Musclebound (11 page)

If Milo was dead I could close his eyes. No problem. But it was such a grim thought – the pup I reared by hand lying all charred on the floor. Suddenly I got shaky and I could hardly hold the fire extinguisher.

‘Open the door slow,’ I said to Simone. So she did, and I pointed the nozzle through, ready to shoot down the flames.

But there weren’t no flames. There was smoke and a huge stink but there weren’t no flames.

‘Milo,’ I called.

But no one said, ‘Hip-herf.’ So I put the fire extinguisher down and picked up the torch.

I searched that Static from north to south, and from east to west, but I didn’t find no half-grown pup. Then I searched again ‘cos if I didn’t, I’d have to go out and handle a dead bloke. And besides, where was Milo?

There was a big hole burnt in the carpet, and there was a big hole burnt in my sleeping bag, and there was scorch marks all over the place. But otherwise the Static wasn’t much worse than it was before. Except Milo was missing.

‘He ain’t here,’ I said to Simone.

‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘Come on, Eva.’

‘I gotta find him,’ I said.

‘Bloody
hell
, Eva,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘We’ve got Wozzisname out there. Suppose someone comes?’ She was getting twitchier and twitchier. And I couldn’t blame her.

So I took the burnt sleeping bag and the fire extinguisher and we went back to Wozzisname and the Clio. And we unzipped the sleeping bag and rolled Wozzisname on to it and zipped it up again. We did it all of a rush and I didn’t think much about it, except I stuck the hammer in by his feet and the fire extinguisher between his legs. Which I thought was pretty clever ‘cos it was really heavy and it’d make Wozzisname sink like a stone when we dumped him in the river.

The brilliant thing about the sleeping bag was that it was army surplus and it had a hood. So when we covered Wozzisname’s head with the hood and pulled the drawstring tight you could hardly see his face at all. It was nearly as good as a roll of carpet and I didn’t have to stroke his eyes.

Problem. You got a dead bloke, a fire extinguisher and a hammer zipped up in a bag. You’ve got a tiny little Renault Clio to put it in. You can’t put him in the back seat ‘cos the Clio ain’t a four-door saloon. You only got a slim sister in high-heel shoes to help you. What do you do?

Shit, I nearly walked away. I nearly collected Ramses and Lineker and what was left of my chattels and walked away. I could of.

Fuck Wozzisname. Let the next ijit who walked in the yard find him. And deal with him. Let them try and lift him. And the fire extinguisher. Go on. You try it.

Borrow a bigger motor – I can hear you saying that. Shows how much you know. Shit, it’s hairy enough driving round London in your own bought-and-paid-for car with a dead bloke in the back. If you ain’t bought and paid for the car there’s too much to go wrong.

There was only one thing legal about what we were doing, and that was the car. So I wasn’t going to give up on it, was I?

Another really manky idea was to stuff Wozzisname in one of the wrecks in the yard and let him go through the crusher. Simone thought that was a good one till I showed her how the wrecks was all stripped-out shells. And how easy it was to see when there was something inside them.

Besides it was sort of disgusting. I hated Wozzisname – really truly loathed him by that time – but I still couldn’t think of putting him through the crusher. Simone only said that ‘cos she didn’t want him in her car.

You can’t blame her, you really can’t. After all, I didn’t want him in my yard.

In the end, when I was ready to rip the back seat out of the Clio, I noticed you could just tip it forward to make a bigger boot space. You’d of thought Simone could of told me that. It was her car. But she was hardly talking to me by then, and I had to do everything myself.

I sort of hefted Wozzisname in bit by bit and tamped him down. It wasn’t very tidy. But we was ready.

Then Simone said, ‘Shit. What’s the time?’

She looked at her watch, and I erupted my brainbox. I said, ‘Whaddya mean, “What’s the time?” You got a
date
or something? You ain’t going
nowhere
. You
ain’t
. Whaddya care what the fuckin’ time is? You ain’t walking out on me this time.’

‘What’re you going to do? Kill me?’ she screamed. ‘Stop fucking yelling, bitch. It’s only half past eight. Don’t you understand? It’s only
half past bloody eight
. We can’t dump who’sit when it’s only half past eight. Not in the middle of London we can’t.’

And then she burst into tears. And, fuck, why not? Only half past eight, and I’d lived seven lifetimes already. I couldn’t believe it. There were people outside the yard only just going out to dinner or to the pub. London was full of people out in the street, going drinking, clubbing, courting. Going every sodding where. We couldn’t dump Wozzisname for hours.

I was just about to erupt my brainbox again when this voice from the gate called out, ‘Hey, sisters. What’s all the fightin’ about?’

Simone dropped down behind the car like she’d been shot. ‘Who’s there?’ she said. ‘Has he seen us? Who
is
it?’

‘Keif,’ I said. ‘It’s sodding, poxy, twat-faced Keif. He’s my …’

‘Personal trainer,’ she said. ‘You bloody told me. You’ve got to get rid of him.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ she hissed. ‘He’s yours, not mine. Just get
rid
of him.’

‘
How?’

‘Hey, sisters,’ called Keif.

‘Make him go
away.’

But I didn’t want to talk to him. He’d see on my face what I done. I was a whole ‘nother person since he came in the afternoon with Cousin Carmen, and he’d see what I done in me eyes. You can’t whack a bloke with a hammer so hard he croaks without it shows in your eyes. Fact of life.

‘Yo, Eva,’ Keif called. ‘Comin’ in.’

‘
No
!’ I yelled. I ran to the gate.

‘Bugger off,’ I said.

‘Is what I like about you, Eva,’ Keif said. ‘You know how to manners a man. How you doin’? You feeling a little better?’

‘Better?’ I was feeling one hundred and twenty-five per cent pure crap.

‘Yeah. Not coughing-sneezing no more?’

‘Oh, that,’ I said. ‘Listen, meat-head, I got a bone to pick with you.’

‘Promises,’ he said. ‘What now?’

‘Your Cousin Carmen. Her potion. What was it – piss poison?’

‘Oh that,’ he said with a grin you could of wrapped twice round his neck. ‘Mebbe I should of warned you. No. The poison was all your own. Potion just call it out of you.’

‘Fuckin’ obeah ladies,’ I said.

‘Too true. But that’s why I’m so big and strong today. Cousin Carmen don’t allow no sick child round her house.’

He was chatting on as if everything was normal – as if
I
was normal. Sometimes it’s really useful that blokes are such insensitive buggers.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘now you a toxin-free zone, you going to invite me in?’

‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘Got things to do. Got to let the dogs out. You won’t like my dogs.’

‘Liked the little one,’ he said.

‘You won’t like the big ones, and they won’t like you. They’re attack dogs.’

‘What you got you need attack dogs for?’

‘Job,’ I said. ‘We’re security guards.’

‘What you loading the car for?’ he said. ‘You flittin’ or what?’

‘Fuckin’ questions,’ I said. He
knew
. He was only pretending he couldn’t see Wozzisname in my eyes. He
knew
, and he was toying with me.

Then Simone said, ‘Hello, Keith.’ She’d come up from behind without me hearing.

She said, ‘We had a bit of an accident. A fire.’ Oh, she’s so clever when she’s back in control.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s your fault. You should never of lit that stupid heater.’

‘Come on, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘He wasn’t to know.’

‘What happened?’ Keif asked.

‘Just a bit of a fire,’ Simone said. ‘As you can see, we’re having
to dispose of some burnt things. Don’t mind Eva – she’s a bit shaken up.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind Eva,’ he said. ‘Hey, girl, sorry. How bad was it? Need somewhere to stay?’

‘How very kind,’ Simone said before I could tell him to knob off. ‘No, it’s quite all right. If Eva needs somewhere to stay she can stay with me. We’re fine, honestly.’

‘OK, safe then,’ he said. ‘Bit of weight-training tomorrow, Eva? You up fer weight-training?’

Maybe I should’ve told him about the weight I’d just been lifting, but Simone said, ‘We’ll see. She doesn’t want to do too much too soon after the flu.’

She was so smooth I could of spread her on bread and eaten her. I mean, she was all wet hair and hunted eyes, but her voice was smooth and classy. She was freezing Keif out. I could tell.

He said, ‘Ain’t I seen you somewhere? I been trying to remember since I first met you. You ain’t an actress or what?’

‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘I’ve done a little modelling. But I shouldn’t think you’d’ve seen any of that.’

‘What?’ he said.

‘Oh, you know,’ she said, ‘fizzy drinks, handbags. Nothing special.’

‘Hey! A model!’ Keif said. ‘Wicked.’

And I nearly agreed with him. A fuckin’ model. No wonder she talked so fancy. And why not? She was pretty enough to be a film star. But I could of screamed at her for not just slapping him down. What was we
doing
boogying around, talking about modelling?

‘I gotta let the dogs out,’ I said.

‘OK,’ Keif said. ‘Mebbe best. Saw a guy hanging round when I came. Thought you had a visitor but mebbe he’s hanging round fer to steal something.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘Where?’

‘Over there,’ he said, pointing, and sure enough, in the shadows at the corner of Mandala Street, there was a lurker trying to look like a bit of wall.

‘Oi!’ I yelled. ‘Bum-drip! Yeah,
you!’

‘Eva, don’t,’ said Simone.

‘You sweet-talkin’ some other guy?’ said Keif. ‘Damn!’

‘Oi!’ I yelled. ‘Don’t think I can’t see you.’

The shadow came unstuck from the wall but it didn’t come any closer.

‘Simone there?’ he called. ‘I’m waiting for Simone.’

She
did
have a date. On top of everything, Simone had a twatting date. I wheeled round to face her.

‘You
said!’
I yelled.

‘Shshsh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know he was coming. I
swear.’

‘You sodding
what?’
I said.

‘Don’t shout, Eva,’ she said. And then to Keif she said, ‘Eva doesn’t like my boyfriend.’ Can you believe that? I didn’t even know she
had
one.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said.

‘You ain’t leaving,’ I said.

‘Don’t shout. I’ve got to talk to him, send him away. It won’t take a second.’

So I had to unlock the gate to let her out, and then of course, once the gate was unlocked Keif wanted to come in.

‘Soakin’ out here,’ he said.

‘Well, you can’t come in,’ I said. ‘Soon as Simone comes back I’m loosing the dogs.’

‘Yeah, OK, but Eva, you just had the flu or what. Mebbe we should go in an’ I’ll make a cup of tea for you.’

‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘Kettle’s burnt.’

‘Least get out of the rain.’

‘Smoke,’ I said. ‘Bad stink. It gave me a terrible headache.’ Over his shoulder I could see Simone and the shadow. She was waving her arms around.

‘Headache?’ said Keif. ‘Come here, baby doll. Ain’t no headache I can’t cure.’

He swung me round and got his hands on my neck. What a stone liberty! The
cheek
of the man!

‘Woh,’ he said. ‘Rock hard.’

‘Oi,’ I said. ‘Knob off!’ I couldn’t, I really couldn’t credit it. I still had a dead bloke in the yard and my joke personal trainer wanted to massage my neck. If I’d been a fainting sort of woman I’d of passed out.

‘Unreal,’ I said.

‘Told you,’ Keif said. ‘I got voodoo digits. Man, have you got a knotted neck!’

‘Bog off,’ I said, ‘that’s muscle tone.’

‘Tension.’

‘Muscle tone.’

‘Safe, sister,’ he said. ‘I’ll allow good muscle. But it’s knotted like a barb-wire ball.’

He had big hot hands. I stood there like a horse and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. Those big hot hands were making me feel little and weak when I needed to be hard.

I jumped away. ‘Don’t,’ I said.

‘If you worry about your sister,’ he said, ‘she gone.’

I looked over at the corner. No Simone.

‘Where?’

‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Long gone.’

I went out the gate faster than a greased torpedo. I sprinted to the corner. No Simone. I looked up Mandala Street. Just an empty market in the rain. Not hide nor hair, not sight nor sound of Simone. Just wet paper and soggy cabbage leaves blowing in the wind.

I ran down Mandala Street. ‘
Simone!’
I yelled.

No answer. ‘
Simone!’
I howled. How
could
she? How could she blow and leave me with Wozzisname all folded up in the back of her car when I didn’t know what to do?

‘
Simone!’

‘Hip?’

‘Milo?’ I said.

And there he was, crouched under a rusty barrow.

If there was a god he’d be a stand-up comedian. Look at it my
way – I want Milo, I get Keif. I want Simone, I get Milo. If there was a god I’d pelt him with rotten tomatoes. Bad jokes – that’s all gods is good for – bad sodding jokes.

Now I had a shivering, sopping-wet pup, I had a joke personal trainer
and
I had Wozzisname to cope with. But no Simone. Was there
ever
a woman in so much trouble? I ask you. Was there? ‘Cos if there was, give me her phone number and we’ll start a self-help group.

Do you know what the spookiest bit was?

Milo was scared of me. Of
me
, who’d hand-reared him from a tadpole. He wouldn’t come out from under the barrow.

Maybe Keif was too thick to see in me eyes what I done, but Milo wasn’t. I knelt down and put my hand out to him, but he backed away and showed me his teeth. He never done that before. It wasn’t aggression, it was stone fright.