by Keith Nixon
She figured Trudy would know, she did the last time. They argued for two hours then Trudy packed, got a cab to her ex. Mandy sat drinking until dawn, telling herself she wasn’t jealous, just dumb. Then she showered and looked at her breasts in the mirror as she dried herself, thinking about what Lucy had said. She liked Trudy, they were good together but she always felt she was going to do something Trudy would criticise later. Lucy was good in the sack, knew how to touch her.
Mandy decided she’d go out and buy some food, maybe get some rest. Nelson was outside the door when she opened it and he pushed his way in.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, backing away from him in the cramped hall.
“Calling in a debt.”
“I don’t owe you or him anything.”
“Gary’s extremely angry, he knows.”
“What?”
“About you and Lucy, it’s all on film.”
“Bullshit.”
“I enjoyed watching you two at it.”
“You like filming things, don’t you?”
“You don’t believe me, come to my gaff and I’ll show you.”
***
She’d never seen so much cream. Nelson’s kitchen was packed with it, empty pots and cartons stacked floor to ceiling, the fridge full of double cream, whipping cream, it made her feel sick.
He played her the film of her and Lucy. Then he sat opposite her on a chair, elbows on the table.
“Fancy a coffee?”
“No I don’t fancy a coffee.”
“It’s simple, Mandy, fuck Gary.”
“Or what?”
“Let me show you another film, bit like a cinema here ain’t it?”
She asked for a vodka afterwards. The images made her wince, Gary hitting some bloke with an iron bar.
“Do you normally watch TV in your kitchen?”
“Best place.”
“What’s with all the cream?”
“Gary and me are obsessed with it.”
“You mean the Prince bit?”
“He thinks he is Prince, Gary’s nuts.”
“And you’re not?”
Nelson stood up and touched his phallus.
“I’m full of it, Mandy, I have to wear shorts so I can squeeze it out when it gets too full, you should try something different, I can reach corners of you that you don’t know exist.”
“I’ll speak to him.”
“You’re gonna have to do more than speak to him.”
***
All the way there she kept thinking about what Lucy had said.
Gary opened the door and led her through to his study. She stood there feeling stupid, an old sense of humiliation knocking at her anger.
“Well?” Gary said. “You screw me over, you screw my wife.”
“I’m not gonna sleep with you.”
“Put on a show for me, I’ve never seen you live.”
“No.”
“You asked for it.”
He swung his hand at her, then grabbed the belt of her jeans, forcing his hand inside as the door opened.
“Gary, I’ll take over,” Lucy said.
“Says who?”
“Says the girl who can spill the beans and get you put away.”
“What beans?”
***
The second time was even better.
“I kept thinking about what you told me,” Mandy said to Lucy afterwards.
“You mean about Gary?”
“That you can handle him for me.”
“You see, Gary likes films,” Lucy said.
“So you’d really go to the police with them?”
“He needs to behave himself, I think he knows that, he won’t threaten you again.”
“What if he does?”
“I’ll send them the film of him unloading the drugs.”
“What made you decide to step in?”
“I used to swing both ways.”
“And now?”
“I think my door’s jammed when it comes to men. I’m tired of his bragging, he’s given me a good life, but I want have a little peach with my cream now and then.”
“I saw Nelson’s kitchen.”
“Bizarre isn’t it? You know he whips it out at parties, big old lump of meat it is, nothing attractive about it, it’s just big, he slammed it down on some bird’s plate one night.”
“He gives me the creeps.”
“He and Gary are both nuts, dangerous though. Well done on the job.”
“The painting?”
“I used to design houses. I know the owner of the house you broke into, he showed the Tracey Emin to me, asked me where I thought he should hang it.”
“You set it up?”
“Only a little Mandy.”
“What did you do with the painting?”
“I told Gary I could take care of it for him, my client paid a lot, far more than I gave to Gary. He doesn’t know much about art and a Tracey Emin is worth a lot more than a Cecily Brown.”
“How much?”
“Enough to start my business.”
“Are you going to pay me my cut?”
“You can promote your materials for free.”
“What materials?”
“The films of you stripping.”
“You’re setting up a porn business?”
“A real classy one.”
“How much did you say that boob job cost?” Mandy said.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw one in for you as a softener.”
***
When Trudy came back they made love, they always did after a row. Mandy didn’t ask about her ex, and Trudy didn’t mention Lucy, they knew the way to each other’s hearts.
They lay in the darkened bedroom afterwards and listened to the sound of traffic outside. Then Mandy put on the film.
Trudy watched her stripping to Prince, moving in a way that was unfamiliar to her, laughing as she watched. She liked the bit when Mandy fingered herself.
“That wasn’t you at all,” Trudy said, “men don’t know what women are about.”
“They think differently to us.”
“You were good though.”
“I know.”
“How many films are there?”
“A few.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Make some dirty money out of them.”
FISH OUT OF WATER
Aidan Thorn
Ever wondered how those businesses that never appear to have any, well, business, keep going? Probably not, right? You probably don’t even notice them – which I guess is the crux of their problem. Well, I’m the Good Samaritan who sees to it that the owners of these businesses keep roofs over their family’s heads.
You’ve all seen that Fish & Chip shop that’s only busy on a Friday night, and when I say busy we’re talking sells a few cod, a battered sausage or two and dozen kilos of chips. The hair salon that does three old lady’s set and blow dry’s a week and a couple of kids back–to–school cuts every half term. If you’ve got one of these businesses in mind from around here, it’s a pretty safe bet that I’ve helped them stay afloat.
How do I do it? Well, I help them to develop a diversification strategy. And, like all failing businesses they’re nearly always resistant to change.
I’ve been watching a new prospect desperately in need of my help for a few weeks now. To be completely honest I’ve worked with a lot of small businesses and rarely have I seen one so in need of my help, but I imagine I’ll have to do some convincing — I always do. I don’t think I’ll ever understand these people — don’t they want to make a decent living?
I’m stood in the back room of an independent Aquarium shop. You know the sort of place, sells Guppies and Goldfish to families, makes most its money from all that shite they say you need to keep your home aquarium healthy. As I said, I’ve been watching the place for a couple of weeks and in all of that time there’s been no more than twenty people walk th
rough the door — and I’m including myself in that number. With Goldfish priced at two for seven quid and none of the assorted consumables coming in at more than fifteen notes, I’d be surprised if this place has done more than four hundred quid’s worth of business since I’ve been watching. And, it can’t be cheap to run. This room I’m stood in has more water than the local swimming baths. The bills must be crippling and that’s before we even consider the electricity being used to heat and light the tanks.
The front of the shop was deserted when I’d walked in. A little bell over the door had announced my arrival. I’d stood for a second or two but nobody came to greet me — this place was desperate for my help. I carried on through to the neon lit aquarium room. The owner had been hooking a dead Gourami from a tank. As I’d darkened the doorway he eyed me briefly with suspicion before turning back to his tanks. He clearly wasn’t used to people coming into his shop and when they did his customer service required some refinement.
“Something I can help you with?”
Now, maybe I don’t look like you’re typical aquarium enthusiast, I don’t know, but the question and the tone seemed overly hostile. I was clearly inconveniencing him, he was a busy man, these dead fish weren’t going to hook themselves out of his tanks.
“Well, actually no. But I reckon I can help you. Do you own this place?”
“Why? Have you got a magic wand or the numbers for this week’s lottery?”
His question confirmed what had been patently obvious from my surveillance – this place was struggling.
“I have a proposition that will guarantee you an extra two grand a month and all you’ve got to do is keep selling fish.”
I’d peeked his interest. He stopped staring at the tanks and turned to face me. He wasn’t old, maybe 45, but caught in the neon glow of the tanks his face had the lines of a man who had to work hard and worry harder.
“Go on.”
“My name is Joe Elliot and I work for a man called Jimmy O’Keefe.”
I let the names hang in the air to see if they stirred a reaction. I wasn’t necessarily expecting mine to but Jimmy O’Keefe was well known in the city, clearly he wasn’t big in independent fish seller circles. I continued.
“Jimmy has a lot of product that he needs to store and shift. The sort of product that you can’t exactly set up on the high street and flog from a shop front. Jimmy’s asked me to find people that are willing to help him with this little problem. People with back doors from which we can sell his product.”
“I’m not getting involved with drugs, alright.”
“And, you wouldn’t have to, all you’ve got to do is open your back door for a couple of hours a day. Jimmy has people that will sell the shit, people that will bring it in. You just carry on selling your fish out here and our crew will take care of the rest. At the end of each week you’ll get an envelope full of readies.”
“Not interested.”
I didn’t enjoy this bit of the job, well not much, but this idiot was going to take some convincing. I’d come prepared. I took a hammer from my coat and swung it into one of the tanks. There was a brief moment when the glass held. But, the weight of the water behind caused the crack to grow from the impact point outwards. I stepped back as the water flooded the floor, it was impossible to avoid — I’d be changing my socks when I got home. I raised the hammer, lining it up with another tank.
“Woah, woah! Stop. Stop! OK, look what do I need to do?”
Around 40 Mollies contorted and gasped wildly on the shop floor as the water spread. There was sadness in the shop owners face as he watched them struggle. The look told me this was more than a business to him – he loved his fish. I felt a little bit of guilt, but then, if he’d been open to my suggestion from the start I wouldn’t have had to taken such drastic action.
We talked logistics – How much space I’d need, when I’d be back with the product and times during the day that the little side business would operate. And then, I left him to try and save as many of the little lives that I’d nearly ended as possible.
***
At the agreed date and time, the next day at 16:30, just as it was getting dark, I returned to the Aquarium shop. This time, as agreed, I backed my van up to the rear doors of the premises. I didn’t have to announce my arrival, the owner was waiting for me with the doors open — well what else did he have to do, it’s not like he will have had any customers.
“Alright, fella?” I asked as I stepped from the driver seat and closed my door. I wanted to keep things light, friendly — we were in business together now. “You know what, in all the excitement of yesterday I completely forgot to ask your name.”
“Eric.”
The frost on Eric’s tone made it clear he wasn’t as keen as me to make sure our working arrangement was friendly.
“Right then, Eric, do you want to lead the way?”
I followed Eric into the back of the shop and up an industrial staircase onto a mezzanine floor. This would be perfect, it was off of street level away from prying eyes and, if there were a flood downstairs Jimmy’s gear would be safe.
We stood in darkness for the briefest of moments. Eric hit the lights, but before my eyes could adjust something hit me across the back of the head. I hit the floor and was thrown back into darkness.
***
I doubt I was out for long. I was brought back around by the shock of cold cloudy water thrown at me from a bucket that Eric was holding — I’m guessing the remains of a tank clean out. Eric stepped aside and behind him stood two fellas. One, I’m guessing gave me the whack on the bounce — he was still holding the tyre iron. I vaguely recognised him. The other I recognised instantly — it was Tony Ricco.
I was in the Aquarium representing Jimmy O’Keefe. Anything vaguely criminal that goes on in these parts there’s a fifty percent chance Jimmy is behind it or has OK’d it. The other fifty percent? Well that belongs to Ricco. Jimmy and Tony hate each other, but they’re not stupid, there’s an unspoken rule that they stay out of each other’s way and everyone stays happy. Something had gotten fucked up somewhere here and if I was a betting man, which I am, I’d guess it was me that had made the mistake. I’d do well to talk myself out of this one — but I’d have to try.
“Tony, Mr. Ricco, sir I’m sorry. Clearly there’s been some sort of mix up here. I hadn’t realised that Eric here was already involved with you. If I’d have known I never would have walked through the door.”
Eric spoke.
“I tried to tell you I wasn’t interested in getting involved with you. Why couldn’t you just take no for an answer.”
“You said you weren’t interested in the drugs game, how was I to know? If you’d have said you already had a deal with Tony Ricco I would have turned around and walked away.”
“You could have been Old Bill. I wasn’t going to sell Tony out.”
Ricco stepped forward and wrapped a fatherly arm around Eric’s shoulder.
“Good lad, Eric, good lad.”
There was a glint in Tony’s eyes that suggested he was about to do something that he’d enjoy and I really wouldn’t.
“Look Tony, please. I…”
Tony put a finger to his lips to hush me.
“I don’t want to hear it, Joe. You muscled in on one of my fronts, fair do’s mistakes happen I’ll give you that. But what’s this I hear about you smashing one of Eric's fish tanks?”
Where the fuck this was going I had no idea. Cleary Tony knew I’d done it, Eric had told him — but why the fuck did Tony Ricco care about some broken glass and spilt water?
“You know how it is, Tony. Sometimes when a prospect isn’t playing ball you have to show them who’s boss. You know, a little convincer. I didn’t know that the reason he didn’t want to play was because he was already in with you. I just saw a business in need of an extra revenue stream and thought I’d take advantage. I didn’t know!”
“Are you fucking stupid?” Tony’s tone was a mixture of anger and
disbelief. “How long were you watching this place before you decided to approach Eric?”
I wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical and I let it hang in case Tony wanted to carry on. He confirmed he wanted an answer by repeating, “How long?”
“About two weeks.”
“About two fucking weeks! Two weeks and how many customers did you see come through the front door?”
“Not many.” I replied like a sheepish schoolboy who’d just been asked why he hadn’t done his homework.
“Not many too fucking right, not many. How the fuck did you think the place was surviving, good wishes and fairy dust?”
I didn’t think pointing out to Tony that was exactly why I’d approached Eric was going to do me much good. As I said from the off, I thought this business needed the extra income I could bring it more than most I’d dealt with. If I’d had any sort of brain in my head I’d have worked out that the little fuckers swimming around in the tanks weren’t the only things that was fishy about Eric’s shop.
“Tony, I’m sorry. I was stupid I made a mistake. Let me pay for the tank I broke, I’ll bung Eric here a few extra notes for his troubles and we’ll all go about our business.”
Tony looked at Eric. Eric didn’t look too impressed by what I was suggesting.
“How many fish were in that tank that Joe smashed, Eric?”
“Forty–three.” Eric replied.
“And, how many could you save?”
“Eighteen.”
Eric almost choked on the word as it left his lips. I hadn’t really picked up on it in my previous visit to the shop but Eric wasn’t the full shilling. There was a childlike edge to his manner. He was shaking.
“You murdered my fish!”
Tony’s arm squeezed Eric tighter.
“For fuck sake, I’ll pay for the fucking fish too. Tony, come on, what do you care about some retard’s fish?”
“This retard is my cousin, Joe.”
There was a tiny moment of clarity when everything finally made sense, but it was short–lived. Having contributed nothing since whacking me across the back of the head, Tyre iron stepped forward and struck me back to darkness again.