A Million Versions of Right (19 page)

“What do you mean? How could it be that
I
have ruined your life?”

I wanted to crack open his shiny head like a coconut but the energy wasn’t there. I still had some pretty nasty cramps coursing through my body thanks to that basket of crows outfit. Right now, all I wanted to do was drink the events of the day away. I knew however I’d have to subdue the bastard somehow. Those guys at the convention seemed pretty sore about me toppling those jars and my name needed cleaning like a hobo.

My plan was simple. I’d make the bald man go to the toilet and mid-piss, I’d clock him on the head with a box of tins. He goes down, I tie him up and we forget this whole incident ever happened. The simplicity of it all was just what I needed.

“Hey bald man,” I said, finally responding to his question.

“Please call me, Max.”

“Okay, Max. I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I think it would be a good idea if you went to the toilet.”

Max stammered a little before saying, “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. My bladder is really rather empty.”

I sighed deeply. “Seriously Max, as a favour to me, I need you to go the toilet.”

“But… why?”

He was confused as heck, it was written all over him. “Just do it would ya, Max? Whenever a new guest enters my home, the first thing I ask ‘em to do is use the facilities. It unites you with the abode and it comforts me.”

As far as malarkey goes, I was shooting for the stars but somehow Max was buying it. He began to move slowly, backing toward the kitchen.

“Once you’re out of the kitchen, it’s the first door on your right, just through the bathroom.”

He nodded at me, turned around cautiously and followed my directions while I rushed toward the cupboard below the kitchen sink to fetch a sizeable, yet wieldy box of tins. There were three boxes to choose from and I knew I’d have to make my decision fast. One was clearly too big and the other two were roughly the same size. I grabbed one of the smaller and made my way cautiously toward the toilet.

Max was standing there all awkward. He was talking to his penis, trying to provoke the reluctant piss.
“C’mon, just do it! Would it be too much to ask that you come out for a change?”
It was kinda pathetic and I felt a little sorry for him. If he’d have been anyone else I probably wouldn’t have knocked him down. But he wasn’t, so I did.

He fell in three stages. First he went down to his knees, which made a sharp cracking sound. Then onto his side, at which point I heard something burst. Finally he sprawled prostrate on his back. The first thing I noticed was his pathetic dick, flopping from his fly like a dead worm. There was a smell about him too. I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but if buttons could rot, it may well have been that.

I dragged him into the lounge room and managed to force his limp body into a chair where I proceeded to tie him up tighter than a Christmas ham. This wasn’t a catch I was eager to let slip away. I was going to have to wait until morning before I handed him in to the Barber’s Justice Force. All the members would still be at the convention and it wouldn’t be a wise move to waltz on over there. It didn’t really matter. I had some serious drinking to do.

* * * * *

I know that people talk in their sleep. It’s part of the human condition and it would be unreasonable for me to frown upon it. Hell, I probably do it. What I didn’t know was that people can also talk while they’re knocked out cold. I’d downed a fair bit of the bourbon and decided to crash just after midnight. This was all well and good, the alcohol was kind to me, knocking me out fast, before the convention fiasco had a real chance to germinate inside me. It would have been less than an hour later that Max started up with his unconscious yabber. It was damn loud too. He was shouting about wet cardboard with escalating volume. Almost like he was having an argument with someone inside his head. It was hard to ascertain the context of the argument but based on the obvious passion in his voice, I was willing to bet he was on the wet cardboard’s side.

I was sure he’d woken up and so I stumbled over to him. He was still secured with the rope and his eyes were definitely shut but boy was he yelling. Even in the darkness of my lounge room I got a bleary-eyed view of his red face. I slapped him about a couple of times partly to see if he was really knocked out and partly to shut him the hell up. He was definitely knocked out but my slapping didn’t manage to shut him up.

The cardboard argument was now juxtaposed with a high pitch whining cry, accompanied by pathetic tears. I kept slapping him, trying to knock him out further. It wasn’t working at all. My hand felt like it was about to shatter and eventually I gave up. I stumbled back to the bedroom and leapt face-first onto the bed, covering my head with a pillow. The whining and yelling were still seeping through and I sure as hell wasn’t getting any sleep as long as he was going to keep it up.

I woke up just after six am, which at least meant I managed a bit of sleep. What instantly struck me was the utter silence permeating my apartment. Max had finally shut up. I felt instantly uneasy and my initial thought was that he must have escaped. I bolted from bed, ignoring the pounding in my head. Max was still there, wide awake, sitting politely.

“Morning, Jack,” he said all chipper and energised.

“So you finally managed to shut up, hey?” His mood was irritating me. He was the one who copped a box of tins to the head but it felt like I was the one lumped with the task of recovering from it.

“What are you on about? Didn’t you sleep well?”

“You shit me into oblivion, Max. I want that noted. Just letting you know that I’m turning your sorry arse in today.”

His eyes widened. “What do you mean? You really mustn’t. I can’t tell you what a mistake that would be.”

“I already made that damn mistake. I should never have started following you in the first place. I’m tired, I’m hung over and I don’t have a hell of a lot of patience right now. I’ll be heading out in a few minutes to talk to the Barber’s Justice Force about you. Do you need to piss or anything? I don’t want you messing up my carpet.”

His head hung forlornly, like whatever plan he had was ruined. “Do what you need to do, Jack. I had hoped it wouldn’t end like this.”

“Do you need to piss or what?”

“No sir, I do not.”

I swiped my hand at him in bemusement and headed out the door.

* * * * *

The Barber’s Justice Force was formed nearly fifteen years ago when it became apparent that officially recognised law enforcement weren’t overly concerned with matters related to the Hair District. Based on the ‘Law’, the Hair District had the lowest crime rate anywhere in the city. Our laws were based more on internally manifested dogma, which we believed was more important. You can’t control everyone with the same set of rules. It isn’t productive. We disciplined our own justly, efficiently and perhaps most importantly: fairly. Let’s face it, say we called the men in blue about our little problem with Max. The best we could realistically hope for was a petty vandalism charge for the broken windows. Because none of the jars actually broke, we wouldn’t even be able to get him for the real problem. My guess was the Justice Force would charge him for disturbing the karmic equilibrium of the Hair District which was a fairly major infringement as far as they were concerned. A typical punishment for such a crime was to shave the head of the offender. As Max was bald as a monkey’s arse, more creative measures would have to be taken.

My hangover was gaining in ferocity as I walked the streets of the District. I was being reminded, none too subtly, why I had stopped drinking and my body was making me pay for the lapse. My bowels were compacted with toxic sludge and my head was pure throb. I could feel the whiskers on my unshaven face curling outward and creeping for my nostrils. I tried repeatedly to brush them away with my tired hands but it was a fight I was losing. Content in the knowledge that Max would soon get what was coming to him and I could finally get some rest, I just put up with it.

The District was quiet this morning, which wasn’t all that unusual considering the post-convention celebrations probably only finished an hour or so ago. It was largely accepted that most shops in the District wouldn’t open until noon on the day following the conference. A few bodies pocked the stark streets but they weren’t paying any attention to me. With any luck I’d make it to the Justice Force headquarters before anyone from the convention saw me.

The headquarters weren’t far from the main strip. I cast my mind to Max in my apartment, hoping like mad he hadn’t pissed himself. That man wasn’t a natural pisser; that much I knew. He could barely squeeze out a few drops before I clocked him last night and he sure as heck wasn’t in a pissing mood this morning. It didn’t make a lot of sense but nothing about Max made much sense.

I arrived at Tangles for Gentlemen and made my way up the side street. There was a small door a few metres up the road only two foot high. I knocked with my foot, hoping that someone was awake. Moments later, the door swung open and a tired looking Lindsey Barker was staring up at me.

“Well look who it is,” he exclaimed with a croaky, post-grog voice.

“Hey Lindsey. Sorry for knocking so early and all that but I need to speak with you guys.”

He laughed to himself and replied, “Not to worry, Jack. We’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“We have. Come on in.”

The entrance was small and I had to get on my gut and slide into the reception area. Lindsey was slow this morning, sliding like a dead snail. The prolonged entrance gave my mind time to ponder the situation.
Why the fuck were they expecting me? Did they already know I had Max?
I was prepared to wait for the answers – what other choice did I have? But it didn’t exactly sit well.

I heard Lindsey drop into the reception room, which was thankfully tall enough to stand up straight in.

“You guys should really think about getting a taller door,” I said light-heartedly.

“It’s all we could afford,” was the succinct response.

The reception area was notable for its hair-covered walls. They were known as the walls of justice. To me it seemed like a bizarre trophy room but who was I to question it? Personally I’d probably just throw the hair of a perpetrator away, or at least give it to a wig maker. There was no need to be reminded of every suspect found guilty in the District. How was it good for morale? I glanced at the empty reception desk, which caught the attention of Lindsey. “We gave Bertie the day off. He went pretty hard last night.”

“I’m sure he did. Bertie knows how to drink.”

Lindsey nodded politely and gestured toward the justice room, “They’re waiting for you, Jack.”

I nodded anxiously and stepped into the justice room where all five elected members of the Barber’s Justice Force sat in waiting. They were all old men, having served on the Force for several decades. It was a job they clearly held very close to their hearts and retirement wasn’t likely any time soon. On a normal day I looked upon these men with great respect and admiration. Today however, I was totally infused with suspicion. There was no logical reason for all five of them to be up so early. There was even less reason for them to have been expecting me.

It was Titsy McBannon who spoke up first, looking a little worse for wear, “Jack, please sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

“So, Lindsey says you were expecting me?”

“Quite right, Jack.”

“Why? How could you know why I’m here?”

“Let me guess, Jack. You have the bald man and your just eager as a beaver to hand him over to us?”

I stiffened in shock, accidentally farting in the process. My knee locked and I fell to my side, rolling end over end until I hit the wall, crushing the bag of Barber’s Delight chips I had in my pocket.
There goes breakfast
, I thought through the pain. I was helped to my feet by two men I only half-recognised. I was initially grateful for the help but I started to get worried when they wouldn’t let me go.

“I’m alright now. You can let me go, boys.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Jack, but they’ve been ordered
not
to loosen their grip,” said Titsy, full of smarm.

I made an attempt to twist out of their hold but it only served as a signal for it to tighten. “What the hell is this, Titsy? Let me fucking loose.”

“Please, Jack. There’s no point denying it. We figured out the truth.”