by Marc Horn
‘This is fucked up! You’re fucked up, love.’ I knock on her skull with my fingers. ‘Fucked up in the head!’
‘No I’m not,’ she says, pushing my hand away. ‘My father told me. No one else was to know.’
‘And you still love him? Even though he’s a fucking low-life, murdering piece of scum?’
She bows her head. ‘He’s my father. I’m his daughter. ’
‘Then you’re just as fucking sick as he is.’ I screw up my face in disgust. ‘And I let you sit on my cock!’
‘I wanted to help you.’
‘Nah, nah you didn’t. It’s just morbid fascination for you. You’re fucked up, girl.’
‘I won’t accept that, Razors. I tried to help you. You won’t let me in. It’s not just my father who should take the blame.’
‘He stuck the knife in my dad–’
‘He did it for us, for our family, to make us financially secure.’
I look at her. She’s distressed, teary-eyed, mad... ‘That’s fucking beautiful, love. Did you enjoy your pony and the trips to Disneyland?’
‘He was put up to it, Razors. You can’t hurt him for this!’
I study her. Weak, pathetic, repulsive. ‘Selfishness. This all reeks of selfishness. He will kill for you and you will protect him at any cost.’
‘That’s unfair, Razors. The way you loved your father... is the way I love mine.’
‘So he’s now tanning it up in some villa somewhere, is he?’ I clench my fists. ‘Not for fucking long, I can tell you.’
‘No, Razors!’ Tears are streaming down her face. She grabs my arm. ‘Look at the bigger picture. There are others, others within the police service, who are more accountable!’
‘So I should forgive your piece of shit dad?’
‘He did his time for it! He was completely rehabilitated by the process. He has not done anything bad since.’
‘Doesn’t fucking need to, does he? Not with the blood money he made.’
‘So... what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to walk into this building in front of me. And I’m taking you with me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, Cassandra, everything you’ve said is a distraction. I told you, I’m too strong and smart for you. So, together, we’re going to end this game.’
‘Razors,’ she says, becoming predictably worried, ‘what about the other officers? Are you just going to ignore their involvement? They’re going to kill us!’
‘How dramatic,’ I say, pulling her up and walking with her towards the factory door.
‘That’s the danger. In your interview, they tried to ascertain what you knew about the plot, didn’t they?’
I stop. ‘Altercation’, he’d said. I’d felt that that was extremely provocative. She’s saying it was fishing. ‘They tried to piss me off, that’s all.’
‘No, Razors, they wanted to know what you knew.’
‘And why would they start to fish now?’
‘They’ve discovered the link between you and me. They think we know. They’ll kill us to prevent the truth from being circulated.’
I press on. ‘And yet your old man’s still alive.’
‘So tell me this,’ she says, trying in vain to break free of my grip. ‘Why weren’t you arrested for those offences?’
I turn to her. ‘Tell me how you know about the offences?’
‘Cliff. I’ve known him for years.’
I snort. ‘Yeah, course. You seen him recently?’
‘No, but I know you beat him up.’
‘Yeah, I really enjoyed that.’
‘Answer me, Razors. Why didn’t they arrest you?’
‘Because they wanted to hear my version before they proceeded. I’m a cop celebrity. They’ve got to handle my dismissal carefully.’
‘They wanted to gauge what you knew about your father’s murder, that’s all that interview was about. That’s why you didn’t get arrested.’
At the door, I knock. ‘Behave yourself, bitch. I know it’s gonna be hard. I know you’re going to try to stop me. It won’t succeed.’
She shakes her head, recovered now from her emotional spell, and wipes her face. ‘This is completely pointless.’
‘You feeling vulnerable?’ I laugh. ‘You failed, didn’t you? Their lives were in your hands and you failed.’
She laughs. ‘Try and change me, Razors... Now, do it, try to change my appearance. Try to change the weather... go on!’
‘We both know I can’t control it like that.’
‘And what is this place?’ she asks, shaking her head
‘This, Cassandra, is where they make mushroom lollies.’
28
I show the receptionist my invitation. She calls someone via her headset, and within seconds a bald-headed man with a white beard and glasses jogs up to us. He’s wearing a bright blue suit designed to look like a an ice-cream wrapper. It’s covered in cartoon images, descriptions and copyrights.
‘Welcome to Giggleland!’ he chirps, flashing a blinding white set of perfect teeth at us. ‘I’m Mr Smoughton, and I’m absolutely delighted to be your host!’ He shakes my hand vigorously, but his grip is weak. He kisses Cassandra on both cheeks. She looks angry. ‘Please, follow me!’
The twat dances as he sets off, tapping his heels on the floor every few steps. He’s one of these blokes who can’t keep his limbs still for a second.
‘Now tell me, have either of you two fine-looking lolly addicts ever made your own lolly?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ I reply as we pass by some very modern-looking, aluminium containers.
‘No,’ Cassandra says.
‘Ooh, so much to look forward to then. Aaaand... stop right here!’ He points to an oven in front of us. ‘That’s right, you’re not going crazy – you need a stove to make a lolly! Step up to these counters, please.’
To the right of the oven is a long stretch of counters. On the counters are liquids and jars.
‘Sugar,’ he says, pointing at a massive tub with ‘Sugar’ written on it. ‘Boiling water... vinegar... glucose… and colouring,’ he continues, indicating to each of these ingredients in front of us.
‘I thought your lollies were supposed to be healthy,’ I say.
He laughs. A high-pitched, belly giggle. ‘This isn’t how GiggleGang make our lollies, lord forbid! This is how to make a traditional, homemade lolly. Once you can do that, then you can fully appreciate the effort involved in creating our masterpieces.’ His head twitches manically as if he’s about to explode. ‘Okay! Are you ready, lolly addicts? Grab your good selves a cup, scoop up four cups’ worth of sugar and tip it into a yellow saucepan.’
I don’t know if I have the patience for this. Cassandra certainly doesn’t – her pinched face is bright red. Something must be wrong with me if I felt the need to create this annoying little bastard. I take a cup and saucepan from the shelf in front of us and do as he says. Cassandra plays too, but she’s far from gentle with the equipment, thumping the saucepan onto the counter.
‘Now, carefully, I repeat, carefully, lift the mug to the hot water dispenser, fill it one and a half times and add that to the saucepan, too!’
Supercop... I am a supercop. But how the fuck could they have known I’d take that path? I’m not falling for any of her shit, I’m just analysing it, disproving it. There was a cop... Burton, yeah, Burton was his name, who occasionally spoke to me while I was growing up. He just felt sorry for me, that’s all that was. He knew what I’d been through. He was the local cop, all the kids knew him. Yeah, he tried to get me interested in the job, but he tried to get all the other kids interested, too. The idea’s absurd. I could’ve easily chosen any other occupation... But, what am I ignoring here? It was after my father’s murder that I wanted to join the job. But that could never have been predicted by anyone. I could just as easily have gone the other way, become a slag, having no respect or faith in law and order. The bitch is just toying with me.
‘
Now, fellow addicts, one spoonful of brown sugar!’
It’s just a big pile of bullshit. She’s got a different surname for starters... ‘What’s your surname?’ I ask, facing her.
‘Stewart.’
‘Oh right. Don’t tell me, you were married, right, and kept the surname?’
‘I’m separated.’
‘Yeah, course you are. How fucking convenient. Show me your birth certificate sometime.’
‘Please, fellow addict, such language is firmly discouraged in here! Normally, that warrants a penalty!’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. You probably wanna sniff my boxers, right?’
‘Erm... now half a cup… half a cup of glucose in the saucepan, please...’
I sigh and add the glucose to the saucepan.
‘And now, students... stir like crazy!’
We both stir with little enthusiasm.
‘Now place the saucepan onto the stove.’
We do so. Mushroom Lolly turns the dials. ‘Once the sugar dissolves, you must stir once and only once.’
After that part is complete, he turns up the heat. ‘Now, lolly addicts, we must wait for the mixture to boil for about fifteen minutes–’
‘Ooh, I can’t wait for that,’ Cassandra whinges.
‘I know!’ Lolly shrieks. ‘It’s mesmerising, isn’t it? Think how many years of fun you’ve missed! How many years of fun you have left to enjoy!’ He claps his hands.
‘Razors, have you seen enough?’ she asks me.
‘No.’
‘Erm... I realise there’s a little delay,’ Lolly interjects. ‘Allow me to continue your tour while we wait.’
We follow him. In the kitchen, a room dominated by huge, colourful appliances, are huge barrels of vegetables.
‘And this, sir,’ he says, pointing to a tub of mushrooms, ‘is where half of your mushroom lolly comes from.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. The process for making our lollies is not too dissimilar from the one you’ve just experienced first-hand, except that we use far healthier ingredients. We cut down on the sugar and glucose and use instead a more natural, more beneficial substitute. Can’t divulge what it is, I’m afraid. And then, as I previously said, we will juice these lovely, succulent mushrooms and mix them in with everything else!’
‘And does it taste like shit?’
‘Please,’ he protests, showing me his tiny palms, ‘please refrain from obscenities. We work hard to maintain a pleasant environment here.’
I reckon that’s about as upset as he can get. ‘Sorry, Lolly.’
‘Erm, my name is Timothy.’
‘What’s next then?’
We’re shown to a room full of machines. Lolly shows us the mushrooms getting juiced and added to other ingredients, then the mixture is boiled, other stuff is put in and then it has to set. Not for too long, though. After this, the concoction is dispensed into containers and a short while later sticks are inserted. Then they’re all frozen.
‘Well, the things I know,’ I muse.
‘Excuse me,’ Lolly grins.
‘Don’t you start taking credit for this, Lolly,’ I warn him. ‘This is all my doing.’
‘Razors...’ Cassandra objects.
‘What do you mean?’ Lolly asks, still maintaining his bubbly persona.
‘No one makes a mushroom lolly, Lolly. It’s fucking minging and you know it. You ever tasted one of the little bastards?’
‘Sir,’ he says, suddenly straight faced. ‘That is the third or fourth time you have used obscene language. Once more and I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.’
‘What a fucking shame that would be,’ Cassandra contributes.
‘Madam!’ Lolly whines.
‘Watch your language, Cassandra,’ I say. ‘Sorry, Lolly, it won’t happen again.’
A minute later, Lolly hands me a mushroom lolly. I taste it. It’s absolutely foul, just as I knew it would be. ‘What do you think of it?’ I ask Lolly.
‘I think it has a unique, revitalising taste.’ He takes a bite and then rubs his stomach.
‘The lengths you people will go to,’ I say, incredulous, ‘just to maintain this set-up.’
‘Our factory?’ Lolly asks.
‘No, Mushroom, this universe.’
This unnerves him even more, I can tell.
‘Erm, would you like to continue making your lollies? I’m sure they’re ready by now.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Cassandra says. ‘We really must leave.’
‘You’re gonna tell me the truth before I leave, Lolly,’ I hiss. Sick of the endless bullshit, I walk up to him, slap my hand over his mouth, grab a handful of his jacket and lift him off the ground. This sets off my Hell Bell.
‘Razors!’ Cassandra cries.
‘Shut the fuck up, bitch!’ I drive Mushroom into a wall. His cry of pain is muffled in my hand. ‘I’m sick of these never ending cover ups,’ I hiss. Lolly’s eyes are petrified. ‘You tell me the truth and you live, Lolly, it’s as simple as that. You bullshit me and you’ll be the first to die. I’ll snap your fucking windpipe like a twig, you weaselly, little piss flap.’
I release my hand slightly. ‘I won’t lie about anything! I never lie! Please don’t wound me!’
‘This is my world, isn’t it? This is all just to distract me from the truth, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean–’
‘This isn’t real, is it? This place, these fucking lollies. It’s all pretence, isn’t it?’
‘No-no-no it isn’t.’
I carry him to the open window on the right side of the room, situated about thirty metres from ground level, stick his body through and hold him by the ankles. Cassandra has gone. I have won, I’ve beaten her. She’s finally given up. The confirmation will come from Mushroom Lolly here. ‘Stop screaming and listen to me.’
After ten or so seconds I realise that’s a futile request. He can’t stop screaming. He’s shitting himself. Literally. I can smell it and see it seeping through the material of his lolly wrapper trousers.
‘Who is your creator?’ I shout.
‘God!’ he bawls.
‘And who created God?’
He’s crying. ‘I don’t know what to say! God is the creator. He created everything! Please, I’m so scared! Please, lift me back up!’
Surprising, this. Under pressure, with the fear of death in him, he’s not giving me what I want. Is Lolly really tough enough to lie in such circumstances? Well, he is a pawn in all this, after all. I haul him up and toss him onto the floor. He scurries back against a pillar. Incredibly, the little pervert has a hard-on. It’s poking against the small, circular copyright symbol, next to ‘GiggleGang 2011’ on the front of his wrapper trousers.
‘You enjoy that, you dirty piece of shit?’
And then the cops come flying in, shouting and screaming, about as organised as a heap of maggots.
‘I’m cool,’ I shout, raising my hands. No point fighting. Certainly no justification for zapping me with the taser gun.
29
The room’s small, with two cushioned benches bolted to the floor, positioned opposite each other. I’m occupying one of them. Sitting in front of me is an attractive Asian woman wearing a white jacket and skirt, an Asian bloke with a tache and glasses, and a tall, skinny nurse dressed in green overalls. He’s Asian too. Also present are two large-set armed officers, standing each side of me. Through the glass in the door I can see more officers outside, ready to jump in if necessary.
I’ve been sectioned.
‘Mr Vice, how do you feel?’ the woman doctor asks me.
I look at her. Flex my muscles. The handcuffs, applied to the rear, are digging into my wrists. ‘Restricted.’
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘I know where you work, love.’
She nods. ‘So you know you are in the psychiatric ward?’
‘Ooh yes.’
‘And do you know why yo
u are here?’
‘Yep.’
Her nails are short and manicured, and her skin’s smooth and tanned. I notice that her delicate cheekbones are identical to Cassandra’s. And that same Parker click pencil is attached to the front of her jacket – the one Golf Ball Face and I own. She scratches the corner of her mouth. ‘Can you tell me why?’
I smile. ‘Public safety.’
‘What do you mean?’ She’s leaning towards me, about two feet away.
‘You want to carry out your assessment with me immobilised like this?’
She looks a tiny bit despondent. I’ve dealt with her before − she’s assessed some of the mental patients I’ve brought in. About a year ago she agreed to go on a date with me. Unfortunately, I had to stand her up because I had to work overtime that evening. She gave me one more chance, but when I had to cancel that arrangement too, she lost interest. Bet she’s glad that didn’t work out now.
‘Unfortunately, because of what we have been told about you, we have to keep the officers here. At least until we have finished our assessment.’
‘Razors,’ the officer to my right begins, ‘cooperate with these people. You’re a superb copper, but you need their help right now. That’s what they’re here for – to help you get back to normal.’
‘Yeah? What the fuck is normal?’
The Asian bloke with the tache twitches. He’s the ‘approved social worker’. You need one of them and a medical practitioner – a doctor, basically – when assessing a mental health patient. The skinny nurse is here to learn about me. He’s the one who’s going to look after me. It’s in his interest to build a good relationship with me. He’s got a dangerous job. The crazy fuckers in here are unpredictable and capable of anything.
‘Mr Vice,’ the woman continues, ‘why did you threaten to drop Mr Smoughton from a window?’
‘You know why.’
‘No I don’t. You will have to tell me.’
I smirk and shake my head. ‘Do you honestly think this is worthwhile? Even after all that’s happened, you still want to maintain this façade?’