Hound Dog

by Richard Blandford

  ‘It certainly is. I knew Eddie was rich, but not this rich.’

  ‘Yeah, well, let’s just say that there are certain prominent businessmen who are walking round with very sore arses. Kind of turns deals in your favour, if you use tactics like that. Look, I can see you want to sit down and read your book, so I’ll leave you to it. Got business to attend to myself. Oi, Coreen, move your arse!’ He rises off the lounger, his liver-spotted dick swinging as he walks away. The girl joins him and he grips hard on her bottom all the way to the house. She looks over her shoulder at me briefly as they go, her wondrous green eyes gleaming from out of the dark of her skin. Remember, I think to myself as they disappear inside, that man has the power to make you eat your own eyeballs, so be careful what you do with them.

  I sit and read until I’ve got to the end of the chapter where Oliver Twist goes to deliver the books for Mr Brownlow. Then I go to the kitchen to dig out some more fancy booze. I’m standing by the fridge door, working out if it’s OK for blokes to drink something called Lambrini, when I sense I’m not alone. I peer round the door, and there she is, wearing a kimono-style robe that doesn’t quite cover her crack, but just about keeps her boobs in as long as she holds it together. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she says, ‘just looking for a bottle opener.’

  I hand her one and try not to stare too hard at her escaping tits. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Um, I was wondering, how come Johnny called you Elvis? That’s not your real name is it?’

  ‘Ah, no. I’m an Elvis impersonator. I’ll be doing a bit at Johnny’s birthday party next week. I expect I’ll see you there.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry to say. Nanette will be there and Johnny… anyway we’ll have our own party.’ She smiles a weak smile. I can tell she’s not happy with the situation but I’m not sure she can put her finger on what’s wrong with it. ‘Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Elvis.’ She lets go of her gown to shake my hand, and her boobs fall spectacularly out of it. ‘Oops, that wasn’t meant to happen,’ she says with a cheeky glint in her heavenly eyes. And then she turns and goes, her lovely bottom well in view, wiggling away behind her.

  For the first time since I came round, I have an urgent compulsion to play with myself. I decide to leave Oliver Twist and the Lambrini for the time being and dart off to one of the needlessly large bathrooms. On the way, I pass the study, where I can hear Johnny on the phone. ‘Never mind that, just get hold of him and if he gives you any gip, cut his dick off. No, that’s not a figure of speech…’

  It’s the wank to end all wanks, long overdue, and thinking about her – her skin, her eyes, her tits, her crack, her arse, her eyes – makes it all the shorter. I go back to reading my book. The next chapter’s got a lot of Nancy in it, and I can’t help but picture her as the girl – what did Johnny call her, Coreen? – and sure enough, pretty soon it’s all twisted around in my head, and there’s an orgy going on in Fagin’s den. Christ, I think, it’s starting again, all thoughts leading to wanking. Now I’ll never finish the damn book. I’m contemplating another hand-shandy when I hear my name. It’s Johnny, walking quickly towards me. He’s dressed now, although not tidily. It looks like he put his clothes on in a hurry.

  ‘Elvis,’ he says, ‘something’s come up and I’ve got to go. Can you do me a favour, mate?’

  ‘Sure, Johnny, what?’

  ‘Can you keep Coreen company for an hour or so till someone comes round to take her home? Sorry to ask, but some business is going tits up and I need to sort it out sharpish.’

  ‘Sure, Johnny, it’s not a problem.’

  ‘Nice one, mate.’ He clasps my shoulder. ‘And don’t shag her or I’ll have to cut your dick right off.’ He winks at me and walks away.

  I find Coreen in the TV room, flicking channels. She’s managed to find some knickers since last time I saw her, but her boobs still threaten to jump out of her robe at any moment.

  ‘Hiya,’ she says when I walk in.

  ‘Hi. Do you think it’s OK for blokes to drink Lambrini?’

  She laughs. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Dunno, just seems a bit of a woman’s drink from the label.’

  ‘Well, Eddie drinks it, so it must be OK.’

  ‘Eddie does a lot of things most men don’t do.’

  ‘Well Eddie isn’t normal, and neither are you, you’re Elvis.’

  ‘Good point. I’ll get us both a glass, shall I?’

  She nods. By the time I get back she’s made space for me on the sofa. I sink into it next to her and for a minute I think it’s going to eat me. When I give her a glass she raises it and clinks mine. ‘Cheers, Elvis,’ she says and smiles. She soon looks distracted.

  ‘Something the matter?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ she sighs, ‘I just get pissed off sometimes with the way me and Johnny always have to go to such lengths to not get Nanette riled. It’s not that she even minds him being with me, as long as she doesn’t have to see any of it. I’m so bored with all the sneaking about, that’s all. Like half our lives are spent keeping Nanette happy.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to make her unhappy, trust me.’

  ‘Oh, have you met her then?’

  ‘I used to be married to her. Mmm… tastes of pears.’

  ‘Jesus… Look mate, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…’

  ‘No, it’s OK, just water under the bridge now.’

  ‘To change the subject, how come you’re living at Eddie’s place?’

  ‘Do you want the truth?’

  ‘I don’t know, mate, do I?’

  ‘Umm, Iet’s just say I had to disappear for a bit.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Don’t know. Maybe forever. I’m kind of trapped here, to be honest with you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know the feeling…’

  So we sit flicking channels, taking the piss out of whatever’s on. We drink more Lambrini and we have a pretty good time. And there, I fully grasp the concept of enjoying somebody’s company. It means not wanting them to go. I feel natural with her there. Despite the fact she’s such a lovely young ’un, I don’t freeze ‘up like I usually do. I mean, it’s not like I’m staring at her and mumbling ‘I like your robe’. But all too soon, a goon comes in to tell us Coreen’s ride is here. ‘Shit, I’m not ready,’ she says. She turns her back to me, takes off her robe and quickly slips into some casual clothes that she takes out of a holdall parked at the foot of the sofa.

  ‘Anyway, lovely meeting you, Elvis,’ she says, and gives me a hug and a peck on the cheek. Then she leans close to my ear and whispers, very softly, ‘I’ll look you up, yeah?’

  And she’s gone, walking out the front door with her holdall slung over her shoulder. I stand in a daze for a minute, then I go upstairs to sort myself out and try to make sense of the last thing that she said.

  Chapter 23

  I suppose I’ve got to admit I’ve changed. Lying by the pool a few hours after Coreen has gone, I can’t hide from the fact that something’s shifted in my head. Most likely I’ve got brain damage. But I really don’t mind, it’s better like this. More than anything, I feel a huge sense of relief. Why? Because the anger has gone, I guess. I don’t want to smash things up all the time any more. That means I can get a moment’s peace from time to time, without a voice nagging constantly in my head telling me I have to go mental right then and there. Now I can actually concentrate on stuff. I can read a book, I can look at things. I can find something beautiful.

  Some things are still the same, however. Not only has my compulsion to play with myself come back, but now I also really want some charlie. It’s like my body is remembering what it used to do, and commanding me that I let it do it. Unfortunately, Eddie runs a drug-free house, at least as far as his employees are concerned, and none of the boys have any, or none that they will admit to. So as it gets dark, I have to content myself with opening another bottle of Lambrini, with its sweet pear flavour that I’m really beginning to enjoy, and watching the stars come out, thinking of Co
reen and having a fiddle. I guess someone might see, but seeing as sex alfresco seems to be the norm here, I don’t see why I shouldn’t just fuck myself by the swimming pool and be done with it.

  Ah, Coreen, Coreen, how I long for your emerald eyes, your sweet lips, your dusky nipples, and your finely trimmed pubic hair. I want to entwine the very fibres of your being with mine. I also want to screw you on every flat surface in the place, including the garage roof. But not only that, and to my surprise, I want to do normal things with you, like go to Blockbuster or take you to the supermarket. Things like that have never been part of my masturbatory fantasies before, but there they are, slap bang in the middle of one.

  I’m just about to spurt into the pool while thinking about food shopping, when a voice shouts, ‘No, don’t waste it! Leave it for me!’

  I’m so startled I come anyway, and it sprays the poolside as I turn to see who it is. Oh fuck, it’s Eddie.

  ‘Ah, too late, oh well. Just have to whip some up for me later.’ He advances towards me, and I’m already thinking of ways I can kill him should I need to. I grab a towel and cover myself up with it. ‘Shame, I was enjoying the view,’ he says.

  ‘Sorry Eddie,’ I say, ‘just had the urge, what with no female company and all.’

  ‘Yes, quite, quite. Sorry I haven’t been around for a while, I’ve been a terrible host. There’s a lot of business I have to take care of. Deals to be made, persuading to do, you know how it is.’ I do indeed, although I wish I didn’t. ‘Anyway, my friend, I see you’re looking a lot better. How have you been occupying yourself in my absence, other than the obvious?’

  ‘Oh, just been taking it easy, catching up on my reading.’ I indicate the copy of Oliver Twist that lies on the poolside, about a foot away from the spunk-spray.

  ‘Ah, Oliver Twist, the little boy who asked for more. Silly twit. Why couldn’t he have done the sensible thing and just taken what he wanted, then done damage to anybody who was stupid enough to stand in his way? Ought just to have shoved that gruel spoon right up Mister Bumble’s arsehole. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I guess. Uh, I really need some charlie, Eddie.’ I hadn’t planned to ask, in fact it just slipped out. But I can feel the itch, and I know I’ll end up going mental unless I scratch it.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not much, just a little bit to see me through, I…’

  ‘Christ, you’ve been reading that book so much you’ve turned into the little shit. “Please sir”,’ he squeaks in a mocking child’s voice, ‘“can I have some more?” Listen, my son,’ he says, raising his voice and turning purple, ‘I have no intention of obtaining cocaine or any other drug for you, firstly because I consider it to be a most tiresome habit, and secondly because I am well aware that it affects your performance in quite an extreme manner, and I don’t want to see you waggling your willy in front of everybody while making claims of your own omnipotence at Johnny’s party on Friday.’ Shit, the party.

  ‘So you heard about that too.’

  ‘My dear boy, it made the papers. The whole country knows.’

  ‘Eddie, OK, I’ll do without the coke, but I will need some other stuff for the party. Like a costume, a decent PA, and someone to do the sound. It’s all things I’d normally organise, but I can’t really if I’m stu— if it’s best that I stay here.’

  ‘Oh yes, my boy, anything,’ he say, as sweet as pie again. ‘All you have to do is ask. And I’ve been having a little think about your act myself. I was reflecting on that lovely day when you came to see me, and you and your two darling friends sang for me, here by the pool, and I thought, even taking your rather restricted circumstances into account, wouldn’t it be just marvellous if they could be there with you?’

  ‘Ah, now that wouldn’t really be possible. We no longer have a working relationship.’

  Eddie smiles. ‘Oh, we’ll offer them seven grand each. They’ll let bygones be bygones soon enough.’ My god, he really knows how to twist the knife in. That’s over twice as much as he gave me. Mind you, I’ll probably drink that amount in Lambrini by the time I’m out of here, and the medical expenses must have been pretty darn big. Of course, it’s now clear Eddie isn’t throwing money at me out of any humanitarian spirit, but just keeping me alive long enough to play the party. After that, who knows what he’ll do with me. And would there be anything I could do to stop him from doing it?

  Meanwhile I decide to concentrate on my more immediate concerns involving Fatty and Gaylord. ‘What’s to stop them from going to the police and telling them where I am?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, that’s easy. We just tell them we’re going to kill their families if they do.’ I’d like to see anybody try and kill Jen, I think to myself. ‘Right, my dear boy, how do we go about finding these two fellows?’

  I rack my brain. Working on the assumption that they’ve stolen all my cancelled gigs, I predict that they will be playing a pub in Bury St Edmunds on the Wednesday of this week, if that hasn’t already been.

  ‘Eddie, what day of the week is it?’

  ‘Why, it’s Tuesday, my boy. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Then I know where they’ll be tomorrow night. They’ve got a gig.’

  Eddie flings his arms in the air with delight and shakes me voraciously. ‘Marvellous, marvellous. Would you be good enough to go down there and use your powers of persuasion on them? Don’t worry, a few of the boys will go with you, and you won’t even need to get out of the car if you don’t want to, so you’ll be quite safe. I should imagine Dave will want to go. He’s very interested in Elvis, and in you. I think he may have a crush.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say, ‘he’s engaged to be married.’

  ‘That’s precisely the sort of fellow you have to watch,’ Eddie chuckles, before snapping back to business. ‘Tomorrow we shall get hold of everything you require, and in the evening, you shall obtain your boys.’

  ‘Obtain them?’

  ‘Well, we can’t give them the chance to run away, can we? They will have to stay here with us, until at least after the party! Goodnight, my boy, I am tired.’ He walks away briskly, but pauses before he enters the house. He spins on his heel and points at me, as he sings, ‘Yoouu ain’t nothin’ but a hoouund dogg. cryyiin’ all the tiiime… Goodnight, sweet prince.’ He blows me a kiss and disappears inside.

  The next morning, I’m woken from a sleep untroubled by those old strange dreams by a goon who brings a notebook and pen along with my breakfast, and asks me to make a note of everything I might conceivably need for the party. I do this, and he collects it with the breakfast tray half an hour later. I go out to spend another day by the pool with Oliver Twist, which perhaps mercifully has been stripped of the bizarre sexual connotations that it had yesterday. Eddie’s unexpected interruption last night has put me off my stroke as far as the wanking is concerned, and even the thought of the luscious Coreen is not enough to overcome the faint nausea that accompanies all things Eddie. The man himself makes only a brief appearance, waving at me as he drives past on a little electric buggy he uses to get around his sizable garden, talking on his mobile about the party catering as he passes.

  At five o’clock, Dave comes to find me. ‘All right, Elvis,’ he says, ‘you OK to go soon?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I say.

  ‘OK, I’ll be waiting in the limo out front in quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Christ, we’re not going in that are we?’

  ‘I’m afraid we are. Eddie insisted. “If you’re going to drive Elvis anywhere,” he said, “it’s got to be in a limo”.’

  Sure enough, quarter of an hour later, Dave and two other goons are waiting for me by the limo in the front drive. The two goons agree to sit in the back so me and Dave can sit and talk up front. The divider is up and they can’t hear our conversation as we travel down the motorway. Even though I know it’s better to keep completely quiet, I can’t resist pumping Dave for information about Johnny Brooks and Coreen. Dave just laughs.

  ‘What’s
so funny?’ I ask.

  ‘Just the whole situation. He used to have loads of girls on the go, but when he met Coreen, he cleared them all out. Except for Nanette of course. He’s totally smitten with the silly slag. Of course, no reason not to be, she’s only nineteen, and she’s a total fox.’ Nineteen years old, Jesus.

  ‘But who is she?’

  ‘Just some bint. Don’t know much about her really. Not much to know as far as I can tell. Obviously, she likes the fine things in life.’

  ‘But how does she feel about it? I mean, does she really like him?’

  ‘How should I know? Look, any slapper who sleeps with someone Johnny’s age isn’t exactly after love is she? Especially if the old sod in question happens to be as loaded as Johnny is. The really sad thing is that Johnny’s fallen head over heels for her. He’s even been telling people Nanette’s going to be shifted on out. He’s in danger of making a right tit of himself if he’s not careful.’

  ‘He didn’t seem that in love with her when I saw them. He was treating her like she was some prozzer.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s just his way. Trust me, if you’d seen him with the other girls you’d see the difference. And the boys too, of course.’

  My mouth hits the floor of the limo. ‘Boys?’

  ‘Don’t you know about that? The things I’ve seen at Eddie’s house… That swimming pool you love so much has had more than just chlorine pumped into it.’

  ‘That poor girl…’

  ‘Hang about. You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you? That’s what all these questions are about. No wonder Eddie caught you wanking on the poolside last night.’

  ‘Does anything stay secret round here?’

  ‘Not bloody likely. But seriously, mate, stay away from her. You go anywhere near, you’re signing your own death warrant. And I don’t want to see that happen. I like you.’ Dave saying this makes me worry that Eddie was right about him, and I feel uncomfortable and less talkative for the rest of the journey. So I’m quite glad when we finally arrive in Bury St Edmunds, and park the limo in the grounds of a pub advertising an evening in the company of the Elvis Presley Experience, who bill themselves as the most historically accurate and informative tribute to Elvis Presley in the east of England. Wanted man as I am, this I simply cannot resist.