Hound Dog

by Richard Blandford

  ‘What are they playing that crap for?’ asks Gayboy.

  ‘Yeah, bloody beeping robot music,’ says the Fatman. ‘Not like the old days when people played real songs on real instruments.’ Ah, Coreen, Coreen, even though you’re not here, I feel your influence.

  Meanwhile, we change into our outfits and wait for our call. The other two are wearing their costumes from their last gig, Gayboy as fifties rockabilly Elvis, the Fatman in the Vegas jumpsuit. I’ve gone for something a bit different this time round. I’m dressed as ’68 Comeback Special Elvis, all in black leather. I’m too fat for it, but then, really, so was Elvis. What it means is we’ll be presenting the three ages of Elvis, side by side like Charlie’s Angels. It’s not what people will be expecting, and when your public’s a bunch of psychotic gangsters, not satisfying them’s a dangerous thing. But it all feels a bit more honest, and that’s been striking me as important these past couple of days.

  ‘Elvis in five minutes, please,’ someone shouts. And even though I’ve been downing it for hours, right now I feel very sober. I feel that something is at stake here. Maybe it’s no coincidence that this is the first time in absolutely years I’ve been Elvis without doing any charlie. I’ve been dying for some all day, but now it’s clear I’m not going to get any, I feel like I’ve passed through it, and I don’t even want it that much. I just want to go out there and be Elvis, do it right, and show people, even if they are a bunch of sociopathic mental cases, what it is I’m doing here, why it is I’m on this fucking planet in the first place. Right now I feel that I could drop down dead out there and it wouldn’t matter, I’d be doing what I was made to do. Even Gaylord and Fatty seem to sense that all of this is in some way important. After getting on my wick all bloody day with their singing and nattering, they’ve finally got round to shutting up these past couple of hours, and both look pretty serious. Not that they’re ever not serious about Elvis, but it’s rare that they’d be quiet about it.

  And then it’s time to go. Dave calls us and leads us down the corridor. We wait by the door, peering round it to have a peek at the party. It looks pretty wild. Even though the main stage has been cleared for us, there are still girls dancing on the podiums, wild-eyed gangsters hypnotised by their shaved slits while their girlfriends hang docilely off their arm. I recognise a few faces from the old days. Most of them I don’t, though. Younger, newer faces, more vicious, harder than the old gang. These ones can’t be bothered to hide their thuggery behind a smile.

  The thumping of the music cuts out, and there’s a squeal of feedback. Someone’s up on the stage by the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please…’ It’s Eddie. ‘It is my very great pleasure to introduce to you a young talent that I myself discovered many years ago. And do you know, ladies and gentlemen, if I were to die tomorrow, then I could honestly say, that the one thing that I am most proud of, the one thing that when all is said and done I can say is really any achievement at all, is finding this boy. He’s hot, he’s sexy, he’s the king of rock ’n’ roll, he’s a no good lowdown hound dog, put your hands together for… Elvis.’

  The applause all but drowns out Also Sprach Zarathustra, and it takes the whole of the intro of ‘See See Rider’ for us to run from the door to the platform. Fortunately nobody tries any funny business and we get through pretty easily, although Fatty has difficulty clambering up on stage, which gets laughs, and a few cries of ‘You fat bastard!’ as I pull him up behind me. No sooner are we up there, however, I realise we will not be performing alone.

  Girls. Girls to the right of me. Girls to the left of me. Girls behind me. Girls! Completely naked girls! They run onto the stage, and each of them quickly wraps herself round a pole as I try and remember what the hell it was I was meant to be doing. This I really wasn’t expecting. True, I’d imagined it, and even wanked over the thought of it a few times, but here it is happening, it’s actually happening. The Gayster and Fatlad are so surprised they’re bumping into each other, and it’s still taking me a few moments to recover. But I snap out of it when I realise I’m about to miss my cue, and bound over to the microphone just in time for…

  I said see, see see Rider

  Oh see, what you have done…

  They’re blanketing the stage in light, so I can’t make out any of the faces of the very bad men I’m singing to, but the room’s whistling and clapping and hollering. Obviously the Elvis and naked women combo is really working for this crowd.

  And for the rest of the night, we are truly kings. This is the best I’ve ever been, and the boys aren’t bad either. We lead the audience everywhere, from fifties rock ’n’ roll to seventies schmaltz, from the big hits to more obscure numbers. And what’s more, I believe in every minute of it. And besides, it’s fun. Every so often one of the girls frees herself from her pole and drapes herself briefly round one of us, and after a while, once I’m confident enough that I won’t get taken outside, I do the same to them. Soon, even the boys are doing it, which is funny seeing how scared of women they are. The girls are good movers too, proper dancers. There’s something not right, though. When I get close up to the girls, nearly without exception, there are marks. Big black bruises on their backs and torsos. Welts. Christ almighty, Eddie’s excelled himself this time. He’s made a choreographed dancing troupe out of what are probably migrant sex slaves. The girls come and go in half-hour shifts. God knows how many Eddie has back there, but I see each of them only twice.

  Finally, two-and-a-half hours and three encores later, we’re done. We did it. We wowed a discerning audience of criminals, downright nutters and their mistresses, and surely there can be no harder task in showbiz. Well, I’d like to see Cilla Black do it. And at one moment, somewhere in the middle of ‘In the Ghetto’, just for a second, I saw Johnny, and I saw Nanette, who’s looking terrible by the way, tanned to a crisp with varicose veins, and for the very first time, the very sight of them together didn’t make me feel like shit on a shoe. For that moment, in fact, I felt way above them, simply because I was Elvis and they were not. Sure, Johnny had the money, the former girl of my dreams, also the current girl of my dreams, and a nice big birthday party. But he wasn’t Elvis. And right then, that was the most important thing. Because, I now see, for me to be Elvis is to be part of a chain, a good chain, not the sick chain of exploitation that I’ve been part of nearly my entire life. As Elvis, things flow through me. Something is given to me from somewhere, and I pass it on. It reminds me of something someone said to me once, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe I dreamt it. Or saw it on telly.

  ‘Well done, boys,’ I say, putting my arms round the shoulders of my two comrades as we make our way off the stage. ‘You’ve done yourselves proud. It was really good to work with you again.’ I don’t know where it came from either, but they look at each other as if I’d just turned into a unicorn or something.

  ‘Well, it’s nice of you to say so,’ says the Fatman. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘Yeah, it was,’ says Gaylord, stunned.

  Dave’s waiting for us in the corridor.

  ‘Oh my fucking god, you were brilliant!’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, we did OK,’ I reply.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, if you’ll just follow me, Eddie has a little present for you.’

  He leads us back to the lounge, opens the door for us, then leaves. There, standing in a row, are three of the dancers, two blondes and a brunette, naked except for G-strings. They look terrified. One of them is holding an envelope, which she gingerly presses into my hand. ‘This is for you,’ she says. Her accent is Russian or thereabouts. I open it, and inside is a note on some very nice paper, which says:

  To Elvis (x 3)

  Enjoy.

  Your friend

  Eddie

  The two boys are standing in shock. I show them the note.

  ‘No, I can’t do this, I’m married. I can’t do it,’ says the Gayster.

  All three of the girls rush to wrap themselves round him. ‘Please,’ says
the brunette, ‘you must or, umm, how you say, it will not be good for us.’

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I think you’re going to have to, or one of these girls will get beaten up.’

  ‘I can’t do it, I’m sorry,’ says Gaylord. ‘I’m married, and that’s that.’

  ‘Ah, you do know that Jen hasn’t exactly been faithful to you, don’t you.’

  ‘Yeah. I know that, and I know that the lad… isn’t mine, before you point that out.’

  ‘So, what are you waiting for, my son? Get in there!’

  ‘OK.’ He looks up. ‘I want the one in the middle.’

  ‘Oh, I want that one,’ says the Fatster.

  ‘Lads, lads,’ I say. ‘You can swap over at half-time. You can do what you like with them. You don’t even need to chat them up or anything. They probably wouldn’t understand you anyway.’

  They each pick a girl and clumsily lead her over to the sofa.

  After twenty minutes of needless conversation, they finally get round to fucking them, and quite frankly, that’s something I never want to have to see or hear again, especially as they’re singing ‘The Wonder of You’ while they do it. Me, I take the one who’s left over, the dark-haired girl. She’s just skin and bone. She has marks all over her back that I have to close my eyes from seeing as I take her from behind, which, for the first time, I’m doing not because I get a kick out of it, but because I do not want to have to see her face.

  Chapter 27

  We’re driven back to Eddie’s in the early hours of the morning. We crash out as soon as we get there, and I’m thinking that I won’t get up for another day or two. It doesn’t work out that way.

  ‘Elvis, Elvis, you’ve got to get up.’ It’s Dave, shaking me into consciousness. ‘Ah, Eddie wants to see you. He’s down in the garden. You don’t need to get dressed or anything, just put this dressing gown on. It’s just he wants you down there fast.’

  I can barely get my body to move, but Dave lifts me up and puts the dressing gown and a pair of slippers on me before I even know that he’s doing it. He leads me out of the room and down the stairs. As I get to the bottom, I see that Gayboy and Fatty are being shepherded by another goon behind me. They’re also wearing only dressing gowns and slippers. The Fatman yawns like a walrus. ‘Gor blimey, guv, it’s a bit early innit?’ he says to the goon. The goon says nothing.

  ‘Dave,’ I say, ‘do you have any idea what’s going on?’

  ‘No, not really,’ he mumbles.

  Eddie’s waiting for us by the swimming pool. He’s still dressed up to the nines in a tux, from last night.

  ‘Boys, boys,’ he says as we approach. ‘You’ve made an old man so happy. You were spectacular last night, and amazing, and beautiful. I love you all so much. Thank you!’ He throws his arms around me and hugs me tight, patting me hard on the back.

  ‘Thanks, Eddie,’ I say.

  ‘No, thank you, my boy. And you too, of course!’ He hugs Fats now. He can’t quite get his arms round him, so instead he clasps his face in his hands. He reaches up and kisses him lightly on the lips. ‘Thank you, my son,’ he whispers.

  I can see the look of fear in Gaylord’s eyes as Eddie approaches him. ‘And you, why you are such a little darling!’ He grabs Gayboy’s head towards him. Then, Eddie plunges his tongue deep into the Gayster’s mouth, with a force he couldn’t possibly resist. He holds it there for what seems a hideously long while. Gay Elvis makes a terrible whimpering sound as Eddie takes his tongue from his mouth and licks his face, all the while pressing down hard on his skull with his hands. Eddie doesn’t seem even to be here at all. Finally he lets go. As Gaylord tries to regain control over his breathing, Eddie turns away to face the rising sun. Then he returns to face us again, as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Of course, I am so grateful to you all,’ he says. ‘You helped me do something special for Johnny, who I think of as being like a son to me in many ways. As are you, my dear boy.’ He stands next to me and ruffles my hair. He’s teary-eyed. ‘Oh how I wish I could have all my boys around me in these last days. But that is not to be. I will die alone no doubt…’ His voice trails off as he goes back to stare at the sunrise. ‘How many more I wonder? How many more days?’

  Then he comes back to us, a smile on his face. ‘Lads,’ he says to Fats and the Gayster, ‘I owe you some money.’

  ‘Yeah, it was seven grand each, fourteen in total,’ says the Fatty, as if he were talking to the plumber.

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Eddie reaches into his jacket. ‘And who should I make the cheques payable to?’

  I know what’s going to happen. I see that the swimming pool is lined with Eddie’s goons. There is no chequebook. Instead, Eddie whips out a pistol and shoots the Fatman in the face. The back of his head sprays behind him on the tiles, as his life seeps out of him and he crumples on the ground in a big blubbery heap. Derek lets out an ear-splitting wail and looks to see where he can run, only to find that there is nowhere. In the end, he hides behind me, pleading with me to save him, but Eddie just walks round, and I have to step away, if only to make sure the inevitable bullets don’t pass through him and into me. He takes several slugs to the chest and gut.

  Me, I know I’m not going to die. It just doesn’t feel like it’s my time. Sure enough, Eddie puts his gun away, and his goons pack the bodies away in bags they had hidden away in the shrubbery, while others clean the poolside with mops and buckets. ‘Don’t let it drip into the pool!’ Eddie shouts at them.

  ‘I’m sorry, my boy,’ he says to me finally, ‘they had to go. They’d seen too much. Plus, their fees were quite exorbitant. But don’t you worry, you’re safe. Johnny likes you, and I do too, of course. In fact, Johnny sent you a message. He said, “Don’t you shave”. You hear that, my boy? Those are specific instructions, and if I see you without facial hair from this moment on, I’m authorised to shoot you too. Of course, you know I couldn’t do that to you, my dear, dear boy. I’d have to get one of the boys to do it.’ He smiles at me weakly, and goes inside. I sit by the pool and watch the goons carry the bodies away, and the rest of the sunrise.

  And so the days go by. Most of the time Eddie’s not around, but every so often he turns up, sings ‘Hound Dog’ at me from across the lawn, makes sure I haven’t been shaving, and goes away again. I think he must be going out of his way to work until he drops dead. And me, I just sit, eat, wank, sleep, get hairy, get fat, educate myself on world cinema and read. I get to the end of Oliver Twist, but its happy conclusion does not satisfy me. In real life, doesn’t everything good end badly? I bet if it were a true story Oliver would be hanged and Fagin would walk away scot-free. I suppose I’m jealous of him and his bright future and new life with Mr Brownlow. Nothing like that awaits me, I’m sure. I look about for another literary classic to keep me occupied. Eddie’s got a set of books by some birds called the Bronte sisters, and I recognise some of the titles, but I flick through them and they look to me like they’re women’s books. There’s a copy of that book Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky on the shelf, but I can’t imagine it will tell me anything I don’t already know. I finally settle on more Dickens, Great Expectations. You know where you are with Dickens.

  Like I said, I’m left on my own most of the time, and I find it harder to talk to Dave since they shot Gay and Fat Elvis, knowing that he knew about it before and lied to me about it, and even stood there at the side of the pool waiting for it to happen. He still wants to be my mate though, so I try and make an effort, if only for the company. I tell him about rock ’n’ roll records, and he even goes out and buys some of them on CD. Says he can’t listen to dance music now, says it winds him up.

  Dave’s pretty much the only person I speak to round here.

  Nothing really happens, except this one time. You see, I’m sitting in the TV room quite late, and Eddie comes in, roaring drunk, dressed up but all dishevelled. He just stands there shouting abuse at me, and he says that he’d get the boys to pin me down right there and then an
d he’d rape me, but Johnny had made him promise not to touch me. ‘You’re a prickteasing little shit,’ he tells me, ‘but I love you, you beautiful bastard. One day I’m going to fuck you, then I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to fuck you back to life again, then kill you for a second time, you lovely, adorable, evil little swine.’ Then he collapses, and I fetch some of the boys to put him to bed.

  I must have been there for weeks, and summer feels like it’s on the cusp of autumn, when Johnny turns up one day with Coreen. A goon summons me to the hall from the garden. ‘Aeeyy! It’s the King!’ he says to me as he greets me. His lovable geezer act sometimes makes it hard to remember that he’s actually a vicious killer who fucked my wife. Eddie’s absent as usual, so it’s just me and them, plus the usual assorted henchmen. He shakes my hand with both of his and pats me on the back. ‘Nice one, my son, nice one. Best birthday I ever had. Look, mate, sorry about your friends and everything, but Eddie just blew his cool on that one. There was no need for it, bang out of order. Gave him a right bollocking over it, I can tell you.’ He’s lying of course. If he didn’t directly order it himself, he would have certainly authorised it. ‘But I’m going to make it up to you. Well, I can see you’ve been growing a beard like I told you, that’s good. It could actually do with a bit of a trim now, and your hair, you look well scruffy. But that’s OK, Coreen here’s going to tidy you up, aren’t you love?’ She nods. ‘And once she’s done we’re going to take your picture. And once we‘ve done that… well, you’re just a hare’s whisker away from getting out of this poof’s place.’

  He leaves me alone with Coreen in a bathroom. She’s looking as beautiful to me as she did before as I see the reflection of her precious green eyes in the bathroom minor. Seeing her makes me giddy, and a bit scared, but for the first time since Gaylord and Fatty were shot, I can truly say I’m in a good mood. ‘Johnny says you were bloody amazing at his birthday party,’ she says as she wraps a plastic sheet round my neck. ‘Wish that I could’ve seen it.’