There was still ten minutes before the ferry was due. Hassan couldn’t wait that long – he was going to have to say something.
He travelled the short distance to the Scottish mainland every Monday morning for a business meeting and to bring back the weekly groceries. This morning there was just one other car in the queue. It was an old BMW 320 with wide wheels, twin sports exhaust, rear spoiler and blackened windows. This was the cause of Hassan’s concern.
The driver of this ‘beast’ had committed three offences. Firstly, he was playing very loud hip-hop music with the front windows wound down and the bass turned to maximum - creating a most unpleasant, distorted booming beat that could be heard from half a mile away. The intention of course was to let everyone know what a powerful sound system he possessed whilst enjoying the annoyance that it caused.
The second crime took place when a crushed B&H King-size packet was tossed out of the window. The nearby Red Bull can had almost certainly been ejected from the same source.
Finally, the driver had left his engine running – doubtless to let the throaty exhaust advertise the power of the vehicle. This was a pointless strategy with the stereo on full power. Hassan hated to think about the diesel fumes that were unnecessarily polluting the island’s air. How unfair that this imbecile’s anti-social behaviour should cause him so much anxiety. How was he going to deal with this?
He felt his palms sweating. Tiny beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. He took a deep breath, gathered his composure, and strode purposefully towards the BMW.
The driver was in his mid-twenties. He had the bulging upper torso of someone who spends a lot of time at the gym. He was wearing an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt which offered a view of the variety of tattoos covering his chest and arms. He had closely cropped hair (Grade 1 Hassan surmised) and was very tanned (excessive sunbed use?).
The passenger was a similarly tanned younger girl. She was attractive with long straight hair, a small glinting stud through her nose, and large silver framed sunglasses perched on top of her head. The driver didn’t turn to look as Hassan approached – knowing what was coming and wanting to make him feel insignificant. The girl watched with amusement and said something to her friend.
‘Excuse me’, Hassan said in as loud a voice as he could muster. The driver took a long drag of his cigarette and slowly turned to look at him, exhaling smoke into his face.
‘Could you turn the music down please?’ he shouted.
The driver smiled. He turned down the volume which was a relief, but Hassan felt that it probably wasn’t going to be that simple.
‘I don’t think Mohammad here likes the music’, the driver said to his friend. The girl grinned. ‘Well, tell him to ......’. Hassan didn’t hear exactly what, because at that moment the music was turned back up again. He knew that the best thing would be to walk away, but surprised himself with what happened next. He bent down and picked up the crushed cigarette packet. ‘You dropped this’ he said loudly, pushing it back through the car window.
The driver, initially astonished that Hassan was foolhardy enough to challenge him, became enraged. This was a man with anger management issues. He punched the power off button on the stereo and let loose a torrent of vile, racist abuse.
Hassan was in it too far now to retreat, so, although inwardly shaking with fear, he kept as visibly calm as he could and made his final observation.
‘Do you realise that your diesel fumes are polluting the air? Why can’t you show more consideration for the environment and turn off your engine when you don’t need it?’ The driver turned to his friend who up until now had been enjoying the confrontation.
‘I’ll show Mohammad how considerate I am’, he said. The girl, realising that things could quickly get out of control, began to feel worried. Something glinted in the driver’s hand.
‘NO, don’t use it Steve’ she pleaded as her friend sprang out of the car. In an instant he had his arm around his provocateur’s neck, pulling him forward. Hassan’s glasses fell to the floor. Then, quickly and without any hesitation, he plunged the blade deep into Hassan’s chest. The fear on his face turned to shock. Hassan slowly sank to his knees.
‘CUT’, shouted the director. ‘Sorry guys – a seagull flew right in front of the camera. Can you all get back to your original positions and we’ll go again from Sonja’s ‘Don’t use it Steve’.
July 2018
