Part 1 can be found here.
If these criminals fought their way past the glue bibs, the frozen steps and what lay in wait for them in the cellar, then they will deserve to get what they came for. It will show tremendous mental strength, thought Arsene. He finished rigging up the trap which lay in wait in the hallway which led to the kitchen – splintered science beakers found in Mathieu Flamini’s locker. Arsene took a second for a moment of pride at his resourcefulness – hewn from season after season of adapting a squad to fill a gap in personnel – and headed for the kitchen.
Meanwhile, the Spurs Bandits – Harry and Micky – had gotten to the stairs of the cellar which led to the upper hallway and nearer their ultimate destination. Unfortunately, the intrepid hero who had attempted to stem their progress thus far had taken to painting these steps with anti-climbing paint. This led to them shedding their footwear and socks on each step, one at a time. Now barefoot, only two steps remained but these were a great struggle as the sticky stuff attempted to tear off the soles of their feet on each point of contact.
They eventually reached the top, bereft of footwear. Harry, sensing his friend was growing frustrated, tried to lighten his mood, in his own inimitable way.
” Spurs Bandits, right Micky? ”
Micky, now fuming, gritted his teeth and grimaced up at Harry. Harry knew to shut up.
They went to the cellar door and Micky took charge, slowly turning the knob but making sure they were both behind the door as it opened.
Finally, the sneer which had been plastered across Micky’s face for most of the eve was gone, swapped with a crooked grin. The mystery guy had run out of tricks it seemed. It was plain sailing from here to the kitchen.
They walked into the modern hallway. Walls of frosted glass and grey carpets were the decor in the hallway, and the double doors painted white at the end of this long walkway were the intended destination.
They walked side by side, confident but wary. The carpet, although a boring colour, was plush under their bare toes and comforting after the winter temperatures and the vicious beating they had took just getting to this point.
Micky yelped out first as his whole foot became studded with beaker glass. It sliced into his flesh and he fell backward attempting to grab his injured foot. Instead, he planted the other foot and fell backwards, his head falling into the splintered glass.
Harry kept on walking, but turned to find out what had caused his friend to cry out. His feet scrunched into glass and he too fell into the twinkling floor.
The red lights which blanketed the whole complex thankfully removed the gory scene from their retinas. The puddles and streaks of blood instead resembled oil stains.
They writhed around in pain, yelps and whimpers banishing the silence which was previously here before these idiots crashed the scene.
Micky got on all fours and painstakingly crawled to the kitchen door. It was mercifully free of the glass which had shredded him and his pal, so he sat down and one by one, picked the glass out of every wound. Harry, who had noticed Micky was now free of the glass, followed suit and then began the long affair of de-glassing his feet, arms, hands, legs and head.
Arsene was behind the double doors in the kitchen. He was surprised they had made it this far, their cries of anguish meaning that if they made it past this final test, then they would be furious if they caught him.
The Spurs Bandits stiffly got to their wounded feet. Each movement was a fresh slice of hell, but they were so close to achieving their goal. Even Harry had lost his sunny demeanour, crashing the double doors open with a punt of his elbow.
Arsene Wenger, still in full training gear, greeted them. He stood behind two large contraptions. These hulking machines were used in training to deliver a football at great speeds in a footballer’s direction to aid a better first touch.
Tonight they were being used to bludgeon burglars.
A whir of engines was the only warning given to the unaware criminals. The first football zoomed into Harry’s solar plexus, taking with it his breath. He doubled over and a firm leather-clad sphere slapped his head. The bombardment was fierce. Micky was hit first with a ball to his knee, which caused it to over extend and jar. He would have winced, but a gleaming leather football smacked his chops full force. He fell down and saw Harry was also on his knees, cowering. The balls were still flying.
After what seemed like an age, they stopped covering their faces and the painful stings had rescinded. Micky cracked open his fingers and Arsene Wenger stood above them.
Arsene picked up Micky by the scruff of his neck and was in the process of starting a tirade when Harry, fiercely protective of his friend, roared to his feet and a remarkable feat of strength saw him carry Arsene by his shoulders to a coathook, where he hung the Arsenal boss by his large coat.
Micky, revelling in the tables suddenly being turned, began his own speech.
” This is a bonus, ain’t it Harry! We only came to give you and your boys a dish that’s best served cold, but now we get to sort you out proper, don’t we Harry! ”
Harry honked a peal of laughter which rang around the kitchen.
” Now then, if you could just show me where your chef keeps the food, so I can taint it just like you boys did on the sixth of May 2006, then we can get on with duffing you up! ”
Arsene met Micky’s eyes with steel.
” Look, Mr Hazard. I know you think it was an Arsenal player or member of staff that was behind it, I can assure you, it wasn’t. What led to your team slipping up was a little bit lack of character and belief. ”
Micky bellowed out in frustration and went for the steelware that was on top of the oven. He wielded the pot menacingly as the stricken Wenger waited for the pain. He closed his eyes.
Two cloaked clumps met his ears. No pain engulfed his nervous system though, so he opened his eyes.
His faithful assistant, Steve Bould, was standing there, with a huge snowspade in hand. He was also dressed as the Incredible Hulk.
Micky and Harry – Harry Kane that is – were now on the floor, blissfully unaware that they had been foiled as they were concussed.
Arsene was bewildered at being rescued. He had feared the worst. Steve helped him down and told him that the first team Christmas Fancy Dress Party was in full flow but they had all decided to come back for their beloved gaffer. When they had got to the training ground, it was shrouded in red light so they called the police and security who had gained access.
Arsene smiled at his green assistant. The Christmas he thought he would miss out on was now possible. He thanked his lucky stars. Steve gave his boss a quizzical look.
” Boss, how did you fend them off for so long, and why are there footballs and glass everywhere? ”
Arsene laughed for the first time that night. It would be a Merry Christmas for Arsenal after all.