by Alex Scarrow
‘What’s down there?’
Dizz-ee, still steering his shoulders, pushed him forward down into the opening. ‘We call it the cattle shed. Gonna get you some fresh pussy.’
As they made their way down the stairs, he noticed a sign stencilled on the wall beside him; ‘Sound System Storage: Stage Hands Only’.
‘What’s down here?’
‘You’ll love it.’
‘You got animals down here?’
Dizz-ee snorted and shook his head, laughing. ‘Zoop-zoop!!’ He flicked his wrist, clacking one finger against another. ‘No, man, it’s not cows an’ donkeys an’ shit. It’s where we keep the girls.’
A row of spotlights, recessed into the low ceiling, cast muted light down on a short passageway off which two dozen black doors opened. On each of them were words stencilled in scuffed and peeling white paint: ‘Amps’, ‘Spkrs’, ‘Cables’, ‘FX units’, ‘Lighting’, ‘Monitors’, ‘Props’. Like the Chief’s backstage quarters, grey corded carpet lined the walls and deadened the sound. Unlike the Chief’s quarters, though, across much of it the boys had left their mark, personalising it with livid-coloured graffiti tags and cartoon depictions of the dome, of London, fire, riots.
Most of the storage room doors were open. Jacob realised the girls he’d seen upstairs on the stage . . . these were their bedrooms. This backstage or, more precisely, beneath-stage, storage area had been converted into a dormitory of sorts. He noted sturdy-looking brass padlocks dangling from each door handle.
Dormitory? More like a prison.
‘We got a new one down here. One that come in recently and needs some breakin’ in.’
‘I’m not sure I—’
‘So, you serious? You never boned, right?’
Jacob shook his head as Dizz-ee guided him towards a closed door at the far end of the passage.
‘What about a bee-jay, man? You ever been blown?’
Jacob shook his head, not really sure what he was being asked. He supposed he’d probably know if he’d ever been ‘bee-jayed’.
‘Shit . . . you ever even felt up a girl, bro? You know? Got a titty-squeeze or something?’
‘No . . . I . . . I’ve never done a . . . a titty-squeeze.’
Dizz-ee shook his head again, incredulous. ‘Where the fuck you been all these years? You ain’t lived at all. Sex is the shit. Getting the poonie is tight. Better than getting all fuck-faced on that bodizzie, better than dope, man.’
Jacob felt the very first tickling of excitement. It felt wrong, but also unavoidably insistent.
The last time he’d felt like this had been the time he’d walked in on Anita and Claire; two middle-aged women who’d both put some ‘wants’ on the shopping list but failed to turn up at the canteen to collect. Pulling aside the beach towel ‘door’ to their quarters, he’d seen them entwined with each other; he’d seen absolutely everything. There’d been many other times, of course. The accidental revealing of flesh here and there; unavoidable really. There was even a stack of flesh magazines that he and Nathan had found in a shop ashore and shared between them. He’d found a little guilty relief with them over the years.
But nothing compared to the growing buzz of excitement he could feel right now.
‘The girlfriends are the best. We’ve trained ’em up to do anything. I mean, you ask, man, and they’ll do it for you. Anything you want.’
They stopped outside the closed door. ‘New one’s in here.’ He let go of Jacob’s shoulder and turned him round to face him. ‘She’s a newb. So you and me goin’ to be in for a bit of bucking and tossing, a’ight? You gotta hang on to stay on, yeah?’
Dizz-ee pulled out a key ring that jangled noisily. ‘You need me to hold her down for you? No problem. You need to do that for me, too.’
Hold her down.
There was something about that phrase that instantly deflated his hunger. Hold her down? Jacob had assumed there was a girl in there who might just want him - just like those ladies in their flesh magazines, with their come-and-get-me-now eyes and their legs spread wide.
‘Hold her down?’
Dizz-ee grinned. ‘Yeah, man. She’s gonna buck and twist for you, bro. They always do first few times. S’what makes the new ones fun.’
‘This girl,’ Jacob nodded at the door in front of him, ‘she . . . she won’t want me?’
Dizz-ee cocked an eyebrow. ‘You shittin’ me, right? She’s gonna buck and scream like a banshee.’ He grinned. ‘Like one of them cowboy rod-e-o rides. The harder they fight you off, better it is. Trust me.’
He slipped a key into the lock and turned it. The thick brass padlock sprung open with a heavy click. ‘An’ shit . . . if she don’t want play along, you can slap her up. Just don’t knock her out or nothing, okay? There’s other boys I promised could cotch with her later on tonight.’ He grinned again. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘I don’t want to do this any more,’ said Jacob.
Dizz-ee looked at him as if he’d spoken some foreign language. ‘You don’t want to get a fuck?’
Jacob shook his head.
‘Shit, man, it’s a perk of the fuckin’ job. It’s here on tap. You gotta take some pussy. It’s like medicine. Rite of passage an’ all that.’
He pulled the heavy door open.
Chapter 59
10 years AC
O2 Arena - ‘Safety Zone 4’, London
The first thing Jacob registered was the overwhelming stench of human shit.
A girl cowered in the corner of the room, bruised blue arms wrapped tightly around her pulled-up and clamped together knees. She was naked and every inch of her skin seemed to be covered in a mottled mark of one sort or another. The girl was whimpering at the sound of the door creaking open and at the first sight of Dizz-ee she buried her face in her knees.
‘Sure she needs a bit of cleanin’ up,’ said Dizz-ee. ‘I been busy on her last week, but reckon she’s got to be shag-ready now.’
It was quiet in the room save for the soft fizzing of the strip light. The deep throbbing beat of music coming from the stage above was muted by the acoustic cushioning of the small room’s walls.
‘I can’t do this,’ said Jacob quietly. The wretched sight of the girl’s narrow frame beaten black and blue was enough to completely kill off any residual desire for a sexual encounter.
The girl suddenly looked up sharply at the sound of his voice. One eye was swollen and purple and almost entirely closed. The other eye he vaguely recognised.
‘Jacob?’ she muttered.
Dizz-ee cocked his head curiously, still smiling amicably. ‘Uh? She know you?’
Jacob found himself robbed of breath. ‘She’s my sister.’
Dizz-ee giggled. ‘No way! You’re shittin’ me? Fuck. There’s a crazy fucking coinciden—’
Jacob had swung his fist before he realised he was doing it. It was ill-aimed and glanced off Dizz-ee’s cheek, knocking him back against the door frame. Not even close to knocking him down, though.
Dizz-ee clasped a hand to the side of his face. ‘The fuck you do that for?’
‘You did this to my sister?’ asked Jacob, his voice quiet, fluttering with adrenalin.
Dizz-ee studied him. ‘Yeah, she’s my girl. Do what the fuck I like with—’
Jacob rushed forward, his hands grasped hold of Dizz-ee’s shirt and, with strength he didn’t know he had, he lifted the boy off the ground and threw him across the room against the wall beside Leona.
Dizz-ee bounced off the wall and landed heavily on his bottom.
‘You fucker!!’ screamed Jacob, stepping towards him. ‘You bastard!!’
But he stopped short, staring down at the glinting blade pointed at him. He felt ice-water instantly pour through his veins.
A knife. Nothing terrified him quite so much as the sight of one held in a shaking, twitching hand.
‘Gonna stab you up,’ said Dizz-ee calmly. ‘Gonna pop you, then gonna pop your sis.’
Leona scrambled away fro
m him, over the mattress into the opposite corner of the room and pulled her legs up protectively.
Jacob’s anger was held in check for the moment as his eyes studied the tip of the knife. Remembering a time long ago, when he was eight, the tip of a blade held against his throat, pushing so hard he thought the thing was actually already through the skin and inside him.
Dizz-ee laughed. ‘You want to come again? You want to try it?’
Jacob remained poised, his hands clenched, unclenched, clenched.
‘Snoop told me we’re leaving this place. Gonna go live on your place. Cool, uh? Said your mum’s the big boss there.’
Jacob said nothing. He and Nathan had been so stupid telling Mr Maxwell where they’d come from. Stupid. Too trusting. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
‘First thing we gonna do when we get there is fuck your mum. Shit, man, reckon we’ll all have a go at her.’
Jacob realised Dizz-ee was goading him. Trying to get him to lose control of himself and make an ill-judged lunge for him. His anger, the rage that had made him lash out, was fast ebbing now, being replaced with a growing sense of dread at the sight of the long blade angled towards him. He felt the trembling spread, grow more pronounced. Angry with himself that he wasn’t able to hide his fear like other boys and men seemed able to do effortlessly.
‘Awww,’ said Dizz-ee, pouting a lip in mock sympathy. ‘You all scared now?’
‘No,’ replied Jacob, his voice warbled uncontrollably.
‘You’re shittin’ your pants, I can see that.’
In the corner, behind him, he could hear his sister whispering for him to back off . . . to be careful.
‘You just a little fuckin’ mummy’s boy, eh?’ said Dizz-ee, sliding up the wall slowly, getting to his feet. ‘Little mummy-boy.’
Jacob stayed where he was, keeping an eye on the knife as Dizz-ee waved it slowly around like a wand. ‘Or shit, maybe I was right. You a gay boy really?’
‘Jake,’ rasped Leona, ‘come back . . . please come back.’
‘No, Jake,’ said Dizz-ee, ‘come and get me.’
He’s scared, too. Jacob could hear it in his voice. The slightest tremble.
‘Oh, yeah, we’re gonna’ show your mum a good time on that lady rig.’
‘Jacob,’ whispered Leona. ‘Jacob . . . please. Don’t.’
So quiet in this small, hot fetid room. Nothing but the sound of all three of them breathing, and the gentle far-off thud of music.
‘You comin’, gay boy, or what?’
‘Jake, it’s all right,’ said Leona. ‘I’m all right.’
He lowered his hands slightly and took a small shuffled step backwards.
‘Look . . . I’m sorry, Dizz-ee,’ he uttered, his voice the gentle murmur of defeat. ‘Really sorry for hitting you.’
Dizz-ee straightened up; taller and wider than Jacob, he looked down at him.
‘You are a fuckin’ gay boy.’
Jacob leapt for the knife and grasped it in both hands. Dizz-ee tried pulling it free and Jacob felt the blade slide along his fingers, knowing it was sliding deep. Both hands busy trying to keep hold on the knife, he used his head, smashing it forward into Dizz-ee’s face.
Dizz-ee rocked back against the wall clutching at his crushed nose with his free hand and screaming in agony. Quickly Jacob let go of the knife with one hand, made a fist and punched Dizz-ee in the face again. The blow landed hard on the tip of his jaw. His legs buckled and he slid down the wall, still holding on to the knife, the blade slick with blood from Jacob’s hand.
Jacob looked around for something else to use as a weapon.
He saw the metal bucket.
Grasping the handle he swung it high over his shoulder, surprised at how heavy it was despite being empty. He brought it down, aiming for the boy’s head, but it glanced off his shoulder.
Jacob gave up on the idea of wrestling for the knife. He let go with his other hand and now, with two hands on the bucket’s handle, he had better control of the heavy thing. Dizz-ee, still stunned by the last blow, flailed blindly with the knife. It glinted and flashed dangerously in the glow of the strip light above. But Jacob dodged it.
He swung the bucket up over his shoulder again and this time, with the strength of both arms, he brought it down hard.
The contact sounded thick and damaging; a metal rim contacting and cracking bone. Dizz-ee grunted and flopped forward onto the floor and the mattress in front of him.
‘Jacob!’ whimpered Leona.
He couldn’t bring himself to stop. The bucket came down again on the back of the boy’s head. Another dull crack of bone beneath the baseball cap. And again.
And again. This time the cap fell off, revealing the back of Dizz-ee’s head. The scalp was split, and the skull beneath was dented; like a heavy thumb mark on a plasticine model.
He was about to swing it down again.
‘Jake!!’ Leona cried.
He stopped. Even to his inexperienced eyes it was obvious Dizz-ee was dead. Blood pooled from the dent in the back of his head, down across his neck and soaked into the mattress.
‘Oh, Jacob . . .’
He looked down at his sister. She was reaching out for him, no longer caring to cover up her naked bruised body. Her hand pressed against the side of his torso and she was sobbing.
‘It’s okay, Lee,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. I done him in.’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll get you out . . . me and Nathan’ll get you . . .’
But she didn’t seem to be listening to him.
He felt burned out from the exertion. Light-headed from the release. The adrenalin was spent and the rush suddenly gone. He wondered if this was how soldiers felt after a battle. Not so much exhausted by the blows they’d landed but from the sudden absence of whatever had coursed through their veins to give them courage. All of a sudden he wished there was a comfy armchair in this room for him to flop down into.
Leona’s arms were around him as he settled down dizzily to his knees.
‘You okay, Lee?’ he slurred, wondering whether that was the cider finally catching up on him.
‘I’m okay,’ she whispered softly. ‘I’m okay.’
He realised then that she was actually cradling him in her arms, her face overhanging his, looking down at him, her tears dropping onto his cheeks. She stroked his forehead, pushing lank twists of blond hair out of his eyes. It was then that he saw the crimson on her fingers and knew he’d messed up somehow.
Shit.
‘Did the boy stab me?’
She nodded, her lips clamped, her chin dimpled and creased.
‘Oh . . . right.’
The fizzing, flickering strip light on the low ceiling illuminated her hair like a scruffy halo, her face a darker silhouette that was leaking a steady river of fresh tears onto his cheeks.
He didn’t remember feeling stabbed, didn’t feel the blade at all. It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined it would be. ‘Am I . . . bleeding quite a lot?’
She shook her head. He knew she was lying. She was rubbish at that. He could feel her body trembling, her shoulders heaving.
‘Lee . . . ?’ he said.
Her face came lower, closer. He could feel the puff of her fetid breath on his face. ‘My poor little brother,’ she whispered.
‘Home,’ he said. ‘You got to go back home . . . warn them. They’re coming.’
That annoying, fizzing light above them was too bright. He found himself squinting back the brightness, then feeling his eyelids so heavy he closed them to give his stinging, tired eyes a rest. ‘Please don’t let them hurt Mum, will you?’ he murmured. ‘Promise?’
‘Promise,’ she replied.
It’s just you and Mum left now. He wasn’t sure if he said that out loud or just thought it.
‘I’ll look after her, Jake.’
He had a dim memory of them carrying Dad upstairs. How heavy his body was, even between the three of them. He remembered them tucking him into bed, sayi
ng their goodbyes to him. Remembered how proud he felt of him. Dad the hero. Dad who saved them from the bad man with the knife in their lounge. He wondered if Dad would’ve been proud of him too.
He figured he would.
He smiled. That was a good feeling.
Snoop felt an insistent, irritating tug on his arm. He was scoring high on the table; one of his better totals and still had another bonus ball to play.
‘The fuck is it?’ he snapped.
‘We uh . . . we got a problem, Snoop.’
Snoop lowered his voice. Not that anyone was likely to hear them over the clatter of bells and the thud of music. ‘What kind of problem we got, Deej?’
The small boy, one of the youngest, and white, looked as pale as a ghost. ‘Fight down in the cattle shed, between Dizz and Jacob.’
Shit.
He looked around for Nathan and saw him across the stage, shooting zombies, badly, and looking drunk enough that he was ready to topple over.
He slapped a passing boy on the arm. ‘Hey, take over. I got a chart score. Don’t fuck it up for me,’ he grinned.
He turned to Deejay. ‘Let’s go.’
Snoop led the way across the floor, threading through the crowded space between machines, doing his best to look easy, smiling and knuckling the boys he passed. Finally, at the top of the stairs down to the cattle shed, he caught the eye of one of the older boys.
‘Yo, Roost!’
The lad ambled over. ‘A’ight, Snoop?’
‘The cattle shed’s closed. No one’s going down there until I say otherwise.’
‘Okay.’ Roost nodded. ‘You gettin’ some?’
Snoop ignored that. ‘No one gets past, right?’
‘Right.’
He led Deejay down the steps. ‘So what the fuck’s gone down?’
The boy swallowed nervously. ‘You better see.’
Deejay led him towards the one storage door standing open, a shaft of flickering light spreading out across the corridor floor.
Then Snoop saw for himself. Dizz-ee splayed across a mattress, soaked dark brown around his oddly misshapen head. And on the rubber-mat floor, the white boy, Jacob, sprawled amidst a large pool of blood.
