Angel Dust (23 page)

Oh yes, there could be advantages to having a human body!

I shivered in delight as I thought about them
, imagined his hands hot on my skin, his broad strong hands cupping my chin, lifting my mouth up to his. His pearly teeth biting gently on my cheek, sucking my lower lip in, nibbling it with sharp, sweet bites. The pressure of his mouth at last, his tongue forcing my lips open, penetrating, exploring, filling my mouth with sweet savage kisses . . .

I blinked.
Where
had
those images come from?
I held my breath; deep strange carnal longings shuddered through me. Things I'd never imagined.
Could never have imagined.
Things I never knew a human body could do to another human body.
And they felt good!
I squeezed my eyes tight. I tried to push the visions away. They left me panting and yearning and feeling an exhilaration that thrilled me more than a thousand sweet Heavenly breezes.

I looked up at Larry. He was smiling at me gently, looking so kind, so concerned, but as I turned my head I thought I caught a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

‘Hey, Shara, I can see just where your mind's going,' he said, winking, ‘but Don't Go There. That's an order. Wait and see how Marcus is today. There, that's sensible advice, isn't it?' Larry pulled a stupid face, as if sensible advice was nasty, pinch-your-nose-and-swallow-it medicine. ‘Talk to him first. He won't want you to risk so much for him. He won't expect that of you. He knows he's only a human.'

I know Larry was trying to reassure me, but I wasn't reassured. What, expect Marcus to feel he was ‘
only a human
' in my eyes? That was hardly likely to reassure him, was it? Plus, he wasn't. He was everything. He was a God (among men, obviously). He should be treated like a God. He should expect everything from me. And I should deliver it. No, Larry was wrong. I wasn't going to tell Marcus I was prepared to Fall to Earth for him, and then ask him if he was important enough for me to do it. What, tease him? Make him refuse? Make him admit his worthlessness?

Never.

I would do it.

I'd never actually been to a funeral before, so I'm probably no judge, but I thought it was phenomenal. The hearse led a cavalcade of cars up the long drive to the crematorium. Joey's family had spared nothing. (The size of the hearse alone totally amazed me.) White lilies woven into flamboyant wreaths rode like figureheads on the prow of each limousine. They read: OUR JOEY BIGGA THAN EVA and LUV U MUM and RIP JOEY.

His family followed in a second equally huge car. It sailed up the long drive to the crematorium as if blown in by a typhoon. There was his mother all dressed in black and his father with a top hat on that looked vaguely out of keeping with the white flower tucked in his lapel.

There were Joey's brothers, the whole crew of them. I recognised them immediately from outside the police station. Today they looked different. There was something almost indecently sexy about the way they walked. Their dark pinstriped suits sat on their square shoulders and narrow hips like they were fashion models.

All four of them wore dark glasses and trilbies with white crown bands, and had hands so feverish they looked like they longed to feel the throttle of a motorbike beneath their touch, or were itching to draw a weapon. Pow.

And then came Marcus.

My pulse leapt. He stepped from the next limousine as if he were an archangel himself. Gone was the downcast air of yesterday. Now there was something bold and reckless in his step. I compared him with the other mourners. What was the grace of the brothers, the smartness of the father compared to him?

He spoke to Joey's mother. I wondered how she could receive with such composure his glance, which seemed to slice through me. I expected her colour to drain; but I was pleased when it didn't. He isn't the same as them, I thought: he isn't of their realm. There is something celestial about him. I can see it. He's like me. Though the firmament should separate us, I recognise him. He's mine. I'm his.

The third car arrived and coasted to a standstill. Marcus crossed the drive and held the front door open for his mother. After she had stepped down and hurried to greet and hold Joey's mother, Marcus opened the back door for his sisters.

And my God, how beautiful they were. Rayanne, the older, was slim and tall with legs that reached her armpits. And the cut of her skirt, just above the knee (with such heart-lurching promise of things higher up) got all of Joey's four brothers fixated on her
–
from the moment she lowered her lacy veil to the way she set her high-heeled shoe (four inches!) so daintily upon the path.

Instantly the eldest of Joey's brothers pushed his siblings back, jumped towards her, offered her his arm, his smile, his heart (and other body parts too, I guess, if she gave him the chance).

Marcus's younger sister got down from the limousine. Sweet, kind Jasmine. She ran to Joey's mother, hugged her, helped her, guided her along walkways, up steps to the crematorium, pressed her arm, offered her tissues. She smiled shyly at Joey's father and greeted the older relatives so respectfully. As soon as Joey's mother was in the right place, she raced round the side of the parking lot and checked on the undertakers. I honed my hearing.

Had they remembered the wreaths from the house? Had they got enough programmes? Did they want her to get the brothers ready to bear the coffin in? Had the photographer arrived? No? They couldn't start till he had. I listened in on all. Marvelling. How she whirled around, all sympathy, practicality, compassion.

When her mother needed a hanky
–
she was there; when her sister couldn't find the restroom
–
she was there; when Marcus needed a crutch
–
she stood up straight and let him lean affectionately upon her.

And all the while I stood with Larry, far off, in amongst the graves, watching.

Larry pressed my arm and whispered, ‘Courage, Demerara, you're so brave.'

I gave him a smile, but it didn't reach my eyes.

‘I've got a few deals to close today,' he said, ‘but I swear I'll watch over your boy. I just had to drop by to see you were getting along OK. But, just in case you wanna live dangerously,' he said, raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, ‘and be mad, bad and completely cuckoo!' He blew me a kiss. ‘Here.' He drew something out of his briefcase. ‘Gotcha,' he said. And he hung a small silver whistle on a chain around my neck.

‘What's it for?' I asked

‘Whistling,' he said.

Then before I could say, ‘But what's it
really
for?' he dived into his briefcase again. This time he pulled out a small package and pressed it into my hand.

I took it. ‘Thanks,' I whispered.

‘Don't worry,' he said, ‘it's a freebee, a twofer.'

‘A twofer?' I asked.

‘Two for one!' he giggled. ‘You find a crossroads
–
then you blow the whistle or go mad, wondering what would have happened if you had!'

I didn't have a clue what he meant. My face must have shown it.

‘Nothing to it,' he said. ‘RTBM.
¹
And if you make it to Earth and feel like partying,' he started humming, ‘
I'll be in da club with a glass full of
 . . .' Then he winked and left.

I stood there, nonplussed.

What had Larry meant? RTBM?

I looked at the package he'd given me. It felt like there was a box inside the plastic bag. I drew it out. It
was
a box. On it was written:

FALLING FROM HEAVEN

THE COMPLETE D.I.Y. DROP-DOWN KIT

(with instructions)

The rest of the gangsters arrived: Marcus's crew. Oh, those gold chains, those diamond-studded ears, those low-slung belts, tight jeans, edgy haircuts, dark looks, glittering eyes, rough-shaved chins. They hung back after greeting the families and formed a well-dressed, dangerous wall around the gathering.

When they were in position Joey's younger brother moved over to Marcus.

I tucked the D.I.Y. kit into the sash of my dress, wondering how exactly it worked and why Larry happened to be carrying one. Was Falling from Heaven so common? Did he do daily deals with kit boxes? And giving me the whistle too? There was something worrying about it. Larry – charming as he appeared – didn't seem like the kind of being who gave things away for nothing. I remembered something about whistles too
–
or was it bells? Yes, it was bells. Bell, book and candle. Excommunication.

Still feeling uneasy, I turned my attention back to Marcus.

‘Just give us the nod, bro.' Joey's brother was saying. (The youngest one looked like an oversized Al Capone.) ‘If the Crow shows up to mess with Joey's send-off, we're ready. All the boys are tooled up, you-biz?'

Marcus looked at him and nodded slightly. Then he put his head to one side. ‘Hey, Spider,' he said. ‘Man wants to thank you again for bailing me yesterday.'

Spider gave him the brotherhood salute, knuckle to knuckle, fist to chest.

‘You know man was shot,' continued Marcus. ‘Well, man had to do some computing. When you brush with death, it calls for brain activity, you-get-me?' He laughed like brain activity was something none of them rated.

Spider nodded. ‘Yeah, man,' he said.

‘Man wanted to step right out of the gang thing, true,' said Marcus.

I wanted to shout out.
But don't give up.
I couldn't help you yesterday.
But I'm here now.

Spider looked at Marcus. ‘You was nuts,' he said, not unkindly.

‘But I learned one thing, bro,' said Marcus. ‘The po can't protect you. Innocent people get hurt. Joey, and now Melly, and what am I gonna tell Lil Joe when he's big? Your mum and dad died and the guy who killed them is still sipping Bacardi?' He laughed. ‘I don't think so. But I don't need no back-up for this one, that's what I mean to say. Nobody else gets hurt. It's me an' da Crow, now. You-get-me?'

My jaw dropped. My heart sank.

Somebody shouted, ‘Yo, my man, M! How ya doing?'

Marcus nodded at Spider. ‘Keep it close,' he said, ‘but I'm going for him. Trust me.' Then he turned aside and walked back towards the crematorium reception area.

Spider slipped away, and sidled up to his older brother.

I listened.

‘Marcus wants to take out da Crow solo,' Spider said.

Take out the Crow?

The brother nodded. ‘Yo, da Big G's taken it bad. Joey was his main man, you-know – and now this Melly thing.'

‘But he's talking cutting us out,' said Spider.

‘Allow it,' said the brother. ‘He was waving hello to God too, d'you-know-what-I'm-saying. He's as mad as Hell; but he'll call for us, bro; he knows we're fam.'

‘Seen,' said Spider, looking very doubtful.

‘He won't cut us out,' reassured the older brother. ‘He knows man dem need to spill blood.'

An emptiness opened up inside me. Not that.

‘Marcus needs to chill,' said Spider. ‘He's not well; he needs to find his-self a likkle wifey and let man dem settle this beef.'

The brother laughed. ‘The day Marcus gets a wifey is the day I get a job.' He bust himself up laughing.

‘What are you two sniggering over?' said the lovely Rayanne. She strolled over and leaned up against Spider.

‘Marcus getting hitched,' laughed the brother.

‘Not. Going. To. Happen,' said Rayanne, all sassy. (You know, on reflection, she wasn't as good-looking as I first thought.)

‘Told you,' said the brother.

‘Probably aching for a bit of you-know though, and scared he'll pop an artery!' suggested Spider.

I turned to look for Marcus. Where was he? There, standing alone by the edge of the party.

Time to act.

I positioned myself. I made sure I was absolutely right in front of him, although some distance away amongst the graves. I quickly checked my clothes. I'd put on a very sober, tight-fitting long black dress. It was off the shoulders and flared from the waist into a full romantic skirt. I wore long black lacy fingerless gloves to match. I tossed my head, my hair spread out in unparalleled beauty.

One the count of three I apparitioned. Just for the briefest of seconds. I did it perfectly. A sudden burst of sunshine through the grey October morning; to the uninitiated just a stray shaft of sunlight, to Marcus a greeting
.

The guests, shivering in their thin designer gear, looked up, pointed, remarked that perhaps the sun would break through, perhaps Joey was amongst us. But not Marcus. He didn't bat an eyelid.

He must have seen me. Surely I'd done it properly?

I tried again. I let a chorus of songbirds trill.

Nothing. Except Marcus shrugging and giving me the cold shoulder.

So he had seen me.

And as if to rub in the point he turned his back and started walking off in the opposite direction. He took up a place at the furthest side of the cemetery, as far away as possible. He leaned over and steadied himself on some railings.

Jasmine, seeing he was in pain, rushed to be with him.
Surely he must look at me?

But nothing
–
not a nod, not a shrug, not a glance.

I was shivering with a new feeling I couldn't understand. I folded my wings in tightly around me
. Those stern eyes, that cold resolute frown. The sight of him turning away from me.

I couldn't bear it. Without meaning to, I cast a rainbow right across the Heavens. I wanted to make him smile. I made the breeze drop. I wanted to see his face light up as he saw me. I made the grey clouds scud away. I made a sunbeam single him out like a stage spotlight. He must forgive me.

He didn't even twitch an eyebrow.

Not a goddamn eyebrow.