The Windowlicker Maker

by Danny Hogan

  As I shuffled around the corner, panting and sweating like a fat bloke, I could hear the footsteps behind me stop. I looked around and saw the runt and the copper in his car eyeing each other suspiciously.

  Without missing a beat I dragged my sorry carcass across the road. Fumbled with my keys as I gibbered and panicked, looked around, no one, shoved the keys at the lock until I eventually found the hole, looked around, I saw a trainer appear, shoved the door with my shoulder and slammed it shut behind me, and stood with my back at the door desperately fighting to get some breath.

  The shame of it.

  I used to live in a lovely place with Ava. It was a muse cottage just down the road, with three floors to ourselves. It had a garden which Ava filled with all kinds of colourful flowers, a big old kitchen; the works. Now I was reduced to a pokey little studio with a kitchenette and shared bog. I sat on the corner of the bed, rocking back and fourth, now the rage was coming all too late.

  For a moment I just wanted to smash my place up. But I just didn’t have the energy. I wished I was ten years younger. I wished I was still in contact with my old squad. I wished it was the old days. I wished I had the heart and the soul I used to have, then they would suffer, but more than anything I wished Ava was still with me.

  I sat there as the light through the window turned dark blue, and then into plain dark. That old familiar reaction of my eyes adjusting to the change. I used to have to do a lot of jobs at night.

  So this was it; I would see that little twat walk around Brighton as free as you please and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

  There was no way I was going to call the old bill. It seemed like the only thing I could do was take it or move out of town. It was then that I finally got angry. I had not done anything here, I was the wronged party.

  5

  I awoke the next morning with a terrible headache and a strange state of mind.

  I got to go to the pit that was my kitchen to discover that the only thing I had available for breakfast was one-and-a-half shredded wheat and a drop of milk that was on its last legs. I’d have to make do.

  After showering I made my way over the road to the newsagents and saw the front page of the local rag.

  Another random act of violence on our streets read the headline, so I picked it up and read on. “Michelle Moon, 20, will need round-the-clock care for the rest of her life,” say boffins. Her boyfriend of too years (Sic) who was with her at the time is also in a critical condition. Police have no leads.”

  ‘This not a lending library, my friend,’ said the custodian of the newsagents.

  I put the paper down and walked out. If I thought I felt shit yesterday, I was wrong. I felt a world worse now. If I had only pulled myself together and done something to that rat, two people would still be happy today. I was sure of it.

  I looked at the damned mobile phone that Ava gave me long and hard. Jesus Christ I hate those things. I had to face the facts. I was not the man I once was. My wife gone, those kids… I had to do something in case some other poor bastard’s life was ruined for no good reason. I pulled a card out my pocket and dialled the number.

  About fifteen minutes later a car rolled by me. It stopped, then reversed down the street until it was next to me. A voice called out from the driver’s side: ‘Mr. Tatum, will you get in the car please.’

  I walked slowly up to the car window, which was being rolled down and said, ‘Ok officer,’ with a friendly smile.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of the otherwise empty car was David Mack, the chief plod and apparent dosser who had been on the case of Ava’s murder. It had made me sick to my stomach to break the code but I had to do something. I opened the passenger door and got in.

  I noticed that both beverage holders held half-full coffee cups. The cups themselves were gargantuan, Yankee style.

  Even though he was a copper, David Mack looked more like a villain than most villains did. He had a head like a lump of beaten meat topped with dark hair that looked like a Turkish butcher had done it in a hurry. He was a big bastard and although he always talked using formal and polite language there was an air of brutality about him.

  ‘What’s this about,’ he asked, as if he had something better to do.

  ‘It’s about that nastiness last night; those two kids.’

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The kind of gig that made you want to expose yourself and sing I’m a little teapot just to inspire a reaction. It was obvious he wasn’t going to bother saying anything so I decided to get the show on the road.

  ‘I reckon that couple last night were done by the same gang that did Ma and Ava.’

  ‘And what makes you think that Mr. Tatum.’

  I never expect the pigs to be cooperative but still I found his reaction weird. Like I just strolled up reeking of booze and talking about strange lights in the sky.

  ‘This is Brighton, it seems strange that two assaults fitting the same style happens here. I mean it’s hardly LA is it?’

  He just looked at me like I was talking dogshit, but I continued all the same.

  ‘I saw that bloke that killed Ava yesterday,’ suddenly I felt my nerves go and my mind became gabled by feelings as confusion set in, ‘I’m sure he had just done something.’ I turned to glare at the dashboard to try and get some focus.

  ‘You mean you believe you saw the guy that murdered your wife, and I mean really Mr. Tatum this all sounds very fanciful. Two brutal and unfortunate murders, nearly a year apart? You see someone who might have resembled the guy that took your wife out and put two and two together. Really Mr. Tatum I must warn you that wasting police time is a criminal offence.’

  Oh, I focused then all right. It was all I could do to stop going for him there and then.

  ‘So that is it?’ I practically spat, ‘the least you can do is give me a pat on the head and tell me you’re going to check it out.’

  ‘I’m the law around here and decide what gets done in its name, Mr. Tatum, you’d do very well to bear that in mind.’

  ‘Why have you not brought my wife’s killers to justice then?’ I snapped. He was incurring my cantankerous nature, this’un.

  He looked at me coldly.

  ‘I know all about you Mr. Tatum,’ he began, ‘sampled a fair few of our country’s fine institutions and some of our not so savoury ones.’

  ‘So what?’

  I looked at his coffee cups. I could see lipstick on one of them. I could just make out some flecks of glitter like what the young girls use in their make-up these days. Yeah.

  ‘Mr. Tatum, I can only imagine what you’re going through,’ he said this as if he was trying to stifle a yawn, ‘but if you even think of taking the law into your hands again I shall ensure, using my considerable sway in the courts, that you get institutionalised for good. A nice little place that houses the criminally insane would do the job I reckon.’

  I shook my head in total disbelief. Was this geezer a mate of Amos’s or something? Seemed like he was talking paranormal gibberish.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about, Mack? I came to you didn’t I? I’m asking you to do your bloody job here and now you talk of me taking the law into my own hands and threaten to throw me in the fucking loony bin, what the fuck have you been drinking?’

  Hit him? Shout that he could go to Hell? Do the teapot thing? I didn’t know. These were confusing times for me. Ordering a cup of coffee was difficult enough, but dealing with this…

  ‘Do mind your Ps & Qs, Mr. Tatum.’ He looked out into the road like he was about to quote Wordsworth, or something. ‘I’m a patriot and a conservative who spends his Sunday mornings in church like he ought. I do understand what you must be going through, but I also know what you’re capable of. Who knows who those voices in your head will be telling you was responsible for your wife’s death?’

  I kept quiet; he was doing a good job of winding me up.

  ‘Don’t bother looking into this again. You’re confused. Maybe it�
��s time to relocate, a change of scenery might do you good. Clear your head up a little. Now get out Mr. Tatum.’

  In all the driving and Mack’s baleful tones I had not noticed that we were in bloody Hove. The opposite side of town I lived on. Typical copper humour.

  I had nothing to say, so I got out of the car and into the nearest pub. I was thirsty after that.

  Over the road was an awful looking nightclub with a bunch of heavy looking bouncers milling around its entrance in all their finery. I looked back and saw Mack had his eye on them to. It was a knowing eye. And then he nodded at them. I paid no mind to it as he was right about one thing. I was as confused as hell.

  On my side of the road was a strange place called the Greenhouse Effect full of old heavies in slacks and polo shirts swinging brand new Chrysler keys around their fingers as they supped on pints of honey-coloured bitter. They made me think of the 80s.

  I ordered a pint from a friendly tart who was covered in tattoos and had big hoops in her ears. Not hoop earrings, but massive hoops in her earlobes, Christ alive.

  I was trying to think about what Mack had gone on about. The threats. It riled me how he just captured me in his big tin can and molested me like that.

  He could stick me in his funny farm for all I cared. Life had lost its taste.

  I didn’t know then that things were going to change. For better or worse? I don’t know. It’s difficult to gauge that now.

  6

  It took a lot of drinking to cleanse myself of the filth’s interference and by the time I left the Greenhouse Effect it was dark and I was pissed.

  I noticed that the bouncers over the road were staring at me. It wasn’t your normal, trying it on glaring either. It was with intent, I was sure of that. Yeah, coppers and bouncers. They make a fine pair.

  As I might have mentioned I have tendency to get confused and could have sworn I saw the landlord of my local,

  that dickhead with a ponytail having a chat with them.

  As I looked at them they stiffened in that aggressive, yet slightly scared way that hard men do.

  I thought, fuck this, and ignoring them I began the long walk home. I must have got ten feet up the road when what felt like a sledgehammer hit the back of my head and I hit the deck.

  It was the men from outside the nightclub, there were four of them, and they were hoofing the high-Hell out me. I thought Brighton was a nice town.

  They went for my head so I wrapped my arms around it. The bastards then began to work my torso.

  Soak it up old man, I told myself, you can take it. Truth be told, I was out of practice. I was struggling. The lads seemed to have had their breakfasts this morning and each dull and sharp strike was worse than the last. One of them was really enjoying himself as he screeched abuse and kicked me in. It made me feel sorry for myself to tell the truth, but not half as sorry as I felt when the ribs on my left side went. At that point I felt it prudent to play the whimpering done in one, though not much acting skill was required. Then, wouldn’t you know, they backed off.

  One of them; a fat bald cunt with little beady eyes glaring at me pointed and said: ‘You’ve been warned.’

  The one who had really enjoyed this whole event gave stepped up and booted me in the face, forcing my head right back. A load of my claret was loosed as my face split right open. Yeah, I tried a couple of times to pick myself up from the floor.

  It was then that I noticed me and my new friends had attracted quite an audience. The good burghers of Hove seemed to be all stood around me looking suitably shocked and sickened, cooing and clucking and shaking their heads.

  Hove; the land of the disapprover. This was Vanessa Felts country. I had heard that Nick Cave lived here though I could never understand why.

  A big, black Bentley, with those effeminate chrome rims, pulled up and the thugs scrambled into it. With much fanfare the saloon did a U-turn and roared off towards the big Tesco on the outskirts of town.

  As I struggled to get up off the ground, coughing and spluttering and holding myself like a victim, who should I see walking past but the ponytailed landlord of my local. As he walked he eyed me with what looked like, mock pity, shook his head slowly and tutted. I promised myself that that would be the last time he mocked me.

  Something was wrong here. Why the hell were these mugs warning me and for what? I had the feeling that Mack was involved somewhere along the line, what with the nodding, but that was probably because I couldn’t stand the meat-headed bastard. As often happened when I got hurt, I thought of Ava.

  I had barely made it onto Church Road when that bloody mobile phone Ava had got me started to chirp. It made me bloody jump too as I forgot the thing existed most of the time. Didn’t do my ribs any good at all. The word on the screen said Eloise.

  ‘Hey there, lover boy,’ her voice sang out when I pushed the button. I was suddenly reminded of some shithouse film Ava loved.

  My attention was taken by two police cars screaming passed.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, and by God didn’t I sound awful. I had made some attempt to gulp down the pain and evidence of my current condition but the word just tumbled out of my dry throat and hit the deck, dead.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ she asked, her voice was slightly distorted as my phone was getting out of range or something.

  ‘I really need some help here,’ I croaked. I felt ashamed.

  She was silent for a little while and I thought for a minute that my phone had given up, then said, ‘Meet my mate Hunter at The Office, tonight. He’s got some information for you.’

  I was going to plead for her to come and meet me, but then I caught myself. I’m a man after all.

  7

  Never had a problem with poofters, myself. I can’t see what all the fuss is about other adults. Eloise had often referred to this geezer as her best friend which meant that he was one of the good guys regardless of who he consensually fornicated with.

  Although he was a strange looking fellow, shaved head, covered in sailor tattoos and a face festooned with metal, he also seemed extremely nervous and continuously fidgeted in the few moments I observed him when I entered the pub.

  The Office is not my kind of place. Too contrived by half

  and full of the most glorious wankers you can imagine.

  ‘You look like you been through the wars,’ he said, all horrified.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said wincing as I sat down, a fresh scotch in my hand.

  He looked concerned, almost sympathetically at me, and it was beginning to wind me up.

  I took a slug and said, ‘Spit it out will you I ain’t got all day.’

  He gulped and said, ‘Have you heard of Spindle Johnson?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and my God my rage was building.

  Spindleruv ‘Spindle’ Johnson did not look like your archetypal gangster by any stretch. He looked like a goth who had grown up and become one of those dandies, like that comedian Russell Brand or maybe a bit like Gary Oldman when he played Dracula. Right saucy. But everyone knew he was the cruellest, most wicked bastard Brighton had ever seen.

  ‘Basically,’ Hunter said, hurling himself forward as if he was about to break into a show song, ‘Spindle has gone into business hiring out the pick of the crop of the nastiest, most violent thugs he could find. He hand picks them,’ Hunter says this gesticulating away like a bugger, ‘from all over and then get them to prove themselves taking a life at random.’ He looked at me as if was horrified by his own words and continued, ‘The more innocuous the victim the better, by all accounts. He then uses them to put the fear of God into anyone who gets in the way of his business.’

  It hadn’t occurred to me that this fuck-up was behind Ava’s death. Why would it? This scumbag was way after my time. Getting one of his little hench bastards to prove themselves, so he could gather up the coins for himself. Oh, my blood was boiling, and I must have looked bloody angry as Hunter looked like he was about to shit himself.

  Finding Spindle Johnson wou
ld be no trouble at all. He was the kind of jip cunt who liked to show himself off for the pretty bitch he was. He used a lot of his riches to pay for shyster lawyers to keep him out of chokey, so he never feared the police. That’s justice ain’t it?

  It was bloody obvious that those heavy lumps in Hove were Spindle’s boys trying to put the fear in me.

  ‘Spindle Johnson has got Sussex locked down, Joe. He has people everywhere.’ He seemed to stop his endless fidgeting as he looked glumly at his drink. ‘Look Joe, I would say that it’s best you leave town, but Eloise said there was no way. That you’d go around there and take Spindle’s whole crew out as quick as taking a drink of water. I’m not at all doubting that you are a hard man of some sort. But these guys are something else, and there’s loads of them.’

  ‘Listen sweetheart, I ain’t going anywhere. Him and his crew may beat me…’ I got up to leave, ‘but I’ll hurt’em.’

  8

  I spent a couple of weeks lying low and recovering from my injuries, devising ways that I could sort out Spindle Johnson. Though I got to admit, nothing was forthcoming.

  Years of the good life had made me soft, so after much mustering energy into my now lazy arse, I began to get back in shape. I took to the old rigorous routine of up early, then for a run, sit-ups, press ups then practicing a few moves surprisingly easy but my endurance wasn’t there. That’ll come though, sure it will. Although age was working against me, the years had made me bitter.

  Like I said the body wasn’t going to be the problem but I was finding it more difficult than ever to get my head straight.

  The day I decided to show my face in public again, as in socially, was because Amos seemed to feel to sorrow for me and asked if I would accompany him and his two kids into town for a cup of coffee. I really didn’t feel like it at all, but he’s a persistent bastard, so after a while I gave in.