Deadfolk (10 page)

Soon as I got home I went to the bathroom and applied some muscle rub to the afflicted area. Then I applied it to the area all around the afflicted one, just to be sure. By the time I were through, everything between chin and belt were covered. I lay down on my bed for a bit, waiting for it to set in. A bit later I went downstairs, poured some whisky, and walked around chugging it for a while. I poured some more and went into the living room. Nothing much on telly that time of day besides news, and after a bit you gets tired of watching folks you don’t know blow emselves up in some place you ain’t never heard of. I got
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
off the vid shelf and went to slot it in. But then an old tape caught my eye and I picked that up and all.
ROCKY 3
it said on the front in my best handwriting. I slapped it in the player and slumped on the sofa.

I dunno if you’ve seen this film. Most folks has, I reckon. Most folks rates it as the greatest film ever made. But to me it were more than that. And I’d never really known why. Not until now, as the opening credits rolled.

The story starts with Rocky as World Champion. He’s rich as a plum pudding and only fights chumps. Reckoning it best to go out on top, he announces his retirement. But along comes a new feller called Clubber Lang, mouthing off that Rocky’s a fairy and offering to give his bird a seeing to. Well, the natural happens and they ends up in the ring. But Clubber’s harder than Rocky reckoned. And Rocky himself is softer than what he thought. Clubber wins, and Rocky’s washed up. A former champ.

And that were where I were coming in. I’d been watching this film again and again and not knowing why. But now I knew. I were like Rocky, see. I’d known glory in the past. Ever since nipperdom I’d walked the streets of Mangel like a lion prowls the jungle. Folks was afraid of us. And rightly so. But it weren’t like that now. Not since Beth. Now folks laughed at us and called us bottler. I’d killed a Munton and what did folks do? Made a fucking joke out of it and laughed a bit more.

But, right, Rocky weren’t happy about being a former champ. And nor were I. He had a mountain to climb if he wanted his glory back. It were steep and hairy in places and it didn’t look like he were up to it. But he started climbing anyhow.

I watched the film all the way through. Rocky won. He stood atop his mountain and held his fists high. I cried a bit, then dried my eyes and turned the telly off.

As well as me finally seeing that Rocky’s situation and my own was the same, like, there were summat else in the film that made us think. Rocky won, but he’d done it with the help of Apollo Creed, former enemy and now bestest mate. It were Apollo who trained him up to take on Clubber again. And it were Rocky’s wife who talked him out of the dumps he’d fallen into. He’d got help from them what was close to him, in short. And it got us to thinking.

Who could I call upon for help?

There was Legs, course. I’d already turned to him, and his advice had led us to more shite. Weren’t his fault, mind. He hadn’t said go and kill the fucker. Only twat him, he’d said. But he’d been a bit off in the gym and I didn’t fancy calling on him again just now.

Who else were there besides Legs?

Finney, course. But he weren’t the sort you’d want help from. Bit of a twat, like.

Sal. Well, what about Sal? I know we was only seeing each other casual like, for shagging and that, but hadn’t she said she loved us? And I reckoned she meant it and all. I could tell by the way she always had a nice welcome for us. Couldn’t help with my problems, mind. She were only a bird after all. But maybe I ought to give her my ear a bit more, like Rocky done with his bird. Wouldn’t do no harm, and there might be a shag in it for us.

That were all by the by anyhow. Mates and birds can only go so far. When Rocky got in the ring, he did it alone. No one can do his training for him, and no one can throw his punches. I were dancing around the room as I were thinking this, doing a bit of shadow boxing. I were feeling all right. The muscle rub had sorted out my aches and pains. Or perhaps they was still hurting but I didn’t care.

Didn’t matter. Things was looking up. I were a fighter and I could feel a fight coming on.

A big one.

I danced around the house, punching the air and thinking about what I had to do to get my glory back. Well, folks was going round calling us a bottler. And I couldn’t come out and tell em all what I’d done to Baz. So I reckon I had to show em a bit more of the same. In the name of my job, course. A doorman is always within his rights to break noses and loosen teeth. That ought to get em all talking about us the right way.

Going to the gym had shown us how out of shape I’d let meself get. Compared to Rocky anyhow. ‘Let’s get back to where we started,’ says Apollo at one point, talking about training. Well, I’d been eighteen and half stone when I started out as a doorman. So eighteen and half stone were what I had to be again. There were summat else to do and all, and I’d put it off long enough. ‘All right,’ I says, standing in the hall. I were sweating all over now and breathing hard. Sooner I got meself into shape again the better. But I were all right, far as lugging dead bodies were concerned. ‘All right then, Blakey boy. Less do it.’ I pushed the cellar door open.

Apollo Creed were holding my hand as I stepped down them steps. He were pointing the way with his red gloved fist. But when I hit the bottom of the first flight he were gone. I were on me tod. And I knew that were the way it had to be. ‘You made a mess, Blake,’ I says. ‘Now clear the fucker up.’

The lower cellar had no light. I felt around on the shelf where I kept a torch, but it weren’t there. That didn’t surprise us. Last time I’d been down there I were hauling a tonne of dead fat and not thinking straight. I might have left the torch any place.

I sparked me lighter and ventured downward.

I’d never liked that bottom cellar. There were nothing down there besides a couple of bags of cement, an old bike frame, and Baz. It were a place I never went. That were why I’d stowed Baz there, see. If I never went there, nor did anyone else neither. That were my thinking anyhow, such as it were.

The flame flickered up against the bare brick walls. There were a problem with damp down here and every surface were slimy and greenish. I took each stair nice and steady, making sure I wouldn’t fall arse over. I got to the bottom step without so much as a spider landing on my head. ‘I ain’t afraid of no bastard,’ I says. And my voice echoed back at us all mangled and creepy and sending a shiver up and down me spine. I went over to where I’d dumped Baz on the far side.

But the cunt weren’t there, were he.

I searched that cellar high and low. But to be honest there weren’t much searching to be done. Baz were gone, no matter how much light I shone on the matter. I ran upstairs, tripping on the steps and hitting me chin. I searched every room of the house—under beds, in wardrobes, behind curtains.

Nothing.

I were barely aware of the little whooping noises coming out of my gob and the sweat pouring into me eyes. I went back down to the cellar and searched it again, both floors. Nothing. No sign of him at all. Not even a shoe or a pack of fags or a hanky.

I slumped down on the kitchen floor with the whisky bottle. There was two things might have happened here. First were that some cunt had broke in and had off with Baz. I didn’t want to think about that one. Who’d have done such a thing? Muntons? If it were them I’d have been strung up and bled by now. But if it weren’t them, who?

The other thought were a bit more worrying. What if Baz had got up and walked? I hadn’t doubted that he were dead when I put him there. But what if I’d only knocked him out or summat, and he’d woke up and fucked off? Then I had another thought.

What if I’m barmy?

But I never thought about that one for long. I’d thought about it enough in the past and found my way to a conclusion I were happy with: if I’m barmy, so’s every other bastard, so it don’t really matter if I is or ain’t.

I thought about this and that for a while, sucking at the bottle until there weren’t much left of it. Then I decided there just weren’t no answers to be found in this life, and I might as well get on with things.

‘What’s this?’

‘Dunno. Looks like a bit o’ cable.’

‘What’s it doing behind the bar?’

‘Dunno,’ says Rachel. ‘A sparky left it or summat.’

‘Come on, people. I want things organised around here. If you’re not organised you’re not in control.’ Fenton shook his head. ‘Blake.’

‘All right, Mr. Fenton.’

‘Can you take that rubbish out back, please? This place stinks.’

I looked at my beer and frowned.

‘And do it soon, will you?’

Fenton went into his office. I sat where I were for a while, drinking and smoking.

‘He’s got a head on him today, ain’t he?’ says Rachel. Unlike most folks in town she were treating us with a bit more respect now. No doubt she’d heard the rumours about Baz and come to the right conclusion. I wondered how she felt about that.

‘Aye,’ I says. ‘Time o’ the month, perhaps.’

She giggled a bit, eyes sparkling. Then she went up the bar and did something with some empties, glancing sideways at us now and then, a smile trying to break out all over her face. I winked at her. When she came back over we chatted for a bit. Not about anything in particular. Just this and that and the other. Soon she were sitting in front of us across the bar, leaning on her elbows and offering us an eyeful, which I gratefully took. I were wondering how far I could go with her if I played my hand the right way, when Fenton comes back.

‘Hey,’ he says, mincing over in his suit and red tie. ‘Hey. What do I pay you for? Come on. Tell me.’

Rachel’s eyes went from his to mine to her fingernails.

‘Come on. What do I pay you for?’

‘Well, Rache here keeps bar, and I mans the door.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Aye.’

‘How about you, Rachel? You agree with that?’

‘Yes, Mr. Fenton.’

‘Right. I guess I should be grateful that you’re both aware of half your duties. I’ll tell you the other half, shall I? Rachel, your contract says tend the bar and keep it stocked and maintained at all times. Look at those glasses there. You’re going to leave them there, are you? And, Blake, are you not aware of the miscellaneous other duties listed on your contract?’

I shrugged. ‘Dunno about no contracts, me.’

Rachel giggled.

‘No, I guess you don’t at that. Well let me enlighten you. Miscellaneous other duties means taking out the fucking rubbish.’

‘Mr. Fenton,’ I says. ‘There’s a lady present, and no call for language like that.’

‘Don’t tell me what there’s a call for in my own bar. I’ll tell you what there’s a call for. There’s a call for people to get their arses into gear around here.’ He stomped off out back again, shoes clickety-clacking on the wooden floor.

‘Bastard,’ she says after he’d slammed his door behind him. ‘I always gets my work done. He ain’t had no complaints about me. Fuckin’ old tosspot.’

‘Wild un, ain’t you.’ I winked at her again.

‘Cheeky sod.’ She turned her back on us, giving us a prime view of her well-rounded arse cheeks. ‘Go on. Take out yer rubbish before old tosspot comes back.’

‘Rightio.’ I hauled the bags out back, whistling ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman.’ When I got back I sat down again and set about chatting up Rachel. It were plain as day she were loving it. Specially when I stroked her arm and she squirmed against my hand, brushing her tits on it. I were loving it and all. In fact, I were fancying Rachel more and more each time I seen her these days. It were one of them things where you knows summat’ll happen sooner or later, so there ain’t no sense rushing it. Neither of us was going no place. And the longer we held it off, the better it’d be when we finally—

‘All right, darlin’,’ says a voice behind us in a funny accent.

‘Oh, hiya.’ She stepped away to serve the punter. I didn’t like that. If we was canoodling, we was canoodling. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just cos a punter walks up don’t mean she has to jump to attention. I swigged on me pint and lit a fag, ignoring the two of em.

‘Smart boozer, this,’ he says, picking up his pint. ‘Who runs it?’

He sounded like he were from the big city. I slied a gander at him in the mirror behind the bar. Big cunt, he were. Pilot jacket and jeans, cropped head, no facial hair, about my age. Mind you, not as big as meself at my biggest.

‘Who runs it?’ says Rache, sounding a bit thick. Put her on the spot, he had. Ain’t the sort of question you hears in Mangel. ‘Well…’ She looked at me.

‘Don’t matter, don’t matter,’ he says, looking around. ‘Just interested in bars. In the trade, you know. Hear you gets a bit of trouble of an evenin’, mind. Ropey door staff, is it?’

‘Ropey?’ I says, turning at last but not getting off my stool. Why should I get off me bastard stool? He might be big but he were an outsider. I were Royston Fucking Blake and I were on home turf. ‘Who the fuck is you callin’ ropey?’

He shrunk to about half his size for a moment. Then he pulled himself up and says: ‘Look, I dunno who you—’

‘What does I look like, eh? Eh? Woss this round me fuckin’ neck? Reckon I put on a dicky bow for a laugh?’

‘Calm down, Blake,’ says Rache, touching my arm. ‘He’s only askin’.’

I pulled away. ‘Askin’? Stickin’ his fuckin’ snout in more like.’ I turned away from him and got a fag out, then put it back when I saw I already had one lit. I were boiling inside and gagging to knock him so hard his hair’d grow out a couple inches. But I smoked my fag and drank me beer. I weren’t rising to it. Not in front of Rachel.

‘Now hang on a minute,’ he says. I had me eye in the mirror. He put his weight on one foot and leaned against the bar. He opened his gob to say summat, then shut it, turning to Rache instead. ‘Well, ta anyway, love.’

She shrugged and made some noises. I knew she were trying to apologise without me hearing.

‘Never mind,’ he says, moving off. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again.’ He went out the door, leaving a full pint behind him on the bartop.

Rachel left us alone for a bit. At least I reckon she did. If she spoke to us during that time I didn’t notice. I were busy drinking and smoking, see. After a bit I noticed I were hungry so I asked her for a bag of nuts.

‘You all right now, Blake?’ she says, dumping em in front of us.

‘These is dry roast. I don’t like dry roast. Giz some salted uns.’

She gave us em and says: ‘Don’t let that feller get to you, eh? He were only chattin’.’

I put a handful of nuts in my mouth and started chewing. They cheered us up straight off. I likes me peanuts but I can’t stand dry roasted. ‘Don’t like outsiders,’ I says. ‘Outsider, weren’t he.’

‘Aye.’ She smiled. But her eyes was off somewhere else. ‘Reckon he were from the big city, do you?’

By half eleven the punters had all pissed off and the place were quiet. Rachel and the other bar folk were busy clearing up glasses and bottles. There were nothing left for us to do. And I were dog-arse knackered after everything I’d been up to of late. So I said me byes and fucked off.

‘Fenton wants a word,’ says Rache as I reached the door.

‘You what?’ I says. ‘Fuck him.’

Back at home I changed into me favourite shell suit and crashed out in front of the telly. A film about a feller going round killing lasses were on, so I cracked open a tin and sat down. I thought about going down the cellar again and checking for Baz. But that wouldn’t do no good. He were either there or he weren’t there. I’d checked earlier and he weren’t, so that were that. The film were a bit boring. Every time he pulled his blade and went to cut her the scene changed to summat else. I had a flick and found a channel where two birds was tonguing each other and feeling their tits. It were all right. I got meself out and let the story take us.

Afterwards I felt more relaxed than I’d felt in a while. Like as not cos I were knackered.

I closed my eyes. Just resting the lids for a second, mind. I weren’t kipping nor nothing.

It were the phone what woke us. Or the banging on the front door. Ain’t sure. Whatever it were, it weren’t a nice thing to wake to, I can tell you. I zipped meself up and got on my feet, wondering what the hell were going on. I opened the front door.

‘All right, Blake,’ says Lee.