Black Juice Read Online Free PDF Page B

good deeds.’ I didn’t care, as long as painted people were falling.
    ‘I guess.’ But he sounded unhappy.
    I got back to work, as much as I could. Most of the bouffons were gasbagging in groups on the boulevard, though one bunch of smartypantses were in the park swapping juggling secrets. There were just too many, all within sight of each other. ‘My mouth’s actually watering,’ I laughed to Jelly. ‘Imagine picking off Miam-Miam! Is it worth risking, d’you reckon?’
    ‘We’ve got the whole week. Let’s not get ’em really worried ’til, say, Thursday. Or they’ll all bunker down andwe’ll sit here on our freezing bums wasting rental money. Who was that last one?’ he added, pencil poised.
    ‘Enigma.I popped ’im in the canal.’ With my bare eyes I could just make out the ballooned black cross of him, twirling slowly down the silver stormwater. ‘So, no more big names today?’
    ‘I’d say.’
    The sun came out, just the one patch cruising along the boulevard like a travelling spotlight, picking out the shimmering silks, the fright-wigs, the tinsel-cloaks, the red noses like an outbreak of pox. The buffoons did what you’d expect when the limelight hit them: spread their arms at themselves, kowtowed, cartwheeled and sprouted flowers.
    ‘Aw,
gawd
. It’d make you
sick
.’
    ‘Foul, eh?’ Jelly was leafing through his notebook.
    ‘Here come the Yellow Jerseys for the day. With a bottle. They’re cracking it.’
    ‘Blow ’em awa-ay,’ jeered Jelly. ‘Who are they?’
    ‘Dunno—Hang on, it’s shaved into their hair. TAT… and … Tat and Tit?’
    ‘La-ame! Take ’em out!’
    ‘I can’t. They’re in a crowd. Everyone’s congratulating them, slopping fizz around.’
    ‘Rocket time! If only. No, maybe Thursday we’ll treat ourselves to a little mayhem. But we could pick off the Yellows every day. So by Wednesday they’ll know: if they win the Yellow, they’re worm-food. They’ll go pale under their pancake when they’re announced. Ha! Tit and Tat, eh?’
    ‘
Tif
. Tat and Tif.’ The names were the only hair the two had, in black on pink. The elastic of their giant white beards dug lines across their shiny pink scalps. ‘Frikkin’ … Santy Clauses or something.’
    Jelly hawked and spat. ‘Oh, how very à la mode. Cultural referencing. Like, what a contribution to the evolution of clowning. Puke-erama. Blow ’em. I hate ’em. And if they’re Yellow, they’ll only be trouble later.’
    ‘I never heard of them. They must be just jumped up from hobbies. I seen them before, though. Maybe in a troupe or something.’
    ‘They clear yet?’
    ‘They will be soon. Heading for the park. Swilling drink. Hang on, one of ’em’s choking on it.’
    ‘Make him die of that choking fit.’
    ‘If I could make it look natural. But you don’t jump two metres sideways in the middle of coughing. He’s okay now, anyway. That’s it, Tat, give him a good thump on the back. Oh, perfect sound effects, Jell—right in sync.’
    ‘Whassat?’ Despite that monstrous gob, Jelly’s voice still had major rattles.
    ‘Tif just hoiked and gobbed in perfect time with you. Nearly as much, too.’
    ‘So they’re in the park? What are you waiting for?’
    ‘They’re in full view of the street.’
    ‘Blow ’em anyway. Let’s finish here and get some dinner. Couldn’t you go a schnitzel sandwich?’
    ‘They’re heading for that little glade, with the fountain. I’ll pop ’em there.’
    ‘You better. I’ve already written ’em down.’ He got up and shrugged on his backpack, slapped his pockets.
    ‘Okay, okay, give me a sec.’
    I flang Tat over the fountain, tumbled Tif as he fled towards the trees. Then I lovingly dismantled the Fioreschiacciare and its tripod and put them in the case, and we left.
    I always hated to stop, to find myself back on some rooftop stacked with age-old rubbish bags, or in some empty office strewn with files, dead clerks’ jackets over the backs of all the