Roughhouse

by Dan Cummings

  ‘No. After killing the party, they left.’ A cloud seemed to settle over her, ‘What the hell did you do to get on their bad side?’

  ‘We’ve always bought weed off Staubach, but Sam recently decided to sample someone else’s goods. Staubach’s obviously very territorial.’

  The thought of them getting into further trouble scared her half to death but attraction was never reliant on common sense. She smiled a sweet smile of sympathy. ‘They kind of ruined our night together.’

  Neil leaned into his locker door, his teeth flashing in a tight line. ‘Be honest, am I grossing you out right now? Smiling hurts.’

  Her smile was bright enough for the both of them. ‘A little gross, but in a cute way.’

  ‘Maybe we could try again. If you want to?’

  Holding his hand, she edged a little closer and leaned up to kiss him on the lips, slowly and tenderly. The movements of Neil’s mouth drew a shard of pain from his right cheek but he fought like hell to ignore it. After a several more seconds he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He pulled away reluctantly, apologizing, ‘Sorry, moving my mouth too much hurts the stitching.’

  She left her hands on his chest, looking almost embarrassed, ‘Oh no, I didn’t think. Are you okay?’

  ‘It was worth it,’ he said as he placed his larger hand over hers, locking it to his chest. ‘So I take it we could go out again?’

  ‘That seems doable. Pass me your phone.’ She held out her hand, waiting.

  Neil fumbled for the phone in his pocket, unlocked it and placed it in her palm. Her quick dextrous fingers tapped her number into his contacts and she passed it back with a mischievous smirk. His phone seemed to have tripled in value instantly. ‘I need to go meet up with Sam. He’s my ride. I’m sure I can twist his arm into dropping you off. Deb too, if you need to get her?’

  ‘She’s got her poetry club, and to be honest, Saturday has kind of got her freaked. She thinks I’m an idiot for liking you.’

  That pierced some of the helium from his lightheaded comfort. ‘That’s brutally honest.’

  ‘She called you bad news. Matt too. But she did say he was classier than she imagined.’

  ‘Maybe she’s right. Maybe being near me at the minute isn’t such a good idea.’ Neil couldn’t believe the treachery of his common decency.

  Her small frown seemed to pull apart his attempt at chivalry. ‘I’ll take my chances. Getting into a fight doesn’t quite elevate you to mob boss standards.’

  He winced through another painful smile. ‘That’s how it starts.’

  She kissed him on the left side of his mouth, cautious of even making him so much as twitch his lips or right cheek.

  ‘Let’s get Sam.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Playing it safe.’

  *****

  Sam was indulging in his favourite pastime of late, pacing nervously. All day long he had seen neither hide nor hair of the future candidates for America’s Most Wanted, and peculiarly, he found this really troubling, anticipating an ambush every time he stepped out of a classroom. Maybe it was paranoia, but he was sure he had been getting some dubious looks throughout this, the longest school day in the world. Sidelong glances and snorting snickers behind his back. No doubt the informed attendees from the party commenting on how weak and pathetic he was. It didn’t even matter that there was a gun and a knife in play. If it had been just a standard trading of fists he still would have been the first one to cower and turtle up. What he really needed to save him from his imminent nervous breakdown was just a few pulls on a reefer. Not much, just enough to mellow him out a bit.

  As he hung around underneath the stairwell of the English block, the weight of a yellow and black-handled Phillips-head screwdriver seemed to be growing more burdensome by the second and he was expecting it to rip through his jacket pocket and crack the linoleum any second. He was riding a surge of nail-biting tension.

  So far so good.

  Miraculously he, and the last he heard, Neil and Matt, had avoided bumping into those maniacs. Home strait. He checked the time on his phone. Three o’clock. Now they all just needed to get to his van and pray that there were no nasty surprises waiting for them in the parking lot. The soft clatter of the final few stragglers closing their lockers could be heard out in the corridor, the screech of shoes hurrying out of the building as the pupils deserted the building like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Isolation seemed to be sealing him in like a brick wall beneath the stairwell.

  What if Shit Storm caught them, would any teachers be close by to buy them time to escape? Another sound skittered away the eerie quiet, stilling him to the spot under the stairs. The sound of footfalls skipping down the steps above in quick succession alarmed him. It sounded like two people, not just Neil, and Matt was in the other side of the school. Jumping like a live wire, he grasped the screwdriver and fought off the visions of getting mangled under the stairs. He clutched the Phillips so tight it started to hurt.

  A tall guy in a hood, face obscured by shadow, swung around the iron newel post at the foot of the stairs with someone else in tow. Sam’s frantic fear had filtered out most of the details leaving mainly limbs and clothing but luckily, the bruised countenance of his friend scrambled into place before he brandished the weapon.

  ‘You good?’ Neil asked, seeing how flustered Sam was.

  Sam could feel the cold nervous sweat forming patches beneath his shirt, and jerked his head in a convulsive nod. He saw the girl behind him. ‘Oh, hey, Linds.’ His politeness was well crafted and believable but what he really wanted to say was pretty offensive and unwelcoming.

  ‘Hi, Sam.’

  ‘Finally, can we get the hell out of here now?’ Sam split between them and rounded the stairs, making for the double doors at the end of the corridor. ‘Matt’s already on his way to the van.’

  Only a few languid groupings of freshmen remained in the hall, scattered around in their leisurely conversations and phone-trances. They hadn’t gotten more than halfway down the hallway when Lloyd limped out of the boys’ room to their right, dressed in jeans, white Nikes and his badge of honour, his letterman jacket, navy blue, white sleeves and buttons, a big yellow H for Hawthorne on the left breast and an angry yellow cartoon hornet on the sleeves. The truculent expression which seemed to underscore his very swaggering dominance in this narrow social structure lit up at the chance encounter.

  ‘Yo, Karp. Karp the sucker puncher, you look like shit.’ Lloyd’s demeanour was unshakable, he hung his guard on Karp for a few more seconds, maybe waiting for him to throw down again. With another soft step, he channelled ferocity directly into Neil’s level eyes. Lloyd reeked of pot smoke, his face slightly ill from his grinding knee pain.

  The boys’ room door opened again, and this time a giant foam hornet awkwardly bundled out. A moronic, tense giggle warbled up from the belly of the insect and bothered the air. Dodd, when he wasn’t being forced into a giant pink phallus for Halloween, was acting like a giant yellow phallus as the Hawthorne Hornet mascot.

  ‘You fucked my knee up, you dirty cunt.’

  Some of the hangers on had knocked their idle exit speed down from lazy to park, watching from a safe distance as the weird senior who got fucked up diced with another potential thrashing. Lloyd was dangerous, Neil knew this, but he also sensed a, dare he think it, unspoken respect holding Lloyd back. Maybe it was the damage he had suffered, maybe it was because he could only fight the way he played, in a team.

  ‘You seem to be walking alright,’ Neil grumbled, his gaze unflinching.

  ‘The fuck I am. I’m out of the tomorrow’s game because of you, fuck nuts.’ Sensing that Neil was too jacked-up to back down, Lloyd shifted his attention to Lindsey. ‘Girl, you are just too fine to be hanging around these fucking mopes.’ Lindsey took a half-step back from him, holding his lecherous gaze. ‘And I’m getting kind of bored of drilling the cheerleaders.’ His tongue wet his lips. ‘Plus, I heard brainy bitches are nastier.’

&
nbsp; Neil felt like a lightning bolt had lit up every nerve in his body, muscles bracing for what might be another painful lesson in humility. He stepped in front of her, blocking Lloyd’s leer. He felt like someone else was controlling his body, his dumb life-shortening actions and his dumb tongue. A muffled voice warned him to check his bravado. Even with Frogmore waiting in the wings, Neil didn’t trust him enough not to go off half-cocked and do some appalling deed, in public or private.

  ‘Only one bitch here,’ Neil gritted through his teeth.

  The Hornet whoop-whooped, looping his fist in an excited circle.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, you fucking braindead fuckwit,’ Neil snarled. Calm down, he commanded. Don’t let this escalate.

  Dodd seemed to be dancing from one foot to the other, expecting Lloyd to knock some teeth out. Lloyd kept quiet, his eyes screaming an alpha male challenge that the situation wouldn’t allow for. For a fraction of a second his eyes pinned on the nosey teacher watching them through the window of a classroom door, waiting to come out in full disciplinary righteousness.

  ‘You should have just stayed in your place, bitch. On your knees. There’s more shit coming your way.’ Lloyd swept his focus from Neil to Sam, stopping on Lindsey. ‘I’m serious, girl. When you come to your senses you need to ditch this fucking zero. Hit me up.’

  Neil was seething with so much slow-cooking rage that his heart was slamming into his chest. Counting to ten with a slow breath, he prayed Frogmore didn’t take Neil’s animosity as a cue to act.

  Lindsey grabbed hold of Neil’s hand, wanting to diffuse the animosity radiating from him. ‘Overcompensating asshole, forget him.’ She shook his hand, breaking his ineffectual stare. He looked down at her calming dark eyes, feeling his pulse still testing out the elasticity of his arteries. ‘Forget him, okay?’

  Neil nodded. Surprisingly, Sam actually looked quite calm considering, standing there with his hand in his jacket pocket. He looked a little pale though. Just as they were about to continue forth, keeping a safe distance between themselves and the retreating Lloyd and Dodd, something absolutely bizarre happened. Passing the flight of steps leading to the basement, Dodd seemed to somehow trip over his own legs into a pirouette, his thrashing arm clipping Lloyd across the cheek like a clothesline, sending them both down the stairs.

  The intimate gathering who had recommenced vacating the premises after the promising fight failed to deliver, burst into howls of unexpected delight, and even a couple of teachers bolted from their classes to see what the commotion was. Lindsey’s laugh was infectious, Neil’s new favourite sound, but right now all he could do was stare with a cold meanness at the kids pointing and laughing twenty feet away. A crude grimace of enjoyment formed on the left side of his mouth as Frogmore leaned out from the stairs where Lloyd and Dodd took their spill, doffing his cap in merriment.

  Nobody else was able to see Frogmore yet, his atrophied link to Neil and this world was still too weak. But Neil felt at ease. That wasn’t too bad. Frogmore had delivered on his promise. That type of protection wouldn’t be any trouble at all.

  Chapter 19

  Grainger sealed the door to the sound of moans and suffering, turning the key to lock away the nightmare. ‘What’s he done to his face?’ he asked aghast, holding a piece of bloodied, splintered wood. The bare bulb on the wire created pools of sinister shade around his eyes.

  Hurst’s professional curiosity had him looking at the door like he was assessing the problem locked on the other side. Under the harsh naked light of the attic’s rickety narrow staircase, Hurst resembled a pale skull with a blond ponytail so tight it was almost enough to peel his face back. ‘I’m no medical doctor, but he’s going to die from infection.’

  Grainger wheezed in amusement. ‘Yeah, no shit. It’s a good job you cook better than you treat, Dr Crankenstein.’

  Hurst wasn’t above personal politics, he knew what he was, a fucking good chemist who was willing to dabble in the lucratively illegal trade of narcotics, or more precisely, designer highs. ‘I don’t think I’m going to get much more data from him,’ he said sadly.

  Grainger’s dogged tolerance vanished like the futures of the scurrying, dozing abusers on the floors below. ‘Can I finally put your little in-house guinea pig out of his misery then?’

  Hurst tapped his thumbs together, dejected. ‘Let’s just give him a couple of more days, the compound is definitely producing some minor visual and auditory hallucinations. Perhaps they might strengthen, balance out after one more administered dose.’

  Grainger stared at Hurst rigidly. ‘For years I’ve been patient with your little side-project because you’re efficient and damn good at running your little team. Having you on hand to manufacture my X is a great supplement to the weed running, but this,’ he nodded to the locked door, ‘that, what good can come of it? What he’s experiencing in there is no damn euphoria. More like a fucking chemical weapon. And what’s all that shit he wrote on the walls? Mr Scribbles? Who the fuck?’

  Hurst’s lips opened but faltered. He tried again. ‘It’s not ideal, but if nothing else the fact that he’s clearly on a different plane is a step in the right direction.’

  Grainger looked at him like he was as deranged as the test subject, holding up the bloodied, sharp sliver of wood. ‘I see.’

  ‘Give him a few more days, for feedback, that’s all. After that, I’ll stick with the willing participants in Haven. Speaking of which, did any of your guys notice any…side effects?’

  Grainger was starting to grow concerned that his face might stick with all of the strange looks he’d been giving the lab-coated hippy. ‘You mean besides people losing their fucking minds?’

  ‘No other disturbances of note?’

  ‘You really are an odd duck, you know that?’ Hurst was too busy running through some formula or checklist or some such to hear the comment.

  Grainger stared at the door and shuddered. ‘It’s not often I feel sympathy for a rival. I guess I’ll have to get somebody to patch him up. Get him some antibiotics.’ A howl of misery seemed to take form and beat at the door with an inconsolable palm. Hurst distanced himself from the woeful effects, starting down the steep, creaking steps.

  Grainger knocked on the door. ‘See ya later, Sticky,’ he said, then followed the lab coat down the staircase towards the pulse of music thrumming through the old building’s foundations. ‘All in all, the percentage is pretty good, right? Getting better? If you want I’ll sign off and we can start slinging the product soon?’

  Hurst glanced over his shoulder, keeping one hand on the rough untrustworthy bannister. ‘Well, excluding Sticky, your guys worked from a sample group of,’ his right hand opened as if to produce a figure, ‘forty, with the two documented cases of severe hallucinogenic episodes.’ They reached the spray paint and spider-webbed squalor of the second floor hallway, illuminated by a variety of colourful lava lamps, the droning bass deeper and louder in the dark. One addict sat in a filthy bean bag in the corner, staring glassy-eyed and rubbery-lipped at one of the blue lava lamps. He could well pass for dead, if not physically then mentally. ‘Approximately a six percent chance one of your paying customers suffers a catastrophic break from reality. You’re the business end of this arrangement so I’m not stepping on your toes, but my two cents, I’d like to tinker with the formula a bit more. Produce, a clean, safe high.’

  Grainger was pretty good at reading him and sensed that there was something Hurst wasn’t telling him.

  The alchemist looked prideful. ‘The gold standard for a pure, blissful vision quest before every hack with a semester of chemistry under their belt starts polluting the market with their cheap, inferior knock-offs.’

  Grainger watched this curious display of pharmacological ambition. ‘You’re aware you’re not going for the Nobel Prize here, right? We sell to tweakers and losers. We can poison these fuckers and the market remains the same.’

  Hurst spurned this feckless attitude, his fingers twisting the little glass
vial hanging from his beaded necklace. ‘Granted. But with a reputable product we can expand our customer base.’

  Grainger was already dismissing this. ‘Hold your horses, we’ve been over this. Not with the synthetic shit we can’t. There’s far too much stigma attached to the stuff now, the college kids, blue and white collar workers, they’re growing hesitant about using the stuff. That’s why Fable is for a more selective market, really it’s just to pull in some extra pocket change.’ He used the sharp stake to point at the tie dyed garb under Hurst’s lab coat. ‘And keep you in Grateful Dead t-shirts. It’s not going to keep my little kingdom afloat.’

  Hurst lowered his tone, each syllable borne of conviction. ‘When I perfect Fable, it will be completely safe. Everybody will want some. It’ll open a whole new reality, Ralph. A whole new experience. It’ll change the world as we know it.’

  Grainger placed a condescending hand on the skinny, younger man’s shoulder. ‘God damn. You know you make my dick hard when you talk so dirty. But let’s keep the fantasies for our dreams, huh?’ Grainger started for the next flight down, not giving his associate the time to chime in.

  The violet hallway was replete with more of the usual cronies and hangers-on. Tully, reading a magazine on his stool beside the security door, looked up at the descending lord of the drug-fuelled manor. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’

  Grainger nodded. ‘Call Renshaw. Have him fix up that poor bastard up there.’

  Tully spotted the large splinter and cast a disapproving look at Hurst. ‘Sure thing.’

  Noakes and Staubach sat at the scuffed and stained table in the dishevelled kitchen. Staubach sipped from his beer, watching the blurred forms of lab rats working away on the other side of the plastic strip-sealed extension. Noakes seemed more content to pick at the label on the bottle.

  ‘Boys.’ Grainger sounded cordial. ‘How was Saturday’s party?’

  ‘Profitable.’ Noakes looked up, his expression seeming to undervalue the successful commerce. He tipped his bottle neck to the takings wadded up in elastic bands on the counter. Hurst stepped around Grainger, pushing through the sheets and entering the cathedral of his lab.