by Jason Michel
“Don't worry nobody'll say anything here. This is a place the police can't find. I think you know that already. I'll go through the gun routine with you back at the Bordello. Can't have you blowing your cock off now can we? What would pretty Lily say?”
Lime flushed at this and Blake went silent and continued to grin as he slurped down his green tea.
“Now, in the words of the late great somebody or other – I wanna tell you a story …!”
Chapter 17
“We've had our eye on you for quite some time now, Alfie Lime.”
Blake leaned in close, almost close enough for their noses to touch and theatrically closed his fake eye while widening the other. It was an insane pantomime.
“We?” wondered Lime.
“Who's we?”
“Ever since that magazine of yours started poking its nose into all the right orifices. You published a lot of information on some real nasty bastards, y'know?”
"Yeah, I know” muttered Lime as his mind was cast back in time to McKnight. Poor old … Ahhh ... Bollocks. He had known it was a dangerous thing. Giving them all the info on the Tenebris. McKnight had not been a victim. He had been a casualty. Lime knew that, yet that sharp prick of guilt hung over him whenever his mind turned to the dead man.
"No!” spat Blake loudly, sending a ferocious electric shock from the crown of Lime's head, down to his testicles.
"You don't.”
The white suit growled softly as he began to judge Lime. All that big oaf had experienced over the previous week. It would have been enough to have sent your garden variety English rational male ego to the Hotel Loony Bin for a this-is-your-brain-on-drugs sandwich. Not Lime, though. He had controlled himself well. Perhaps it was a facet in the psychological make-up of a paranoid, Blake reasoned. That inherit distrust of reality. Fuck it, Lime had been dead a couple of days of ago. Still was, somewhere out there. He was ready to understand. Blake whistled air through his teeth.
“Okay, listen and listen good, you fat bastard. Here's the most important scoop of your life. The real fucking lowdown, old boy!”
Blake was back to grinning. Lime found himself closing his eyes.
Escaping to the internal night.
He was all ears.
“The official story is this: It's a war. All of it. The whole of existence is in a state of bloody conflict. The whole Light versus Darkness shebang. Ice against Fire. Shane staring down Jack Palance in the eyeballs for eternity. The Cosmic battle of the sexes. Incredibly advanced trans-dimensional civilisations claiming universes as territory. All the gods and fairies and angels and demons and alien abductions and nine foot lizard people, guiding and manipulating other less … “advanced” civilisations to gain an advantage over their traditional alliance of foes of millenia pushing their values onto others no matter how different the culture or kind of intelligence. However, and here's the rub, the extremes fight and chaos is maintained. Reality is created. All those flowers to smell and eyes to see with and shopping trolleys and mosquitoes spreading disease and sunlight and lemons and tsunamis. If one side wins, everything is destroyed. It could not be any other way. War is all there is. Bummer, eh?”
Blake smirked at Lime's fly-catching nodding expression. It was not a malicious smirk but one filled with a sad humour at what he had told and what was yet to be spoken.
“Now …” he puffed out another mouthful of pungent smoke “ … here's the real reason for all this. All this. This Coldest of all Wars. It's a game”
Blake hissed that last sentence drawing out the “ay” sound while touching his thumb and index finger together in emphasis. He looked around himself and let the word settle in the air pulled and elasticated by the heavy wisp of smoke between them. The word became solid for an instant.
In the Beginning ...
Then slowly, he continued.
“That's all it is. A frigging game. A play. Even the civilisations themselves refuse to believe such a thing. They suspect, of course, but to come out and speak it directly, well, that would be heresy. That would destroy belief, and let me tell you, bud, even your advanced trans-dimensional levitating tentacled jelly-entity needs to believe in something. The more civilised a society feels to be, the more refined is the cultural nature of its cruelty. Cruelty comes from taking oneself far too seriously, like a psychopath with a grandiose sense of self. Who wants to know that their lives are nothing more than moves in some vast information system's game of Twister. Or that we are quantum nature's own reality TV to keep it amused while it waits for its tea. And like every game, there are rules, Lime, and rules are made to be broken and that's where I come in. Consider me a referee in The Multiverse Cup.”
Lime saw the grin and found that one had appeared on his face also. Blake began nodding and a question came hurtling out of Lime's mouth.
“OK. So … um … why are you telling me this?”
Blake's nod turned into a gentle head-shake.
“Why!? Why? Io Pan! You've had direct contact with The Others! You've come back from the Ocean of Light! And to be honest you are a damn fine information gatherer. We need good men like you. I'm here to recruit you, Limey-boy. Whattayasay? Want to play?”
Lime blinked then a knot of energy formed in his belly. It spread to his limbs and his head then the laughter came, one more. That liberating sensation of pins and needles that freed his soul from all the dirt accumulated there through his life. He had found a reason to continue and nodded and nodded and nodded through his streaming eyes.
“I take it that's a 'yes', then?”
Lime wiped his eyes.
It was his turn to smirk, then suddenly he had a thought that he spoke out loud.
“Why Lily?”.
"Ahhh, … well, my guess is that they were tidying up loose ends. It was her they were after that night. Not you. They recognised you but you just in the right place at the wrong time.”
Blake leaned back for the first time looking not so confident with his answer followed by a slight shrug of the shoulders. It was only momentary as his back straightened once more.
“Listen” he said “It's a game so think like a poker player. Know when to take risks and when not to. Don't you dare think for a fucking instant that it's all black and white though. It gets murky, very murky, let me tell you. For example, that shooter in your pocket. Given to me by an old German chum, it was. A card carrying member of the German Nazi party, no less. One day, I'll tell you about it. You have to choose your allies very carefully. Everybody is a potential cheat. Do not trust anybody. That includes me. Think.”
Lime was sure he heard a high-pitched theremin whine in the distance. He expected to hear the familiar wheeze of the Tardis appearing any minute. Life was open to all experiences now.
“Deep down most people know their own sense of ridiculousness, feel it, sense it. It's just a frightening bloody thing to deal with. Better to have your ego built up from an overbearing mother or to hide inside a bottle of whisky, on the grooves of a porn DVD or inside a High Definition TV. Some suspect it and become paranoid. Conspiracy theorists. Sceptics. Agnostics. Ritual Magicians. and even less have a raw encounter with that knowledge. A metaphysical open soul surgery without anaesthesia. and you just know what happens to them, don't you?
I mean, just look at old Lovecraft.
Or Philip Dick.
Neither of them were a barrel of laughs, I can tell you!
And you went and got yourself involved, didn't you, Lime. Like a good journalist, until you got to the truth. You kept picking at a fat scab that underneath was already infested with maggots. Except these maggots eat reality for an aperitif and never smile.
Now, let's get the bastard who killed your Véronique and have a good bloody laugh while we're at it!”
Chapter 18
Alfie Lime made his way happily and not too soberly back to the Bordello. He made numbed his way past the crashing of glasses and high flying insults. He had left Blake flirting with Calypso after making plan
s to meet early the next morning. Lime's mind was reeling with what he had to do. Would he be up to the task?
They would all (Lily too, it was not safe for her here they both agreed) be leaving Death Street in a day or two, to where he did not know. He would be told tomorrow. Like in the movies. The plot unfolds until the final scene then everything is revealed and resolution is complete.
As he entered the foyer, he nodded at Elvis who was knee deep in an argument with the elusive chef. The war of their words being conducted in different rooms and through an adjoining door. The gnarled Asian nodded back, smiled and motioned that he had let Lily in to the room and that she was sleeping and he made a big show of winking suggestively. A moment later his face changed to a snarl as he hurtled towards the door to gesture and rant some more.
When Lime reached his door, he opened it as silently as possible keeping the bog standard wooden door squeaking down to a minimum so as not to wake Lily. She was lying curled on the bed in her dress and Lime stood there motionless watching the rise and fall of her body with every fluttering breath and, for a moment, he saw Véronique lying there in the young beauty's place. The dead lady looked up and Lime saw the tears of blood weeping down her gaunt cheeks. She was crying and shaking her head in distress while silently mouthing “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” as her matted hair stuck to her cheeks and her teeth gnashed.
“Alfie?”
Lily was gazing directly at Lime.
“Come” she said sleepily and offered him her hand. He came to her and they held and stroked each other silently for a time before the touching became something stronger and wordlessly they began to undress each other with care. Lime shed his clothes into a pile with the Luger placed on top and was soon lost in a storm of emotion as the force of his passion blew through him like a hurricane and Lily's kisses rained down upon his neck, his chest, his stomach, down, down as the wetness of her mouth engulfed his cock and he lost all sense of who he was and in the eye of the tornado he became calm and still. This was the life that had been missing out on. A game of chance and a slow dance until the curtain falls.
Lime dreamt of mist and lights through fog that night. Vague smoke-like shapes that whirled into sudden clear images coming out at him from the gloom like a ride of the Ghost Train
From a distance he saw himself entwined and rutting and slurping with Lily whose head had become the pale white flower of her namesake disappearing into each other as they slurped and gulped each other down deep.
A snowflake's requiem reaching its crescendo.
Sam and the Black Dog howling soundlessly.
McKnight eyelessly glared out at him from the perishing watery profundity.
Bamboozle looked down upon him from a great height, head lolled back in a malicious chuckle.
*
It was at 07:06 when the pain seared through Alfie Lime's testicles waking him and at the same time almost knocking him into oblivion once again. Something had crushed his balls. He gasped sharply for air as his mouth was covered and began to hiccup violently with the effort. His heart slammed against its protective ribcage. His teeth bit into his lips bringing with them the salty taste of blood. His eyes focussing then unfocussing on his surroundings. Something indistinct moved in front of his eyes. The musky stench of his sweat poured out from his crotch, back and armpits. He strained at the bonds that held his head arms and legs.
As his eyes acclimatised to the scene, he saw that he was lying in what seemed to be an unlit loft, the sloping ceiling narrowed down towards where his feet where staked out wide on the wooden floor. Grubby light was lazily cutting strips out of the room through the tears in a small newspaper covered window. From the chaos of noises that flowed through the ill-fitting window frame, Lime guessed he was still on Death Street.
His head was tightly fixed to the floor across his forehead and over his mouth with strong cloth and nine inch nails. His arms were spread just above shoulder height. He looked like a human star. The cracks between the bare dried blood stained wooden floorboards cut into his back and buttocks and creaked as struggled. If only he was not so weak, he could have pulled those nails right out despite the throbbing pain in his crotch. He was glad he could not see between his legs. Seeing would have only made the pain of what had happened down there more unbearable. He thought of Lily and held back his tears.
Then the floor creaked again but the root of the noise did not come from him, it came from the corner of the ill-shaped room.
“Grumpy's dead” came a parched voice from behind his head. Lime tried peering up to where the voice came from. He secretly wished to be blind and deaf.
"Bam … Bamboozle?”
Lime mumbled the three syllables hesitantly through the cloth, sure to still be dreaming if only it was not for the physical agony.
“He's dead and it's all your fault, Alfie” spoke the voice again.
Lime's eyes widened as he stared straight up at the lone naked and dead light bulb on the ceiling.
Blink.
Bamboozle was leering into that grotesque dream smile.
“You're to blame” he mouthed. Lime tried to speak.
"Shut it!” shouted the grin above him.
"I did it. I sliced the vicious little dwarf's throat. Almost took his head clean off. It was clean, all except the two short hairs I left there from them to find. Two short hairs from your chin, Alfie.
If only you hadn't kept diggin' and diggin' on one of your hunches, matey. He may well have been still cursing you and me in that disgusting way that we always loved him to.
McKnight too. Who d'ya think gave them McKnight?
Being fed th' scraps that we were thrown t' make nowt more than good copy for th' nutters who read The GutterPress. That's what we did, Alfie. That's all we ever did. I mean, who d'ya think owns The GutterPress, anyway?
But fuckin' no. You had t' keep on scratchin' at their doors until they recognised that maybe, just maybe we were a threat, didn't ya? Thought you knew th' truth, didn't ya? Didn't ya, eh!? Well, there's no happy ending for you, Alfie, and the movie is over.”
At this Lime felt compelled to laugh once more. It had certainly been a funny old day. If even half of what Blake had spoken was the truth, then this was nothing more than a cosmic joke. An eternal gag. The floorboards squeaked as the big man's body shuddered with the freeing spasms that laughter brought with it. Lime saw Bamboozle's expression change from vicious glee to confusion to pure, clean anger. Don't trust anybody – Absolutely fucking straight. Lime sneered as the man above him circled and began to curse, then Lime saw the fist bearing down on his nose. Once, twice, three times, smearing cartilage across his left cheek.
Yet still Lime laughed as he saw Bamboozle rub his knuckles, already the adrenaline wearing off and the hurt seeped through into hands unprepared for violence. The once-friend disappeared out of his view and Lime shut his eyes tight, feeling the wetness of his tears mingling with the more syrupy droplets of splattered blood.
Lime stayed with eyes shut seeing the glowing and shifting colours behind his eyelids engulfing all his torment and shock, thankfully lost for a moment.
It was a scent that brought his eyes back open. The smell of rotting peaches. He recognised it from somewhere as smells invariably lead us to memories forgotten. As his eyelids wrenched themselves up and stars danced in front of his face, there she was.
Lily.
It was Lily.
*
She had taken his dream flower form. Petals crowned her head and had become altogether vulvic in its form. Yet it was her. The little proboscii that struck out from the soft mane sensed all around her.
“Véronique” she spoke “It was I”.
As the words tumbled out of the head, it was as if the plant creature was in some mesmerised state. A song that Alfie did not quite hear with his ears alone.
“While you slept. Her heart taken and kissed”
She moved her fine long legs and stood directly above his head now. He could see up her shor
t summer dress and between her legs as her cunt-de-fleur pulsed open and closed. It's petals rained pollen down upon his eyes that sliced them like minute shards of glass.
“I put her still beating heart inside me, as I put your sad little sausage. Here.” She touched her sex and then made a grand gesture to show the room off as if welcoming new friends to a dinner party.
"This was the place I ate her essence. She disappeared for a moment, whisked away by me as I clicked my heels together. And you knew, didn't you? You woke for a moment. Poor old Alfie Lime. You writer of half truths. You spider shitting out silky and seductive half-truths. You weaver of broken-webs. Trying to make a house inside my head”
Lime's breath was sharp and erratic from the terrible outburst that lay coiled in his chest as he drank it all in. He remembered clearly waking for an instant that night, sure that Véronique had left. And now, here it was. The admission of guilt for the transgression that had led Blake to him. It had been a direct intrusion into the lives of others. Manipulate, by all means but to intrude was to break the rules and because of this Blake, that cosmic anti-body, would hunt them down.
That is why the floorboards were stained red, why they stuck to his back. It was here that Véronique had been destroyed. Here. Now, in the same place, it was going to happen to him.
Lily dropped her body down until her sex ever-so-gently grazed where his nose used to be. Her pollen mingled with his blood as she drunk from his wound. She then pushed herself away until she straddled his crotch and she began to grind herself, once, twice on his damaged and swollen member. She felt like heavy light. Lime saw Bamboozle's hand pass her something thin and metallic. It was a nail.
Lily hummed an ambient melody from her triffid-head while she slid herself down further, finally kneeling between Lime's legs. Then she roughly grabbed his cock and balls and stabbed the nail down with the force of a sledgehammer, fixing his most intimate parts to the floor, one on top of the other. Lime screamed as he felt his scrotum leak, not a cry of fear but one of bellowing acceptance.