Best British Crime 6 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Maxim Jakubowski

  I looked at my friend KC, hoping he’d put in a good word for me; tell Griffiths I didn’t mean to cause offence. KC kind of shrugged with his eyes like it wasn’t really any of his business.

  “What did I do?” I said.

  “You’re an idiot. Get the hell out of my classroom!”

  In the corridor, Johnny Seven was smoking a cigarette. I couldn’t believe it. “What is wrong with you, man? You’re gonna get yourself expelled on your first day,” I said.

  He smiled at me and blew smoke in my face. “Let’s hope so.”

  * * * *

  At lunch, Johnny wandered through the yard on his own, kids giving him a wide berth in case getting hurled across a classroom was contagious. Me and KC were smoking behind the wall. KC was a year older than me. His real name was Kevin Chester, but he called himself KC because he thought his real name sounded gay. He was fucking right.

  Wasn’t just his name, either. When he got drunk, KC was always dancing and taking his clothes off, even when there weren’t any girls around. But if you reminded him of it when he was sober, he punched you on the fucking arm. KC switched schools and had to start the eighth grade all over because he wasn’t achieving his full potential. His grades were so bad his parents were afraid he’d grow up to be President of the USA.

  “Maybe we should talk to the new kid,” said KC.

  “And say what?”

  “I dunno. Anything. Tell him you’re sorry about his family blowing up.”

  “You fuckin’ idiot. He was making all that shit up about his family. That’s why Griff threw him out.”

  “Oh. Really? I thought he was just lying about the dog.”

  Kevin’s dad drove a limo, and I don’t mean he was no chauffeur. He worked for some big chemical corporation and smoked cigars and wore a smoking jacket in the home. When I first saw this smoking jacket I thought it was some kind of comedy robe. If I visited Kevin’s house, his dad always shook me by the hand like I was an old friend and asked about my parents. Kevin’s dad wouldn’t have known my mom and dad if he’d driven over them in his fucking limo.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” says Kevin. “Switching to a new school is the worst fuckin’ feelin.”

  “Worse than what? Worse than having boiling oil poured in your ears?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Anyway, you did know somebody. You already knew me when you came to this school.”

  “Exactly, Newton.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever the fuck you want it to mean.”

  “You already done the eighth grade once. You’re familiar with all the fuckin’ subjects. You said so yourself. What’s so tough about that?”

  Kevin punched me on the shoulder.

  The last school KC went to was this Catholic place run by a bunch of real monks. Except instead of being all peaceful and holy, these were the kind of monks that stank of sweat and twisted guy’s nipples when they stepped out of line. I told KC that twisting nipples was illegal. KC said that if it was in the Bible, it’s okay for monks to do it.

  Kevin got a lot of shit from his mom and dad, about how he had to work real hard to fulfill his dream. What dream? Far as I know, he didn’t have a dream, apart from wanting to own a Harley someday. Kevin was a big tough kid with real muscles but when his dad told him he was letting down his family, he cried like a baby. I saw him do it once.

  “You comin’ round Maya’s house tonight?”

  Maya was allegedly Kevin’s girlfriend. She was twelve years old, with no tits whatsoever. That kind of thing might go down well in Mississippi, but it looks pretty sick in New Jersey.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Her cousin’s comin round. Mirabeth. Did you ever hear such a stupid name?”

  “How old is she? Seven?”

  This time, he tried to kick me. It was a pretty half-assed attempt, though. For an athlete, Kevin was getting a little porky. Every day, his lunchbox has about two million cookies in it. Kevin says this is because his mom used to be trailer trash and never had enough to eat as a kid. But her dad, KC’s grandpa, worked real hard until one day, he became the trailer trash that owned the trailer park. Suddenly Kevin’s mom found she could eat all the cookies she wanted. And now she made sure her little boy always had his fill of cookies too, so he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of Americans.

  “You scared?” said KC.

  “What of?”

  “I dunno,” said KC. “I just feel something bad is going to happen.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “It’s called the rest of your fucking life.”

  * * * *

  That night, KC called for me. We were going to hang out at the mall, spitting off of the balcony before going over to Maya’s. On the way, we saw old Johnny Seven sitting on his bike outside a house with paint peeling off the front door. There was an old fucked-up pickup truck parked in the drive.

  “Yo,” I said. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he said.

  A big freight train rattled by. The railroad ran past the back of Johnny’s house. We had to wait until the train had passed before we could hear ourselves talk.

  “Your name’s really Johnny Seven?” said Kevin, with a big smile. “That’s one cool fuckin’ name.”

  “But it’s not seven like the number,” said Johnny. “It’s got an ‘r’ in it.” He spelled it out for us. “S-e-v-e-r-n.”

  “Oh. I prefer Seven,” said Kevin.

  “My uncle says Johnny Seven was the name of a toy you could buy when he was a kid. It was a plastic rifle with toy grenades that you could actually fire.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “So your mom and dad named you after a toy? That’s cool,” said Kevin, who never listens.

  “I ain’t got a mom,” said Johnny. “My dad raised me by himself.”

  We didn’t know what the fuck to say to that. Then Johnny said: “That Griffiths is a real grade-A cunt, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “One of these days someone’s going to shoot that guy in the head while he’s begging for mercy,” said Johnny.

  It was a weird thing to say, all right. Kevin kind of stared. “Yeah. Like you’d fuckin’ do it.”

  “I fuckin’ would,” said Johnny. “I’d do it just like that.”

  “You’d shoot a teacher? Yeah. Fuckin’ right.”

  “Certainly wouldn’t shoot a kid,” said Johnny Seven.

  “You’re full of shit,” said Kevin.

  “The rights of children are sacred,” said Johnny, not like a preacher would say it, but in the voice of a real person. “Any adult who violates those rights shall die.”

  We didn’t know what to say to that neither.

  So me and Kevin said goodbye to the new kid and cycled away real fast so it looked like we were on some kind of secret mission for the government. On the corner of Chatsworth, we spotted Wheelchair outside his house. It was like he was lying in wait. Except he was sitting, not lying.

  “Oh, fuck, no,” said KC.

  We were so depressed we almost turned right round and went home again. Wheelchair was the same age as me. Shelton’s his real name, but one day my mom accidentally renamed him by telling me I should see the person, not the wheelchair. I took a real good look at the person and guess what? I preferred the wheelchair.

  All year long, Wheelchair sits at the end of his drive and accuses kids of all kinds of crazy crimes he’s imagined. My mom says it’s not Wheelchair’s fault, the poor bastard can’t tell the difference between dreams and reality. She may be right, I don’t give a fuck. It’s upsetting to be heckled by a cripple.

  Tonight, Wheelchair gave us one of his old favorites.

  “You’re the kid who stole my boomerang!” he shouted, pointing right at me.

  We stopped to look at him. Wheelchair wore glasses that magnified his eyes, so he always looked angry and sad. Maybe he was. Guess he had every fuckin’ right
to be. Thing is, some people in wheelchairs wish they could walk. I swear this kid wished everyone else was in wheelchairs.

  “He never touched your stupid boomerang,” said KC.

  “I saw the bastard do it!” yelled Wheelchair.

  “I think you’re mistaken, pal,” said KC in a reasonable kind of voice.

  “Liar!”

  “Anyway, when’d you ever even have a boomerang?” I said. “Bet you never even seen a boomerang.”

  I felt bad as soon as I’ve said it. Not as bad as Wheelchair, though. His bottom lip trembled and he glared at me like he wanted to kill me. Then he started to cry. Right away, I knew I’d committed a major sin. I’d made a kid in a wheelchair cry. KC stared at Wheelchair, dead serious. When we rode away, he said: “What the fuck did you have to go and say a thing like that for?”

  “You were the one who said his boomerang was stupid,” I said.

  “Sometimes you’re a real prick, Garrett. You know that?” said KC.

  In my defence, Wheelchair isn’t the easiest cripple to get along with. My kid brother Monkey, who writes compositions about what a swell guy Jesus is, went up to Wheelchair once and tried to make friends with him. Wheelchair was real grateful, so grateful he tried to pull Monkey’s pants down. That’s the trouble with the less fortunate. One minute you’re trying to do them a good turn. The next minute they’re pulling your pants down.

  When we turned up at Maya’s house, she was with her cousin Mirabeth. Name like that, I thought Mirabeth would be terrifyingly ugly. Mister, she was not. She was the same age as her cousin. Long dark curly hair and no tits, also like her cousin. A pretty face, though. I really liked her. Right away, I wanted to impress her so I pretended to fall off my bike. Mirabeth laughed a lot, so did Maya. I felt I was off to a great start.

  Maya’s mom and dad were out at the store with her kid sister, so we all went inside to listen to music. Except Maya didn’t have any music, all she had was her mom’s fuckin’ Neil Diamond CDs. Me and KC were supposed to listen to this shit and act like we enjoyed it, just for the privilege of sitting in the same room as two girls. Except I didn’t pretend, I said right away that in my opinion, Neil Diamond didn’t deserve to live.

  Mirabeth and Maya went off to fetch us some cokes from the kitchen. Then Maya came back to say that intheir opinion, I was very immature and didn’t deserve to be in their grown-up company.

  “What?” I said to Maya. “You’re kicking me out?”

  Maya nodded. Mirabeth passed me my coke and shrugged, like it wasn’t up to her.

  “Seriously? You are seriously asking me to leave? What about Kevin?”

  “Kevin stays,” said Maya.

  “What about my coke?” I said.

  Maya told me to drink it outside. I waited for Kevin to take my side and say that no buddy of his took orders from a flat-chested moron but he just sat there same as fucking usual, sipping his coke like enamel wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  I told Maya I admired Neil Diamond really, really admired his wig and the way he pretended he had a deep voice. But it was too late. The bitch said no, I was leaving anyway. She kept saying I was immature. I got my revenge by farting real loud outside the window.

  By the time I’d finished my coke it was getting dark. I was sulking on the porch when Johnny Seven rode by on his bike. He saw me and right away slammed on his brakes eek-eek-eeeek.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “How’s it goin’?” I said. Feeling awkward because I hardly knew anything about the kid, apart from the fact that he was a little insane.

  “What did you say to Shelton, man?”

  “You mean Wheelchair.”

  “No. I fucking don’t. I mean Shelton.”

  “Shelton Wheelchair. What about him?”

  “What did you do?” said Johnny. “I just seen the kid, he was almost hysterical.”

  I told him everything about the conversation. Johnny leaned over and spit on Maya’s drive. “He’s a kid, Newton. One of our own. We’ve got to look after our own.”

  “Yeah. But he’s crazy. He scares me.”

  “He’s scared too, man,” said Johnny patiently. “Shelton can’t tell dreams from reality.”

  “How the fuck would you know?”

  “Because I talked to him.”

  I doubted this. Far as I knew, Shelton’s only topic of conversation was boomerangs. Johnny gave me a stick of gum. “Thing is, I don’t want kids ripping on other kids. I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like it? What the fuck’s it got to do with you?”

  “Just go easy on him,” said Johnny. “I’m asking you as a favour.”

  “Hey, you’re not the boss of the neighborhood. You only just moved in. You don’t ask me a fucking thing.”

  Johnny just looked at me, like he thought I was better than this. I kept looking at him like I fucking wasn’t. After ages had passed and we’d both turned into old men with grey beards and crap in our pants he said: “Listen, my dad’s out looking for me. If he comes by, you guys haven’t seen me? Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I appreciate it,” said Johnny. Then he did a wheelie for about half a fucking mile.

  A minute later, Maya threw Kevin out. They were getting a divorce. She’d asked him to kiss her, so he did. Then she accused him of kissing her with his eyes open and asked him to leave.

  “Oh, that is fucked up,” I said. “How was you supposed to find her mouth if you didn’t have your eyes open?”

  “Exactly,” said Kevin. “Exactly.”

  “I mean a guy wants to know what he’s kissing, doesn’t he?”

  We were standing in the road, debating about why girls are so full of shit. Then we heard a voice shouting: “Johnny? Johnny!”

  I remembered what the new kid had said about his dad looking for him and told Kevin. We figured the guy calling out was Johnny’s old man. He sure as fuck didn’t sound friendly. I was still pissed at Johnny for lecturing me about Wheelchair so I yelled: “Fuck you, dad!”

  I nearly cried with laughing at how Johnny’s dad would think it was Johnny who said it. Johnny’s dad made this big roaring sound like an animal in pain. Then KC joined in. “Dad, fuck off! You big ugly cunt!”

  Now we were both creased up, cackling so hard we were nearly in tears. Then the guy started running and we could see right away that he was fast and didn’t move like no daddy we’d ever met. We got scared and pedalled off. The wind was in our faces and we thought we were safe when we heard this big bastard’s feet pounding the road behind us. Man, that spurred us on. Our hearts and legs didn’t stop racing until we reached my house. When we looked behind us and saw he wasn’t there we started laughing again, this time with sweet relief.

  “Fuck you, dad,” I said.

  KC howled and so did I. Then I had an idea. “Let’s go over to his house, maybe we’ll see what happens when Johnny’s old man catches up with him.”

  * * * *

  So what we did was climb the railway bridge and walk down the tracks in the moonlight. We were still pissing ourselves. KC or me only had to say “Fuck you, dad” and we’d crack up. Then we had to stop, bending over and holding our ribs, laughing ‘til we cried. Finally we were looking down at Johnny Seven’s house. It was as shittily painted at the back as it was at the front. We sat on the verge under the railroad track, staring straight across into the bedroom windows. All the lights in the house were shining.

  Out of nowhere, I got this scared feeling. Coming here was beginning to seem like a mistake. “What if his dad looks out and sees us?”

  “So what?” said KC. “This isn’t his property. Right now we’re sitting on railroad property.”

  To lighten the mood, I said “fuck you, dad” again but the joke had worn kinda thin. I told KC that maybe we should go, but he said we should linger for a few more minutes; see if anything “transpired”. KC had a bit of weed and he knew how to make roll-ups, so we inhaled real fucking deep to give ourselves breathin
g problems in later life. I hoped it’d give me a real buzz for once but it didn’t so I had to fake it. “Man,” I said, pretending to lose my balance. “I am so high you wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Damn right I wouldn’t,” said KC.

  We were on the point of leaving when we saw Johnny Seven walk into one of the bedrooms. Johnny was yelling his head off at someone out of sight. Then a big guy in a vest walked over to Johnny and hit him in the face. Wham!