Musclebound

by Liza Cody

  Simone said nothing.

  ‘How much did she give me?’ I asked Simone. ‘I got to feed the dogs.’

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ Simone said.

  ‘I can count,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you can,’ she said.

  ‘I just forgotten.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. Maybe it’ll come back to you if we wait.’

  We waited, but I couldn’t think numbers. All I could think of at that moment was Wozzisname and that was the worst possible thing to think of.

  ‘I can count,’ I said. ‘Why did you say I can’t?’

  ‘I was wrong,’ Simone said. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was tired too. She said, ‘Do you think, Detective Sergeant, that Eva could feed her dogs now? Could we have a word?’

  ‘We all need a break,’ Maggot said. ‘She can feed her dogs if she puts them on a leash and keeps them under control. And that’s the one place we haven’t searched yet – the dog pen.’

  ‘Ramses won’t like that,’ I said. ‘Dogs is territorial. Why should Ramses put up with having his home trashed any more than me? You got a warrant?’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Maggot. ‘I don’t need a warrant to search a doghouse.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ I said. ‘Dogs got rights. I’ll get the RSPCA on to you.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Simone was looking at me like I was soft in the noodle. She didn’t understand, and she didn’t say nothing to stop them neither. So we all got up and went out.

  It was daylight and the rain was coming down in strips. Even the politzei looked miserable. The manager and the foreman were still hanging in, answering this and that every time the troops found something dodgy.

  When the men turned up for work they went through the politzei grinder one at a time, and then the manager or the foreman sent them home again. We’d been royally shafted. I thought that when this was over I’d deep-fry Burger Bar John upside down in his own chip pan and stuff his ears into one of his own soggy buns.

  The dogs was in a terrible strop – except for Milo who was so pleased to see me he stood on his hind legs and gave me a morning wash. His stand-up ear looked a bit chewed. He spent the night cooped up with Ramses and Lineker and I spent the night cooped up with Maggot and Oily-Rag so I knew how he felt.

  I fed them and gave them water. Then I had to put them back in the van.

  ‘Not Milo,’ I said. ‘He’s only a pup.’

  ‘A what?’ said Oily-Rag. ‘He looks like a small horse to me.’

  ‘He’s too young to take chokey,’ I said. ‘I’m keeping him with me. He won’t bite no one – he’s a dead loss as a guard dog so far. He won’t even bite you’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Maggot.

  ‘Herf,’ said Milo, looking pitiful. He was good at that.

  ‘But keep him on the leash,’ said Maggot.

  ‘Hip-herf,’ said Milo.

  ‘Shurrup,’ I said. ‘He talks too much. I dunno what to do about that. Guard dogs is supposed to be silent and deadly but he’s always got something to say.’

  ‘I wonder who he takes after?’ said Maggot. ‘Right, let’s look at the pen.’

  So we tramped through the rain and the puddles to look at the pen.

  There wasn’t nothing in the pen to look at except the old fridge I keep the dogs’ food and brushes in. It’s only a pen. It’s got an awning I rigged up to the doghouse and a mat under it so the dogs can sit out if they want to, even if it’s raining. Maggot looked under the mat and Oily-Rag emptied all the Bow Chow rusks on the floor.

  ‘Now they’re spoiled,’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to keep dog biscuits dry and hard. It’s for their teeth and gums. You’re taking food out of my dogs’ mouths and you ought to be ashamed.’

  ‘Shush, Eva,’ said Simone. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  They went into the dogs’ house. They turned their beds over. They shook out the bedding and I hope they caught fleas. I wished my dogs was free to protect their own territory, ‘cos I couldn’t. Nobody listens to me. I should have a lawyer. My dogs should have a dog lawyer.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Maggot.

  But he didn’t find nothing. He didn’t find no Puma sports bag filled with bent squillions. Did you think he would? Get a brain. I ain’t stupid.

  ‘Where can I wash my hands?’ said Oily-Rag.

  ‘Ssh-ssh,’ said Simone, ‘cos she thought I was going to tell Oily-Rag to wash her hands in the same place she put her enema. But I wouldn’t soil me lips.

  What? Tell the politzei useful information? I wouldn’t even tell them their own names. I didn’t tell Detective Sergeant Chapman of the Fraud Squad his name was really Maggot of the Turd Squad, did I? No. I got my pride.

  They didn’t leave till nearly midday. Then they got into their vans and cars and went back to the cesspit they came from. They took the manager with them. But they didn’t take me. And they didn’t take Ramses and Lineker.

  They didn’t take the yard foreman neither.

  ‘Frigging Frieda,’ he said. ‘Ever been grateful you’re only small fry?’

  ‘I ain’t small anything,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that’s my job down the garbage chute,’ he said. ‘Yours too.’

  ‘What you talking about?’

  ‘No one’s going to pay you to guard an empty yard,’ he said. ‘And an empty yard’s what’s going to be left by the time the cops sort out the bent gear from the straight.’

  ‘That ain’t fair,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t shout at me,’ he said. ‘When was life ever fair to the likes of us?’

  ‘But I always did my job.’

  ‘Pull the other one,’ he said. ‘You spent half your time out on second-wagers and the other half in the boozer.’

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘So where did all those cassette and disc players and stuff go?’

  ‘Ask those thieving crows you work with,’ I said, ‘I don’t touch nothing that ain’t mine.’ Well, not much. Not enough to notice.

  ‘Hah!’ he said. ‘And what about the fire extinguisher? I was looking for that only yesterday.’

  ‘What would I want a fire extinguisher for?’ I couldn’t look at Simone. She was sitting on the step to the Static with her head in her arms.

  ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘What would you want with any of the things you pinch? To sell in the market? You know your business. I don’t. But that fire extinguisher’s got the name of the yard scratched on it. I thought you had more sense.’

  How was I supposed to know that? It was dark when we bundled Wozzisname into my sleeping bag. I wasn’t looking for no scratched names. I only wanted something heavy to weigh him down so he wouldn’t float in the Thames.

  I was glad Simone wasn’t listening. She’d of been scared. She couldn’t deal with Wozzisname. Think of the trouble we’d be in if I hadn’t looked after everything the way I did. I wasn’t going to tell her about the name on the fire extinguisher any more than I was going to tell her about the squillions in the Puma bag. She’s too sensitive. She needs someone to protect her from the ugly facts of life. It’s a good job she’s got me.

  Her eyes look like a foal’s eyes when she wakes up. She raised her head and said, ‘Has everyone gone?’

  I gave her a mug of tea. Everyone was gone. Even the foreman. There was only her and me and the dogs left.

  ‘Still free,’ I said. We’d been so close to pokey I could smell it.

  ‘No thanks to you,’ she said. ‘When will you ever learn to keep your mouth shut, Eva? You were foaming. I thought one of your dogs had given you rabies.’

  ‘I didn’t say nothing,’ I said. ‘I never say nothing to the politzei.’

  ‘Jesus!’ she said. She sipped her tea and I thought we was going to settle down to a nice chat when God Greg came sailing into the yard in the good ship BMW. He stopped right in front of the Static.

  ‘Simone, you poor child,’ he said. ‘You look exhausted.’

&nb
sp; ‘What about me?’ I said. ‘I spent all night keeping you out of trouble. Don’t I look knackered too?’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Simone. ‘For the last time, Eva, just shut up.’

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ Greg said. He got out of the car in his big black coat and hat, and he held the door open for her. Like he had manners – don’t make me spit.

  She looked at him with her foal’s eyes, as if it was him who’d been up all night with her, keeping her out of trouble, instead of me. She got up off of the Static step.

  I said, ‘I’ve lost my job ‘cos of you. My home’s been trashed ‘cos of you. I’ve had maggots all over my yard, my life, ‘cos of you.’

  ‘You’ll be compensated,’ God Greg said. ‘Come, Simone.’

  ‘You and your bent money,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t touch either of you with rubber gloves on.’

  ‘Be very careful about what you say to me,’ he said. He was holding the car door for Simone. She bent her head and climbed in. She didn’t even say goodbye.

  Greg said, ‘Be almost as careful about what you say to me as you are, and will be, when you speak of me. Do you understand? My young associates gave me a very detailed description of the person who stole the car and the sports bag. And I have to warn you, Eva, I find the likeness to be uncanny.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘They’re piddling in their pants.’

  ‘They may well be afraid of me,’ he said. ‘I’m not denying that. But they are showing more sense than you. You may have convinced your sister of that absurd story about a lottery ticket, and who knows – the absurd is sometimes the truth. But, Eva, be very careful what you say to me. I am not so easy to convince and I have a very long arm.’

  He closed the door on Simone. He went round the car to the driver’s side. He got in and drove off. And Simone drove off with him. I couldn’t even see her face behind the tinted glass.

  Chapter 29

  I hope Greg explodes. I hope the bastard he was doing a bent-dosh deal with sticks a sawn-off shooter up his big greasy nose and blasts his big black hat into outer space. Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am – treating me like that – coming between me and Simone? After everything I done for him.

  See, he thinks he’s God Almighty and he thinks I’m lower than a worm. But he doesn’t know, and now I’m not going to tell him. Ever. He can light a fire with ice cubes before I tell him I could of done a bent-dosh deal with him myself.

  Yes I could. I still got his sodding Puma bag, except I don’t know what it looks like now. And I still got his bent dosh, except it’s a bit more bent than it used to be. A lot more bent, actually. It’s still in the back of the red Carlton car. Well, not the red Carlton, but one just like it. It’s in the one Milo chose for me when he lifted his leg on the rear wheel and showed me that the old mojo stuff was still working.

  I couldn’t just throw them squillions away, could I? They was much too pretty to throw away. So I kept them, and the Puma bag and the red Carlton. And if God Greg ever gives me any more grief I’ll load them all up on a trolley and wheel ’em along to the politzei cesspit and give God Greg all his grief back.

  Don’t think I won’t. I’d chew on a crowbar before I let the politzei use me, but they wouldn’t be using me, would they? I’d be using them, and God Greg don’t deserve no better. He can go mouldy in the cooler like the rest of the rotten meat.

  He’s so stupid. The squillions was right under his nose when he came to fetch Simone. Actually, they was right under Simone’s arse when she sat on the Static step. And they was right under Maggot and Oily-Rag’s big feet when they was invading my home.

  What do they look like? Well, I dunno really, except they’re bent. Crushed, more like. Quite small – the size of a big doorstep. I had to put that red Carlton through the crusher three times to make it small enough – just the right size to stick outside my front door. And with a sheet of hardboard and a rubber doormat on top I’d made meself a nice front doorstep. The rubber mat has ‘Welcome’ written on it. But don’t you believe everything you read – if your name’s Greg or Maggot or Oily-Rag or Burger Bar John or Andy or Ma, you ain’t welcome.

  I bent down and turned the Welcome mat upside down. There wasn’t nothing written on the backside.

  And I was glad I did it ‘cos the next person to stand on that mat was the Enemy and she’s another one who ain’t welcome.

  She said, ‘You’re still here.’

  ‘Where did you think I’d be?’ I said. ‘Banged up in pokey? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Believe it or not, I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I didn’t inform on you. Maybe I should’ve, but I didn’t.’

  ‘I know. It was Burger Bar John. The creepy sod.’

  ‘Well, maybe,’ she said. ‘Have you sorted everything out with the police?’

  ‘You never sort it out with them,’ I said. ‘Never. They’re always round the next corner, waiting.’

  ‘I mean, are you in the clear?’

  ‘Dunno. They went away. They didn’t take me in.’

  ‘I expect you’re all right then. I’m glad.’ She stood there, all ruled lines and buttons – typical lady copper.

  ‘What’re you waiting for?’ I said. ‘I ain’t asking you in for tea and fancy cakes.’

  She looked round the yard. It was empty and silent.

  ‘What’re you going to do?’ she said.

  ‘What makes it your business?’

  She sighed and said nothing. Then she turned away and started to walk back to her white Peugeot.

  I said, ‘I ain’t drinking no more.’

  She turned back. She looked at me but she still didn’t say nothing.

  ‘You thought I couldn’t give it up,’ I said. ‘Shows how much you know. I’m in training again. I’m an athlete. I can give it up whenever I want to.’

  ‘Good for you,’ she said. ‘Tell you what, Eva, if you can stay clean and dry for six weeks, come and talk to me or Mr Schiller. Perhaps we can find something for you.’

  Six weeks! Who did she think she was kidding? What would I eat in the meantime? What would Ramses, Lineker and Milo eat? Six weeks is for ever when you got nothing to eat. Six hours is for ever. That’s the Enemy for you. Stuff her.

  I looked at the money in my pockets. There was a five-pound note, coins and a lottery ticket. And that was supposed to see me through six weeks. Yeah, right. And then perhaps, maybe, the Enemy might find something for me – if, perhaps, maybe, might. Oh, I could count on the Enemy all right.

  I was standing on bent, crushed squillions and all I had in my hand was a measly five-pound note. Ain’t life a joke?

  There was enough in my hand for some bread and beans, so I went out. And I met Keif coming in. Well, he would be coming in, wouldn’t he? He didn’t know I was down to my last fiver, did he? He didn’t know I was out of a job. He didn’t know I wasn’t rich no more, and it’s only rich women who get all the visitors.

  ‘Hey, pretty pudding,’ he said. ‘How’s it hanging?’

  ‘It ain’t hanging,’ I said. ‘It’s dangling from a broken thread. Look around.’

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘What’s happening here?’

  ‘We was raided last night. Politzei closed the yard, so I ain’t got a job no more. And if I ain’t got a job, you ain’t got a job. So you can sling your hook.’

  ‘Tough,’ he said. ‘Man, that’s tough. What you going to do?’

  ‘What do you care?’ I left the yard gate unlocked. I didn’t care either. ‘I can’t pay you no more,’ I said, ‘so buzz off.’

  ‘You know it ain’t like that, babes,’ he said. ‘C’mon, admit it – you know I ain’t like that.’

  ‘Everyone’s like that,’ I said. I showed him what I had in my hand. ‘That’s all I got,’ I said. ‘Five quid and a lottery ticket ain’t enough for a personal trainer.’

  ‘It ain’t enough for dinner neither,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’m buying.’

  ‘That’s a first,’ I
said. ‘You never bought me nothing before.’

  We walked up Mándala Street and I didn’t even slow down when we got to the Fir Tree. I walked right on by. See? I told you I wasn’t drinking no more and I meant it. If I say I’m giving it up, that’s what I do.

  ‘OK, safe,’ Keif said. ‘I ain’t giving you no hassle about that. No need for shouting.’

  We went into the caff on the main road, and I ordered sausage, eggs, beans and chips. No burgers. I’ve given up burgers too. I don’t care who cooks them, they’ll always remind me of Burger Bar John.

  We sat down at a table by the window and waited for the food. When it came everything felt better. You can’t be too blue with half a pound of sausage, egg and chips in your gob.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Keif said, ‘my dad was well impressed with you.’

  ‘I should fucking well hope so,’ I said with my mouth full. ‘I saved his little Keifee’s arse, din’t I?’

  ‘Dunno ‘bout that,’ he said. ‘But you were impressive. All that stuff you said about believing in it – about wrestling like you mean it – when you was in that ring I believed.’

  ‘For true?’ I said.

  ‘My dad said a girl like you ought to do something serious – like boxing.’

  ‘Wrestling’s serious.’

  ‘He meant something you can make a living from.’

  ‘I can make a living wrestling,’ I said.

  ‘Can you? Did you ever?’ he said. ‘’Cos the money ain’t great. And it don’t seem to me there’s enough women for you to fight. Not twice a week like the men do,’

  ‘You’re a bright little ray of sunshine,’ I said. ‘Cos he was bringing me down. Usually he annoys the shit out of me but he doesn’t bring me down.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ I said. ‘Mr Deeds kicked your arse out of the wrestling game. You’re blue ‘cos you’re on the dole too.’

  ‘Um, well …’

  ‘Go on. You can tell me.’

  ‘You wrong again,’ he said. ‘Mr Deeds thinks Mohammed Wily got potential or what. Didn’t want to tell you. I got my job if I want it. But he blaming you.’

  ‘Typical,’ I said. ‘Blame me.’

  ‘Now, now, honey-bear, it ain’t so bad. I ain’t going back. My mum, she’ll kill me if I go back. She don’t like that scene at all. And my dad thinks I better work with him, at his gym – training all the youth.’