by Steve Tasane
Con say We only playin’ a game.
Mum send him out on the balcony, join the dog.
She say I’m as bad as Dad.
I say Dad ain’t bad. I’m watchin’ over Con-Con ’cos Dad ain’t here.
She say why do I think Dad not here?
I say I don’ know on account of he never writes to tell us about it.
She say why do I think that is?
I kick over the coffee table.
That’s the way she say, the way of a man who teaches knife-fightin’.
I wasn’t teachin’ knife-fightin’! I was teachin’ how to fight knives! Be safe from the gangs.
She say she ever catch me teachin’ Con-Con to fight again, she kick me out.
I say Kick me out where? Out with the fools flashin’ their blades. See me stabbed in the street?
She send me to my room.
She sit alone in the livin’ room. I hear her sobbin’.
It is a conversation I have set to memory.
Don’t Move an Inch
The wind blows memories roun’ and roun’ my head.
After a while, my head clear again. Brains been washed clean.
I climb back down through the hatch. I’m done feelin’ sorry for myself. What we need right now is a plan.
Mum and Big Auntie can go see the council men if they like, it don’t mean nothin’. We got a infestation, she gon’ say, and the council men say Ooh, we’ll send round the pest men in a few weeks. Only in a few weeks they ain’t gon’ be none of us left on account of we all been slurped up by them Dozen-Eggs-a-Day Megabugs, and they gonna be so starvatious they eat up all the pest men before they can even fill out their form. So thirsty they suck the ink outta the pest men’s biros and the tears from their eyeballs.
We got to act now.
So here’s me hammerin’ on Mustaph’s door, hopin’ he ain’t also been taken in the night. Door opens and his dad let me in with the usual cheery greetin’ – not. I take this to be a good sign on account of his dad’s big fat belly. If I was a hungry bug I would give myself a big proper feast on Mustaph’s dad before goin’ onto the leaner pickin’s. Mustaph skinny, like prison-camp skinny, just a bag of bones in scabby jeans that only be stayin’ up ’cos Mus keepin’ a tight hold of them all the time. When he doin’ his sprayin’, he tuck the spray cans into the waist, otherwise he’d be creatin’ his art with his strides round his ankles, and it wouldn’t be no vandalism he’d be gettin’ lifted for, but exposure. I asked him once why he ain’t got no belt and he say he do have a belt. I asked him why he don’t wear it, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Who wears belts? he said.
Mus? I say, and push open the door to his den. I am hit with a faceful of pongy body smell, which is the usual state of affairs.
Can’t see nothin’ ’cos of the drawn curtains, but I can hear a steady breathin’. In out. In out. Lazy dog mus’ be nappin’ still.
Mus?
I remind myself always bring a lighter when you come into this space, ’cos you can never see even the tip of your own nose.
Pitter-pat.
I freeze when I hear that. Flex my legs and wave my arms all aroun’ me like I be the Kung Fu expert and my invisible foes about to be karate-jabbed to a pulp. Touch nothin’. Listen. Listen hard.
Mus?
In the darkness, somethin’ press against the tip of my nose. I yell and punch in wild panic into the blackness. Nothin’.
Mus?
Something tickle the back of my neck. A Mega leg. I swing round and punch wildly. Nex’ thing, I’m blinded by a beam of light, a shadowy figure behind it, goggles, heavy breath. A hand lift up the goggles and I see Mustaph’s ugly mug grinnin’ at me.
Boo.
I nearly smack him. What you doin’, bro? You scarin’ the bones offa me, man!
I pull open his curtains, which is breakin’ the only rule Mustapha ever set, but I’m too mad to care. Mustaph standin’ there like some kind of space engineer, holdin’ onto his big torch and with ridiculous big goggles in his hands.
My new toy he say, like that explain everythin’.
I snatch the goggles. They weigh a ton. What’s these?
He’s well pleased with himself, breakin’ a rare grin. Night vision.
What? Man, for what you be needin’ a pair of night-vision goggles?
He just shrug. I wanted to see.
See what?
The bugs, of course. The giant ones.
Damn, my boy is a genius. Did you see any?
He shrug again, strolls over and places them night goggles on his bust of Beethoven like that where they naturally belong.
Shoulda seen yo’ face in the dark he say, reachin’ down to wrap his duvet up over his pencil-thin shoulders. So. Wassup? Like he ain’t even heard the sirens or nothin’, lost in Mustaphaland.
I look around. He ain’t got no bullet holes in his walls.
When I tell him about seein’ the meat wagons carryin’ out Sleepy Lady he jus’ nod his head like I tol’ him I’m goin’ to watch the football on downstairs’s widescreen.
I say All these dead bodies that be gettin’ carried out regular as puttin’ out the rubbish – they all been sucked dry by the monster bugs.
Oh yeah Mus say, like I told him Man United beat Chelsea 2–1.
They come and suck you dry when you be asleep I say.
Right he answer me.
I see I got to prod this boy awake with a big stick. Like vampires.
Finally he got a serious look on his face. I ain’t sure whether it’s ’cos he shocked about the killings or excited ’cos I mentioned vampires. With Mus you jus’ can’t tell.
So we gon’ get ourselves some weaponry and we gon’ kill ourselves one of these Megabugs and then people believe. Then we get a crew together and we gon’ have ourselves a Bug War, yeah?
OK he say. Jus’ like that.
We go knock-knockin’ on Sis’s door. Grab my dog on the way up. Big Auntie already upped sticks for a VIP Pow-Wow with the council men.
Sis say Big Auntie been talkin’ to the police about what she callin’ contaminated heroin. She reckon dirty smack hittin’ the street and causin’ everybody to die like livin’ goin’ out of fashion.
She give us a moment to absorb this news, and she fix me with her big warm eyes and say So, boys, caught any big ones yet?
They didn’t show, did they? ’Cos they knew I was sittin’ there waitin’ to bust their bubbles with Mum’s fryin’ pan. They feasted on Sleepy Lady instead. You see them body-baggin’ her out?
Mus jus’ shrug and stroll out onto the balcony.
Sis nod. I know she considerin’ whether or not she believe me. Everybody else in the whole world say I got myself behavioural issues. Just another way of sayin’ I’m a nutjob. Sis don’t wanna be thinkin’ I’m no nutjob. She know what it’s like ’cos she been called worse in her time. She be thinkin’ it’s us what are the sane ones, rest of the world gone bonkers. Sis got an easy face to read, like Mustaph in that respect. Some days I look at them havin’ a whole conversation with each other, without sayin’ a word, jus’ their eyes passin’ vibes back and forth between each other like weird invisible tennis. Me, my mouth do all my talkin’ for me, and an excellent job it do of it – true.
Mustaph already stood stretched out on the balcony wall, doin’ his mornin’ greetin’ to the world, jus’ like Sis do. She hop up and join him, like that there wall be jus’ four feet off of the groun’, rather than four hundred feet. They standin’ tall, arms stretched to the clouds like Spider-Man and Spider-Lady ’bout to perform a show.
Wooo-hoooh! go Sis, to the heavens.
Wooo-hoooh! Mus answer her like little wolf brother. It make me dizzy jus’ watchin’ ’em.
I’m boilin’ up. If Mum had of believed me, maybe we could have saved Sleepy Lady. She didn’t have to die in the night, blood sucked by some vampire bug, get carted off in the wrong type of sleepin’ bag. If Compo had listened, maybe we could have saved Mr Bush too. Most important
of all, we could have done somethin’ for them poor kids. I’m sick. I turn away. I see somethin’ make my blood freeze.
Don’t move I mutter.
Ain’t goin’ nowhere Sis answer. Jus’ enjoyin’ my mornin’ stretch, oh yeah.
I’m serious I say. Don’t move an inch.
Straightaways, the two of ’em turn round and set their eyes right where my peepers be set. There be one evil monster starin’ straight back at us.
It’s perched there on the wall above Sis’s window, only a few feet away. Even though I been lookin’ for one of these suckers all night long, it still make me break into a sweat like a snowman in a heatwave.
Sis cooler than that. She break into a big, knowin’ grin and nod Ah-haaa like it be jus’ the confirmation she expectin’. Well, you is certainly correct, isn’t you, Marshall the First?
We blink at the bug and it stare back at us, unflinchin’. Red-eyed.
Mustaph lookin’ at it all serene, like it some pretty butterfly landed on his hand.
I feel relief.
You think it gonna pounce? asks Sis.
No I answer. That what I’m sayin’. They is sneaky. Wait until you sleepy, then suck you nice and easy.
Sis shivers. What we gon’ do?
Go get yo’ fry pan. Slow and smooth. Don’ scare it off. If it creep close enough, we splatter it, yeah?
I was right. I am not a nutjob. I am a sane boy. Other people see it now, with their own eyes. That be three of us. Soon it be a lot more.
Mum and my social worker and Subo, the fat Maths teacher, might figure I got me anger issues, but right about now, I’m sweet with that. If that sucker come near me, I will rip off its head.
Sis come back with a fryin’ pan, a carvin’ knife and a broom.
Bug watches us. It got two bug eyes stickin’ outta the side of its head, unblinkin’, like blobs of blood. Proboscis like Satan’s snout. Antennas twitchin’ away, like it knows for sure we there. Spiky brown hairs comin’ outta its side, in need of a good shave. Big, flat, brown, stripy body. Flat. Even now I know enough that it in need of feedin’. Its body kinda transluscent, so’s you can see it ain’t got no blood in it. Just a empty sachet, waitin’ to be filled up. Ain’t movin’ a inch. Six legs taut against the rough concrete – ready to run, or pounce. Vibin’ us out.
Outta the corner of my eye, I see another sucker, down by the side of the window. I nudge Sis. We say nothin’, but roll our eyes roun’, and there be another one, down the other side.
Three of ’em. Bugs like to hide out durin’ the day – that’s why we ain’t been seein’ ’em – but this mob mus’ be gettin’ hungry. Or greedy.
What we gon’ do? ask Sis.
What we gon’ do? We gon’ do what you always gon’ do when you got three ugly bugs on all sides givin’ you the evils. We gon’ attack.
Mustaph the tallest, and Sis hand him the broom. I tool myself up with the fry pan.
Sis and Mus don’ say a word. She gesturin’ with her eyes, one, two, three, from one of the Megas to the next, then at the end of Mustaph’s broom. They doin’ their silent talkin’. It clear in my mind that Sis want Mus to knock these suckers off of their perches in quick succession. She look to me and then at Bug Number One, like it my job to squish it when it drop. Then she point her thumb at her chest and look up to Bug Number Two. She give the evil eye to Bug Number Three, and raise her eyebrows at Mus. A team, see?
Mus gonna knock ’em down one at a time. I get to smash the first one. Lickin’ my lips with the anticipation.
Sabretooth whinin’ and trottin’ on the spot like he awaitin’ instruction of his own. I put the flat of my hand to his direction. Clever dog know that mean he got to be still.
Bugs still be vibin’ us out, like they waitin’ to see what we gon’ do. Me and Sis waitin’ for Mustaph to make his move. Mustaph give a silent sigh. You can see all his muscles relaxin’ and his breathin slowin’ almost to a halt. Me, I broken into a nasty sweat, heart hammerin’ inside my chest like it want to be let the hell out of there. Sis narrows her eyes like she psychin’ herself into a state of maximum aggression.
Bam! Mustaph swing the broom faster than a bolt of lightnin’. Whack! Right on the back of Bug Number One. For a moment that bug don’t do nothin’, jus’ flinch a bit. Out the corner of my eye, his two crew take off faster than a pair of bag-snatchers. Bam! Mustaph strike Bug Number One again, just as it turnin’ to run away. Down it come, waftin’, like a sheet of paper, slow but fast. Mus step back so I got space to smash it with the fry pan, but is tricky to tell where it gonna land.
Sabe pounces forward, teeth bared and hackles high, right under my feet. Bug hit the floor and Sabreboy be snappin’ in its general direction. I bend over my dog and strike with the fry pan, but the bug done move the second its legs hit the ground. Clang! The fry pan connects with concrete, jarrin’ my wrist and bendin’ in two like a pranged car bonnet. Flame of pain leap up my arm. Cuss it. Sis leap forward, slicin’ the air with her carver, lickety-split quick as the bug. Bug got a head start and scurryin’ straight back up the wall. Out of arm’s reach, it turns round. I swear, it stops and stares at us. Its antennas quiverin’ in the air, like it takin’ time to take note of our smell. Red eyes on either side of its mug fix first on Sis, then on Mustaph, then on me.
Sabretooth does a wee on the floor.
Satisfied with itself, the bug swaggers off up the wall.
Well, well, well say Sis. See what we got here. She bend down and pick somethin’ from the ground.
It’s about eighteen inches long. A schnozzle, severed from the point where it joined the bug head. Sucker ain’t got no sucker no more. Sis hold it up in one hand, her knife in the other, pride on her face. She’s my Sister Rambo.
Looks like we got ourselves the evidence we after.
Forensics
Sabre havin’ a good sniff and a lick, like he tryin’ to absorb clues as to what ingredients make up a giant bedbug proboscis. Look to me like it ain’t so tasty. Schnozzle is reddish brown, razor sharp at the tip, for stabbin’ through your skin. I figure that help them bugs dig good and deep on whatever tragic soul it is they slurpin’ from.
Sis pick it up by the end and jab the air with it like a cutlass. Yargh! she go, like a mental pirate. Yargh!
Stop it, Sis.
She peer into the end of it. All hollow. Guess it just a giant blood-straw. She sniff it, wrinkle her nose. Smell worse than school dinner.
I take it off her, have a sniff myself. Sis is right. It smells like stewed bones. Makes me shiver.
Mustaph grab it from me, take a sniff also. He breaks into a big smile. Oh, yummy yoo.
My friends are too sick. So what we gonna do?
Sis smile. Like you say. Evidence, yeah? Let’s go present it to Big Auntie.
Sis always refer to her mum as Big Auntie, like Big Auntie be the name printed on her birth certificate.
I have a realization. Mum. Finally, she goin’ to have to believe me. She’ll stop suspectin’ me, say sorry good and proper. Makes me feel all light, after the fierceness of our bullet-hole battle.
Big Auntie ain’t back yet from Pow-Wowin’ with the authorities. She oughta be back. We need her here in The Finger, see our evidence, form a plan. So we go through her flat, head towards ours, see if Mum be there.
But as we makin’ our way down the stairwell, who do we come face to face with but oinkboy Compo – with two uniformed coppers and a inspector sportin’ a genuine detective overcoat.
Compo got one of them faces like a dented shovel. Nose pokin’ at you and chin juttin’ out like a muddied blade. Nothin’ he like more than diggin’ the dirt, yeah? Well, well. He turn towards overcoat man like he’s his best buddy. Talk of the devils. You want to know about drug-dealing and similar, these are the youth for interrogating.
I’m feelin’ my fists bunchin’ up even as he speaks. Sabretooth curlin’ his lip, givin’ a low growl, like I taught him when Compo in the vicinity. Sit, boy I say.
Yo, Compo. You know we ain’t got nothin’ to do with that rubbish. Never have. What you wantin’ to spread lies for?
Compo and the real police are right in our faces, inspectin’ us like we is just a infestation ourselves. Compo turn to one of the uniforms and mutter Like father, like son. Uniform nod his head in agreement.
Shouldn’t you all be in school? asks overcoat cop, all cool like he thinkin’ he Inspector Morse.
Sis give him her big smile. Permanent exclusion, yeah?
I fold my arms. Temporary suspension, yeah?
Mustaph just stand there and grin like a idiot.
Compo take a step forward. I say we take ’em in.
Uniform cop got his hand on his utilities, like he just itchin’ for some baton action. Man in charge look less certain. Suppose that’s why he in charge. Imagine if a fool like Compo make all the big decisions. You have riotin’ breakin’ out on every street corner.
Inspector Morse say I hear you young people were among the last to be seen with the … deceased.
Sis roll her eyes.
That’s right Compo urges. Let’s nick ’em.
Inspector Morse squintin’ at our faces, inspectin’ our eyeballs, seein’ if we on drugs or not. Problem with Muskrat is he got them sort of eyes always look blissed out anyways. But Sis step up. We heard about them little kids. We ain’t been doin’ nothin’ but tryin’ to find out what goin’ on ourselves.
She straighten her face so she got the look of a good-standin’ citizen, type that collect sponsors for charity runs for the aged.
Anyway we can help? Mus jut his lower jaw out, which is what he do the two times a year he tryin’ to show enthusiasm. It make him look like he needin’ the loo.
As it happens says Comp, steppin’ forward.
Leave them be says Morse. They’re just kids. If we need to, we can ask them questions later.
OK say Comp. Come on, I’ll lead you to the victims’ places of abode.
Places of abode. If only Comp knew what a jerk he sounded.
But Inspector Morse lingerin’, givin’ us the once over.
Listen he say. You kids discover anything useful, you let us know. Anything that might help. He offers a smile and starts to turn, but stops and adds Take care of yourselves.
