caught a terminal disease and was never coming back. The only money coming in was from the residents of Pistachio Villa, community apartments. As if no one would ever understand the exotic equivalent of nut house. The hilarious civil servant who had conjured the name must be fun at the Christmas Do waving around his useless Social Sciences degree and writing witty replies on Facebook posts to kids who used to bully him.
The lounge bar, shaped as an L, held a collection of the genetically slow or emotionally incapable. Some, once almost regular people, reduced to human ruins through events beyond their control. They were now the latest first-line in human drug therapy, which managed to remove any trace of individualism and replace it with a long glazed gaze.
The medication they took was not to be mixed with booze but with no one to control their lives or anyone to care, they spent their days supping beer, downing vodka and entering the ethereal world of mixed medication and alcohol aggression in a nicotine stained pub adorned with brass farming instruments and flowery wallpaper.
“Do you remember?” Jim asked.
Ben sat transfixed. He stared at the bar. No one felt unease, at least four mental collapses happened here a day.
Ben didn’t answer. Jim grabbed the inside of Ben’s right thigh and squeezed. A camel’s bite he had called it at school. But that was back in the 60s. Ben yelped and woke. He turned to Jim.
“I don’t know your name. I know some things you did, but I don’t know you.”
“You had better start remembering. Another day and all of this ends. No more easy life.”
“Why?”
“It’s easy to hide when no one is looking. Only now everyone is. And you’re the penultimate. A game of very expensive hide-and-seek started seventeen years ago. Four years ago they thought it had ended. Now they know it hasn’t.”
Jim sipped at his long grouse whisky and water. Ice rattled on the rim.
Ben squinted and looked
“Are you playing?” he asked.
Jim smiled with the glass still at his lips. He placed the glass down, perfectly central on the stained beet mat. He stared at Ben’s eyes as if they were the wrong colour.
“I think the big kids in the playground want me to go home. And I’m too old, ill and tired to say no.”
Ben, blinking, unable to find peace with the presence of this man stuttered, “I don’t understand what you want.”
“I owe a debt,” Jim said. I’ve been paying it for years. Looks like I can’t keep on. You need to go home.”
Jim squinted as if defocusing Ben’s face would give him the image he wanted. Ben moved his weight forward toward the table, rocked on the balls of his feet to stand. “I’ll go now,” he said.
Jim grabbed Ben’s shoulder. He prevented Ben from standing. Pulled him back down again.
“Not the expensive flat you’ve got. That, soon as you know, will be gone. You need to go back to where you were born.”
Jim looked at Ben and shook his head slowly. The words, the way of speaking, the shame and coward that came through were never there as a boy.
“I’ll be here tomorrow. We’ll speak again.” Jim rose to his feet and let a roll of twenties in an orange elastic band fall from his palm onto the table. “Drink yourself silly, you won’t get the chance again.”
CHAPTER NINE
Turk asked the Twins to leave. He wanted Raucous alone. Raucous hadn’t asked but he wanted one-to-one. He needed the Turk alone. They didn’t ask why or complain, they followed his orders as if he were never to be questioned. Raucous waited to hear the thump of the door close against its frame. The noise never came. He turned to look at the door. It was closed. He turned back and the Turk was leaning forward, half-a-meter closer to Raucous than before. His hands were clasped.
“Do I need to ask the question?” Turk asked.
Raucous leaned back; if he had a cigar he
The lounge bar, shaped as an L, held a collection of the genetically slow or emotionally incapable. Some, once almost regular people, reduced to human ruins through events beyond their control. They were now the latest first-line in human drug therapy, which managed to remove any trace of individualism and replace it with a long glazed gaze.
The medication they took was not to be mixed with booze but with no one to control their lives or anyone to care, they spent their days supping beer, downing vodka and entering the ethereal world of mixed medication and alcohol aggression in a nicotine stained pub adorned with brass farming instruments and flowery wallpaper.
“Do you remember?” Jim asked.
Ben sat transfixed. He stared at the bar. No one felt unease, at least four mental collapses happened here a day.
Ben didn’t answer. Jim grabbed the inside of Ben’s right thigh and squeezed. A camel’s bite he had called it at school. But that was back in the 60s. Ben yelped and woke. He turned to Jim.
“I don’t know your name. I know some things you did, but I don’t know you.”
“You had better start remembering. Another day and all of this ends. No more easy life.”
“Why?”
“It’s easy to hide when no one is looking. Only now everyone is. And you’re the penultimate. A game of very expensive hide-and-seek started seventeen years ago. Four years ago they thought it had ended. Now they know it hasn’t.”
Jim sipped at his long grouse whisky and water. Ice rattled on the rim.
Ben squinted and looked
“Are you playing?” he asked.
Jim smiled with the glass still at his lips. He placed the glass down, perfectly central on the stained beet mat. He stared at Ben’s eyes as if they were the wrong colour.
“I think the big kids in the playground want me to go home. And I’m too old, ill and tired to say no.”
Ben, blinking, unable to find peace with the presence of this man stuttered, “I don’t understand what you want.”
“I owe a debt,” Jim said. I’ve been paying it for years. Looks like I can’t keep on. You need to go home.”
Jim squinted as if defocusing Ben’s face would give him the image he wanted. Ben moved his weight forward toward the table, rocked on the balls of his feet to stand. “I’ll go now,” he said.
Jim grabbed Ben’s shoulder. He prevented Ben from standing. Pulled him back down again.
“Not the expensive flat you’ve got. That, soon as you know, will be gone. You need to go back to where you were born.”
Jim looked at Ben and shook his head slowly. The words, the way of speaking, the shame and coward that came through were never there as a boy.
“I’ll be here tomorrow. We’ll speak again.” Jim rose to his feet and let a roll of twenties in an orange elastic band fall from his palm onto the table. “Drink yourself silly, you won’t get the chance again.”
CHAPTER NINE
Turk asked the Twins to leave. He wanted Raucous alone. Raucous hadn’t asked but he wanted one-to-one. He needed the Turk alone. They didn’t ask why or complain, they followed his orders as if he were never to be questioned. Raucous waited to hear the thump of the door close against its frame. The noise never came. He turned to look at the door. It was closed. He turned back and the Turk was leaning forward, half-a-meter closer to Raucous than before. His hands were clasped.
“Do I need to ask the question?” Turk asked.
Raucous leaned back; if he had a cigar he
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