Dale's booth - with vids!

[Dale McCall]

~:Alright, my name's Dale McCall:~

~:An' this, is my disco:~



What I was doing while Howard robbed the Bank Royale.

Here in my car.

This is how turtles eat.

[Dale McCall]

~:Meeting Chris:~



Apar’ from the drunken zombies and underground freak-shows, London, at night is a pretty tranquil, dreamlike place. The streets, lit from the moon’s glow, look like theater sets. The trees look three dimensional and plastic. Only cats crouched under cars acknowledge your presence with glowing, luminous eyes.

It was in these conditions tha’ I was sauntering home late from a gig at a local pub a few weeks back. The rain was spitting slightly but the worst of the rain had passed while I was in the pub. While I walked, I could ‘ear this laughter behind me. It wasn’ the high-pitched giggles of young, hip, tipsy indie kids either. It was the thick guffaws of a couple of large, butch, leery blokes. They was walkin’ so close I could see their shadows right behind me, before I felt one of them grab me shoulder ‘nd spin me around. They were all pre’y big blokes too, then again, mos’ people are bigger ‘n me anyways. For a brief moment, I though' I recognised them. Their build definitely fit their voices well.

“Pretty little thing.” One of them said. “You don’t usually like ‘em male though, Tone?” The other said.

The one with ‘is hand on me shoulder didn’ seem to care though. “Take the she-boy ‘round the back of the shop. We’re gonna give this little glitter princess a night she’ll never forget.”

Next thing I know is I’m bein’ dragged into this alley by my arms. I’d never been the sor’ of person who’d get involved in punch ups but I’d witnessed my fair share during my life and had never had the interest in gettin’ involved. I usually sa’ out of the way sipping my drink and watching the blood and fists fly and listening to the crowds either screaming or jeering the figh’ers on until security hurried over to pu’ an end to everythin’.

But there’s always go’ to be a first time, hasn’t there? They beat me up pretty good too, got a good blow to the face, a bloody nose too. They were laughin’ as they pounded me. I didn’ find anything funny ‘bout it. Random. Cruel. Not funny.

I shut my eyes and braced my face with my arms as one of them pulled their fist back to punch me. Then there was this yelp and a crash of dustbins. I’d kept me eyes shut the whole time, with my legs pulled up to my chest and head on me knees. Even though I’d blocked out me sight, I could still hear a few splinterin’ sounds as bone’s shattered, and cries being cut short with another dull ‘thump’.

I was practically layin’ on that filthy, glass, and rubbish strewn ally, huddled agains’ the wall as if tryin’ to imprint myself in the bricks when I felt a hand on me shoulder. I could’ve jumped out of me skin, but then I heard a voice ask if I was okay. I opened me eyes, and even through the dimly lit area, I looked direc’ly up at a blonde-haired bloke with the strangest tawny eyes. I nodded and ‘is eyes scanned over me, probably trying to see if I was bein’ truthful or not. I wiped me hand under me nose, realizin’ that it wasn’ bleeding anymore, but the blood was clottin’ around me upper lip. The two thug’s had spent most their punches along me chest and shoulders, and I could tell I’d have a few mauve bruises in no time. All the while he was checkin’ me over I could’ve sworn he was holdin’ ‘is breath.

“Hold this to your nose.” The guy spoke with a diff’rent accent as he handed me a handkerchief. His accent wasn’t Northern, or cockney. He must’ve been an American, I decided. The bloke held this strange expression on ‘is face as he handed it to me. I did as I was told, and held it to me nose. It smarted pretty bad, but when I did, the guy seemed to relax a little.

“Names Chris. What about you?” The guy said as he helped me up. I trembled slightly as his hand came into contact with me arm. I knew tourist’s didn’t handle London weather tha’ well, but neither did they come runnin’ into alley ways and single handedly take one two ruffians either.

“I’m Dale.” I said absentmindedly as I stared over at the two guys inert forms on the ground, their arms were twisted at odd angles. And then, I realized where I knew them from. They were the two geezer’s who’d come along to the Bank Royale. Chris must've seen my reaction, cause the next thing he said baffled me. “Dale,” His voice sounded uncertain as he stood rigidly beside me. “Can you keep a secret?”

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