warmth growing between his thighs.

"Fuckin' 'ell!" he breathed, throwing a leg over the cross bar, braking at the same time. He dropped the bike to the floor and began to piss all over somebody's loved one before it had skidded to a halt. He smiled to himself in the darkness as he emptied himself fully, steadying his swaying frame on the wing of an Angel that stood guard over the body below.

"Cheers, me dear!" he winked as he shook himself dry. "Ian Curtis!" he shrieked as he took a step back to see who he'd desecrated. Andy knew the name but couldn't recall why. "Ian Curtissssssss" he questioned as he hauled Johnson's bike out of the rose bush where it had come to rest.

The smell of bacon and stale cigarette smoke greeted Andy as he strode into the smoke room for ten o'clock break. As usual, the three musketeers were there before him and were seated in the corner farthest from the door by the windows, no doubt discussing what they'd all like to do to the new blonde in packing and who was going first.

"Awreet, wheels!" smiled Gavin over last nights Evening News.

"Hiya. How goes?"

"Not bad matey. Not bad. Shame you weren't down our end this mornin'. You'd have loved it." Gavin smiled even more broadly. "Go on." Andy could tell Gavin had something of interest to tell. He'd put his newspaper down and started to straighten up in his chair excitedly.

"Johnson was ... go on ... guess!" Gavin loved doing this. He acted like an old woman sometimes the way he painfully dragged out these trivial little tales from a northern town.

"I'm not playing. Just tell us, yeah." Andy rummaged amongst the debris on the table searching for a lighter that worked.

"Johnson.....was....."

"Fuck's sake man," sighed Andy as he sparked his cigarette into life.

"Johnson was late for work for the first time in thirty one years today, Andy." offered Kevin from behind his bacon butty. Andy raised his eyebrows and scanned their faces. He knew from the three Cheshire cat grins that it was true.

"Really?" He smiled to himself. "Well there's a turn up, eh?"

"Yeah, he went fuckin' mental last night in the car park when he realised it had gone. You could hear him shouting from the Pool room."

"He was shouting? Johnson was shouting?"

"Like a man possessed, Andy. He looked like he was gonna have a Connery! Then he comes storming back into the pub screaming for the landlord, screaming for the Police, screaming for the CCTV tape."

"Ohh, no!" Andy sighed to himself, his eyes closed. He hadn't even bothered to look if there was CCTV in the pub car park. He knew there were cameras inside the pub covering the tills. Those pin prick ones that look like motion sensors from your average burglar alarm. He'd noticed those weeks ago and remembered hoping that whoever was dipping into the tills had noticed them too. With his eyes still closed he tried to picture what was behind the bar. Had he ever seen a small black and white monitor showing pictures of the car park? Or even the reflection of one in the glass doors of the chiller cabinets or the pie warmer? "So what happened?" asked Andy after a moments thinking.

"Well that Londoner landlord comes storming into the bar from the back in his vest and starts giving it 'What the facks all this abahhht' and 'What fackin' CCTV'. You should've seen it, Andy. He was goin' purple!" Gavin sat back in his chair and grinned at Andy like he'd just told him a state secret.

"So there's no cameras in the car park then?"

"Lucky you, eh?" winked Kevin.

"Have yer sold it yet?" asked Barry.

"Sold it? No. Why would I sell it?" asked Andy. "I just wanted to get home instead of freezin' me nads off waitin' for a number forty-two. I never was gonna sell it!" Andy did not like the fact they thought he'd stolen the bike rather than 'used' it.

"Cos it's worth just over two grand according to Johnson. So you should get one large for it easy! Even if you stick it in Loot or summat."

"Fuck off! Two grand? No way would Johnson have a two grand mountain bike!"

"Yeah seriously, Andy. We've had the full story off Johnson last night in the pub and again all bleedin' mornin' here. He cycles everywhere and goes up and down the country on it at weekends with his mountain biking bummer boy mates. It's what he spends all his money on, that's why he hasn't got a car or 'owt. Spends it all on his bike." Barry looked tired from all the talking and slumped back into his seat closing his eyes.

"Yeah. He was saying the brakes on it alone were just over four ton and his new halogen lamp was a oner on its own! No wonder he's seeing his arse over it going Andy." Kevin always managed to sound like the voice of reason.

"Serves him right for being a cunt then doesn't it?" Gavin always managed to sound just like Gavin.

"Nah. A cunts' useful, Gav!" grinned Barry opening one eye to watch him smile.

"Well he is an officious little git. I'll give you that."

"He doesn't work in an office, Kev!"

"Ohh shut up Gavin and pass us that paper," grinned Andy.

Johnson eyed his watch and checked the large clock at the end of the shop floor. All three of them agreed it was quarter past twelve. He'd worked through his morning break to make up for the time that he'd missed this morning. Bloody buses. He had hoped he would be on time at the worst, but late! First time in over thirty years and all because he had wanted a hot meal earlier than usual last night. Now he needed to work half of his lunch hour as well. His stomach gave a twinge as he thought of food, missing its ten o'clock bacon butty. He made his way to the lockers and rummaged for the fig rolls he kept to go with his afternoon cup of tea. Fifteen in a packet, three fig rolls a day, one packet a week. He would have to buy some more now before weekend. He rolled his eyes as it occurred to him that he'd have to walk to and from the supermarket with his bags as he no longer had a bike to attach his carry cart to.

As he approached his locker he noticed the door was ajar. He was used to the odd crudity being daubed on the door but he'd never had it broken into before.

As he opened the door, he was surprised to find his Mini-Disc player where he had left it this morning. Nothing appeared to be missing or even disturbed. Then he noticed the envelope cellotaped to the inside of the locker door. It was a company envelope, nothing written on the front. He frowned and pulled it from the door and slid his finger under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a crossword puzzle that had been neatly torn from a newspaper. Written in red capitals in the spaces where some of the answers should have gone were the words 'play ball and bike comes back'.

Johnson smiled and carefully placed both the envelope and the crossword back into his locker, secreting them inside the pages of the book he was reading at the moment.

He grabbed his fig rolls and took four from the packet, deciding he was going to need the extra energy to fight this battle.