At Taylor’s place, we talked about what had happened in his back garden. Scotty really wasn’t happy and used an old climbing rope to tie Taylor to a tree out of sight of the house. With the frayed ends pulled tight, Scotty glared at him.
“Why did you tell on us?”
Silence. Scotty turned away.
“You gave our names to get yourself off, didn’t you?” I asked.
More silence. Tension cut through the air. Scotty walked with his arms behind his back. He moved past me slowly and nodded. This was it. There was no going back from here. I cocked an air pistol and loaded it with a dart.
“You are court-martialled and sentenced to be shot!” Scotty exclaimed in a raised voice.
Taylor looked around, wide-eyed. I moved to his front and stood in silence with the pistol at my side.
“READY,” Scotty ordered.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Taylor cried.
I raised the pistol and pointed it at my soon-to-be former friend.
I pulled the trigger and shot him. Taylor squealed as the dart hit his chest, fell out of his army jumper and bounced on the grass. He burst into tears and we untied him. Taylor ran toward his house. We sprinted away in the opposite direction and cut our club to the core. Scotty and I continued to venture into the forest by day and night. We were more careful and never got caught again. But those days soon came to an end as Scotty began listening to the ska band, Madness, and got into a different crowd.