Experiment With Destiny (18 page)

             
“Run!” screamed Kirsty. He barely heard her through the ringing in his ears.

             
They snatched their bags and vaulted over the counter. Ivan couldn’t move. He stood, frozen, staring at the blood on the floor, on the walls and the shopfront window. There was blood on Tufty’s face. There was a second blast. The shopfront shattered into a million diamond clear shards that chimed against the floor. Blood sprayed the air, Ivan couldn’t tell where it had come from. Pigpen fired again. The shot exploded in the second guard’s throat, ripping open the sinews of his neck and splattering the wall behind him in crimson. In slow motion clarity, perhaps the drugs, Ivan saw his head wobble unnaturally, then he toppled backward against the shuttered doors of Debenhams.

             
Ivan felt strange. It was as though he was no longer joined to his body. He had seen violence. He had seen death. He had never seen anything like this. The warmth of the drug seemed a distant memory, Tufty’s touch and smile equally so. Ivan was cold with dread. Something was horribly wrong.

             
“Run! Run, you little shit!” Pigpen bellowed at him from the other side of the counter. Ivan snapped out of his trance and lifted the heavy canvas bag onto the counter before vaulting over. It was only when he landed, awkwardly, that he saw Scabies. His friend was slumped against the counter, clutching his chest. Ivan realised the second shot must have come from the guard, shattering the glass shopfront and punching Scabies through the ribcage in mid jump over the counter. Ivan walked over to him.

             
Scabies looked up. His face was white, his eyes wide and dark as his pupils sucked in the draining light. There was a distorted gargle from his throat as he opened his mouth to say something to Ivan. Blood and vomit oozed down his bristled chin. He raised a hand. Ivan stared down at the fist-sized hole in Scabies’ puny chest and watched the life ebbing away, trickling to the floor as his dying heart pumped furiously.

“Leave him!” barked Pigpen from the doorway. The others were already gone. “Just get the fuck away from here!” Ivan glanced back at his friend once more. Scabies’ legs twitched as though he was being electrocuted. His arm dropped lifelessly by his side. He was gone. Ivan turned and stepped over the body of the first guard then followed Pigpen through the door. “Run like fuck. If we get separated, meet back at the den,” bellowed Pigpen as he pushed him toward the exit. “Don’t forget to take your mask off.”

              Ivan obeyed, stuffing the bloodied pair of tights into his coat pocket. Then he ran. His trembling legs carried him along the service lane and back out toward Hill’s Street. He was oblivious to the faces of passers by, the distain wail of sirens. He was thinking of Scabies, dead on the cold hard floor of the gun shop. Why Scabies? Why not Pigpen? Even Blackbeard or Foggy? Why Scabies?

             
He reached the Hayes and eased his pace. There was no sign of the others. His lungs were raw and his legs ached. Ivan realised he was far enough away from the scene of the crime to stop running. If anything it would only attract attention. Instead he walked briskly, the heavy canvas bag at his side. The rain cooled his face as he laboured for breath. Was there blood on his face? Scabies’ blood? He pulled the tights back out of his pocket and wiped his face, hoping nobody was watching him too closely. Looking down at the soaking nylon it was impossible to tell what colour they were, how much was rain or sweat and how much was blood. Lights were flashing and flickering all around him, giant Santas, reindeer and sleighs, shimmering stars and Christmas trees. He tossed the tights into the nearest bin and tried searching the crowd for faces he recognised. They were distorting and shifting in the lurid neon. It was impossible to focus. Voices echoed through his head. Voices and sirens.

             
Meet back at the den, he thought. The bus station. Must get back to the bus station. Which direction? Everywhere looked the same, a constellation of multi-coloured lights, a sea of strange faces twisting and spinning around him. The drug pumping through him, stronger than he remembered. Too strong…

             
Suddenly there was a body in his path. Ivan stumbled and fell. Foul breath, stench of body odour, piss and alcohol. He was face to face with a haggard tramp. Yellow teeth, yellow hair, layers of clothing coated in grime. Ivan pushed himself upright, feeling dizzy. The tramp grinned. What was a non citizen doing here in the city centre?

             
“Here!” shouted the old man, glazed red eyes staring up at him. “Look at this!” Ivan saw the old man reach down to his trousers and pull them open. “Fancy a drink?” He started to laugh as his shrivelled penis poked out and began spraying piss all over himself. “Pure alcohol!”

             
Ivan staggered away, feeling nauseous. There was laughter behind him, rasping, mocking laughter. The lights began to spin.

             
“Fuck, I’m losing it,” he said aloud, trying to find something to lean against. “Freefall situation. Control it!” He stumbled again and found a wall to slump against. “Get a fucking’ grip,” he told himself.

             
“Ivan?” It was a woman’s voice. “Ivan, are you okay? You look like shit.” Using the wall for support, he turned himself around. One of the faces drifted toward him, a half moon smile of white teeth. “Ivan, it’s me.” Suddenly the dizziness and nausea passed and the hallucination rippled away. He was back in The Hayes. Tufty was beside him.

             
“This is fucking heavy shit!” he said. “I nearly lost it then.” Tufty put an arm around his neck and pressed her lips against his wet cheek. He felt her closeness, the rain, the night. He gulped in the cold air. Everything was fine. Everything was fine. “Where’s the others?”

             
“I don’t know,” she whispered against his ear. “I lost them. They all ran in different directions when we came out of there. I was scared.” Ivan let the bag drop by his side with a clank and held her tight, enjoying the warmth of her body.

             
“I was scared too,” he admitted. “Did you see Scabies?” Tufty nodded.

             
“I saw…he was shot…real bad.” He felt her sob and pressed his lips against the nape of her neck.

              They walked back to the bus station without speaking, hand in hand, clutching each other for comfort. Ivan felt numb to the world. Building, lights and faces passed them by but the details were blurred. They reached the bay for the Merthyr bus. His heart sank to find it empty. They checked the timetable. They had just missed one and it was another hour before the next one. Tufty led him toward the train station. Just inside the entrance was a café. Ivan sat with the bag, listening to the hollow rumble and boom of the trains above, as Tufty ordered two coffees.

The café was virtually empty. They sat in silence and smoked, Ivan nervously searching the waiting area outside for signs of the police. After a few minutes his paranoia subsided. Even if the police had a description it would be difficult to find them in the city at night.

“Hopefully the others managed to catch that last bus,” Tufty said eventually.

“Yeah. Pigpen said to meet back at the den.” He stared into her sea-green eyes. She was so beautiful. She stared back. “Do you know what Simon wanted them for?” He gestured at the canvas bag. She shook her head.

“He never tells me anything. Hasn’t he told you?” She seemed surprised.

“No. I’m just a foot soldier.” She smiled. He watched the swirling patterns of their smoke spiral and entwine in the air. She looked away again and he studied her beauty. In the afterglow of the fading drug and the post adrenalin rush of the raid, she was radiant. Her lips curled around her cigarette and her dimpled cheeks hollowed as she inhaled, emphasising her high cheekbones. Ivan wanted her more than ever.

“Shit!” A sudden look of panic flashed across her face. He glanced round to see two police officers approaching the station entrance. “Quick, the toilet.” They were on their feet and away from the table in a second. Ivan was about to push open the door to the gents when he felt Tufty tug him toward the ladies. “In here,” she insisted. “They won’t look in here.”

Inside the cubicle, Ivan dropped the seat and sat down, placing the canvas back gently on the floor. Tufty closed and locked the door and stood facing him. Minutes ticked by.

“I doubt they’re looking for us,” she said. “But you never know. We’ll give it 10 and then slip back out.” Ivan nodded. “Exciting, though, isn’t it!” she enthused. He was shocked.

“I thought you were scared.”

“I was earlier. Not any more. I was scared because I was alone. I’ve got you to protect me now.” Ivan couldn’t help grinning. He gazed up into her eyes, a growing sense of intimacy in the tight space of the cubicle.

“Simon’d be furious if he could see us now,” he joked. “You and me close together in here, locked in the same bog.”

“I doubt it. Your Christine’s more likely to be the jealous one.” He shrugged.

“All the same, best not to tell him, eh?” Tufty smiled, her lips parting to reveal her perfectly white teeth. Without warning she leaned down and knelt in front of him.

              “You’re not scared of Simon, are you?”

             
“Well…” She reached her arms around him. He felt his desire growing. She must only be teasing though. She was Simon’s girl. Holding hands in the earlier excitement, hugging for comfort in the fear…that was one thing.

             
“You’re much bigger than he is. You shouldn’t be scared.” He felt her lips pressing against his ear, her hot breath against his neck. He felt his erection pushing against his tight jeans as he held her. It was Pigpen who terrified him, not Simon. If Simon ever found out… “Come on, I know you want to fuck me.” She pulled away. “You’ve wanted to fuck me for ages, haven’t you?” He nodded. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled wickedly as she began to undo his belt. “Let’s not waste time. It’s been a while since I had a good stiff cock inside me.” Ivan realised she wasn’t teasing. He also realised what she’d said.

             
“You mean Simon doesn’t…” Her hands were working his jeans open. Ivan sucked his breath, then gasped.

             
“You’re not the brightest button are you?” She had released his proud cock and was gently stroking its length. “Simon likes me to dress up and spank him now and again, but he gets his real kicks from Pigpen.”

             
“What?” Simon and Pigpen? No way!

             
“Keep your voice down!” She wrapped one hand beneath his balls and continued to caress him with the other. His mouth hung open. “You don’t believe me? How many girls have you seen Pigpen with? As far as Simon’s concerned, I’m just for show.”

             
Before he could articulate his shock she had swallowed him and was sucking hard, her tongue testing his rigid shaft. His senses were tingling with pleasure, his nerves were on fire. He moaned softly and leaned back against the cistern. A few seconds more and he would come.

             
She stopped and pushed herself up using his knees. Then she released her belt and unbuttoned her jeans. Ivan reached up and slipped his hand inside her panties, exploring her with his fingers. She whimpered as he found her wetness. Suddenly her jeans and pants were down around her ankles and she was sitting astride him. She reached down to guide him inside, then pressed her lips to his. He opened his mouth to her tongue, reaching up to pull the band from her hair and letting her long blonde locks fall free. Then, with one hand he gripped her neck and pressed her hard to his face, kissing her intensely, and with the other he found her nipple beneath her sweatshirt and gently pinched as she rocked against him in slow, deliberate movements. His breathing quickened as he neared the point of ecstasy. Ivan was no longer thinking about the two policemen outside, about Simon and Pigpen, or his friend Scabies lying dead on the floor a few blocks away.

* * *

              Ivan kissed her cheek as they stepped off the bus. Tufty smiled distantly.

             
“Nobody here to meet us,” she said. “Better find out where they are.” She began to walk away. Ivan was in no hurry to get back to the den now. He wanted to linger with Tufty, to spend more time with her, holding, kissing, caressing. Besides, how could he face Simon and Pigpen again, knowing what she had told him about them.

             
“Do we have to go straight back? Let’s…”

             
“Yes, we do.” Her tone was curt, cutting him dead. “I think we should find out what happened to everyone else.” He pulled the heavy canvas bag behind him and reluctantly followed her through the rain as she walked up toward Pontmorlais. He didn’t want to be part of the cause any more. His friend Scabies was dead. Pigpen and Simon were arse bandit hypocrites, much worse than blacks and Pakies. But all he had outside the cause was Christine, and he didn’t want her any more either.

             
The pools of rainwater on the street and pavements flashed with blue as they rounded the corner by the Castle Cinema.

             
“Shit!” exclaimed Tufty, who was first to see what lay ahead. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Ivan caught her up and stared along the length of Pontmorlais in horror. There were police everywhere, the lights on their cars and vans lighting up the scene. Hundreds of people were gathered behind a taped cordon watching as the paramedics emerged from the side entrance by the Vulcan, the entrance that led to the den.