Musclebound (24 page)

‘You never even knew me,’ he was saying. ‘But you won’t never forget me. You put me in the river, but you can’t get rid of me that easy.’

‘Bugger off,’ I said. ‘You brought it on yourself. You and Ma.’ But I knew he wouldn’t listen. No one listens.

The other person who never listens is Anna Lee, the Enemy. She turned up in her white Peugeot and tooted on her horn till I went to the gate.

I’d never admit it to her, but I was quite pleased to have a real live human being to talk to that night. Not that she’s quite human – with her poker-straight posture and her poker-straight life. No one that organised is quite human.

‘What you doing up so late?’ I said. ‘Couldn’t you find another poor sod to do your dirty work for you? You should be all tucked up in your bed by now.’

I was a bit pleased to see her, but I wasn’t going to let her in. I never invite politzei into my home. We talked through the gate.

‘I came by earlier,’ she said. ‘Where were you?’

‘What’s it to you?’ Bloody typical – she always starts with a question.

‘I just wanted to talk to you,’ she said. ‘What on earth happened? There’s a huge lump on your forehead. How did you get hurt?’

‘Questions, questions, questions,’ I said. ‘You don’t
never
have a conversation like a normal person. Everything you say,
everything
, is a sodding interrogation.’

‘Force of habit,’ she said. ‘It’s what I do for a living. Sorry if it upsets you.’

‘Well, blow me down and feed me buttercups!’ I said.

‘What?’

‘You said “sorry”. You
never
‘pologise.’

‘It’s the end of a long day. I must be weakening.’ She leaned
against the gatepost, which made her look less like a cop and more like a human being. ‘Oh hell,’ she said, ‘now I’m going to upset you again.’

‘Takes more than you to upset me.’

‘No it doesn’t,’ she said, ‘but never mind. Try and believe I’m not out to get you. Just for once, believe I’m trying to help.’

‘Help what?’

‘You. It’s about counterfeit money. Bent money. I told you about it the other night at the Cat and Cowbell.’

‘So?’ I didn’t care what she said. As long as she kept her hooter out of my hollyhocks.

‘Some of the local traders came to see me and Mr Schiller about a scattering of bad notes which have turned up in the last few days – John from the burger bar, Mr Hanif, Value Mart … They’ve all taken fake twenties and fifties. Bad notes, but good bad notes – you couldn’t tell from a casual glance. But they all came up dodgy under a detector light.’

‘So what?’ I said.

‘The police haven’t seen any of this batch before. They want to see more. They want to know where it’s coming from.’

I said nothing. There was a heavy, low feeling starting to creep from my guts to my heart.

‘Eva,’ she said, ‘it’s coming from you. I’ve interviewed all the traders. You are the only common factor.’

‘Who’re you calling common?’ I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was beginning to feel too blue to talk back.

‘Where did you get it, Eva?’

‘Why ask me?’ I said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But I knew. I knew if I looked inside that Puma bag again I wouldn’t see my future, my fortune. I’d see a load of crappy paper. I should of known it was too good to be true.

She said, ‘Who gave it to you, Eva? Who’ve you been working for?’

‘I been working for you,’ I said. ‘Maybe it came from you like
the rest of the shite you give me.’ All that lovely dosh was turning to dung, right before my eyes.

I wished she’d go away. I wanted to be alone again. I wanted the Enemy to get stroppy and flounce off, but she never does what I want her to do.

‘Who else?’ she said. ‘Has anyone else paid you this week?’

‘None of your business,’ I said.

‘That’s a new jacket,’ she said. ‘New boots. Where did you get the money, Eva? You haven’t had any new clothes as long as I’ve known you.’

See what I mean? She’s always,
always
, got that sharp snout in my business. It’s a copper’s snout.

‘You don’t know anything,’ I said. ‘You think you do, but you don’t. I’m back in the ring now.’

‘That’s terrific, Eva,’ she said. Like she wanted me to think she was really pleased. Fat chance. ‘So the money came from fighting. Were you paid in cash? Or did someone cash a cheque for you? You haven’t got a bank account, have you?’

I should never of worked for her. You shouldn’t never ever give politzei a line on you. Once they’ve got a line they never leave it alone. The only thing to do is to keep your lip zipped – don’t give them nothing.

‘Piss off,’ I said. ‘I don’t work for you no more. I don’t have to talk to you.’ I began to walk away. I’d had enough.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But think about it. Passing counterfeit money’s a serious offence, Eva. It’s not like boosting the odd motor. It isn’t slap-on-the-wrist time if you get caught. It’s serious time – years, Eva, you could be locked up for
years.’

What about Wozzisname? How much serious time would I get for him if anyone found out? How important was passing a few bent notes compared with that?

‘Shove it,’ I said. ‘You got no right coming round here threatening me. You ain’t welcome here.’

‘I’m not threatening you,’ she said. ‘I haven’t told anyone about this except Mr Schiller. Honestly, I don’t want to see
you in trouble. But if I do nothing I’m colluding. Then I’m in trouble too.’

‘Life’s tough,’ I said. ‘Buy a crash helmet.’

‘I’m not the one with an ostrich egg on her forehead. You need a crash helmet more than I do.’

I stared at her. There are some people in this world who never bring good news. They just ain’t capable of it. The Enemy was one.

‘I’ll give you twenty-four hours,’ she said. ‘Talk to me or talk to Mr Schiller. After that it gets official. Think about it, Eva.’

Dung and depression, bollocks and blues. That’s all I ever get. People. They do nothing but bring you down. It’s my comeback, right? Did anyone pat me on the back and say, ‘Nice one, Eva’? I must of had my fingers in my ears if they did, ‘cos I never heard ‘em. No. What I get is people bringing me down.

I get threats and abuse and bollocks and blues. I might as well pack up and leave town – find someone without a detector light and buy a ticket to some place where they’ll take dogs and you don’t need a passport, where I can get lost and start again. Is there somewhere like that? Where it ain’t a crime to be big and speak your mind. Where I can do what I’m good at without everyone bars me and brings me down and gives me a headache.

‘Have you got an aspirin?’ I said to the Enemy.

‘Yes,’ she said. She rummaged in her bag and gave me a card of pills. Maybe she does have a bit of a human heart after all.

She said, ‘Do think about it, Eva. I’ll stop by tomorrow.’

‘Don’t bother,’ I said. ‘I won’t be here.’ And I went away to where I couldn’t hear her voice no more.

Why is it – when you’ve got a million things to think about and they’re all stacked up like traffic in a jam on the motorway – you can’t think at all? How come your brain just coughs and stalls?

My brain went walkies except for thinking about the aspirins. It was like I had a bass drum between my ears, and I couldn’t think of nothing but swallowing a handful of aspirins as quick as possible. After that I couldn’t think of nothing but making another mug of
strong sweet tea. And after that I must of nodded off again because there was nothing at all.

When I woke up there was half a mug of cold tea beside me and Milo was whining to be let out. I was sore from head to toe. I wanted a deep, piping hot bath and a pile of fluffy towels. I wanted a long slow rub-down with a gallon of Cousin Carmen’s embrocation. I wanted a double helping of pasta and meatball sauce or a pepperoni pizza. Most of all I wanted Simone to talk to.

Was it her I saw running up the steps to the Ladywell Baths? I hoped it was. She should of seen me up there under the lights. If she didn’t see that, she’d never know what I really am – what I made of meself since she got took away. It was crucial, and she had to see it to understand it. I wanted her to understand.

I was so gut-whacked when she cringed to God Greg and handed him my shooter, but she was still my sister and she was the only person I could talk to about the money. She was the only one I could trust.

I couldn’t keep the money no more. It was bent. I had a little twitch about that. Maybe it wasn’t bent. Maybe the Enemy only said it was bent so she could get her sticky fingers on it. I spent half a minute hoping that was true. But I couldn’t believe it. The Enemy’s a stuck-up nosy cow, but it’s no use complaining ‘cos she’s too straight and then not believing her when she says the dosh is bent.

Besides, God Greg more or less said so himself when he was droning on about how it’d do me more harm than good.

But the main reason I believed the Enemy was telling the truth was ‘cos it felt like the truth. I can’t be a squillionaire – I ain’t born to that kind of luck. Some are and some ain’t. I ain’t. What I got I sweated for. Nobody ever gave me nothing for free. And it’s no use thinking they ever will. Some gets stuff given to them. Not me. I got to grab.

Those squillions was just too good to be true, and I should of known they was dung. They was handed to me on a plate and I should of known it was a plateful of poop. It
had to be, ‘cos it couldn’t be anything else if it was handed to me.

I put on my shoes and jacket and went out into the dark. It was mizzling rain. The dogs came trotting over smelling of wet fur.

We went on another tour of the yard together, and I must say they was behaving like gentlemen. Dogs and people is much more alike than they think. With dogs you got to show ‘em how to behave and you got to make them pay attention. You got to prove you’re the boss. Which I did a couple of nights ago with Ramses, because you can’t only prove it once. You got to keep on proving it or they take advantage. It’s the same with people, only people are stupider. They don’t learn so quick.

Our last stop was at the dog shed. I went in and took the Puma bag off of the wall. I wanted to say goodbye to it. And if you think I’m soft you’re wrong. I wasn’t saying goodbye to a lousy bagful of paper – I was saying goodbye to all the things I would of done with it if it wasn’t bent. I was saying goodbye to a fitness centre called Musclebound, and if that ain’t worth a lump in the throat I don’t know what is.

I took it indoors and laid it on the bunk. Then I filled the kettle. There was still some of Simone’s coffee left so I made a mug of that with lots of sugar. I wished I still had some of her whisky to keep the cold out but we finished it all last night.

I spread the money out on the floor and looked at it while I drank my coffee. How could anything so pretty as that be dung? And how could anything so beautiful be so unlucky? Because, when you think about it, that dung brought me nothing but a cartload of trouble. Even when I thought it was the real thing it was only pretend, and it put the whammy on me. I would never of met Wozzisname but for all that pretend dosh, and I was hexed for sure afterwards.

If it wasn’t for that pretend dosh Simone wouldn’t have gone off with God Greg.

You won’t believe the next bit – I suddenly wished I was dead. I don’t hardly believe it neither, but it’s true.
I wished, when Pete Carver hit me between the eyes, I wish I died.

See, if I could of died right then and there, I’d of died a rich woman. Don’t laugh – it’s true. ‘Cos the Enemy wouldn’t of told me the dosh was dung. I was rich till she told me that.

If I’d died in the ring I would of died winning. And Simone would of been there and she’d of seen me die a winner. Like she thought I was rich ‘cos I’d won the lottery.

Suddenly I had this horrible thought about Simone. What would she think when she found out I hadn’t won the lottery? What’d she think when she knew that the one thousand one hundred and sixty-seven quid was all fake? Well, all except for the seven pounds.

She’d know I lied to her. She’d know God Greg told her true. What would she do if she knew her sister lied to her and a jumped-up baboon told her true?

No. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t ask her to help me with what to do about the money unless I told her where it came from. I couldn’t do that. I only just got her back.

I had to get rid of it just the same as I got rid of Wozzisname – on my own. So I thought, why not take it to the same place near Greenwich and dump it in the river? I mean, if Wozzisname wanted it so bad, why not give it to him?

But I was so sore, and I didn’t know if I could find that place again – I only found it by accident the first time.

Then I thought about all the other greedy bastards who tried to take it offme. There was Ma and Andy. There was Droopy-drawers and Fish-face. There was God Greg and the Enemy. The politzei wanted it too. And Keif – you don’t think he’d of asked to be my personal trainer without I paid him, do you? Wake
up
.

I started to feel bad about paying Keif in bent notes. But then I thought, well, he was a joke personal trainer so he ought to expect joke money. Except Keif
did
have good hands for real, and he
was
the one who suggested my comeback. And he was there with me when it happened.

But it couldn’t be helped. Feeling bad about Keif was a waste of time when there was so much to decide.

If only I could sell it back to God Greg for straight money. Except he couldn’t have much straight money if he had to make pretend money, could he? And anyway, how could I sell it to him without Simone finding out?

I finished my coffee, and then I packed up every last gorgeous, evil note in the Puma bag. I zipped it up. I put on my coat and went out.

‘Milo,’ I called.

‘Herf?’ went Milo and trotted out of the shadows, one ear up, one ear flat.

‘Shurrup,’ I said. ‘How the hell am I s’posed to think with you herfing all the time? I never knew such a talky dog.’

‘Herf?’ he said.

‘Guard dogs don’t “herf’,’ I said. ‘Why ain’t you learned nothing from Ramses? He don’t speak till it counts and then he frightens the life out of you. That’s how it is with guard dogs.’