Musclebound

by Liza Cody

  So I said, ‘Ramses, Lineker, back off.’ And then I shouted it, ‘cos this really was the dogs’ day for doing their own thing and they weren’t listening.

  ‘Stop,’ I yelled. ‘Sit: And in the end they did as they was told I yelled. ‘Sit.’ And in the end they did as they was told.

  Then I went forward and saw that what they was tearing at wasn’t human. It was an empty padded anorak. I was quite disappointed – all me nerves going jingle-jangle for sod-all.

  The bugger who’d cut my chain and broke in had been chased off and left his coat behind. He had to leave his coat – it was either that or leave his arm. The coat arm had a tattered gash right through it and the edges were stained red.

  First off, I sat the dogs down and checked them out to make sure it wasn’t their blood. I don’t know why I bothered. None of them dogs would’ve won a medal for obedience that night. They was pissing me off, and that’s a fact.

  ‘You’re really pissing me off,’ I said to Ramses, because if there’s a ringleader it’s him. And I clouted him to make him sit still. ‘You want to go back to basic training? You want that, eh?’

  ‘Rragh!’ he went, giving me the eye.

  ‘Shurrup when I’m talking,’ I said. ‘You think you’re the boss. You ain’t.’

  His lip went up. He gave me a look at his teeth.

  ‘R-r-r-r-r,’ he said. He was stone out of order. Lineker and Milo sat there watching. They were all wired up too. If they’d of been people they’d of been on the edge of their seats.

  I tried to stare Ramses down. I couldn’t lose a fight with him in front of Milo and Lineker. But Ramses kept his evil little eyes on mine. And I suddenly knew he felt the same way. He’d beaten one human already. He’d tasted blood. It was his night. And he wanted to prove, now and for ever, that he was top dog.

  ‘Yeah, you bastard,’ I snarled back at him. ‘You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight. I want one too.’

  True. Absolutely fuckin’ true. I did want a fight. I’d had it up to my eyeballs not knowing which way was up.

  We stood there facing up to each other. He was just waiting for me to back off or turn away or drop my guard. But I didn’t. Neither one of us backed off.

  ‘Chickenshit,’ I said.

  ‘R-r-r-r-ro!’ he said.

  ‘All mouth,’ I said. ‘Where’s the muscle?’

  When he came at me he went straight for my throat – half a ton of flying dog. But I was ready for him. I dodged and knocked him out of the air with me torch. I didn’t have time to think. He was up and charging again almost before he hit the ground. He was much too quick.

  I dodged again.

  ‘Wow!’ said Milo, ‘cos I trod on him. The stupid fuckin’ pup caught himself in my ankles, and I went arse over topside.

  Sometimes it’s the accident which saves you. As I toppled, Ramses missed his aim. When I landed on my back my legs flew up and hit him in the chest as he went by. The kick turned him over in mid-air. He didn’t land on his feet. He went down and that gave me the split second I needed to fling myself sideways and grab for his choke-chain. I caught it under his chin and I caught some of his wattle too. First he pulled away, squirming low on the ground, dragging me a couple of yards through the mud. He was twisting his neck trying to find the angle so that he could get his jaws round my wrist. It was like catching a shark – all that raw muscle writhing on the end of my arm.

  Then he changed tactics and came in on me. But I was ready for him. It was exactly what he used to do when he first met me, when I was training him – he’d pull away with all his strength and then, with no warning, lunge in.

  I clenched my fist round his choke-chain and locked my elbow straight so that he ran on to my fist. I didn’t give an inch.

  Then it was my turn to start twisting. I kept an iron grip on his chain and his throat and rotated my arm from the shoulder. I had to roll over, but with each twist his head sank lower and lower. It took every ounce of my strength but in the end his head was down on the ground and all he could do was lie on his side.

  I still had to be very, very careful. If I gave him even the tiniest chance he’d be chewing on my windpipe like it was macaroni cheese. Ramses is a bitchin’ bastard dog. As dogs go he’s as bad as they get. That’s why he’s so brilliant at his job.

  It’s a good thing I’ve got a wrist like a riveter’s ‘cos he hadn’t given up yet. He was just waiting. He could read every twitch of my grip the way I could read every twitch of him. He knew and I knew I couldn’t hold him down for ever, lying flat in the mud, just by the strength of one outstretched arm. He knew and I knew I’d have to come in close to finish the job. His horrible glittering eye told me everything he was thinking. He didn’t blink once.

  I inched in, keeping the strangle lock on, holding his head down. And then, just as my wrist was giving up, I heaved one knee over him, reared up and sat astride. Now I could use both hands and all me weight. I had him. I had him good.

  All I had to do now was wait for him to agree with me. I didn’t have to hit him or nothing – that’s just stupid ‘cos it doesn’t work. The point is he’d got to agree with me that I’m bigger and better than him. He’d got to agree that I’m the boss and that I got him good.

  If he was another Wrestler he’d of whacked the mat. The ref would of counted a submission against him. If he’d been one of my regular opponents like the poxy Blonde Bombshell or Olga from the Volga he’d of done it in two seconds flat. But Ramses ain’t them, I’m glad to say. Ramses ain’t no wimp.

  So we waited in the rain and mud. Both of us wet through. Both of us cold and caked with oily grunge.

  And in the end he agreed. How could I tell? Well, I dunno, really. He ain’t a person. But I know him and I knew it was time. So I sat up and got off of him.

  As soon as I got off of Ramses, Lineker ran away. Ramses got up. He gave himself a good shake. He sprayed mud and water all over me but I said nothing. He didn’t even look at me. But with no warning at all he attacked Milo. Milo should of ran away too but he didn’t have Lineker’s experience.

  Ramses charged him, bowled him over, picked him up by the neck, slammed him down and stood over him pinning him by the throat. And I said nothing.

  What did Milo do? Well he did the only sensible thing a pup can do – he lay with his paws in the air and cried. I suppose the very same thing’s true of kids everywhere, whatever sort of animal you are. If you’re a kid and you’re really truly up against it all you can do is wave your paws in the air and cry. That’s life. I’m glad I’m not a kid no more.

  And I said nothing ‘cos, even though Ramses is only a beast and not a person, he’s got his pride and he’s got to prove himself against the next one down from him.

  So I let him. It didn’t last long ‘cos as I say, even if Milo didn’t have the brains to leg it like Lineker, he did have the brains to wimp out real quick.

  Ramses gave me one snappy look. ‘That’s you next time,’ said his nasty little eyes. And he gave himself another great shake and stalked off about his own business.

  ‘Get up and shut up,’ I said to Milo. ‘You ain’t hurt.’ But it looked as if Ramses had thrown Milo’s pelvis out of whack again. He was gimpy and shivery. So I picked up the anorak with the torn sleeve and wrapped it round him.

  I carried him to the Static. Milo was having a rough time lately, and I wasn’t feeling too hot myself.

  I lit a couple of paraffin heaters and set some water on the hob. Milo didn’t give a hip or a herf so I rubbed him down and he went to sleep next to the stove. I wished I could do the same. I wished I could go and buy me a big bottle of something warming and finish the fool day. But I couldn’t, could I?

  Someone broke into my yard, lopped my chain and got savaged by my dogs. I couldn’t bunk off.

  I washed the mud away and put on dry clothes. I needed a bit of a think and I couldn’t do it in sopping duds.

  See, it was the dosh, wasn’t it? It was those silky zillions. It had t
o be. Stands to reason, don’t it? I mean, what twat would risk losing his arm to Ramses for engine parts and car stereos?

  I was thinking and thinking, but the only people I could think of, who knew about the Puma bag and what was in it, was the people I lifted it off. And they wasn’t the sort of people I wanted to meet on a dark night with only a torch in my mitt.

  They fired a freaking gun at me. You ain’t forgot about that, have you? I ain’t. And all for borrowing their scuzzy car.

  I mean, it wasn’t as if I knew about the zillions at the time. If I didn’t know about the zillions you can’t exactly accuse me of thieving them. You can’t steal a thing if you don’t know it’s there, can you? I was just borrowing a car. The zillions was a bonus – a reward for all my years of effort.

  So those zillions was the only thing worth losing body parts for. Am I right? I know I’m right.

  Next. Well, the guys I borrowed the motor from was villains. Right? Because, one – they was robbing the petrol station, and two – now they was trying to rob me. So that’s right too.

  But if they got zillions in a Puma bag in the back of their motor, why was they robbing a petrol station? Answer – they was greedy, that’s why. Some people never got enough. They always want more. True. Absolutely fuckin’ true. I mean, do you know anyone in the whole wide world who doesn’t want more than she’s got? He’s got, I mean. These villains was blokes. I know ‘cos I saw ‘em.

  And they was clever bastards. That stands to reason too. ‘Cos they didn’t get caught for robbing the petrol station when most people do. I know they didn’t get caught ‘cos if they got caught they wouldn’t be out, free to break into my yard, would they?

  So I got clever bastards with shooters trying to rob me. That’s serious shit.

  The other serious shit was – how did they know it was me? Go on – you’re so clever – tell me how they knew it was me? I didn’t know them from a poke in the eye with a dead turkey, so how did they know me and where to find me?

  Well, I thought and thought about that one. But the answer was staring me in the face. They knew me ‘cos I was famous. I was the London Lassassin, right? They saw me fight. Hundreds of people, thousands, saw me fight. So I’m famous. And famous people can’t protect their privacy. Famous people is public property. Fact of life. One minute everyone wants your autograph and the next minute they’re coming after you with a sawn-off shooter. That’s the price you gotta pay.

  Chapter 10

  I dreamt I was the owner of a fitness centre called Musclebound. I was in this poncy reception room and the customers were coming in. Simone said, ‘You got to pay in gold coin.’ I really liked the idea ‘cos gold is valuable, more valuable than paper money and small change. So all the customers dug in their pockets and came out with lovely gold coins the size of those chocolate pennies kids get at Christmas.

  The only trouble was we didn’t have a till to put them in. So I had to eat them to keep them safe. But they was gold not chocolate and I couldn’t swallow them down. So Simone gave me a plateful of tiny little burger buns – just the right size. And I thought, how dainty, ain’t that just like Simone? And we put gold coins in the burger buns with lettuce and tomato, and that way I could just about choke them down. Every time I swallowed a gold coin, my teeth went chunk-chink, like a cash register. So Simone knew I’d eaten it and not cheated by putting it in my pocket. I didn’t feel very well.

  Stupid dream, huh? Yeah, and that’s the thing about dreams – you aren’t in charge of what goes on in them. You ain’t, I ain’t, even the Queen of England doesn’t get a say about what happens when she’s asleep.

  Dreams make me sick. Well that one did. Just as I was choking down the last gold coin I woke up coughing and choking. Real coughs, not dream coughs. Me eyes was watering and me nose was dripping real snot.

  See what I mean? Thinking gave me a headache, and it worried the life out of me so I went to bed all snarled up. And then that poxy stupid dream did the rest. Take a tip from me – if you want an easy healthy life, don’t think and avoid dreams.

  And then there was Keif. He came knocking on my door. Which made Milo jump up and go hip-herf, so Keif knew someone was in.

  ‘Hey, sweetness,’ he said, when I opened up.

  ‘Who you calling “sweetness”?’ I said, and I sneezed all over him. ‘No one said you could call me that.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thought I’d try a little honey on you.’

  ‘Thought wrong,’ I said. ‘Save it for someone who gives a bollock.’ And I sneezed on him again. Milo ran outside to have a piss on the doorstep and I was glad to see he wasn’t limping no more.

  ‘I ain’t running,’ I said. ‘I told you I was sick yesterday but would you believe me? You probably killed me, making me run bleeding miles.’

  ‘Kill you?’ he said. ‘Am I a sixteen-wheel rig? Am I, girl? If I ain’t, I didn’t kill you. ‘Cos that’s what it’d take.’

  I don’t know why that made me laugh. It wasn’t funny but it made me laugh and cough and sneeze.

  ‘Go back to bed,’ Keif said. ‘I’ll get you something fer that sickness.’ And off he went.

  Oh yeah, I thought, I’m too sick for training so the joker can’t cut another slice off my wedge, so he blows and leaves a sick woman all by herself. Typical.

  I called Milo in and while I was waiting for him I noticed that some of the blokes in the yard were staring.

  ‘What you gawping at?’ I yelled.

  ‘Got a boyfriend at last?’ the foreman yelled back.

  ‘Got bread puddin’ for brains?’ I shouted. I was stone narked. ‘That’s my personal trainer, in case it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Can’t be her boyfriend,’ said another of the dildos. ‘He ain’t got a white stick or a guide dog.’ And all the dildos laughed. But I didn’t. I gave ’em the finger and slammed the door on the lot of them. Dirty bastards.

  Why is everyone chatting back at me all of a sudden? Have I got the word ‘gravy’ tattooed on my forehead? Maybe they can all smell it like chicken vindaloo wafting out of the Static.

  All I could smell was a noseful of snot. So I went back to bed. With a couple more hours of kip maybe I’d feel fit enough to drag myself out for some medicine.

  I dunno how long I dozed but I just lay there feeling shivery and gibbery and achy. And then Keif came back.

  He didn’t even knock. He just breezed in, saying, ‘Hey, Babyface. Doin’?’

  ‘Don’t you fuckin’ walk in here without knocking,’ I said. ‘This ain’t your drum.’

  ‘Brought Cousin Carmen,’ he said.

  ‘She can bugger off too,’ I said. And then I shut up. I didn’t say another dicky-bird ‘cos I saw Cousin Carmen. Cousin Carmen was a tiny little woman in a big coat. You could pick her up in one hand and put her in a cupboard, she was so small.

  But she had the eye.

  I seen that eye before. It’s like a white-wall tyre.

  In chokey, once, I knew a woman called Ella Mae. No one roomed with her even though she had one of the corner units with two windows and two bunks. No one dared, and even the screws knew about the eye and they never said a word to her. ‘Cos this is an eye that sees round corners. It can see through brick walls. It ain’t an eye you disrespect.

  They told me there was this other woman – she was three months pregnant when they banged her up and she got special privileges. They say it went to her head and she queened it over everyone including Ella Mae. They say she pushed in front of Ella Mae in the dinner queue three times running. After the third time she started to get sick. And then she started vomiting, but she didn’t apologise to Ella Mae. And they say she vomited so hard that the baby came out through her mouth and that’s how she lost it. They say there was blood everywhere, even coming out of her nose. She didn’t die or nothing. Ella Mae didn’t kill her. But she lost the baby and she was never the same after.

  That’s what they told me in chokey and I took one look at Ella Mae’s e
ye and I believed.

  They said Ella Mae was an obeah lady, and you don’t disrespect obeah ladies unless you want to be awfully sorry. Well, Cousin Carmen had the very same eye.

  So that’s why I kept my trap shut and didn’t kick Keif out even though he came in without knocking.

  Milo went, ‘Hip-hip,’ and jumped off the bunk.

  ‘She only got a dog to keep her warm,’ said Cousin Carmen. ‘Light the stove, boy. Why you got no light in here? Why you got boards in your windows?’

  ‘No glass,’ I croaked. ‘Someone broke ‘em. I din’t have no money to fix them.’

  ‘Humph,’ said Cousin Carmen. ‘Why you pay my boy to put muscle on an’ you don’t pay for glass?’

  I couldn’t answer. I was so used to having no glass in my windows, it didn’t bother me.

  ‘Humph,’ said Cousin Carmen. ‘No light. No air. No wonder you sick.’

  ‘It ain’t that,’ I said. ‘I had a dream.’

  ‘What dream?’ she said.

  So I told her. It was that eye, see. You think I go around telling people the fool things that happen in my sleep? You think I’m stupid? Well, I ain’t. But when an obeah lady says, ‘What dream?’ you don’t think twice. All right?

  ‘A fitness centre called Musclebound,’ Keif said. ‘Not bad. Not good but not bad.’

  ‘Wasn’t talking to you,’ I said. I was really narked he heard.

  ‘It ain’t a dream about no fitness centre,’ Cousin Carmen said. ‘She dream she choke on gold. She wake up sick. Mebbe she wiser asleep than awake.’

  ‘Not hard,’ Keif said. ‘She poisoned herself. She stotious all the time.’

  ‘Ain’t,’ I said.

  ‘You listen to me,’ Cousin Carmen said. ‘No more shouting loud. I gwan do something for you. You got medsin, boy?’

  ‘I got it,’ Keif said.

  ‘Heat it up,’ she said. ‘No boilin’, mind. Heat slow like fe baby milk.’

  Talk about poison! The medicine was greeny and it had scum on top. It was sweetish like she’d put a spoonful of honey in it to hide the taste of pond slime.