Language in the Blood

by Angela Lockwood

  ***

  When I came to, Jane had gone – and so had everything else of value. Luckily, she hadn’t found my main stash under the floor boards. Fucking bitch! I’m never bringing another fucking junky back to my pad again.

  Then I noticed the keys to my Vespa had gone too and I couldn’t let that slide. It was my pride and joy and an essential accessory for looking cool. It took me two weeks to find her, but one night, I saw Jane and some of her mod friends sitting on their scooters in Carnaby Street. They were smoking and drinking beer, trying to look cool. She was sitting on my scooter and had made quite a mess of it. One of the mirrors was missing and the side of the white Vespa was all scratched. I ran up to them and pushed her off violently.

  ‘Oi,’ she screamed, picking herself up from the pavement.

  ‘I’ll have this back, thank you very much, you stealing bitch!’ I yelled back.

  Some of her friends had got off their scooters and were coming towards me, but I calmly started the Vespa and drove away. I think they knew I was in the right.

  Of course, little Jane wasn’t going to get off that lightly. I found out where she lived and broke into her apartment – well, it was really just a single room with a kitchenette and a small bathroom to the side. She didn’t have much in the way of furniture but the place was scattered with colourful cushions and she had some pop art on the wall. I went round putting any valuables in my pocket but there wasn’t much.

  When I heard her keys in the lock, I hid in the bathroom. She came in and seemed to be in a rush, throwing off her coat and rushing to get all her heroin paraphernalia out on the coffee table. She was soon lying semi-comatose on her cushions. I went and stood over her wondering what to do. She lifted her head slightly and recognised me. As the haze in her mind started to clear a bit, she realised why I was there and struggled to get up.

  ‘What…? I can pay you back,’ she said, looking scared. Such a shame I couldn’t bite her, but that hadn’t worked out so well the last time. I thought about pouring some turpentine over her and setting the place on fire, but the other tenants didn’t deserve to die or even lose their homes. Then I spotted a little frame with a photo of a middle-aged couple and a little beagle. I couldn’t do anything worse to Jane than she was already doing to herself, but this might work out well for me.

  ‘Those three all still alive?’ I asked, pointing at the picture.

  ‘Yes. Those are my parents and Sophie our dog,’ she told me.

  ‘Get your coat. We’re going to pay them a visit,’ I said, pulling her up from the floor.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘You’re going to pay me back,’ I said, helping her put on her coat.

  I hoped she wouldn’t fall off the back of the scooter as we made our way to her parents’ house in Wimbledon, but she clung on for dear life and we got there quickly.

  ‘Now, go in and get me the dog,’ I told her.

  ‘The dog? Don’t you want money?’ she asked, alarmed.

  ‘Naw. I always wanted a beagle and since you have been such a bitch I thought a bitch would be a good settlement.’

  ‘My mum loves that dog,’ she pleaded, ‘please pick something else! You can’t do this!’ But I grabbed her arm and pulled a razor out of my pocket.

  ‘Dog or face. You choose,’ I told her, looking menacing.

  ‘Ok. I’ll get her,’ she said quickly.

  She let herself in with a key that was hidden in one of the plant pots. Luckily, her parents weren’t in, but wee Sophie was. Soon both Jane and the dog came walking down the garden path.

  ‘Now. You can take the bus home and I hope we never see each other again!’ I said, putting the beagle under my coat. And I drove off.