by steve higgs
‘Manda said I was to stick with you.’ He replied simply while continuing to colour. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
‘I am going out tonight with Big Ben and the others. I will have lots of protection.’ He thought about that for a moment but agreed that I would be safe with Big Ben and Jagjit and Hilary.
Ten minutes later James was gone, and I was watching out the window for the taxi to appear. When it did, Basic and I descended the stairs together, I gave the driver sufficient to get him back to Finchampstead plus a tip and gave him the address.
‘Hey, Tempest.’ Basic was leaning out the taxi window. ‘What did the egg say to the clown? You crack me up!’
The Warren, Rochester. Thursday, October 27th 1952hrs
I had considered inviting Sophie out tonight. We had a date tomorrow and there were going to be other ladies out with us tonight not including James, who was actually come as a boy for once. In the end, I theorised that a first date where she met more than half the people I knew was probably not a clever move.
Thinking about ladies reminded me that Hilary was coming and was bringing his wife. I had never actually met Anthea Clinton. She had glared at me once when I came to pick Hilary up from his house some months ago, but we had never exchanged words. Speaking with Hilary, who I might have to actually call Brian for the night, I got the distinct impression that she did not approve of me, or my business or of my friends or of her husband’s involvement in any of it. Thus, I was suspicious that I might spend a portion of the evening giving her a good listening to. I was not however of a mind to be talked down to at length, so my bigger concern was whether I could successfully navigate a truce with her before it became a problem for Hilary/Brian. I would find out soon enough.
I pushed open the door and went inside. There was a bored-looking doorman/security guard that gave me a once over as I neared the door but had not seen fit to question me. Was it simply that I looked respectable and therefore unlikely to be carrying a weapon? Or was he just not doing a very good job?
Looking around the bar I could not see any of my group. Was I really the first to arrive? I went over to the bar to get myself a drink.
‘Tempest.’ called a voice I did not recognise. It came from an ordinary looking, slightly pudgy guy with a beard. I was looking at him, trying to work out where he knew me from, but he left the post he had been keeping at the bar and came to me before I could do the maths. ‘Simon.’ he said, offering me his hand. He saw my confused expression and laughed. ‘Sorry, I hear so much about you that I feel like we know each other. I’m James’s boyfriend.’
Of course.
I shook his hand and said it was a pleasure to meet him. Behind him, Big Ben was coming through the door with Jagjit and his date. I had not exactly been paying attention to the paramedic Jagjit had been flirting with on Saturday night but what little I remembered was a pleasant enough looking woman. Accompanying him now though, with her arm looped through his and a laugh on her lips was a lady that I would challenge others to not describe at stunning. Simon saw my gaze and followed it, although he managed to miss the lady I was looking at and spotted the larger than life man holding the door for her.
‘Is that Big Ben?' he asked in a hushed and reverent tone and watched as I nodded. ‘Boy, I really wish he was gay. I would leave James in a heartbeat.' Big Ben's appeal was universal.
Big Ben was wearing a pair of skinny jeans that made his thighs look muscular and his waist small. Beneath his jacket he had on a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, which he favoured because they had a cuff to the sleeve that would cut into his biceps, accenting just how big they were. As he came into the warmth of the bar, he shucked his jacket and made sure the veins on his arms were visible. There were girls in the bar, so for him, this was probably a target rich environment.
‘Hey, guys.’ I said in greeting as they came to the bar. ‘This is Simon. James’s boyfriend.’
As they all shook hands, I introduced each of my friends in turn until I got to Jagjit’s date.
‘Alice.’ she provided helpfully.
‘Good to meet you, Alice.’ I meant it. Jagjit had been single for a while and deserved some fun.
‘So, um. Where is the birthday girl or boy?’ asked Big Ben. Like me, he struggled to work out how to refer to Jane/James when he/she was not present because one could never tell what way he/she had elected to dress that day. Big Ben was not known for his political correctness though. In fact, he would often play upon it in an attempt to get laughs or shock people.
‘James went to the gents.’ Answered Simon. ‘Here he comes now, in fact.’ Sure enough, James was weaving through the people gathered at the far end of the bar to get back to us.
So, Simon. Do you cross-dress at all?' asked Big Ben. The question was not one that I would have considered polite to ask but he managed to ask it engagingly as if he was truly interested.
‘No. No, I don't. I am strictly just gay. James is LGBT. It makes his wardrobe hard to fit into our bedroom, so it spills into the guest bedroom.'
Big Ben chuckled, which drew a quizzical expression from Simon as if perhaps Big Ben was mocking him. ‘Sorry. I was laughing at myself.' he said quickly, seeing his rudeness. ‘I only just learned what LGBT stands for.'
‘Really? It is hardly a new term.’ said James as he joined us.
‘No. But I thought it stood for Lingerie, Grub, Booze, and Tits. Like a bro code thing for a great night in. Make sure she is set up for LGBT. Hey, buddy my girlfriend totally went LGBT on me last night. Score! That sort of thing.'
James was just staring at him.
‘Shall we move to a table?' Simon asked, trying to change the subject. ‘I reserved one in the back.'
There was a consensus of agreement. I stayed at the bar to get drinks as the others shuffled off. Seconds later, there was a hand on my shoulder. In the mirror, I saw that Hilary and his wife had just come through the door and were behind me now. The barman had just addressed me, so I placed my order then turned smiling to greet them and ask if I could add their drinks to my order.
Hilary shook my hand, as did his wife, but if I needed any ice for my drink, I could just take it from her expression. Despite her obvious desire to remove my testicles and make earrings from them, she allowed me to buy her a Malibu and diet coke.
With a tray of drinks and with Hilary clearing a route for me, I made my way to the back of the bar. At the table, the chaps were engaged in a discussion about tattoos.
‘I have a couple.’ volunteered Alice.
‘Do you?’ asked Jagjit, failing utterly to hide the interest in his voice. He did manage to resist asking where she had them though.
Instead of answering she just smiled cheekily at him.
‘It's really not my thing.' I offered. ‘The permanency of them holds me back. What if I don't like it ten or twenty years from now?'
‘I have been thinking I would get one for myself as a birthday present.’ James said.
‘What sort of thing?’ Alice asked.
‘I don’t know. Something feminine I guess.’
‘Something feminine?’ Big Ben questioned. ‘Like a tampon with petals around it?’ his face held genuine mystery.
‘No, Benjamin.’ answered James with an eye roll.
‘Poison.' Jagjit announced with a flick of his eyes. I turned to see the delightful Miss Ivy Wong with some friends at the bar. I had told her we would be in here but did not expect to see her. She was still the right side of twenty so had no business hanging out with the old, crusty thirty-somethings. Despite my thoughts on the matter, she was coming our way.
Behind her, I spotted two guys in cheap suits. They were not the same two I had seen earlier, but they stood out from the crowd as they were paying no attention to the ladies in the bar and were both drinking bottled water. They were not looking my way and I was having too good of a time to worry about it right now.
‘Hi, Everyone. Happy birthday, James.’ Poison sa
id as she neared our table. She was flanked by three friends, all Chinese, who she introduced as Hatchet, Mistress Mushy and Bob. The names were probably not what was written on their birth certificates. They were dressed in a similar style to Poison which is to say they had colourfully dyed hair and make-up, even the guys, and wore a lot of distressed black clothing. Together they looked like a post-apocalyptic rock group. ‘We are not staying. I just wanted to swing past and wish the birthday girl a good night.’ Her hand I noted, was intertwined with that of Hatchet. A boyfriend I assumed. This was welcome news to me as she had for some time been trying to convince me to sleep with her.
We bid her and her friends a good evening as they turned to leave. Just as they were going Poison caught my eye and winked. Maybe I was not off the hook just yet.
Anthea had seen the same thing. ‘Are you messing with that young girl?’ she asked me quite directly. I felt that she had been looking for an opening to launch an attack and here it was.
Thankfully, I did not have to get into an argument with her as almost everyone sat around the table leaped to my defence. I ended up feeling almost sorry for Anthea. She clearly wanted to dislike me yet I was being reflected by all those around me in a very positive light.
As an awkward silence fell, Big Ben waded in with an anecdote to change the tone.
‘Chaps, you know the old fella that is always sat at the end of the bar in the Dirty Habit?’
‘Roger?’ asked Jagjit before I could.
‘That’s the fella. Would you believe he was a porn star back in the seventies?’
We considered that for a moment.
‘No. No, I would not believe that.’ said Hilary.
Big Ben was fiddling with his phone. ‘Well, here is the evidence. His stage name was Roger Ring and here are some of the movies he made.’ Big Ben passed his phone across for everyone to crowd around and look at.
It was a Wikipedia page showing a black and white of a man in his early thirties. He had a shock of wavy black hair and a mustache so bushy it would have scared Tom Selleck. His shirt was unbuttoned to his waist, revealing a mat of black chest hair supporting a huge gold medallion. I could not tell if it was the old fella at the pub or not but there was some resemblance around the eyes. Jagjit reached out with a finger to scroll down the page a bit. His movies were listed beneath his bio: Damned Good Roger Ring, Good old Roger Ring, Well Roger me!
The list was quite extensive.
‘So, what is it that you do, Ben?’ Asked Simon. ‘You clearly keep yourself in great shape.’ James cut his eyes at his boyfriend. ‘Are you a gym instructor?’
‘No, dear chap. I am however responsible for helping ladies burn calories. As often as I can.’
‘Are you unemployed?’ asked Anthea, some disdain in her voice at the thought.
‘I would class myself as retired actually. I have sufficient funds to avoid paid employment. Besides, not having a job means I can spend more time helping ladies with their pelvic fitness.’
‘You mean you just laze about and chase women.’ Anthea was being a bit snarky. Hilary had picked up on it and was gently nudging her with his knee. She was happily ignoring her husband though.
‘Chase women? Not a bit.’ Replied Big Ben causing Anthea’s face to crinkle in confusion. His answer did not gel with the picture she had of him. ‘They never feel the need to run away.’ He finished with a cheeky grin.
Now her face was caught between disbelief and anger. ‘Sooo, Big Ben was in the Army with Tempest.’ injected Hilary, trying to deflect the slaughter. ‘Did you know that?’
Simon saw an opportunity to get involved again, but he had picked up on James’s mood and directed his question at me rather than Big Ben. ‘How long were you in for?’
‘Just shy of eighteen years.’
Simon almost spat out his drink. ‘Eighteen years? Surely you are not old enough. You both look so young.’ I got this a lot, although I didn’t really understand why.
‘I joined when I was seventeen and now I am in my late thirties and I think I look about right for my age.’
‘I stay looking this young and vibrant because I moisturise my face with perspiration collected from the breasts of women in their twenties.’ Big Ben claimed with a smile.
Jagjit snorted his drink. It was a good line and very typical of the sort of thing Big Ben would say. I often wondered how such ideas got into his head but never asked because I was worried that most of them were actually true.
Anthea looked like she wanted to say something, but Alice was laughing and all the guys were laughing, and it was clear Big Ben didn’t care if he offended anyone.
‘Let's get shots.' said an excited Alice, which received an approving chorus from all but Anthea and me. I avoided shots whenever I could but suspected I would end up with one now.
Shots appeared, a toast was given, and the tiny glasses were upended with a cheer. It was horrible.
‘Oh, my word.’ said Big Ben with surprising reserve. ‘Was that neat vodka?’
Alice nodded. ‘I love it. They have the really good stuff here.’
‘Good stuff? That was like having a robot ejaculate in my mouth,' he replied, trying to scrape any remaining liquid from his tongue with a fingernail.
The evening was a success. James clearly had a great night and was quite merry when Simon decided it was time to get him home. The clock believed it was close to midnight, I needed to get home as well. Mrs. Comerforth had texted at 2200hrs to say that she was off to bed and had put the dogs back in my house and tucked them up. She was a love.
Big Ben had disappeared more than an hour ago when a pair of ginger-haired, buxom twins had approached him looking interested. Of the group, I was the only one leaving alone. Maybe I should have invited Sophie along after all.
I got a lift home with Hilary and Anthea, their insistence winning over my protestations. Anthea had warmed to me a little as the evening progressed, which I was glad for more for Hilary's sake than my own. He might be allowed to come back to the pub now.
Back in my house, I sent a text to Amanda to ask if I was being followed by the Police. Her reply came back almost immediately assuring me that I was not to her knowledge. It was an ambiguous answer and thus out of character for her. I was unsure what to make of it. I fell asleep with a little more alcohol in me than was usual and a purpose for the day ahead.
A Trip to Scunthorpe. Friday, October 28th 0600hrs
For the first time in days, I was up early, or perhaps up on time if I was being less generous. It had not happened by accident, it had taken an alarm, which I had set for the first time in so many years that I could not remember the last time I had felt a need to use one. I was driving to Scunthorpe which was a solid two hundred miles directly north and required that I bypassed London to the East via the Dartford crossing. There was no alternative route and I knew from experience and anecdote that leaving after 0600hrs meant adding at least an hour to my journey as the traffic level rose and clogged the route as it funnelled over the Thames.
In something of a sleepy haze and with a rather dry mouth from the drinking last night, I made myself a cup of tea in a thermos mug and packed the dogs into the car. They looked quite confused, not only with the fact that they were out of bed but also that they were awake, and that I was refusing to give them their breakfast. I knew that if I fed them now, they would become more alert and would want their dinner all the earlier. Instead they rather grumpily went back to sleep in the car after only being awake for a couple of minutes.
Hours of research yesterday had not quashed my belief that the Klowns were deliberately and carefully selecting their victims. If that was the case then they had gone to Scunthorpe, not on a whim, but because they really wanted to hurt Marion Lloyd. I intended to find out why and since she would not speak to me on the phone I was going to drive there and ring her doorbell. I had no good reason to believe that my trip would result in the opportunity to speak with Marion Lloyd. However, I was in a mood that su
ggested I was going to be hard to deflect, so if she didn't wish to speak with me she was going to have a hard time of it.
An hour north of Dartford, I was on the A1(M), the early traffic had been light, so the miles had ticked past and we were almost halfway there. The dogs were becoming restless, probably wanting their breakfast now that it was time for it. I concurred with their opinion.
On a grassy bank at the edge of the carpark in a large motorway service station, I gave them a breakfast to share from a single bowl. They shared by eating at exactly the same extraordinarily fast speed rather than by agreeing to split the food evenly. When they were fed and had thoroughly explored the undergrowth, I locked them back in the car and went into the service station to find myself something to eat.
I had checked my rear-view mirror a few times on the way up, paranoia demanding it. There had been no crazed Klown faces filling it, trying to run me off the road. I had not expected them. More to the point all my theories were based on them never leaving Kent again but the niggling doubt in my mind reminded me that I probably had no idea what I was doing.
A further twenty miles up the road I was already regretting the full English I had allowed myself to be tempted by. I felt heavy and fat and sluggish and worse than that I felt tired and I still had a long way to go.
The dogs slept most of the way, however, Bull took it upon himself to check my navigation periodically by climbing on to my lap, placing his front paws on the steering wheel and looking out the window. I found it entertaining, wondering just what was actually going through his doggy brain but also checked my mirrors for the Police as I suspected they would frown on such canine activities. I also considered that it would be fun to scooch down into my seat as I passed other cars so that they might look across and see a Dachshund at the wheel.
