Spunky Old Broads

They were known in the local town as the Spunky Old Broads. You would often see them on a Saturday night in the town, the local kids following them, hands thrust in their pockets and giggling. It's fair to say that the Spunky Old Broads didn't discourage the verbal abuse they received. They were quite often dressed in no more than a miniskirt and a t-shirt, often two sizes too small. They spent most of their time trying to keep the copious amounts of excess flesh from spilling out of their scant costumes.



The kids loved it. "You've left yer engine running missus", one of the kids would jibe before breaking into hilarious laughter and running off before the Broads turned on them, hoisting their skirts down and their t-shirts over their fleshy midriffs.



If the truth be told, the Broads loved it as well. Their mantra was that the only thing worse than being noticed was not being noticed and they did their bit to get noticed wherever they went.



Their names were Janice, Alma and Violet. Alma was the outspoken one of the bunch. She was never afraid to give her opinion but considered herself the matriarch of the group. "C'mon girls" she would call, "we're on the pull tonight".



On the night in question there was nothing to give warning to the events that would unfold. The girls made their way through the town, attracting the taunts and laughter of the usual kids who followed them on the way to the pub. It had been a warm summer day and the Broads were more scantily clad than usual, enjoying the evening sun as it slowly made its way towards the horizon.



By the time they reached the pub, the day's light was almost gone. The jukebox was playing and many of the punters had been drinking throughout the evening. When the raiders turned up, the Broads were on their second drink.



They arrived wearing black bomber jackets and full face balaclavas. The jukebox was silenced with the butt of a shot gun, smashing through the glass front destroying the mechanisms.



"Nobody needs to get hurt. We're just here for the money and then we'll be gone. So no funny business!". The guy with the shotgun seemed to be in charge, while his mate was sent to empty the till. Alma was having none of it. She walked right up to shotgun man. "This is our pub, and you're not welcome", she barked. He took a step back while his mate hesitated, the publican unsure whether he should hand over his takings.



"Listen fatty", shotgun man retorted, "stay out of our way and no one gets hurt". Alma could see the sweat running down his forehead and over his eyes, despite the balaclava. "Fatty? Is that the best you can do?" Alma replied taking a step closer. The pub was in deep silence, everyone watching the scene unfold. "C'mon Jimmy, let's get out of here" shotgun man's friend shouted. "Yeah, Jimmy. Best you were gone", Alma spat. Shotgun man / Jimmy took a step back. He had completely lost his cool. Alma sensed her chance and stepped forward swiftly while grabbing the barrel of the shotgun with both hands at the same time. The gun exploded as Jimmy's nerves got the better of him and his trigger finger reacted. He dropped the gun and it hit the floor at the same time as Alma. Jimmy and his mate ran.



The pub was silent, the smell of cordite and shot assaulting everybody's nostrils. The other Broads were afraid to move. It was the publican who came around, bending over Alma who was face down on the floor. He bent over touching her on the back and she moaned and shifted under his touch. After what seemed like an eternity, Alma stood up revealing a large hole in the wooden floor of the pub, where the shotgun's discharge had ended up.



"Are you alright?" the publican stuttered barely able to compose himself. To a loud cheer Alma replied, "I'm fine. They don't call us Spunky Old Broads for nothing!"