Just Another Bum

 
Constable Eltoft shuddered slightly as he regarded the tramp lying in the doorway snoring. He hated dealing with these people they smelled awful and quite a few of them were aggressive too. He was alone and there were better things for him to do back at the station; a whole mountain of paperwork to complete. Well he thought, just another bum, looks like he's here for the night he’s not bothering anyone and judging by the smell he’s been on the meths too. He looked at the huddled figure laying on his cardboard bed his facial expression somewhere between disgust and contempt. Little did he know that night how events would conspire to throw them together.
 
Geoffrey Eltoft was as keen as the next copper to make a collar or prevent a crime he was a brave and dutiful policeman an ex soldier as tough as nails and as honest a man as you’d find anywhere but he didn’t see himself in the role of social worker. He had little sympathy for the drunks and down-and-outs in his opinion they were shiftless idle junkies, alcoholics and the terminally workshy. He was nauseated by the smell of unwashed flesh, stale tobacco and alcohol that was the universal odour that these people seemed to exude and he hated it with a passion.  
A great number of these folk were young, physically fit men and were certainly able to do a day’s work but, to his mind, they preferred to sponge off the rest of society. His views were at odds with those of most of his colleagues but he’d seen real grinding poverty in his army days, women who couldn’t feed starving children and men too weak to work sitting by the roadside with hollow cheeks and empty eyes totally without hope.  Eltoft sighed, turned, and walked swiftly on about his business.  
 
Hamish Rutherford awoke raving, throwing his arms wildly about his head his incoherent shouts echoing loudly down the empty street. Coming to as near a state to full consciousness as he ever got he ceased his struggles and lay panting in the cold early light. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and felt in his pocket for last night’s bottle knowing before he looked that it was empty. He needed another drink to drive away what he called his visions. His hands were shaking his mouth tasted dry and bitter from the meths he’d drunk the previous night. He groaned, rolled over, struggled onto all fours and began retching his emaciated body wracked with spasms. Virtually nothing escaped his lips because he had had almost nothing to eat for the past two days. He stayed in that position for a few minutes whilst the spasms passed then he arose with some difficulty feeling stiff from the cold and the hard unyielding doorway. The street lights clicked off in the growing dawn and he stood scratching his ear pondering what to do next.  

Gathering up what few possessions he had he shuffled off toward the homeless shelter where he had been refused entry the night before due to his being drunk and aggressive towards the staff. Maybe he’d get a hot drink when the doors opened.
He’d only come to the city of Manchester a few days before because he was tired of the harassment he was getting from the police and the others of his ilk who seemed to have a down on him for some reason. Maybe it was that he retained a faint air of authority despite his shuffle bum appearance or maybe it was his Scottish accent?  He also talked back to the police when told to move on often telling them to ‘piss off and catch criminals,’ not an attitude that endeared him to them. He didn’t know and he didn’t care ‘bollocks to ‘em’ was sum total of his thoughts on the matter. The only thing that really mattered to Hamish Rutherford was where his next drink was coming from.  
 
 
 
On Eltoft’s next afternoon shift he and his colleague, a female officer named Julie Stein, came across Rutherford begging outside a bank. He cut a pathetic figure with his long straggly beard and his matted shoulder length grey hair. A ragged buttonless jacket flapped about his sparse frame one pocket hung in useless tatters the other one bulging with a cider bottle. He was quietly asking everyone who went in or came out of the bank for spare change. Most people quickly walked around him their disgusted looks leaving him in no doubt as to what they thought.  He was swaying slightly and mumbling incoherently in between holding out his hand constantly repeating: “Y’ony spare change sarr? Y’ony spare change modom?” Eltoft couldn’t walk away from this he had to move the man on. “Right mate let’s have you moving along you know begging is against the law.... “
Over Rutherford’s shoulder he saw a man hurrying from a nearby jeweller’s shop a scarf over his face and a hold-all in his left hand. Eltoft was already stepping around the tramp when the shop alarm went off. “Oi you there" he shouted "come here” and ran towards the man. The man turned and Eltoft saw the automatic pistol in his hand.  
 
What happened next seemed like slow motion the man fired the gun in the air and then pointed it at Eltoft and Stein who was now alongside her colleague. “Back off copper or the next shot kills you.” The voice was harsh and flat with no trace of fear or panic in it. Eltoft halted in his tracks hands spread wide “Listen mate why don’t you give it up you won’t get away with it there’s CCTV all over this area.”   Eltoft was fifteen yards from the man but he could see from the steady way he held the automatic that the guy knew how to handle a pistol. The "O" of the barrel end never wavering a fraction.
 
No one noticed Rutherford zigzagging an erratic course, bottle in hand past the police. Passers-by were diving for cover and some women were screaming. Rutherford seemed to be moving away and past the gunman as a motorcycle, revving wildly, came around the corner its helmeted rider braking late and stopping two yards past the gunman.  
 
The robber caught sight of Rutherford in his peripheral vision and glanced his way but the gun never moved from the police. He rapidly decided the drunk was no threat and turned towards the motorcycle. That’s when Rutherford’s bottle, thrown from three yards, hit him behind his left ear shattering on impact. The man’s step faltered it seemed for a second he was going down then he whipped around and fired at Rutherford who was closing with him at remarkable speed.  

Before the man could fire again Rutherford had crashed into him and grabbed the man’s wrist in an iron grip twisting the pistol expertly out of his grasp he pushed the weapon under the robbers chin and fired twice in rapid succession. The man went down instantly as the motorcyclist pulled a gun and fired a wild shot at Eltoft who was running towards him. The fellow was in a panic and was uncertain whether to fire again or make good his escape. He decided to fire again as he could hardly miss at the ever closing range. Eltoft was still three yards away from him and fully committed he saw the gun lining up on him knowing he was about to be shot he could do nothing but run and hope maybe if he could knock him off his bike Stein might be able to escape and avoid his fate.

That’s when Rutherford fired again twice in rapid succession. The bullets smacked into the back of the rider’s helmet barely an inch apart the front Perspex face shield exploding in a shower of shards and gore as the bullets passed though his head and he slumped forward off the machine.  
 
Rutherford stood swaying pistol in hand still pointing to where his target had been. Eltoft looked shocked as Stein ran bravely at Rutherford shouting “Give me that gun now.” Rutherford’s hand dropped to his side and the gun fell to the pavement he turned and staggered the few steps to the wall of the jewellers clutching his chest he hesitated a moment then slipped down into a sitting position against the wall breathing heavily.

He knew he was hurt badly, the visions of his old enemy came flooding back to him stark and real he was once again in the Afghan fort, the insane stutter of machine gun fire filling his head and the shouts of  hundreds of fanatical Taliban insurgents as they closed in. “Fix bayonets! Fix bayonets!” he screamed his eyes wide and staring then suddenly he subsided his breath rasping in his throat.  
 
As he urgently called for backup Eltoft made his way to the fallen man and knelt down beside him. Rutherford looked at him calm now a faint smile on his lips “Still pulling you oot o' the shit corporal Eltoft after all these years.” Eltoft looked at the man totally dumbstruck. Rutherford’s coat had flopped open and Eltoft saw the medal pinned to the inside. It looked improbably clean against the filthy fabric of the coat and gleamed in the weak autumn sunlight. "Not lost ma touch with the old double tap eh?" Rutherford smiled then winced as pain speared through him."They gave me this Distinguished Conduct Medal last time I pulled your section’s sorry arses out of the shit, remember? He asked sardonically. “The bastards beat me this time though I won’t walk away from this lad.”  
 
Eltoft looked pale and not just with the shock of the incident he could hardly believe what he was hearing. At last he found his voice “Sergeant Rutherford?” he queried “Hamish?” His voice was shaking, sheer incredulity on his face.

“The very same corporal the very same” he looked Eltoft in the eye “I want you to have this when I’m gone lad” he said pointing to his medal "I’ve no bugger to leave it to and it might be worth a few quid." He’d long ago sold his other campaign medals and drunk the money away but some vestige of pride in his former self wouldn’t allow him part with his DCM.  
 
Stein joined them “The ambulance is on its way” she said in a soft voice then added quite unnecessarily “the other two men are dead.” Eltoft looked at the chest wound sustained by his old comrade the nine millimetre bullet had gone though his left lung missing the heart but the wound, he knew from experience, was fatal. How he had managed to stay on his feet and achieve what he had done was nothing short of miraculous.

“Hang on Hamish, hang on me old mukka the blood tub’s coming I can hear it.” Eltoft had slipped back into army slang without even realising it.  
   
Rutherford was sinking fast he looked up at the younger man “Sorry if I dis..if I dis  ‘point you Corp... didn’t mean to turn into a bum.” A bloody foam was forming at the corners of his mouth “it was the visions you know I kept seeing it over an’ over, hearing the screams.” Stein bade him hush and save his strength.

Eltoft held his hand “No way were you ever a bum Hamish, no way mate me and a lot of other folk wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you just you rest easy old lad, rest easy."  
 
 
Sirens filled the air as police cars marked and unmarked arrived on the scene to be met by Stein. The ambulance arrived a minute later but it was over by then Rutherford was staring sightlessly at the sky and beside him Eltoft, head bowed, was softly weeping.