The Man With No Name

Mike had spent almost his entire life in unconscious imitation of The Man With No Name. Ever since he'd seen him in fact, that one and only time twenty seven years ago.

If you'd asked him "Tell me about The Man With No Name" you'd have got a blank look - Mike really wouldn't have had any idea what you were talking about. A little further prompting would have eventually gained you an enlightened expression, a shrug and a comment along the lines of ‘Oh, him. Well, there's nothing to tell, really'. Mike remembered the day well, but didn't really realise the effect it had had on him. He'd stopped referring to him as 'The Man With No Name'. That had been his name when Mike was younger - complete with a Capital Letter At The Start Of Each Word.

Mike shot his cuffs, checked the knot of his tie and stepped out of the house. Turning to lock the door he briefly surveyed his surroundings. It was a beautiful morning; the sun was shining, the air felt crisp and ripe for getting much hotter as the day wore on. Down the street a young mother walked with a buggy. Everything seemed unusually vivid but rather than appear sick and unnatural it lent the day a strange beauty - even the grass looked a pure shade of bright emerald green. Striding to his car Mike pressed the keyfob and the alarm disengaged with a bleep. As he opened the car door and lowered himself into the driver's seat his mobile trilled in his pocket. Picking his Ray-Bans from the dashboard he pulled the phone from inside his jacket and pressed the button to answer the call.
Slipping the dark glasses on he spoke briefly.
"Hello?" He listened intently for a couple of seconds "Well okay - I'm on the way in now" he checked his watch - 8:30 - "Can it wait until I get there? Okay, see you about 9:15". With that he pressed the button to terminate the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Twisting the key in the ignition he pushed the gear lever home and disengaging the clutch, pulled out into the street. As he drove he lowered both windows to take advantage of the fresh air before it became stifling. Cruising along the road with his arm on the sill he looked calm, at ease.

Mikey was six years old when he saw The Man. He was on his way to the seaside with his parents to spend a day in the sun - a rare commodity in the English Summer. His dad was driving the car and his mum was in the passenger seat. The seat behind his dad was crammed with bags containing amongst other things sun-cream, sandwiches, towels, and cartons of soft drinks. His parents were nothing if not methodical. Young Mikey of course, at the age of six and on his way to the beach didn't give a damn about methodical - he just wanted to get there, and as fast as possible. He was seated behind his mum, hot, grumpy and impatient. Constant questioning along the lines of "Are we there yet?" and "How much further?" weren't doing his parents' moods much good either.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he twisted in place and knelt on the bench seat, resting his chin on his hands in order to watch out the back for a while.
"You sit down now!" his mother scolded, to no avail.
"You'll make yourself sick, young man" called his father, without taking his eyes from the road. Glancing at his rear view mirror he made a low noise of disgust. "Look at this idiot" he muttered, half to himself.

Mikey saw The Car before he saw The Man, overtaking the traffic behind and cutting back into line when faced with a car approaching from the opposite direction. The car was low, wide, black and sexy. Even at his tender age, the boy knew a sexy car when he saw one. Ignoring the grunts and clucks of disapproval from the front seats Mikey watched raptly until the black car was right behind them. From the reduced distance he got his first view of The Man. Despite the heat he was smartly dressed, in a casual way. It was a hot Sunday morning but he was wearing a crisp white shirt - although the top two buttons were undone Mikey could see a tie and jacket draped over the back of the passenger seat. The Man had dark hair, the floppy fringe of which hung over his eyes, which were obscured by opaque Ray-Ban sunglasses. Noticing the boy's scrutiny he smiled, revealing even white teeth and popped a quick salute before accelerating into the opposing lane and past Mikey's dad's car.

That brief moment stayed frozen in the young boy's mind. As the journey wore on he became quiet; wondering what The Man (he’d already unconsciously capitalised it) did for a living. Was he a spy, like James Bond? Mikey wondered if he had a gun, but thought it unlikely. He didn't know anyone who had a gun; even the policemen who came to school sometimes didn't have guns. The Man, so mysterious and cool had made an indelible impression on the child's burgeoning mind. As he grew older Mikey cultivated the look he had seen that fateful morning. His appearance at school became rakish as he became older and got to the age of taking liberties with the uniform. His hair was combed back but a few stray locks would invariably hang over his eyes. Once he left school he moved into the world of finance, which not only gave him the opportunity to wear expensive suits all the time but provided the finance to constantly update his wardrobe - the moment a garment showed signs of wear or became out of date it was replaced. The Man had a wide reaching effect on Mike's life: the car in which he drove to work this morning was low, wide and very sexy. Of course, if you’d mentioned this to Mike he would have laughed and dismissed the idea out of hand.

As young Mikey entertained himself with fantasies involving daring rescue missions with his partner (always just 'his partner' - never a name) his Dad cursed softly and depressed the brake pedal to slow with the traffic. At that moment a fire engine roared past, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Instantly Mikey was all eyes, trying to see what had happened.
"Mikey look over there, out of this window!" his Mother pointed out the driver's side rear window. "Look out here NOW!" her voice was underscored with a note of panic, which alarmed the boy. Looking at his Mother he saw with shock her wide eyes and pale complexion. She was pointing out of the passenger side window at something, nothing, anything to distract her little boy from the horror on the other side of the road.
Turning his confused gaze back to his mother to see what she was doing, Mikey saw from the corner of his eye a vivid splash of red and a blur of uniforms and lights. In the twisted wreckage of a black sports car there was a body clad in a dirty white shirt. Bloody rat-tails of hair stuck to dead flesh, obscuring one eye while the other stared lifelessly at nothing. Bizarrely, the final thing that Mikey noticed was a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, one arm broken off, lying on the bonnet of the car amid the sparkling shards of safety glass that used to be the windscreen.

It’s amazing how much detail the mind can take in from just a momentary glance. Scarcely believable too, how a day at the seaside can do wonders for a child’s ability to mentally recover from a shock.

Taking the corner at seventy miles per hour, Mike felt the rear wheels begin to slide. Grinning confidently he steered into the skid. Too late, he noticed the wall on his right and the confidence fell away with a sickening lurch. The final eight seconds of Mike’s life seemed to elongate, stretching out like rubber, before the car hit the brickwork with a screech of tortured metal. There was a moment where time seemed suspended, then the seconds became crystalline and shattered. A seemingly never-ending feeling of breathlessness was followed by an instant of agonising pain.
And then… nothing.

Amongst the wreckage, on a bed of splinters of safety glass from the windscreen, sat a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, one arm bent at an acute angle.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his mum’s stationary car a few minutes later, young Thomas was excited to see a fire engine squeezing through gaps in the traffic, lights ablaze and siren rending the air.