by Paul Slatter
He carried on through the night feeling his ribs and wondering about the turbaned karate kid and why he’d thrown Diamond under the bus the way he had. It wasn’t a bad thing, but blackmailers would usually thrive on shit like that, then turn them in, making a buck first. The guy was gone, though—there was little doubt there, gone and out of his hair and all he’d cost him really was time, a new paint job for Hegan’s ride, and a bruised throat from a couple of round house kicks straight out of a kung fu movie.
He reached Dan’s place, let himself in through the back, and crept along the landing to Dan’s mother’s room. Dan’s light was still on at four in the morning—either he was asleep, watching smut, or inventing circuitry. Moments later, he was back in bed feeling the warmth of Trish’s back against his chest, feeling his moustache on her shoulder and the movement of her backside pushing up and against his crotch, asking him without words to take her.
He kissed her neck and held her stomach with his hands, feeling her move against him, making him grow below. She reached her hands down and grasped him, holding him for a moment before putting him inside herself. He lifted his hands, holding her shoulders, pushing her down onto him, her hair in his face as he kissed her neck. Pushing himself into her, thrusting into her, she moaned as he reached the top and felt her smoothness. Then she began to groan as he pushed harder, quickening with every thrust, then the banging came from below, getting louder with every groan—bang, bang, bang, bang—Chendrill feeling her, Trish feeling him, and feeling the sensation of his mouth as he began to bite down into her shoulder and push her harder onto him. She groaned as he pounded harder—bang, bang, bang, bang went the floor as Dan smacked his broomstick against the ceiling above his bed, trying to shut them up.
******
Rann Singh sat on his deck of his new ranch and stared out at the women in the garden bending down with their brushes made of twigs sweeping the lawn. The endless fields beyond that were now his family’s again stretched all the way to the forest at the foot of the mountains with their jagged peaks that cut a dark ragged line across a perfect sky.
The kids from the small village were there now playing barefoot as their parents had before with him—just as he remembered, throwing stones and chasing chickens. Joseph readily on hand with a tea or a Tusker, standing by not far away in his white top that could do with a wash. The breeze, fresh and clean, coming down from the jagged mountain through the forest and along the endless fields, blowing the long colorful skirts of the women from the village as they bent down to sweep the lawn with brushes made from twigs and fallen branches. Life was good.
He took a deep breath and looked around. The long endless unmoving fields that were now his, the forest beyond that stretched for miles reaching up to the jagged peaks etched in darkness across a perfect blue sky. He looked to them, watching them as the clouds skirted their peaks which ripped up into the heavens above. He closed his eyes taking it all in, waiting, relaxing, his feet up on the stool, head back, eyes opening to the mountains and their peaks, the forest below, the endless fields that were now proudly his, the wind playing with the colorful gowns of the women from the villages as they chatted, bending, looking to him with their small flirtatious smiles as they swept, their children still there and barefoot playing at the side of the village chasing chickens and throwing stones, Joseph waiting patiently for his next command.
Fuck he was bored, he thought as he looked back to the mountains for what seemed the hundredth time. Then he took another deep breath, spun his turban-less head around to Joseph and said, “You got any white women around here?”
“No Bwana. No white women.”
“None.”
Joseph shook his head and said again, “No Bwana.”
“Really?”
“Yes Bwana, the coast Bwana.”
“How far is that?”
“One day driving, Bwana. No good for you, the women there want us men, Bwana.”
“Us men, you mean black men?”
“Yes Bwana. Your penis is too small.”
Rann laughed, the cheeky bastard standing there on his deck telling him he had a small dick. He said, “You saying I got a small dick?”
“Yes Bwana.”
“How’d you know that?” Rann asked, still dumbfounded at the man.
Then seeing Joseph nod to the women on the lawn and hearing him say as he showed off his teeth, “The women, they say, your grandfather had a small penis, so you have a small penis also, Bwana. It is called heredity. I say this to you with knowledge as it is a fact of nature, Indian men are not big, Bwana. African men are big, Bwana, it is a fact. To say this is the truth.”
Ignoring this, Rann sat watching the women in the garden for a while longer. It didn’t matter to him how big anyone thought his dick was, he had plenty of satisfied customers. Besides, he had done what he had set out to do—he had his grandfather’s ranch back—the one he’d spent the last ten or so years wanting to return to and now he had. His grandfather, his grandmother, him and whoever else from the family wanted to come and live or stay could because he’d done it, the family ranch was theirs again and with an excited smile and tears welling up in his eyes, Rann pulled out his phone, looked at the time, did the math and, smiling, said to Joseph, “Well I’m calling Grandad now and when he gets here in a few days’ time, we can have this conversation again.”
Then feeling his heart beating hard in his chest and waiting patiently for him to answer, Rann listened to the sound of his grandfather’s phone ringing in the U.K. in his ear, and burst into tears as he heard his grandfather’s voice on the other end of the phone.
It had been a really long journey. He said, “Grandad, it’s Rann.”
And heard his grandfather’s voice rise as he heard him say back, “Rann? Is this you?”
“Yes Grandad, it’s me. How are you?”
“I am good, I am good. How are you? Where are you now?”
And then Rann took a deep breath and heard himself say the words he’d longed to say for so many years.
“Grandad, I am in Kenya, in Nyrie by the Aberdare Mountains, on the edge of the forest, at your ranch.”
“What—you are at the ranch?”
“Yes, I’m the owner now, I’ve bought it back for you. You can come home!”
There was silence for a moment and then he heard his grandfather say, “Rann, are you playing with me?”
Rann shook his head and stood, beginning to walk back and forth along the deck, feeling the wooden planks give as he moved, saying, “No, No I’m not joking. I’ve got it, I bought it this morning from Blou! He’s gone in his plane and it’s ours again, I’m with Joseph—you can come home!”
Then he waited and heard his grandfather say, “How much you pay Rann?”
Rann replied, “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you call the movers and I’ll book you and Grandmother two first class tickets one way to Nairobi, because Grandad, you’re coming home.”
And then his Grandfather said, “Rann, your Grandmother and I are old now and our lives are here in Hounslow, in England, Rann.”
Rann heard himself say, “But I’ve got it, I’ve your ranch back, Grandad. I’ve got it, it’s yours again.”
His grandfather said, “Our lives are here, Rann.”
“But I bought it for you.”
“You be happy there, Rann.”
“But I bought it for you,” Rann said again and heard his grandfather’s voice say, “You should have asked, Rann.”
“It’s all you ever talked about though—it’s all you ever said.”
Rann’s Grandfather saying now, “You should have asked Rann. You have always been this way, jumping the gun—it is a lesson one must learn. Thank you, call again. I have to go, I want to watch the TV.”
And with that he was gone, along with all of Rann’s dreams.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Archall Diamond stood in the bathroom of his monster home in Surrey and looked at his new front too
th in the mirror. Fuck it looked good, sparkling in the light like it was. Slapping a little coconut gel on, he fucked with his hair and, closing his mouth, he turned to the side, looking away, then spun his head back again, opening his mouth with a smile. Bam! He was back, Archall Diamond—Gangster.
Walking out, he looked at his large king size bed with Rasheed’s black sheets and the last of his money, some two hundred and fifty thousand odd dollars, all spread above the covers and a few hundred packets of hard-on pills he had yet to give away. Putting on his sunglasses, he lifted his gun, which he couldn’t shoot straight, and started taking selfies with his phone—him with his piece, his money on the bed, and his new front tooth. He was Gangsta, Gang-sta man, Archall Di a Mond—Gang, Gang, Gang -Staaa.
He walked back, sweeping stale cocoa pops onto the floor, and propped his phone up on his dresser mirror, getting a good shot of it all, then he hit the video button and leaning down into the lens showing off his new tooth and gun and stash of money and drugs, he started to rap:
“I is Archall Di Mond – Man wit his mind on – got what the people need on – ’cos I am Arch – All – Di - mon – Gotta big house - Ya – De Mecedes 4 by 4 in de garage - Ya – girls on me arm ya – got what I need – Ma – And I ain’t stopping yet - Na – going to the top – Sistaa – with me pills dat make you strong – Ya – But you get in me way – Bra – I saaaa gonna float – Yaaaa.”
Archall the gangster showing off, setting himself up for the world to see—with Rasheed’s money, giving away thousands of pills he could never source again, a girl leading him on for the price of removing his four back teeth and a scrap metal 4 x 4 cube for a ride. He picked up the phone and played back the video of himself looking and sounding like a prick with a new diamond studded front tooth and said out loud to himself, “You’s cool Bro.”
Then he dialed Steven, who picked up right away like he did, but this time saying, “The deal’s off Archall, forget the money you owe, it’s on me. That big fucker Chendrill’s been around here and I ain’t playing no more.”
Archall Diamond listen to what was being said and took it in, then saying, “But I just got my tooth done man—done a rap video an all, gonna put it on YouTube and I need a new ride man.”
Steven asked, “You try out that magnet trick you were thinking about?”
Archall nodded, “Yeah, it’s all cool, but it’s having trouble starting now, so I’m selling it.”
Steven explained why, “Yeah, I should have said those high-end vehicles are sensitive—you need to keep the computer systems away from magnets. That’ll be the problem. You’ll need it re-chipped.”
“Yeah.”
“Use one of those guys from the gym you had go with you to see Rann, they’re sharp, they can help you out from now on.”
Archall nodded. Yeah, he thought, they were sharp, couldn’t fight for toffee but one of them had a Rolex. He said, “Yeah you’re right, what was the name of the guy with the Rolex who got half his ear ripped off?”
“Rolex?”
“Yeah that’s him.”
Then he heard Steven say, “That Rolex is not real though. Anyway, I’m out of town man, maybe a year. You call Rolex right, he’s cool.”
But Steven wasn’t going anywhere. Nonetheless, though, Archall Diamond—Gangsta—was going to have to find new counsel as that was the last he ever heard from Steven.
Archall got in his truck and kept his shades on so no one would see him driving it and pulled out of the driveway, passing the terracotta lions and keeping an eye out for Chendrill as he went. The guy was out there now looking for him, hunting him down, but what could the fucker prove? Go find the birdman or someone who saw something—he had nothing to go on, he had nothing to worry about—he hoped.
“Forget about it,” he said to himself out loud and looked once in his mirror and then a second time in case it was the big ape on his tail. You can’t have a rap video out there on the internet if you ain’t got people out there trying to put you jail. It went with the territory, what kind of Gangsta would he be if all he had to worry about were parking tickets?
“Be cool Bro, be cool,” he said to himself, looking in the mirror at his tooth. He’d go see his girl, take his mind off things, tell her about a chiropractor he knew who he used to take Rasheed to see. He was good. He’d fix her up. Then he’d drive down to the martial arts gym and see Rolex watching other guys train. He’d make him a cash offer for some work, see if he’s interested. Then he’d go find the plastic Paki Rann and work out where he’s getting this stuff from so as he can remove him from the equation like he was going to. Then he’d check the tide times and get the truck ready so he could float the dentist before the guy had a chance to get hold of his back teeth with his pliers.
******
Patrick strolled down the sidewalk in the trendy district of Vancouver’s Yaletown as though he owned it. There were only a few things he had to do now—one was to read the script, another was to find the whereabouts of the beautiful Russian girl he used to be in love with, and the other was to somehow get all the photos of him off the back of every other bus running around before Adalia Seychan came back into town.
He stopped off in a coffee shop and bought enough for the whole office and then some, plus cakes, and walked into Slave Media like Santa Clause on a summer’s day. As Sebastian dug into an éclair, he asked, “What day did you have in mind to do a test with Adalia Seychan?”
Sebastian looked at him confused, telling him he thought he was driving the ship. Patrick opened up saying, “It’s the ads on the buses. I don’t want her seeing them.”
“We’ve all got pasts, Patrick,” Sebastian replied. Besides, he had his own problems with Mazzi Hegan at the moment—going off the rails with this new guy he’d been seeing, hoping it would fizzle out before he got into serious trouble.
“Tell them to pull them,” Patrick said.
“I have. They said it takes at least a month for them to clear.”
It was nonsense, Sebastian knew that much. They had a schedule which Patrick had already firmly paid into. Bottom line, it was overtime pay to call the crews in to strip them overnight while the buses and their drivers were sleeping. So he said simply, “You’re going to have to pay.”
“How much?” Sebastian knew, he’d done it before when a star who was fronting a project got caught with his trousers down with a prostitute and the agency wanted to pull the campaign they’d spent millions on. And, overnight, they had, right across North America. Patrick was just one city, and mainly in the downtown core; which would be enough, as he didn’t see Adalia Seychan popping out to the suburbs to see her aunt or go shopping. He said,
“A hundred grand tops.” Patrick let out a sigh. He’d just seen the bill on his platinum card for the private jets and now even the cakes and coffee were looking steep.
“A hundred grand?”
Sebastian nodded, for God’s sake the guy was rich, but sometimes a tight ass.
“That or you blindfold her on the way to and from the airport, then keep her in her room.”
It was an option, Patrick thought, make it a game. Then he said, “Why not take the mountain to Mohamed, you know—shoot the whole thing in Hollywood?”
Sebastian stared at him for a moment, then asked, “You read the script yet?”
Patrick lied saying, “It’s fantastic.”
Then Sebastian said in a quiet tone that let anyone listening know he was in charge, “This is our town Patrick. You go south, you’re the guest and when you’re the guest, they have the power. We shoot here or we don’t shoot anything.”
As Sebastian walked away, Patrick asked, “You don’t have an account with the transit company do you so we can get this sorted?”
And just before Sebastian’s door shut in Patrick’s face as he followed him along the corridor to Sebastian’s office, he heard Sebastian say, “Sort out your own problems, Patrick.”
The prick, Sebastian thought as he sat down, taking off t
he lid to his caramel mocha Patrick had just tried to butter him up with before hitting him up for a hundred grand less than a minute after. He picked up the phone and dialed Mazzi. There was still no answer.
He’ll be in tomorrow with his head up high, pretending nothing was wrong, then he’d speak to him, ask him how this new relationship was going. Patrick was still standing outside the door pretending to talk to one of the office staff who wanted advice on the housing market. Butting in, Sebastian called out saying, “And Patrick, I take it since you’ve had yourself written into this movie, you’ve also got someone else in mind to play alongside you?”
And as soon as the door opened, Sebastian saw the glint in Patrick’s eye as he said, “Yeah, I want it to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, only there’s one—no, sorry, two things that may be an issue. The first is that I don’t know where she is and the second is she may not be able to walk.”
******
Chendrill waited along the road to see if Archall Diamond was going to come back and after some minutes, decided the guy was long gone. Why he’d decided to ditch the Mercedes with the low profiles, though, he didn’t know. Maybe he was doing another dope run and wouldn’t be back till the weekend—it was hard to say.
He walked to the garage, picked the lock to the side door, went in and stared at one half of the crushed up cubed car that had been hacked to pieces by the grinder still plugged in sitting at its side.
