Musclebound

by Liza Cody

  The brilliant thing about the sleeping bag was that it was army surplus and it had a hood. So when we covered Wozzisname’s head with the hood and pulled the drawstring tight you could hardly see his face at all. It was nearly as good as a roll of carpet and I didn’t have to stroke his eyes.

  Problem. You got a dead bloke, a fire extinguisher and a hammer zipped up in a bag. You’ve got a tiny little Renault Clio to put it in. You can’t put him in the back seat ‘cos the Clio ain’t a four-door saloon. You only got a slim sister in high-heel shoes to help you. What do you do?

  Shit, I nearly walked away. I nearly collected Ramses and Lineker and what was left of my chattels and walked away. I could of.

  Fuck Wozzisname. Let the next ijit who walked in the yard find him. And deal with him. Let them try and lift him. And the fire extinguisher. Go on. You try it.

  Borrow a bigger motor – I can hear you saying that. Shows how much you know. Shit, it’s hairy enough driving round London in your own bought-and-paid-for car with a dead bloke in the back. If you ain’t bought and paid for the car there’s too much to go wrong.

  There was only one thing legal about what we were doing, and that was the car. So I wasn’t going to give up on it, was I?

  Another really manky idea was to stuff Wozzisname in one of the wrecks in the yard and let him go through the crusher. Simone thought that was a good one till I showed her how the wrecks was all stripped-out shells. And how easy it was to see when there was something inside them.

  Besides it was sort of disgusting. I hated Wozzisname – really truly loathed him by that time – but I still couldn’t think of putting him through the crusher. Simone only said that ‘cos she didn’t want him in her car.

  You can’t blame her, you really can’t. After all, I didn’t want him in my yard.

  In the end, when I was ready to rip the back seat out of the Clio, I noticed you could just tip it forward to make a bigger boot space. You’d of thought Simone could of told me that. It was her car. But she was hardly talking to me by then, and I had to do everything myself.

  I sort of hefted Wozzisname in bit by bit and tamped him down. It wasn’t very tidy. But we was ready.

  Then Simone said, ‘Shit. What’s the time?’

  She looked at her watch, and I erupted my brainbox. I said, ‘Whaddya mean, “What’s the time?” You got a date or something? You ain’t going nowhere. You ain’t. Whaddya care what the fuckin’ time is? You ain’t walking out on me this time.’

  ‘What’re you going to do? Kill me?’ she screamed. ‘Stop fucking yelling, bitch. It’s only half past eight. Don’t you understand? It’s only half past bloody eight. We can’t dump who’sit when it’s only half past eight. Not in the middle of London we can’t.’

  And then she burst into tears. And, fuck, why not? Only half past eight, and I’d lived seven lifetimes already. I couldn’t believe it. There were people outside the yard only just going out to dinner or to the pub. London was full of people out in the street, going drinking, clubbing, courting. Going every sodding where. We couldn’t dump Wozzisname for hours.

  I was just about to erupt my brainbox again when this voice from the gate called out, ‘Hey, sisters. What’s all the fightin’ about?’

  Chapter 12

  Simone dropped down behind the car like she’d been shot. ‘Who’s there?’ she said. ‘Has he seen us? Who is it?’

  ‘Keif,’ I said. ‘It’s sodding, poxy, twat-faced Keif. He’s my …’

  ‘Personal trainer,’ she said. ‘You bloody told me. You’ve got to get rid of him.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ she hissed. ‘He’s yours, not mine. Just get rid of him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Hey, sisters,’ called Keif.

  ‘Make him go away.’

  But I didn’t want to talk to him. He’d see on my face what I done. I was a whole ‘nother person since he came in the afternoon with Cousin Carmen, and he’d see what I done in me eyes. You can’t whack a bloke with a hammer so hard he croaks without it shows in your eyes. Fact of life.

  ‘Yo, Eva,’ Keif called. ‘Comin’ in.’

  ‘No!’ I yelled. I ran to the gate.

  ‘Bugger off,’ I said.

  ‘Is what I like about you, Eva,’ Keif said. ‘You know how to manners a man. How you doin’? You feeling a little better?’

  ‘Better?’ I was feeling one hundred and twenty-five per cent pure crap.

  ‘Yeah. Not coughing-sneezing no more?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ I said. ‘Listen, meat-head, I got a bone to pick with you.’

  ‘Promises,’ he said. ‘What now?’

  ‘Your Cousin Carmen. Her potion. What was it – piss poison?’

  ‘Oh that,’ he said with a grin you could of wrapped twice round his neck. ‘Mebbe I should of warned you. No. The poison was all your own. Potion just call it out of you.’

  ‘Fuckin’ obeah ladies,’ I said.

  ‘Too true. But that’s why I’m so big and strong today. Cousin Carmen don’t allow no sick child round her house.’

  He was chatting on as if everything was normal – as if I was normal. Sometimes it’s really useful that blokes are such insensitive buggers.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘now you a toxin-free zone, you going to invite me in?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘Got things to do. Got to let the dogs out. You won’t like my dogs.’

  ‘Liked the little one,’ he said.

  ‘You won’t like the big ones, and they won’t like you. They’re attack dogs.’

  ‘What you got you need attack dogs for?’

  ‘Job,’ I said. ‘We’re security guards.’

  ‘What you loading the car for?’ he said. ‘You flittin’ or what?’

  ‘Fuckin’ questions,’ I said. He knew. He was only pretending he couldn’t see Wozzisname in my eyes. He knew, and he was toying with me.

  Then Simone said, ‘Hello, Keith.’ She’d come up from behind without me hearing.

  She said, ‘We had a bit of an accident. A fire.’ Oh, she’s so clever when she’s back in control.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s your fault. You should never of lit that stupid heater.’

  ‘Come on, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘He wasn’t to know.’

  ‘What happened?’ Keif asked.

  ‘Just a bit of a fire,’ Simone said. ‘As you can see, we’re having to dispose of some burnt things. Don’t mind Eva – she’s a bit shaken up.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind Eva,’ he said. ‘Hey, girl, sorry. How bad was it? Need somewhere to stay?’

  ‘How very kind,’ Simone said before I could tell him to knob off. ‘No, it’s quite all right. If Eva needs somewhere to stay she can stay with me. We’re fine, honestly.’

  ‘OK, safe then,’ he said. ‘Bit of weight-training tomorrow, Eva? You up fer weight-training?’

  Maybe I should’ve told him about the weight I’d just been lifting, but Simone said, ‘We’ll see. She doesn’t want to do too much too soon after the flu.’

  She was so smooth I could of spread her on bread and eaten her. I mean, she was all wet hair and hunted eyes, but her voice was smooth and classy. She was freezing Keif out. I could tell.

  He said, ‘Ain’t I seen you somewhere? I been trying to remember since I first met you. You ain’t an actress or what?’

  ‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘I’ve done a little modelling. But I shouldn’t think you’d’ve seen any of that.’

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, ‘fizzy drinks, handbags. Nothing special.’

  ‘Hey! A model!’ Keif said. ‘Wicked.’

  And I nearly agreed with him. A fuckin’ model. No wonder she talked so fancy. And why not? She was pretty enough to be a film star. But I could of screamed at her for not just slapping him down. What was we doing boogying around, talking about modelling?

  ‘I gotta let the dogs out,’ I said.

  �
�OK,’ Keif said. ‘Mebbe best. Saw a guy hanging round when I came. Thought you had a visitor but mebbe he’s hanging round fer to steal something.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing, and sure enough, in the shadows at the corner of Mandala Street, there was a lurker trying to look like a bit of wall.

  ‘Oi!’ I yelled. ‘Bum-drip! Yeah, you!’

  ‘Eva, don’t,’ said Simone.

  ‘You sweet-talkin’ some other guy?’ said Keif. ‘Damn!’

  ‘Oi!’ I yelled. ‘Don’t think I can’t see you.’

  The shadow came unstuck from the wall but it didn’t come any closer.

  ‘Simone there?’ he called. ‘I’m waiting for Simone.’

  She did have a date. On top of everything, Simone had a twatting date. I wheeled round to face her.

  ‘You said!’ I yelled.

  ‘Shshsh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know he was coming. I swear.’

  ‘You sodding what?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t shout, Eva,’ she said. And then to Keif she said, ‘Eva doesn’t like my boyfriend.’ Can you believe that? I didn’t even know she had one.

  ‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said.

  ‘You ain’t leaving,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t shout. I’ve got to talk to him, send him away. It won’t take a second.’

  So I had to unlock the gate to let her out, and then of course, once the gate was unlocked Keif wanted to come in.

  ‘Soakin’ out here,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you can’t come in,’ I said. ‘Soon as Simone comes back I’m loosing the dogs.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, but Eva, you just had the flu or what. Mebbe we should go in an’ I’ll make a cup of tea for you.’

  ‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘Kettle’s burnt.’

  ‘Least get out of the rain.’

  ‘Smoke,’ I said. ‘Bad stink. It gave me a terrible headache.’ Over his shoulder I could see Simone and the shadow. She was waving her arms around.

  ‘Headache?’ said Keif. ‘Come here, baby doll. Ain’t no headache I can’t cure.’

  He swung me round and got his hands on my neck. What a stone liberty! The cheek of the man!

  ‘Woh,’ he said. ‘Rock hard.’

  ‘Oi,’ I said. ‘Knob off!’ I couldn’t, I really couldn’t credit it. I still had a dead bloke in the yard and my joke personal trainer wanted to massage my neck. If I’d been a fainting sort of woman I’d of passed out.

  ‘Unreal,’ I said.

  ‘Told you,’ Keif said. ‘I got voodoo digits. Man, have you got a knotted neck!’

  ‘Bog off,’ I said, ‘that’s muscle tone.’

  ‘Tension.’

  ‘Muscle tone.’

  ‘Safe, sister,’ he said. ‘I’ll allow good muscle. But it’s knotted like a barb-wire ball.’

  He had big hot hands. I stood there like a horse and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. Those big hot hands were making me feel little and weak when I needed to be hard.

  I jumped away. ‘Don’t,’ I said.

  ‘If you worry about your sister,’ he said, ‘she gone.’

  I looked over at the corner. No Simone.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Long gone.’

  I went out the gate faster than a greased torpedo. I sprinted to the corner. No Simone. I looked up Mandala Street. Just an empty market in the rain. Not hide nor hair, not sight nor sound of Simone. Just wet paper and soggy cabbage leaves blowing in the wind.

  I ran down Mandala Street. ‘Simone!’ I yelled.

  No answer. ‘Simone!’ I howled. How could she? How could she blow and leave me with Wozzisname all folded up in the back of her car when I didn’t know what to do?

  ‘Simone!’

  ‘Hip?’

  ‘Milo?’ I said.

  And there he was, crouched under a rusty barrow.

  If there was a god he’d be a stand-up comedian. Look at it my way – I want Milo, I get Keif. I want Simone, I get Milo. If there was a god I’d pelt him with rotten tomatoes. Bad jokes – that’s all gods is good for – bad sodding jokes.

  Now I had a shivering, sopping-wet pup, I had a joke personal trainer and I had Wozzisname to cope with. But no Simone. Was there ever a woman in so much trouble? I ask you. Was there? ‘Cos if there was, give me her phone number and we’ll start a self-help group.

  Do you know what the spookiest bit was?

  Milo was scared of me. Of me, who’d hand-reared him from a tadpole. He wouldn’t come out from under the barrow.

  Maybe Keif was too thick to see in me eyes what I done, but Milo wasn’t. I knelt down and put my hand out to him, but he backed away and showed me his teeth. He never done that before. It wasn’t aggression, it was stone fright.

  I didn’t press him. I stayed where I was, kneeling on the pavement. There wasn’t nowhere to go anyway. I might as well sit there all night and let all the trouble in the world fall on my head. That’s what it felt like. Every drop of rain was another spot of trouble. More and more trouble until I couldn’t bear the weight.

  ‘What’s doin’?’ said Keif.

  Shit, there was no shaking that guy.

  ‘Milo,’ I said. ‘He’s under that barrow and he won’t come out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Spooked.’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘’Spect it was the fire, eh?’ Keif said. ‘Why not move the barrow?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I said. ‘You move that barrow, you take away his hidy-hole. Then he’s even scareder.’

  ‘So then you give him a big hug and a bone or what?’

  ‘Fool.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cos I ain’t got a bone and you don’t hug attack dogs.’

  ‘He ain’t an attack dog,’ Keif said. ‘He’s a pup and he’s scared.’

  ‘Boo-hoo-hoo,’ I said. ‘He’s got to want to come to me.’

  ‘Pigs got to want to fly,’ he said. ‘Hey, Milo baby, come to Poppa.’

  And, oh jeez, that idiot pup crawled out from under the barrow and licked Keif’s big hot hand. I felt so sick I could of laid down and died among the cabbage leaves.

  ‘Told you,’ Keif said. ‘Have I got a way with dogs and women or what? Voodoo digits. You listen, girl, when I tell you.’

  He picked Milo up in his arms and marched off to the yard.

  And Milo let him do it.

  My guts was dry-heaving and I didn’t have an ounce of fight left in me. God was a clown and I was a killer.

  I got up and followed.

  Chapter 13

  I thought I was going crazy. I thought my head was exploding and I was going stark barking mad.

  I pushed the Clio so it was backed up against the Static and no one could open the boot. I went to the pen to let the dogs out.

  In the Static, Keif was making a cup of tea and warming up some soup.

  And I was stone staring crazy.

  The dogs were nervous. They could smell killer on my breath. They knew. Ramses wasn’t giving me an ounce of trouble tonight. He took one look at me and said to hisself, ‘She done it – she finally gone and done it. She’s madder than me.’ And he walked round me on tiptoe.

  And Keif was warming up a pan of soup.

  There was a dead bloke not three feet from the stove and Keif was warming up soup. For me.

  I hit a bloke with his own hammer. I hit him so hard he croaked and Keif was making soup.

  I didn’t know if I was coming or going. You think I should get rid of Keif? Yeah, me too. But, like, whaddya think I am? I ain’t a movie director. I can’t say, ‘I don’t want Keif in this scene,’ and then Keif ain’t in the scene. This is real life. What am I supposed to do?

  Keif wouldn’t go away. He said, ‘Here, get this down you, girl.’ And he gave me a steaming mug of chicken pasta soup. I got Wozzisname all
scrunched up in the boot of a car not three feet away and a steaming mug of soup in my mitt. What am I supposed to do?

  Should I give the soup back and say, ‘I just fuckin’ croaked a bloke so I don’t deserve no chicken pasta soup’? Then should I go back out in the rain and slit my wrists with a rusty nail? Is that what I should do?

  Tell me. Go on, tell me.

  I was hungry, so I ate the soup.

  That’s what you’re supposed to do with soup. You’re supposed to eat it. That’s all clear and simple.

  But what’re you supposed to do with a dead bloke in a sleeping bag? Get old voodoo digits to magic him away? Turn girly and say, ‘Keif, baby, I been a bad girl. It wasn’t my fault.’ Flutter, flutter with the old eyelashes. Swoosh-swish with the poxy stocking tops. ‘Keif, baby, help me out of this and all of heaven will be yours.’ Well, maybe Simone could of done it. But Simone fucked off.

  In the movies the body rolls into the river, plop. All done and dusted. Sometimes they roll the whole car into the river, plop, glub-glub. All gone. Except Simone wouldn’t allow that, for sure. Wherever Simone was.

  Sometimes the car explodes. Like my head. Thwhump-whump. No car. No dead bloke.

  Well, I can’t do that, can I? Not in central London. Not when Simone wants her car back.

  So what am I supposed to do?

  ‘Eat your soup,’ Keif said. ‘Don’t look so mollixed. You seen a guy make soup before aincha?’

  So I ate the soup and three feet away Wozzisname stared out into a dark car boot ‘cos I couldn’t bring meself to close his eyes.

  I wanted to take a pill and go to sleep, and not wake up till someone else did something about Wozzisname.

  In a different movie, I’d be Ms Big. I’d chop a wedge off of all my zillions and I’d wave it under Keif’s nose. ‘Got a little job for you, boy,’ I’d say. And he’d say, ‘Whatever you want Ms Wylie.’ And while he was out I’d find another Keif and tell him to get rid of the first Keif.

  ‘What’s up?’ Keif said. ‘You’re staring.’

  ‘What’s up with you?’ I said. ‘You’re still here.’

  ‘Come an’ sit on my knee,’ he said. ‘We’ll see what’s up with me.’

  Can you believe this? I was wrong. God ain’t a clown. God’s a totally crazy-insane movie director.