Die Tryin'

by Stavro Yianni

  ‘You don’t have to look at them.’

  ‘Oh, I can see them, Charlie. I see them through you.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘I like to come here and think,’ Charlie told her. ‘When I’ve got something on my mind, I come here to sort it out.’

  ‘I know, Charlie. I understand. What is on your mind?’

  ‘I ain’t robbing no graves,’ he replied. ‘No fucking way. Nick and Tony can go do it themselves.’

  ‘But they need you, Charlie.’

  ‘Need me? They can find someone else to lift the lid on that damn tomb. Any bastard could do it.’

  ‘I don’t mean they need you for that. Any monkey with half a brain could do that.’

  ‘Well, what then?’

  ‘They need you because you’re their friend. You need to keep an eye on them. Look out for them.’

  ‘Why? Is something going to go wrong?’

  ‘I can’t say for sure, Charlie. But, Tony…’

  ‘Tony, what? What about Tony?’

  ‘He’s sick, Charlie.’

  ‘Sick?’

  ‘Yes. He’s infected with demons. And he listens to them. He does what they tell him to.’

  ‘Why does he?’

  ‘Maybe he likes them. Wants them to lead him. They got inside him at some point and he let them stay.’

  ‘You mean he hears voices in the same way I hear you?’

  ‘Not exactly. They hide inside him and push his buttons like a control panel. They guide him along and he just accepts it. Goes with it because he wants to. They’ve been inside him for a long time. Festering. Growing. Making him angry.’

  ‘Is that why he loses his rag so easily?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Charlie reflected. Tony was an angry son of a bitch, of that there was no question. And sometimes it was like he had a real nasty demon living inside him. Like it took him over and wreaked havoc.

  ‘That’s why you have to go, Charlie. To keep an eye on everything, help your friends if they need it. Tony needs your help. So do the two Nicks.’

  ‘What about Marco? Who is he? Is he trouble? Smells like trouble to me.’

  ‘It’s difficult to say, Charlie. Those of us on the island cannot easily see into corrupt hearts. We can spot a real demon a mile off, but someone’s integrity is easily hidden. He may well be an honest person, but on the other hand, he may not be…’

  ‘What kind of honest person robs graves?’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Charlie wasn’t sure about Marco. He didn’t trust him. The man had an aura of danger. Who was he? Where the hell did he come from? Charlie couldn’t help but feel Marco was planning to shaft them all in some way, and that troubled him deeply. Tony was too stupid to see it coming. The two Nicks were smarter, but the promise of gold would blind them to his lies and deceit. Now, when he thought about it like this, he realised that maybe Snow White was right. Maybe he should go and keep an eye on them. Make sure Marco doesn’t try any shit on them. He didn’t want to, but couldn’t abandon his friends like that because if something did happen between them and Marco and he wasn’t there to help, he would regret it forever.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll go. But, I ain’t robbing any graves. They can keep the sodding gold and do what they want with it.’

  ‘That’s good, Charlie. I’m pleased to hear it.’

  Charlie sighed and stared at the dregs around him, wondering if they heard voices too.

  He pulled his Nokia from his pocket, and called Nick XR2 to tell him that he was definitely in.

  *****

  Nick Black was lying on his bed with his laptop open. Bob Marley was on the CD player, telling him he’s got to stand up for his rights. Nick picked up his spliff from the ashtray just as he received his latest IM from Carla, a cute girl he recently met in the University of Middlesex library.

  -How come u’ve spent so much money if you stayed at home? it read.

  Nick stared at his spliff and smiled wryly. -Partyin’ too hard! he replied. -Blame the banks entirely. Bastards dish out plastic like sweets. Then charge you interest up the @rse every month for the privilege!

  -Lol, Carla replied. -Well, how about ur student loan?

  -Rolled it, lit it, smoked it! ;)

  -Naughty boy!

  -Keeps me sane in this insane city! Would love to get outta here! See the world a bit…

  -Yeah, that would be nice…

  - Imagine—beaches, waterfalls, mountains, deserts, lakes, forests. Safari in the Serengeti, deep sea diving off the Coral Reef, motor biking through the Rockies, canoeing down the Amazon…

  -Mmmm…

  -Yeah… well, it’s all a pipe dream anyway ’cos I won’t be able to afford anything like that for years. Sold my soul to the devil. Gonna be spending a looooong time settling my debt with that particular bank manager… lol.

  - U’ll have a degree. Get a job, pay him back….

  -Lol, you are joking aren’t you? This shitty degree is a complete waste of time.

  -Why?

  -It ain’t worth the paper it’s written on. Think about it. How many people have got degrees nowadays? Loads. It’s become so watered down from the 80s when only rich bastards went to university. Now, any mug with a credit card can get in…

  -Lol. So, why r u doin it?

  - Why d’ya think? Another three years avoiding the world of work!

  -Lol, ur something else…

  -Nah, I’m just a mug with a credit card…

  -So, what are u gonna do about ur debt?

  Nick lay back and took a long drag on his spliff. He thought of Marco. Thought of the freaky way he appeared at the fair was like he was looking for them. Like an angel of doom— or was he an angel of mercy? If Marco was right and the tomb was full of jewels, then Nick’s money issues would vanish in the blink of an eye.

  But could he be trusted?

  Nick thought he seemed all right, but Charlie was paranoid of him. Charlie’s just paranoid, an inner voice reasoned.

  True, but whatever Marco’s intentions, good or bad, whatever he had planned, the promise at the end of it was just too much to turn down. Gold at the end of the rainbow. Gold that would sort his life out good and proper. That’s why, unlike Charlie, he went along with the idea from the off. So, fuck Charlie’s paranoid delusions. Marco was an inner city kid wanting out of hell, and he found a way. And he needed help.

  That was why he sought them out. Why fate had led him to them. And Nick promised to help him out to help himself out.

  Sorted.

  Jamaica here we come!

  -Nick? U still there…? Carla wrote.

  Nick noticed the words on the screen, and snapped back into life. -Yeah, yeah, still here… he said. I think something will turn up…

  -Lol. Leaving it to luck are u?

  He gave the screen a wry smile. -Let’s just say I got a good feeling in my bones…

  There was a knock at his door.

  He quickly grabbed the CD player remote and turned Bob down. ‘Yeah?’ he responded.

  ‘Dinner,’ came the reply. It was one of his sisters, Anna.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said. Nice timing, I was just getting the munchies.

  -Dinner’s ready, Carla, he told her. I’ll see you soon.

  -OK, see u later, Nick. x.

  He logged off.

  I like this girl, he thought to himself. Really like her…

  He smiled to himself, and sighed. From nowhere, things were suddenly looking up. Looking very rosy indeed…

  He stubbed out his spliff, switched off the CD player, and went downstairs.

  *****

  Tony was working on his cousin Christo’s Beemer.

  Those other pricks might have fuck all else to do with their time, but Tony was a proper man and he had to work every day to put food on the table. The fair had been a complete fucking washout and he was gutted. Another weekend wasted. Another weekend without pussy. What the fuck was going
on? If he had to wait any longer, his balls were gonna burst, and it was gonna be very messy. All because of that prick Marco. Where the fuck did he come from? Popped up outta nowhere like David fucking Blaine spouting some skata about buried treasure. Tony thought the whole thing was a complete joke. What did that Marco malaka think this was, Indiana Jones or something? Prick really believed in what he was saying too. Tony was more than sceptical. He reckoned they would open up the tomb and it would be full of bones and nothing else.

  Malaka was taking ’em for a ride and they all bought it!

  Still, could turn out to be a good laugh, opening up a tomb, seeing what’s inside. Keep his mind preoccupied instead of thinking about pussy all the time.

  The wrench he was using slipped, and smashed him on the thumb. Pain jolted up his hand.

  ‘FUCK!’ he shouted and threw the wrench across the work floor.

  He sucked his hurt thumb. Vernon saw what happened from the car he was working on and began to chuckle.

  ‘What the fuck you laughing at, half breed?’ Tony shouted at him.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Vernon asked. ‘No pussy at the weekend?’

  Tony flipped him the bird, then looked the other way, out of the garage, and onto the street. It wasn’t just his lack of girl action that was pissing him off, it was Maria too. What did she think she was doing embarrassing him like that the other night? Who the fuck was that prick she was with? Mario? Fuck off! He thought of his greasy hands all over her body, dribble flying out of his gob while he sucked on her titties, and the rage built inside him. That malaka couldn’t fucking do that to him. If that prick fucked her, then Tony might as well bend over and grease himself up for him too.

  If anyone, anyone fucks her, they fuck me too!

  He couldn’t have these blokes coming along and boning his sister whenever they felt like it. No way, man. No way.

  He would see the bastard off, and that would be the end of it.

  The pain in his hand finally subsided to a dull throb and so he turned back to his cousin’s Beemer. It was an M3, a nice motor. Stupid prick crashed it on the North Circ doing about ninety, skidded off the road and hit a barrier. Fucked the whole right hand side. No problem though, just bring it to cousin Tony, and tell him to fix her up. Money don’t matter. Not when you are rolling in it. And Christo and his family were. Rich bastards, living in a big house in Cock-fucking-fosters. Like Nick Theodorou. Rich boys and their cars. Christo with his Beemer, Niko with his fucking XR2. Flash bastards with more money than sense. And the people in society who they looked down on, like Tony, had to clean up their skata. Yeah, he had repaired Nick’s XR2 a few times as well after he had been driving like a prick. Probably drunk. These geezers had no fucking decency. Tony was always saying that only complete malakes drink and drive. It was the scourge of humanity. You either drink and don’t drive, or you drive and don’t drink. The choice was up to you. But, if you drive while half cut, then you deserved to die.

  You could fucking kill someone… or yourself, whichever comes first, he constantly repeated to people, especially Christo. But did they fucking listen? Like fuck they did. And as always in these situations, it was down to the people like Tony to pick up the pieces.

  It would be good one day to have a car like this for myself, he thought. And if I have an accident, I’ll pay some other prick to fix it!

  He looked over at Vernon, realising how much he hated that prick and wished he could have his own garage to boot, instead of working for someone else.

  And then, like a blast of hot air, his blood boiled, and his mind began shrieking.

  Yeah, I’m gonna go rob that tomb with that weirdo from the fair, just for the fuck of it, but also because just maybe the prick is telling the truth and it is full of gold and if it is, then I’m gonna go spend it on all the shit I’ve ever wanted, booze, women, and cars. Yeah, I’m gonna live it up to the fucking max. Live it up and die young, spend every last penny on my-fucking-self, ’cos they don’t appreciate what I do for ’em, none of ’em, when I fix their cars after they mash ’em up speeding down the motorway, make ’em look like they just came out the fucking showroom, cleaning up their fucking mess! Nor that bitch of a sister! I look out for her, put my neck on the line for her, protect her from arseholes and what do I get? Blanked! Fucking blanked. Well, it ain’t fucking happening no more! I’m gonna rob that fucking old hag of all her gold, greedy bitch tucking it away like that with her when she’s brown fucking bread. Putana! All putanes! Every fucking woman on God’s Earth is a fucking putana! They’re all the same. Yeah, well they’ll see when I get my gold and I jack this shitty job in. Who’s gonna fix their fucking cars then? Huh? Bitches will be crying after me like babies and I ain’t gonna hear ’em ’cos I’ll be too busy rolling down the street, sipping on gin ’n juice. Yeah, that Marco prick could be onto something here. But, I’ll have to watch him, I don’t trust the malaka. He’s probably up to something, the sly half breed fuck. Never trust a half breed—or, in his case, a full on cross breed mongrel! Like fuck he’s gonna just let us walk away with half the gold. He’ll be planning some dark skata to pull on us.

  I’ll have to keep an eye on him, ’cos the others are too weak.

  It’s down to me.

  I’m the motherfucking man!

  He gazed at the toil and the sweat surrounding him, the harsh scrape of metal on metal screeching against his ears. Fat dirty blokes in overalls covered in grease, sweating and panting, while the Page 3 Calendar girl for August was wiggling her titties at them all from the wall. He wanted out of this skata. Why should he bust his fucking bollocks, while everyone else got the cream? I want my own place. I wanna be the boss, come and go as I please, get other people to work for ME!

  Nah, like the Mavro said the other night. Work is for people who didn’t know how to fish. Well, it’s about time I learnt how to fish ain’t it, re Niko?

  He wiped his greasy hands on a rag, took out his mobile phone from the pocket of his overalls, and dialled Nick XR2 to be updated on the Marco and the jewel front.

  *****

  Nick XR2 walked into his house and glanced in the front room, just as he did every time he arrived back home. His dad was sitting in his armchair (as he always did), watching the telly, a cup of Turkish coffee in hand, his thick-rimmed glasses perched wonkily on his nose. Nick often wondered if he would one day develop the same deep OCD traits of his dad, sitting in the same seat every day, drinking coffee from the same cup, saying the same things whenever he saw his son. Nick put it down to the fact that his unknown older brother, Nick one, had died at the age of three. It had permanently damaged his dad, it seemed. It took years for his mum to get over it, before he’d come along, Nick number two.

  ‘Hello, re Niko,’ Dad said and sipped on his coffee (just like he always did).

  ‘All right, Dad?’ Nick replied (like he always did) and joined him in the living room.

  Dad was watching Masterchef, and the Greek newspaper was on the table in front of him, open at the obituary section. Another of his dad’s OCD traits—reading the obituary to see who in the Greek community had died that week, and more importantly, if he knew them.

  ‘Someone from my village died,’ Dad then said on cue, pointing with his coffee cup at the open newspaper.

  ‘Really?’ Nick replied, feigning interest.

  ‘Hmm. Cancer.’

  It’s always cancer, Nick thought to himself. Maybe they should try laying off the fags…

  ‘He used to make olive oil. The best.’

  ‘Did he?’ Nick squatted down beside his dad’s armchair. ‘Listen, Dad. What we talked about last week…’

  Dad put his coffee down into the small saucer in his free hand and turned to face his son. ‘About the factory you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly how serious is it?’

  ‘Very serious,’ Dad replied, placing his coffee down on the table next to his newspaper. ‘I told you re, the market is dying, and it’s costing too much to run. We h
ardly make profit now.’

  ‘Yeah, but will it get better again?’

  Dad gave him a grave stare and slowly shook his head. ‘These fucking Eastern Europeans are taking over, re. They work cheap, and sell even cheaper. Bastards!’

  Nick puffed his cheeks, and then stared solemnly at Dad. ‘All right, Dad,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to think of a different thing to do.’

  ‘Yes, Niko. There’s no future in this, and I’m old now… I don’t want to see you struggle. I’ll help you as much as I can, you know that…’

  ‘Yeah. I do.’ He patted Dad on the knee and got to his feet.

  He knew he needed a quick sting, a sudden major inflow of cash, just to reassure his mind as well as maintain a lifestyle that he had gotten used to—cash on hip, jewellery, gadgets, nice car. And somehow, like divine intervention, this Marco bloke had come out of nowhere and given him a remedy to his headache, offered a way of making a quick buck to tide him over once the shit did hit the fan with the factory. He could invest that money into a new business, a more modern and profitable one, get into the property game, or even move abroad. Whatever the future held, he would have options, and that was the most important thing.

  He went straight upstairs to his room, and made the call to Marco. Let him know that they were all in: Tony, Nick Black, Taki, even Charlie. Nick was more than a little surprised when Charlie rang him earlier to tell him he was in. He was expecting to have to go round there and convince him, no, bullshit him into coming. The fact that he volunteered was unexpected, but it saved him a lot of time and energy. When Charlie had his mind set, it was a very difficult thing to change. The paranoia had him the same way the cancer had the olive oil man from Dad’s obituary, and once someone had that, it was virtually impossible to convince them they were wrong.

  He was intrigued to know what it was that made him go 180 so quickly, then realised it was best not to question it, be thankful for it, and just go along with it instead. Nick reasoned that the thing that had convinced Charlie that it was a bad idea the previous night was most probably what was now convincing him that it was a good idea. That was Charlie’s logic in a nutshell. Charlie added that he only wanted to keep lookout, which was fine by Nick, and that he didn’t want any of the jewels, which was also fine by Nick, and that was that.