by KUBOA
Dirty Old Town
(stories)
Nigel Bird
Copyright © 2011 by Nigel Bird
(KUBOA)/SmashWords Edition
www.kuboapress.wordpress.com
It is the genuine hope of KUBOA to receive unfiltered feedback from readers regarding the works we produce. Whether your reaction to the work was positive, negative, or ambivalent, we would much appreciate your taking the time to send some remarks to us—these will be shared with the authors.
[email protected]
Drinking Wine
(Spo-dee-oh-dee)
“Girl like you’s the kind I roll the red carpet out for.” Her tongue fell from her mouth and rippled from side to side. “If you know what I mean.”
It was a red carpet all right. Furry and stained with wine. Wouldn’t have done a thing for me if it hadn’t been for the silver stud. Way it rattled against her teeth made me tighten my thighs.
“How long you been propping up the bar?” I asked. She certainly carried the weight to support the thing if it ever came loose.
“Who in hell’s counting?”
Been a long time since I went into a place like this. Roger doesn’t like me going out without him.
Fuck Roger. He’s out on the piss every night expecting me to sit the kids.
Enough is enough I decided. Phoned the baby-sitting agency. Got them to send someone over. Twenty bucks to play movies and eat chocolate – maybe it’s something I should look into doing.
The sitter turned up wearing a mini-skirt that hugged all the right places. Fishnets and fingernails finished off her look perfectly. I might have got them out of my head if it hadn’t been for the perfume and the way her breasts came out and spoke to me. “Just a little stroke,” they said. “Nothing wrong in that.”
That’s when I changed my mind about where I was going. Ended up in ‘The Dog and Duck’ ready for some kind of action.
“Wanna drink?” the lady asked.
“You sure you need one?”
The stool slipped a little as she bent towards me. I put my hands on her arm to steady her. She may have looked tough as walnuts but she felt soft as apple-blossom.
“Hell you getting’ at?” Her eyes widened for a moment, then closed back up.
“Just that maybe you need hydration.”
The lady called over to the bartender. “Two Tequila Sunrises, heavy on the orange.” Then she turned to me. “Happy?”
“Yeah, I’m happy,” I told her, then called over to the bartender myself. “With two double T’s on the side.”
***
I don’t know if it was the salt that got her or the lime. Whatever it was, soon as she got the T down her neck her cheeks turned grey and her head fell onto the chrome.
She stood up, steadied herself and gave me a little peck on the cheek. “’Scuse me, darling. I may be requiring the ladies’ room.” She wandered off with a stagger that was all foxtrot. “Keep that seat warm, Honey,” she told me.
And I did. For the first hour. After that I moved on. Check what was happening around town.
***
Couldn’t say what time I got back. It was late is all I know.
By the looks of the baby-sitter the chocolates hadn’t been the only things she’d helped herself to.
She was dancing barefoot in the middle of the room, her stockings curled up tight on the sofa alongside a couple of empty beer cans.
“These records are amazing.” She smiled at me like I was her fairy godmother.
“I’m surprised you knew how to put the things on, girl your age.”
She stretched out her arms to beckon me over. The way her hair was swinging I wasn’t about to say no. A dance was just what I needed.
“Dad has a heap of them in the garage. Lets me take ‘em out sometimes.”
“My dad was the same. These are his. Pure fucking originals.”
The girl had taste. “Gene Vincent. ‘Race With The Devil’. 1956, Capitol Records. Flipside, ‘Gonna’ Back Up Baby’.”
“Colour of the label, Maroon.” She already had my body. When she said that, that’s when she took my breath.
I hit that floor like I was seventeen again, which wasn’t so long ago if I think about it.
How I loved to hear the old music.
Roger’s all for selling the stuff. Says he’ll rent us a bigger apartment with a garden.
Stuff the garden. Can’t let loose with a lawn-mower.
Next record she chose was a slowy. Little Anthony and the Cleopatras. You could hear the static all the way through as the needle scraped its way around. I didn’t care how shit the sound was, just how good it made me feel.
She came in real close, rubbed her body into mine. I rubbed back. ‘Tears on My Pillow’ we sang.
Last I remember we were kissing and my hands were inside that beautiful summer dress of hers.
***
When I woke up it took me a while to remember where I was. Who I was, even.
Didn’t take long to figure out.
Roger was shouting something over me.
I didn’t hear a word. All my ears were picking up was the loop from the record player.
The needle had caught. “Spo-dee-oh-dee,” was all it said, over and over again.
Always loved Sticks McGhee.
Roger was getting redder and redder. Picked up a glass and smashed it into the wall.
I noticed that all I was wearing was my watch. Maybe that’s what got him so riled.
Never minded him breaking things before, but it was different when he went for my nose. It crunched under his fist like he was using a pestle and mortar.
Took a while for the pain to go. I could feel my eyes watering and my cartilage move back to place.
Didn’t look to me like he was finished.
I reached for the neck of the wine bottle and took hold. When he came back for more, I slugged him right across the head.
Fell down like he’d been practising all his life.
I went upstairs, picked up Tim and Anne-Marie and juggled with them as I opened the front door.
The cold air sobered me up a little. Made me think about what I was doing.
I went back into the den, stuffed my bag with as many singles as would fit and headed into the night.
Taking a Line for a Walk
There was a bug going round the school. If it wasn't coming out of one end of a child it was coming out of the other.
Duke Earl was doing his best to hide away from it all. Couldn't blame him for that. Didn't mean he wasn't working, mind. Nobody could say he hadn't earned every penny the state had ever paid him. And then some.
As he painted the perimeter fence he saw a girl coming toward him. Couldn't make out who on account of his weary eyes.
"Hi Grandpa," Daisy said wandering over.
"How's my girl?"
"Doing fine." She was growing up so fast. Was starting to look like her mother and her mother's mother before her. Made his heart feel like it was swelling and shrinking at the same time.
"They send you looking?"
"Miss Prime. Third grade. One of the Johnson twins has gone and puked all over the mat."
Duke took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow like he needed a moment. Reached into his pocket. Took out a poke of chocolate-limes. Opened it up and passed it over.
"Thanks," Daisy told him as she unwrapped her candy. "You all right, Grandpa? You're looking old. All them wrinkles round your eyes and all."
"Them's laughter lines," he said.
They both smiled, knowing it wasn't even close to the truth.
Duke Earl hadn't laughed more than twice since his dog died.
"Tell Miss Johnson I'll be along presently." He bent down, put the lid on the paint tin and pushed it with his palm. Looked up to watch Daisy heading back. Felt something give in his neck. Couldn't do nothing anymore without part of him breaking down.
He waited for a moment for the pain to go and straightened up as best he could before heading for his supplies.
***
Amy Johnson was sitting outside the secretary's office waiting to be collected. Orchid-white she was, all wrapped up in her coat even though it was 90 degrees outside. Didn't stop her taking one of Duke's candies when he offered the bag. Seemed to get in the way of her saying thanks, though.
That was one thing that had gone to pot since his day. Way the kids talked to adults was a crying shame.
He carried on down the corridor till he reached Room 3.
The door was open, but Duke knocked anyway. Folk liked it better when everyone behaved like they knew their station.
"Mr. Earl, thank goodness. Do come in." It was like he was taking her flowers or something the way she greeted him. "We're so glad you're here, aren't we children."
She was one of the good ones, he could tell. Had the kids eating out of her hand. Wouldn't have thought she could manage from looking at her. Hair tied up in a bun and thick-rimmed spectacles like a librarian from yesteryear. It was a darned shame, in Duke's opinion, young girl like that going to waste the way she was.
"Morning Mister Earl," the children called in unison, as if she'd counted them in.
He nodded in return.
"I'm afraid we've had an accident, haven't we boys and girls?"
If he hadn't known already, he wouldn't have needed telling. Even with the windows open the stench in the room was like someone had shaken a pint of off-milk around the room then dusted the place with Parmesan.
"It's over there." Miss Prime pointed down toward the floor, as if he needed showing.
"What the hell did the girl have for breakfast?" he asked. There were lumps the size of cherries in there.
"I wouldn't like to say," she said, then went back to her business.
Duke picked out the container from his bag and shook the powder over. Looked like one of those murder scenes by the time he'd finished. As he set about sweeping up the crime, he allowed himself to listen to the lesson. Took him back many years to the time he was a boy.
"Remember not to take it off the paper. That's it, Christopher, keep it going. And not just in the middle, you can go anywhere you want."
Taking a look at the children going about their work, he saw them concentrating like they were taking an exam. Some had their heads to the side, a few squinted and one or two had their tongues sticking out. They looked so angelic he could almost believe they were the innocents. Not that he was going to be taken in. He'd seen what they could do and the way they turned out.
Even the good ones would lose out in the end. Look what had happened to him. Lost his wife, his dog, and when they close the school down at the end of the semester he'd be losing the janitor's house he'd been living in for thirty-five years. Where the hell was he going to go? His pension was worth shit and his savings wouldn't pay for a month in a motel.
"When you finish," Miss Prime went on, "color it all in and see what you end up with. Can you see why I call it, 'Taking a line for a walk'?"
Some of the kids put their hands up.
Duke didn't listen to the answer. He was too busy concentrating on shoveling up the vomit to think of anything else in the world.
***
The principal asked him to sit down when he entered her office. Only got to park his cheeks on the soft leather when she had something important to say. Usually bad important.
"Mr. Earl, I'm afraid it's what we'd feared. When we merge with St. Joseph's, they'll only allow for one janitor."
At least she was doing him the service of looking glum while she passed on the news. "The thing is, you're coming up to retirement anyway..."
He stood. Didn't want to hear any more. Picked up his cap and turned to leave.
"So sorry, Earl. If there's anything I can do."
He stopped and looked across the desk. "Find me a house, get me a job and sort out a way I can see Daisy every once in a while."
She screwed her eyes tight and when she opened them again it was as if she'd completely forgotten what he asked for. "There was one other thing, Earl." She was using her soft voice, the one where she tried to sound like she was asking for a favor rather than passing out an order. "The boys' toilets outside Mr. Clap's room. There's been an incident."
***
Took him a shower and a shave to get rid of the smell of shit from his nostrils. Not that he minded. It was all part of school life.
Polished his boots up real good and had his favorite lunch, even had double cream on his strawberries in spite of what the doctor'd said. He put on a new set of dungarees, popped a chocolate-lime into his mouth and got on with his final effort of the day.
Found the washing line he was going to set up for Miss Prime to hang wet paintings on. Measured off a length, folded it over, and cut it with his blade.
Tied it to the door handle, looped it around the hat-stand, moved it across to the top of the banisters and hitched it to the highest rail.
Made the knot just like he'd practiced and placed a chair right underneath it.
Chair wasn't tall enough. Found a phone book and put it on the wicker. It was perfect.
Wrote a note on a piece of paper and pinned it to the outside of the door.
***
When he didn't show for work the next morning, the principal went across to his house to give him a knock.
Found the note saying, "Taking a line for a walk."
Didn't mean a thing to her until she opened up and took a look inside.
Dirty Old Town
In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. That’s why I kept my mouth zipped. If the guys dishing out justice were anything like me, the more noise I made the more pain they’d inflict.
Luckily, their first punch was too good. Right on the point of my chin. I didn’t see the stars, but felt them speed through my nervous system, tingling down to my fingers and toes.
From the way I hurt when I came round I knew they hadn’t stopped at one hit.
It was like my birthday in reverse. They gave plenty and I ended up with less than I started with. For the time being, I’d lost the sight of one eye, one front tooth and a button from my favourite jacket. I didn’t mind - it was about time I got myself a few new clothes and the missing tooth just made me look interesting.
I reckon I’d make the perfect front man for the Popes should Shane MacGowan pop his clogs. We’ve been laying bets on him dying before Christmas every year since ’86, and we’re still losing money. I could do it. Stand in for Shane. I know all of the songs and can’t hold a tune. What more could they possibly want?
Lucy Whale was worth every moment of agony. Taught me things I’d never heard of, stuff any man would want in his life if he could get it. Shame Mr Whale couldn’t see it my way, that she was doing humanity a service.
When I arrived home I was a wreck. I washed down a couple of painkillers with my cocoa and decided I needed a lie in. I set the alarm for 6:00 and crawled into bed. The way things turned out, I wish I’d never even tried to get up the next day.
***
In the morning I wasn’t sure I could make it, but the nationals were almost upon us. The squad had been working their gym shorts off trying to get to the top of their game and I wasn’t about to let them down by crying off sick when they needed me.
My boys were already in action when I arrived. Luke was on the rings, James o
n the parallel bars, Ken and Crazy Horse were practicing floor exercises, Donald was on the pummel horse and Hugh was pumping weights.
Good lads they are. Known them since they were eleven, and seen them grow from children to teens to young men. Not many kids would make the sacrifices they have, not these days.
I took them out for ice-cream when we heard Britain got the Olympics. Last thing they needed was sugar, but I gave it to them all the same. I doubt they slept a wink that night. I’ve not treated them since – it’s a serious business preparing for a games. I can take them there, I know I can. All I ask in return for my help is education, dedication and perspiration.
Train like you’re coming second I tell them, and for the most part, they do.
I interrupted their workout, offered a few suggestions and answered all questions about my face in the same way. “It was a full moon. The lunatics were out of the asylum.”
8 o’clock we took our usual break. The boys went to the changing room to re-hydrate and take in calories. I went to talk to the desk-staff to see if I could book a session for the weekend.
For the umpteenth time that week, I saw the back end of Billy the Cheese. I had no idea what he was up to or where he got his name, but whenever he was around I felt uneasy. If I’d have seen him entering I might have turned him round and sent him packing. Instead, he was heading for the exit when I clocked him. There was nothing I could do.
I carried on chatting with Laura and Ruth at the desk.
Donald burst through the double doors to interrupt. Told me I should come. “In a minute,” I said, but he pulled my arm and I found myself moving in his direction. These boys have got muscles on top of muscles. More than I ever had and that’s saying something.
It wasn’t until we were alone that he spoke again.
“There’s something wrong with James. We can’t get him to wake up”
“Is this a gag?” I asked as we entered the changing room. I could have saved myself the bother if I’d waited a moment.
James Foster lay on the floor, his eyes bulging, leg swollen and his arms circling like he was trying to swim in the air. Sticking out from his thigh was a hypodermic syringe, half full of blue liquid.
