Louise waved her hand in front of Colin’s face. Colin looked up from her breasts. She poked her tongue out at him and smiled. “I’m up here,” she shouted, and grabbed Colin’s shoulders. She used them to propel herself up onto her toes, thumped back down onto the heels of her slippers, then pushed herself up again. Colin watched her breasts flap up and down.
“That was the last one,” Biffo Ratbastard said when the song ended. Louise shouted for more, but Biffo shook his head. “We’re fucking knackered, darling. You’ll have to listen to us on entoTUNES instead.”
Steve Snitch lifted his guitar strap over his head and propped the guitar up against Fungal’s bass drum. He took Fungal by the arm and led him over to where the rest of the beer stood. He handed Fungal a bottle and took one for himself. Mike Hock joined them while Biffo unplugged all the cables.
Louise sighed and headed for her armchair. She sat with her hands clasped behind her head, her flat, tattooed breasts glistening with sweat.
“Open this fucking door, right now,” the retirement home manager shouted, banging on the lounge door.
Colin looked at the door. He looked at Dave, who shrugged. Colin knew they would need to open the door sooner or later, and that there would be repercussions when they did, but he would rather it was later. Once they let the manager in that would be the end of the party, and Colin didn’t want that just yet. He turned to Biffo and caught his attention.
“Fucking great gig, mate. Best fucking Thatcher Day ever. Well except for the first one, anyway, nothing could ever beat that.”
“Thanks,” Biffo said. “It’s good to be playing live again, I’ve missed it. Shame about Thatcher.”
Colin glanced at Thatcher, who lay discarded in the centre of the lounge. She stared back at him, her arms and legs strewn around her at odd angles, her body twisted. “Don’t worry about it, that happens to her every year. A bit of glue and a patch and she’ll soon mend. Are you staying for tea then? We’re going to order some pizzas.”
Biffo nodded at the lounge door, where the manager was still banging and shouting. “What about him?”
“Fuck him, he can wait.”
“I wouldn’t mind a pizza,” Biffo said. He scratched the side of his face. “I’m fucking starving, I haven’t had nothing since this morning and that beer’s gone straight to my head. Talking of which, is there any of it left?”
Colin looked over at the stash of beer, where Steve, Mike and Fungal stood, drinking from a bottle each. “Yeah, I reckon there should be a few bottles left. You’ll need to be quick though, the way them three are going through it.”
Biffo laughed. “Yeah, nothing unusual there.”
“Oi Colin,” Brian shouted from the French doors. Colin turned to face him. Brian pointed into the back yard.
“What’s up?” Colin asked.
“There’s loads of fucking coppers in the alley outside, they say if we don’t open the gate they’re going to smash it down.”
Colin and Biffo both walked to the French doors and looked out into the yard. They heard a whine of electronic feedback, then an amplified voice called out. “This is your last warning, if you do not open this gate we will have no choice but to open it by force.”
“What should we do?” Brian asked.
Colin sighed. “The fucking Gestapo must’ve called them, we’d best open the lounge door and let him in. He can deal with the coppers, I’m not having anything to do with the cunts.”
A loud thud against the gate made it judder in its frame. Brenda grabbed Brian’s arm and told him he should move out of the way before the police got in, otherwise there was no telling what might happen to him. Colin agreed with her, and took Brian’s other arm. Together, they both rushed him inside.
Dave Turner was already heading to the lounge door. Colin helped him push Fiona Scott’s armchair out of the way. Fiona looked up from her entoPAD and giggled. Colin put his back against the door to hold it closed while Dave bent down and wiggled the block of wood out from underneath it.
There was a crash of splintering wood outside, and a lot of shouting. Six policemen wearing black body-armour and full-face helmets swarmed into the lounge waving tasers. Colin waited until Dave was clear of the lounge door, then stepped to one side. The door flew open and the retirement home manager ran in, a workfare assistant Colin had never seen before close behind him.
One of the policemen pointed his taser at the manager and pulled the trigger. Twin barbs flew out and embedded themselves in the side of the manager’s face. He squealed like a pre-pubescent child and dropped, twitching, to the carpet.
“Taser, taser, taser,” the policeman shouted. His voice echoed inside his helmet.
The workfare assistant skidded to a halt and raised his hands in the air. Another policeman tasered him. He screamed, and fell down next to the manager.
“Taser,” the policeman said. He glared through his visor at the workfare assistant writhing on the carpet.
The other four policemen waved their tasers in all directions, as if not sure who they should be aiming at.
“Um…” Dave began. All the tasers spun to point at him. He raised his hands. “… is there something wrong?”
“What’s been going on here?” one of the policemen demanded. “We had a call there was some sort of disturbance in progress.”
Dave shook his head, his hands still in the air. “Um … Nothing. Just a little party for us old folks, that’s all. A bit of music, a bit of dancing, that sort of thing.”
The policeman grunted. “So who were those men who attacked us?” He pointed at the manager and workfare assistant.
“Those are our carers,” Colin said, “they work here.”
The policeman jerked his taser across to point at Colin’s chest. Colin backed away, one hand raised, the other gripping his walking stick tightly.
“You with the blue hair,” another policeman said, looking at Louise, “why are you undressed?”
“Because it’s fucking hot,” Louise said.
The policeman frowned, then grunted. He pointed at the manager and workfare assistant again. “And these two definitely work here?”
Louise nodded. “Yeah.”
The policemen all looked at each other. One shrugged. Another swore. Two of them bent down and ripped the taser barbs from the manager and workfare assistant. Both men screamed and clutched their faces.
“Right, well,” one of the policemen said, “just keep the noise down in future.” They all turned to leave.
“Wait,” Colin said. He pointed at the two men lying on the carpet. “Will they be okay?”
The policeman shrugged as he walked away. “Probably. They shouldn’t have attacked us like that, so it’s their own fault either way.” He turned back to Colin and tapped a small camera mounted on his shoulder. “The evidence is all in here, should they wish to make a complaint about it.”
Colin hobbled over to the retirement home manager and prodded him with his walking stick. The manager cried out and curled himself up into a trembling ball. Blood seeped through his fingers as he clutched his face.
“Pizzirrs on irrs way,” Greg Lomax said.
Colin frowned down at the manager and workfare assistant. “I reckon we should probably call an ambulance while we wait.”
* * *
They were all sitting in their armchairs eating pizza and listening to Never Mind The Bollocks piped through the retirement home speakers when the paramedics arrived. Biffo and the rest of Sick Bastard sat around the games table, two pizza boxes between them and a two-litre bottle of beer each. Brian sat in Frank Sterner’s armchair, while Brenda perched herself on the arm next to him. Frank wandered the room, having already eaten his fill.
The paramedics were both dressed in green body-armour, and wore face-protecting helmets similar to the ones the police wore, except their helmets were white rather than black, and had a green cross printed on the front of them, just above the visor. They carried a stretcher between them, and
one had a large bag slung over his shoulder. They put the stretcher down next to the workfare assistant and the one with the bag bent over him.
“Who’s in charge here?” The other paramedic asked.
When nobody replied, Colin raised a hand. “It was me that called you, will that do?”
The paramedic looked at Colin. “Can you tell me their names?”
Colin wrestled to dredge the manager’s name up from memory, but he had only ever heard him referred to as The Gestapo. If anyone had ever used his real name Colin hadn’t heard it.
“Um … no, sorry,” Colin said. He pointed at the workfare assistant. “That one’s new, he only started work here today. The other’s the big boss, but I don’t know his name.”
“And they were both tasered, you say?”
“Yeah.”
The paramedic nodded. He stepped over the workfare assistant and, together with the other paramedic, grabbed hold of the manager and hefted him onto the stretcher. They carried him out, then returned a few minutes later for the workfare assistant.
“Will they be okay?” Colin asked as they carried the stretcher across the lounge.
“Yeah, we get these all the time. They’ll be right as rain in the morning. You lot got someone to look after you until then?”
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Colin said, “don’t worry about us.”
Colin returned to his pizza and pulled another slice from the box he shared with Dave Turner. He bit into it while he watched Frank Sterner shuffle by.
“So what are we doing after this?” Dave asked. He reached across for a slice of pizza.
Colin shrugged. “Dunno. I’m pretty fucking knackered, I reckon I might just veg out here for the rest of the night.”
“There’s still plenty of life left in me.”
“Yeah, I noticed. You’re not the only one, either.” Colin nodded at Fiona Scott, who was bobbing her head to the music. “I’ve seen it in the others too. They’re all a lot more alert than they usually are. And I’ve been thinking.” He looked at his entoPAD, noting the time displayed in the corner of the screen. “It’s been over a day since our last medication.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well think about it. What if there’s something in it that makes us tired all the time?”
“Like what?” Dave asked.
Colin shrugged. “Dunno. Could be all sorts of stuff. All I know is I haven’t been taking mine for a few days now, and I haven’t been tired anywhere near as much as I used to be.”
“I thought you said you was knackered.”
“Well yeah, I am now. But that’s just tonight, and there’s a good reason for that. I mean in general. I think Louise has been doing the same as me, and that’s why she’s always got so much energy.”
“I don’t know,” Dave said, shaking his head, “why would The Gestapo want us to be tired all the time? It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s just a theory.”
“Besides,” Dave said, “the drugs come from the local chemist and they wouldn’t give us stuff we don’t need.”
“Did you take any drugs before you came to live here?”
Dave smiled. “Only for fun.”
“Any illness you’ve developed since you moved in?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” Colin said. “And I only started feeling tired when I moved in here. And when I stopped taking the stuff they give us I stopped being tired.”
Dave frowned. “Yeah, that is pretty fucking weird.”
“I reckon we should see what everyone’s like tomorrow morning, then get together and discuss it properly before The Gestapo gets back. There’ll be some who need it, old Greg for instance, and maybe Tony, but I reckon most of us don’t.”
* * *
Biffo Ratbastard took another slice of pizza from the box and took a large bite. He washed it down with a gulp of beer and wiped tomato sauce from his mouth.
“Fucking good scran, this,” he said. He flapped the remains of the pizza slice up and down in his hand and belched. “I reckon I could get used to this.”
“It’s not fair, we don’t get nothing like this in that dump they put me in,” Steve Snitch said. “All we ever get is boiled fucking cabbage and soup, day in, day out. I fucking hate cabbage, me. It’s fucking vile stuff.”
“Aw, diddums,” Mike Hock said, smiling.
“Fuck off, Cocky. Then there’s the security, that does my fucking head in too. They won’t let anyone out without one of these fucking things.” Steve held up his wrist, showing the yellow GPS strap he wore. “And if you’re not back on time a fucking alarm goes off and they come to fetch you.”
“What is it?” Fungal Matters asked.
Steve looked at him. “Sorry mate, I forgot you can’t see. It’s a fucking GPS device, so they can track where I am all the time.”
Fungal shook his head. “Fucking hell. I’m glad I don’t have to put up with any of that sort of bollocks. The only way I’m leaving my house is in a fucking wooden box.”
Biffo nodded. “Yeah, me too.” He took another long drink of beer. “I don’t care what fucking bollocks the government come out with about how much better it would be for me in one of their Death Homes, I’m staying put.”
Steve frowned. “I wish I had the fucking choice.”
“So anyway,” Biffo said, “fucking great gig, yeah?” Steve and Mike nodded. Fungal, his mouth full of pizza, raised a thumb. “I reckon we should do a few more, maybe a mini-tour of all the local Death Homes. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me,” Steve said. “Especially if we get free beer and pizza.”
“Fuck, yeah, that’d be great,” Mike said.
Biffo smiled. “I’ll get onto it first thing in the morning, see what I can organise. I reckon some of them might pay proper money instead though. Then we could use it to book a bit of studio time, put out a new album on entoTUNES.”
* * *
Colin leaned over Brian’s walking frame and hugged him goodbye. Brian patted him on the back with one hand and promised he would keep in touch now that he knew what Colin’s entoPAD screen-name was.
“It’s not really the same though, is it?” Colin said.
“No, mate. That’s why I’m going to put in a transfer to move in here as soon as I get back.”
“Me too,” Brenda said.
They were standing in the back yard, near the smashed gate. The band’s equipment had been carried out to the van and Biffo was sounding the horn, impatient to leave. Some of the residents had drifted off to bed, others sat in their armchairs finishing off the rest of the beer before they retired for the night.
“We’d best get going now, mate,” Brian said.
Colin released Brian and he turned away, inched his way through the wreckage of the gate with Brenda at his arm. Colin stood at the gate and watched Brenda help Brian climb into the back of the van. She closed the door behind her.
“See you, Bri,” Colin shouted.
“Yeah, see you, mate,” came Brian’s muffled reply from inside the van.
Biffo sat in the driver’s seat, his elbow resting on the open window. “Fucking great night, thanks for booking us,” he said, looking at Colin.
Colin nodded. “Yeah. Shame it has to end, really.”
“We’re putting on a local tour, so if you want us to come back again just send me a message and I’ll sort it for you.”
Colin smiled. “Yeah, that’d be fucking great. Whenever you like, we’ll still be here.”
Biffo nodded. “See you soon, then. Take care.”
Colin waved as the van drove away. He sighed, then returned to the lounge and took up his regular seat. He picked up his entoPAD and smiled. Things were going to be different, he could feel it. The Gestapo, when he returned from hospital in the morning, wasn’t going to have such an easy ride from now on.
The Snatcher (Remix)
At twelve years of age, Scar Gill knew he was too old for stories. He had
responsibilities now that his father was dead. He guarded the village of Gold Thor’s sheep from the scabbed ones who roamed the countryside, just as his father had done before him. It was an important job, and one that Scar Gill was proud to have. Gone were the carefree days of childhood. He was a man now, and soon it would be time for him to choose a wife and begin the task of creating a new generation.
But despite his age, Scar Gill still liked to hear the stories the village elder told in the evenings. Stories of the great Yarksher warrior of legend with the same name as him. Of The Snatcher, the Scar Gill of legend’s arch nemesis, and the many battles they fought.
He knew they were only fanciful stories, that they couldn’t possibly be true, but Scar Gill liked to imagine they were a real part of his family’s history. That the Scar Gill of legend was a distant ancestor of his, and the warrior blood flowed through his body.
When the village elder called out to the children, Scar Gill crept closer to listen. He kept an eye on his sheep as he settled down behind an old oak tree, close enough to hear the stories, but far enough away not to be seen in the gathering dusk.
“Gather round, children,” the elder said, “sit closer to the fire so The Snatcher’s scabbed ones won’t get you.”
Scar Gill heard gasps from the younger children. He shivered involuntarily when he heard the name of the evil one, though he would never admit it to anyone. The Snatcher wasn’t real, he told himself. She was just a monster invented to frighten children. Nobody would ever be so evil, it was impossible.
“Long, long ago,” the elder began, “long before The Great Gee Had laid waste to our country, there was a village called That Lunn Don. It wasn’t a small village like our very own Gold Thor, not even one like the mighty Barn Slay of which we were once a part. That Lunn Don was a vast metropolis, populated with many hundreds of people. Within its walls lived an evil witch, known as The Snatcher, who liked nothing more than to steal the milk from new-born infants.
Punk and Skinhead Novels Box Set Page 34
