Plan D

You know those cartoon fights?

Where they don’t want to show any actual violence to the kiddies? Instead they have a big cloud of dust, lots of sound effects and the occasional arm and leg appearing? Well this was our Plan D. It was like 5 Tweety Pies trying to subdue Brutus.

To a chorus of booing and hissing from the now very brave Hank fan club, we set about trying to restore our dignity. Our mission was to keep Hank down and apply some handcuffs. Hank’s aims weren’t very obvious, though it was safe to say that lying down and allowing himself to be handcuffed wasn’t high on his list.

Shields, batons, torches and incapacitant sprays are useless for this type of work and they went skittering off into the darkness as we dived in.

“I’ve got a leg!” Someone shrieked.

That would be me then. I managed to get both legs in a bear-hug and hung on for dear life. It wasn’t clear to me what was going on at the other end of Hank. When a 330lb man is lying on his front, and you have his legs in a bear-hug, this means that your head is in close proximity to his gluteus maximus. Everything goes a bit dark and quiet after that. I was just thankful he wasn’t lying on his back.

After what seemed like an eternity punctuated by an assortment of muffled “oofs”, swearing and roaring from Hank; silence reigned. Without relaxing my grip I extracted my head and opened my eyes.

Three pairs of handcuffs forming a daisy chain across Hank’s back had his wrists connected together. Four indistinct and panting shapes confirmed that we had all lived to tell the tale. The heavy breathing of Hank made it six for six.

The ever helpful Inspector managed to locate his torch and the enormity of the situation was revealed. Closely followed by a lot of pointing, at me, and laughing. Gee, thanks guys. I quickly moved my position closer to Hank’s knees before someone got their camera phone out.

Now it was time for stage two of our cunning plan. The good thing about being in a crossed wires hospital is that they have drugs. Lots of drugs. A trembling doctor holding a syringe was summoned.

“Enough to knock a bull out for hours.” He assured us as he stuck the needle in Hank’s posterior.

“Just give it five minutes.” He continued knowledgably.

Twenty minutes and three injections later, Hank was snoring peacefully.

Stage three required us to get Hank from the corridor and into the ‘secure’ room. The bad thing about being in a crossed wires hospital, as we were about to find out, is that none of their beds have wheels. Nor do they have a forklift truck handy when you most need it. Even if they could find a wheelchair with all its bits still attached it wouldn’t have been much use.

If you’ve never tried to carry a 330lb, sweaty, snoring, dead weight for thirty yards; I can thoroughly not recommend it. Not without a complicated system of winches and pulleys. A fireman’s lift was definitely out.

With each of us grabbing hold of a piece we lifted and staggered. Being the ‘leg guy’ meant I had my arms wrapped around Hank’s knees. In what I believe the Kama Sutra may describe as ‘The Wheelbarrow’ position.

I’m not sure if it was the combination of drugs, the fight or flight syndrome or just a dodgy kebab. But, being the ‘leg guy’ in the ‘wheelbarrow’ position is not the place you want to be when a 330lb man has a windy tummy.

“******* ****!” We chorused.

“Sorry.” A sleepy Hank mumbled.

“****! He’s awake!” With eyes streaming and trying not to breathe in, we staggered past his fan club and into the secure room.

Fortunately, Hank had gone back to snoring. Long enough for us to arrange him on the mattress, remove the handcuffs and lock the very flimsy door on our way out.

The trembling doctor seemed concerned.

“What do we do if he wakes up?”

Halfway to the exit door, and fresh air, the ever helpful Inspector shouted back.

“Pray that he’s in a better mood.”