Hunters & Collectors

by M. Suddain

  ‘And what about the olive?’ I said.

  ‘Oh. Well, any quality cocktail olive will do. We use Selford’s.’

  ‘I see.’

  Gladys had gone off to find a jacket, and now she returned. This is a club for men, but they’d agreed to let her in if she wore a jacket. It was far too big. The sleeves hung past her hands. I heard a note of satisfaction sound in my chest which I drowned with the rest of my Oyster. She slid herself up on a stool and grunted at Nightgay: ‘Old Spanish.’

  ‘No, no, noeeeeewwwww, you’re gonna want to try one of these … Nightgay, what are they called again?’

  ‘White Oyster, Mr Beast.’

  ‘White Oyster! Make this lady the best White Oyster you can.’

  ‘I will do my best, sir.’

  ‘I’m going to the men’s room.’

  ‘Through those twin doors on the far side, sir.’

  ‘I don’t need an escort, Gladys.’ She was halfway off her stool.

  ‘Seriously? Well, say hi to Massimo.’

  Massimo. Fuck Massimo. I pushed through the double doors, stopping then because the narrow corridor to the conveniences was dim and lonely. I felt the wind from the doors as they swung shut behind me, erasing the sounds of music and shattering ice. I saw a shadow pass the frosted glass of the doors at the far end. Felt a wind on the back of my neck. Thought to return to the bar, but my need was urgent.

  Fuck Massimo. Fuck him in both eyes.

  The conveniences in the club are a wood-and-marble wilderness about the size of a small airport, a silverleaf starburst ceiling with an extravagant crystal chandelier. ‘Impossibly big.’ At least eighty stalls on one side, painted lavender, urinatoriums on the other. They almost met at a vanishing point in the distance. Someone had scrawled two words in lipstick on the mirror above the sinks. ‘She Hunts.’ Good for her. I was worried that the demonic boy I’d met in the toilets that morning might be in there. Called, ‘Tommy?’

  No answer. My voice boomed in the undampened space.

  Tommy-ommy-ommy.

  I took the ninth stall. Felt I was pissing away all the cares of the past few weeks. Let out a cry of relief which barrelled around the expanse of marble and ceramic tiles. I finished, turned, and was briefly startled by my own reflection. ‘She Hunts.’ I went to the sinks, carefully washed my hands. The Enchanted Huntresses. ‘Just a social club, I’m sure,’ I said aloud, for no reason but to disturb the silence. ‘Yes.’ The Alpine Club; the City Men; Ladies of Fatima. ‘Our Laaaaaaaady of Fat-i-maaaaaaaaa,’ I sang as I bent and filled my cupped hands with cool water, glanced up from the sink, and died.

  ‘Towel, sir?’ Tommy said as my cry smashed around the room and faded.

  ‘Thank you.’ I dried my hands, dabbed at my crotch with the towel. It was him again. He stood just an inch too close.

  ‘You have a lovely singing voice, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, these acoustics are kind.’

  ‘The Huntresses are an unofficial clique, sir. Not a social club.’

  ‘Hmmm? What’s the diff?’

  ‘A club is for guests; a clique is for us.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘The Huntresses are women who work here. Mostly.’

  ‘Oh? Are they old?’

  ‘Mostly young.’

  ‘The group, I mean.’

  ‘I apologise. They’re fairly new. Only a day old.’

  ‘That is new.’

  ‘It’s fine to see you again. You don’t have to worry about Massimo. He’s otherwise engaged tonight.’

  ‘Right.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Will sir need a change of trousers now he’s startled himself?’ I had managed to throw an impressive amount of tap water over my junk.

  ‘No. No, I’m fine. Thank you, Tommy. I can look after myself.’

  ‘I only came because you called me, sir.’

  ‘No, I was … it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Sir won’t be embarrassed to be out drinking tonight with watermarks on his trousers and shirt front?’

  I stared at him.

  ‘It might be embarrassing if you were to run into an acquaintance. If Ms Zhivast should see you about. Everyone is so surprised to have you out tonight. So bold.’

  I stared at him some more. He continued to stare at me without blinking. Young Tommy, eyes like a hawk. Tommy-ommy-ommy. In the hard, white light I could see every blemish on his skin. I hadn’t realised it, but he looked like a younger me.

  ‘What’s it like, Tommy?’

  ‘What’s it like, sir?’

  ‘To be you?’

  ‘To be me? I don’t follow.’

  ‘Do you not? It feels like you do. I really should be …’ I made to edge away. He had me almost pinned against the sinks.

  ‘Can I suggest, sir, a change of trousers at least? You will notice that I am an exact match for you in height and weight.’

  The boy was right. He was exactly my height and weight. How quickly he’d grown.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, ah, Tommy …’

  ‘I insist, sir.’ He took a step back from me, slipped off his shoes. He calmly removed his trousers. I stood horrified as he carefully folded them and hung them over his right forearm, resumed gazing at me.

  ‘It’s a trick. You want to drug me.’

  ‘Drug you, sir? Never.’

  ‘You did it just this morning.’

  ‘Never, sir. That must have been someone else.’

  He was going to stand there till I acquiesced. Where the fuck was Gladys? I could probably knock a man my size out, but I didn’t know what he was capable of. I sighed and began to take off my trousers. I folded them carefully. As I proffered them the boy said, ‘We all just want you to know that everything is going well, sir.’

  ‘Oh? Because from the looks of things –’

  ‘The game has swung in your favour. Things were looking dire for a while, but now you have an army behind you. You have fortune on your side. There’s no competition. By tomorrow you’ll be our Harvest King.’

  ‘Ah. Well, I’m not really interested in … in … in … in … in.’ The boy stared at me from beneath his pinkish eyelids. His jaw unsheathed.

  ‘In what, sir? What aren’t you interested in?’

  ‘… In disappointing.’

  ‘That’s good. No one will oppose you. And if they do they’ll be dealt with. They won’t know what hit them, sir.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Those whores.’ He pointed to the words upon the mirror. His arm rod straight. ‘You don’t have to worry about anyone, especially her.’

  ‘Her? … Do you mean my friend Gladys? … Is that who you’re speaking about?’

  I thought I heard thunder outside.

  ‘She’s trying to ruin it for you, sir. Running off whoring around the place. Running around with all her whore-witch friends. Killing Franz for nothing. For being a man. Is that a crime? To be a man? Did you know she and her whores have been stealing all our fire extinguishers? Why would you do that?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘We’ll make her pay. I’d love to hunt her.’

  ‘Let me be clear. She is my friend, Tommy.’

  He lowered his arm. ‘Your friend, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I just want to be clear with you that Gladys is my friend, and that if anything were to happen to her I would be very disappointed.’

  He seemed as if he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying. Then his face broke into a sinister smile. ‘Ahhh, I understand perfectly, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We’ll take care of everything. She won’t know you’re involved in any way.’

  ‘What? No, no, no, you don’t –’

  ‘Do you ever suppose we could be friends, sir? You and I?’

  This boy played well. He had poise, rhythm, he counter-attacked well, kept you on the ropes, kept the attacks coming from new angles. ‘I don’t know. Anything is possible in this place. Listen –’ I was still proffering
my damp slacks.

  ‘We would very much like to be friends.’

  ‘Well, I see no reason why we couldn’t be, so long as you promise not to –’

  ‘It is always amazing, sir, the things friends say when you aren’t present.’

  And when the young man spoke again it was in the voice of Gladys Green: ‘Him and me? Fuck no. Never. Wow. He’s like a grandfather I spend time with out of guilt.’ It was shocking to hear that icy drawl come from this boy’s face. ‘It’s like he only hears his own voice. He hates everyone because he doesn’t have the guts to hate himself like the rest of us. Too many silly girls and dullards have told him he’s handsome and brilliant, that’s the problem.’ And then Daniel Woodbine’s voice came burbling from the boy’s throat: ‘Harsh! You don’t fancy him even a little bit?’

  Tommy’s eyes were sparkling and dancing as he spoke their words.

  ‘I can see it, I guess. Objectively. Sometimes when he forgets to be himself I can see something. You could imagine another version. One who isn’t such a cunt.’

  With that word the boy’s teeth flashed brightly, his gums shone pink. Beast’s laugh was like a battle roar.

  ‘Oh gods, he was always going to be a cunt, G. His mother was a cunt. His father was definitely a cunt. He comes from a long line of cunts. And you eat it up, all of you. Tell your people not to be attracted to cunts, then we can talk.’

  ‘OK, stop that now, Tommy. I’ve heard enough.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘And for future reference, don’t do that ever again.’

  ‘Of course, sir. We just want to help you. We don’t want anything to stand in the way of your dreams. Especially her.’

  The door to the conveniences rocketed off its hinges, skidded across the smooth tile floor, stopped just before us.

  ‘Hello, Gladys. Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘I heard you yell. All the doors were locked.’ Gladys was a little breathless. ‘The fuck are you doing?’ She lowered her gun. Tommy had her fixed with a louring stare.

  ‘Nothing. Just a minor trouser issue.’ I gave Tommy my trousers. He folded them over his arm. I put his on. They fitted too perfectly. These trousers were identical. They were clones, down to the natural imperfections in the stitching. The stitching on a handmade suit is like a fingerprint. There was even an identical handkerchief in the right pocket.

  We said nothing more about the trouser incident. It occurred to me as we left the restrooms that the trousers I now wore weren’t even real. I was wearing phantom trousers, Colette. The double doors to the lounge were also off their hinges. ‘You sure don’t fuck around with doors, G.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I appreciate your efforts. It doesn’t get said enough. You do good work.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I do my job. You’re a client.’

  ‘Oh, but we’re more like family, Gladys, surely. I’m like a grandfather you spend time with out of guilt.’ To her credit, her face remained impassive, but I saw her ears turn pink.

  Now the mood was strange. We sat together in silence, but not our usual comfortable silence. And somehow I didn’t feel like talking to these people any more. I felt like I’d reached the end with them. Eventually Gladys said, ‘I’m going to the pisser,’ and left. Finally Beast and I could communicate with words.

  ‘This is all crazy, Boss. Just crazy being out here.’

  ‘Then why the fuck didn’t you back me up when I said we shouldn’t come?’

  ‘Uh-know. Thirsty. Was starting to have strange thoughts in there. And we need to stick close, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yeah. Should have gone to the toilets with her.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘Things get mad in those toilets, Beast.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘These aren’t even my trousers.’

  ‘I have a guy. Just appears out of nowhere.’

  ‘Me too. Tommy.’

  ‘Mine’s called Jodfer. Fuck Jodfer.’

  ‘It’s all so strange. You know I haven’t even shaved since we got here?’

  ‘What are you talking about? It looks like you shaved five minutes ago.’

  ‘I haven’t needed to shave since we left the Rivoli. These aren’t my shoes, these aren’t my trousers, and my whiskers have stopped growing.’

  ‘Holidays are mad.’

  ‘It’s all mad, Beast.’ Nightgay had vanished. The place was empty and silent. A thousand dead eyes watched us. There was a podium nearby with an imposing combat tableau arranged on it. A twenty-something-foot-tall horned bipedal mammoth had her clawed paw around the neck – if twenty-something-foot-long constricting serpents even have necks – of a twenty-something-foot-long constricting serpent. It was a torrid scene.

  ‘I’m imagining they’re married,’ said Beast.

  ‘Sure. Listen. We need a Gladys plan. We have to get her out of here. Because look, don’t take this the wrong way. If my actions somehow led to your death, I would be very, very sad. I’d come to your funeral, and I’d give a spectacular eulogy, and I’d lay flowers at your memorial every year on the day you came out to your family.’

  ‘That’s very sweet.’

  ‘I know. But thing is, eventually I could move on.’

  ‘Of course. Likewise.’

  ‘But if what I did here got Gladys killed. Well, somehow I don’t think I could ever …’

  ‘You don’t have to say it.’

  We are very protective of Gladys. This will sound strange. A, that she needs protecting. B, that we care to. And C, that two idiots like us have anything to offer someone of her capacities. But the fact is, we do care. Gladys is the closest thing I’ve met to a superhero. But like any good superhero, Gladys Green has a weak spot. Her weak spot is her heart. She falls easily, and because she won’t admit to falling at all, she falls double hard. And when G falls hard she makes it nightmare-tough for everyone around her. It isn’t pretty. So we protect her. Sometimes guys hurt her. Sometimes they do it just for fun. There was a guy once. Let’s call him Dick Hole. Dick was slick as shit and twice as nasty. (For legal reasons, obviously, I can’t tell you who he actually is. He’s already sued me twice.) Dick treated G cruelly. She was mortified, but she wouldn’t talk about it, and she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take her natural revenge. She’s businesslike. She hurts people in a strictly professional capacity. If not, I’d definitely be dead by now. There are exceptions, obviously. Christopher Nettlemeyer, founder of Animal Attraction, for example. Guy just wouldn’t take a hint. Now he lives on liquid food.

  But she wouldn’t do what was needed with Dick Hole, so Beast and I had to man up and hurt him. It was the least we could do. Beast’s pretty damned good at finding creative ways to hurt people, and I’m no slouch. Together, over the next few months, we quietly made sure Dick regretted his attitude and actions towards women generally, and our friend specifically. And we made sure G had no idea why the man had suffered such a steep decline in reputation. And the only acknowledgement of pleasure she gave us was the delighted exclamation, ‘Oh!’ when she glanced at the story in the Gazette. ‘Prison Time for Dick Hole.’

  ‘I can’t lose anyone else, Beast. Nanše was enough. Too much.’

  Beast was looking thoughtfully at me. ‘Boss, are you starting to get … you know …?’

  ‘… For G?! Fuck no. Are you kidding? She’s like the weird teenage cousin your parents make you take on trips.’

  ‘Come on. Not even a little bit?’

  ‘She’s objectively attractive, obviously. With a wardrobe budget and an attitude transplant I could see it. But imagine us together? We’d kill each other in less than four minutes.’

  ‘Yeah, you would. It’d be quite a show, though.’

  Still no Gladys. She takes exactly seventy-eight seconds to pee. Nightgay had returned. No one else in sight. Beast had taken his injured arm out of its sling and was resting it on the bar top. ‘This thing is starting to hurt. I feel nauseous all the time.�
��

  ‘Nauseated.’

  ‘Hope it’s not infected.’

  ‘I wonder where she is.’

  ‘No idea. So when are you gonna tell me what happened with Nanše?’ So casual, like he was just shooting the breeze.

  ‘Are you kidding? Now? I can’t, Beast. I just can’t.’

  ‘Sure, I understand.’ Flexed his injured hand.

  ‘What? Why are you doing that?’

  ‘What? I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Not doing a thing.’

  ‘You so are.’

  He took a sip of his drink. Smacked his lips thoughtfully. ‘I just thought, well … I guess if you told me what happened I could … I mean, it might help me forget …’ He flexed his bandaged hand. Shrugged. This was interesting. What he was offering, in code, was a deal: tell him what happened at the Fair and he wouldn’t use what happened in the Winter Garden to ream me when we renegotiated.

  ‘It’s very painful, Beast. Worse than losing a finger. You know.’

  ‘Of course.’ He shrugged again. Looked over at his own reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. Pouted. Manipulative cunt. But I knew it was a good chance to square things up again. And I knew G would arrive to interrupt soon anyway. So I started to tell him the story including some, but not all, of the following details: how I’d hatched a plan to make my grand appearance at the Fair, partly for the money, partly to stick it to my imitators, partly because I thought I might be able to dig up more clues about Station One, but mainly because I’d heard Nanše had got a job with a catering company based there. She’d been promoted to Sauce Chef, and would be participating in a competitive banquet at Chef Tyro’s hyper-restaurant, the Elektrotek. I told him I had a plan to save Nanše, and redeem myself in her eyes. I would agree to be a celebrity judge at Tyro’s banquet.

  ‘Wow, Boss.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ When his hydraulic elevating dining system took us to the level where Nanše’s team were serving up their courses, I would exclaim over the sauces. I’d send a message to the kitchen saying that the Tomahawk wanted to see the sauce chef. There would be a big scene. People would assume I was about to eviscerate her. She’d come out, stunned as a rabbit, but when she saw me sitting there, and when she heard what I had to say about her sauces, sunlight would invade her beautiful face, her career would be saved, and it would be a moment my old friend and I would treasure forever.