Felix Shill Deserves to Die

by Gareth Busson

  ‘Eh? How’s that?’ he asked.

  All three of them were waiting expectantly to hear my answer, but now it was my turn to play up to the gallery. I deliberately took my time in pulling my jumper and t-shirt over my head. When my face finally re-emerged, it was beaming.

  ‘Sorry, fella,’ I said, trying hard to sound sincere, ‘but I guess this one’s on you.’

  Nathaniel cursed and three smiles hit the greasy floor.

  ‘So what the fuck is it, then?’ one of the goons asked, as if provoking a fight. ‘What you want?’

  There was a pencil and pad lying on the side. I picked it up and wrote down a single word. Then I tore the top sheet off and handed it over to Nathaniel. They all looked at it with interest.

  ‘I want you to write that across my shoulders,’ I said.

  He looked suspiciously up from the page. ‘This ain’t an abbreviated name is it?’

  I shook my head.

  Nathaniel looked back at the slip of paper and thought about it for a while longer. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Fuck it,’ he said, ‘a deal’s a deal. ‘’Ow do you want it?’

  ‘So that it looks as though it’s been carved into a gravestone.’

  ‘You kinky fucker,’ he said, his smile returning. ‘I like it.’ And with that he kicked a velvet stool across the floor for me to sit on.

  Ten minutes later and I was hunched uncomfortably forward as Nathaniel worked away at my flesh. A sporadic buzzing, like a tired hornet, filled the room, bringing with it a scratching sensation, as if broken glass were being slowly dragged across my back. The first sting of the needle was a jolt, but once I came to terms with the fact that I was past the point of no return, it was simply a case of dealing with the pain. Nathaniel helped there. Beneath his crust he was clearly a professional and his steady rhythm enabled me to concentrate on other thoughts.

  They were not hard to come by. Sitting there in that sweaty little room was the first real chance I’d had to draw breath in the last twenty-four hours, and it all came pouring back: the fit, my fragile life and everything that had led up to me breaking it apart. The more I thought about it, the more I realised this crisis should come as no great surprise. The signs were all there and, if I was honest with myself, it had been simmering for a while. On reflection, it was more a matter of when, rather than if, the situation with Katharine boiled over.

  See, I have a history of this kind of thing. Of erstwhile friendships and opportunities unfulfilled. Every chapter of my past is full of broken relationships.

  Course, this is true of most people. Even the most amiable person has acrimoniously parted company with at least one or two people in their lives. But unlike everyone else, my severed associations are not the result of fate or timing or simply growing apart, they are my fault. Entirely my fault.

  It’s my personality, you see. It’s wanting. It has the edge and energy to draw people in, but seems to lack those essential qualities that are needed in order to sustain their interest. If I knew what those elusive characteristics were I might employ them. Or at least mimic them. But I seem to be incapable. People leave. Always have. Inevitable.

  However, what I was struggling most of all to understand now was, what had happened to make Katharine suddenly change her opinion? Her tie with me was one of life’s most binding. Most thought out. We were husband and wife, for Christ’s sake. We talked. Yet still I had no idea what it was that had suddenly turned Felix Shill into a pariah?

  Perhaps it was not one specific thing. Perhaps the stresses of age and familiarity had simply softened my relationship with Katharine until the dull, repetitive, monotonous tide of adult life had eroded it to the point of collapse.

  No, it was not that. Had this been an isolated incident then I might have been inclined to put it down to attrition, but she was not the first. Something about me had driven Katharine - and everyone else that I had ever known - away.

  But what?

  There was no point in torturing myself. After all, in walking away from Katharine I had doomed myself to never knowing. I could never speak to her or anyone else from that life again and so I would never be able to ask what had caused them to take such drastic steps. But did I really need to ask them?

  The germ of an idea exploded in my mind.

  Did I really need to ask them?

  Maybe not. Maybe I could find the answers elsewhere. After all, my past was full of diseased and amputated relationships. If I really wanted to find out the root cause of my problem, why didn’t I just pick the scabs off some of these old wounds?

  Several names immediately sprang to mind. Ghosts from my past. They had each played a crucial role in my childhood and, as such, were responsible for the adult I eventually became. More importantly, in every case I knew there was something about me they had taken an extreme disliking to. Something so repulsive it had directly led to us parting company.

  I’d never discovered what that something was. It had tortured me for years. Kept my mind occupied on many a long drive and sleepless night. There were so many questions I wanted to ask these people, each of them beginning with the same word.

  Why?

  The Felix Shill of old was secretly afraid to hear the answers. Afraid to confront the truth. Well not any more. I had stared death straight in the eye and lived to tell the tale. I feared nothing now. This Felix Shill was invincible. He could face these demons, without fear of revelation or rejection. Besides, I needed the truth. Tying up those loose ends would make closure on my old life easier. Enable me to finally move on. It would also prevent me from making the same mistakes again in the future. In my new life.

  The idea was beginning to really excite me. Meeting up with these people meant risking exposure, but I wouldn’t have to worry about my supposed death, as long as I got to them in the next couple of days. That way, in their minds the chronology of the two events would simply blur into one another (assuming that they ever did get to hear about my demise). At least one of them lived nearby. The only question now was how many others were in London? And how to find them?

  Just then there was a sharp slap on my back and I felt Nathaniel push away from me.

  ‘Wake up, Freebie,’ he said, standing up, ‘I need to take a shit, but we’re nearly done. Stretch your legs for a bit.’

  It was good timing. I’d been sitting there for nearly three hours and when I moved I found I was stiffening up. The after-effects of the seizure were returning. I popped another couple of ulcer-killers to help slacken me off.

  Across the room, one of the goons sprawled across a desk surfing the web. I looked over his shoulder. He was checking the gig listing of an austere-looking punk band, but from the way he was waving the mouse around, it was obvious he was just killing time.

  ‘Look, mate, can I have a quick go on that?’ I asked.

  Like a petulant child, the goon muttered something and moved lazily to one side. I crouched over the keyboard and started to work on the machine.

  ‘Fuckin’ strange tat if you ask me,’ he said.

  I looked him up and down. ‘Bit rich that, don’t you think?’

  The goon snorted and turned his attention to a nearby magazine.

  A few searches later and the address I was looking for was mine. If the information was correct then it would lead me to one of the people on my list. The first part of my jigsaw. All I needed now was something to write on. As I searched for another scrap of paper, I attracted the attention of the goon.

  ‘Oi, oi, what’s this?’ he leered, looking at the screen. ‘Sassie’s of Soho? You off for a bit of pleasure now you’ve had your pain, are ya?’

  ‘Hardly,’ I said, trying not to take his bait. ‘I know someone that works there, that’s all.’

  ‘Well I hope she’s got big tits and fucks friends,’ he replied, laughing inanely.

  I smiled to humour him. On the wall next to the computer was a rack filled with brightly coloured cards advertising all manner of personal service
s. I scrawled the details on the back of one and tucked it into my pocket. Just then Nathaniel hobbled back through the doorway. He was evidently in distress.

  ‘What the fuck’s up with you?’ the goon bawled, ‘your Chlamydia playing you up again?’

  Nathaniel scowled. ‘Keep laughing, dickhead, you won’t find it very funny when I dip my cock in your tea.’

  My concern must’ve been evident because Nathaniel changed his tone when he looked across at me.

  ‘Don’t worry, Freebie, there’s no need to panic. This is what ‘appens when you eat a vindaloo and then cycle into work the followin’ day. Now come and sit down, I wanna get you fuckin’ finished before twelve.’

  Fifteen minutes later the job was complete. Nathaniel applied a square field bandage to my shoulders and ran through his surgeon’s general warning. I was flexing my torso when curiosity kicked him in the balls.

  ‘Come on then, you fucker,’ he said. ‘You win. Tell me, what does it mean?’

  In a bizarre case of role reversal, it seemed that I had won the competition to see who could get under the other’s skin the most.

  ‘Do you really not know?’ I asked.

  All three of them stared back blankly. They were not the kind to play parlour games and began to look impatient. I walked across the room and taking the paper from my jacket, handed it to Nathaniel.

  ‘Take a look at the flight number,’ I said.

  It took them a few seconds to make the connection and I watched as their expressions change from bafflement to enlightenment before settling into a look of disgust.

  ‘We get some weird cunts in ‘ere pal,’ one of the goons snarled, ‘but you are one disturbed fucker.’

  ‘What the fuck are you?’ Nathaniel asked, beginning to visibly lose his calm, ‘some kind of disaster sponge?’

  ‘Calm down, lads,’ I said, ‘let me explain. You see, I should’ve been on that flight last night. I should’ve been on it, but for one reason or another I missed it.’

  All three of them stood with their mouths open.

  ‘Listen, Nathaniel,’ I said, reaching into my inside pocket, ‘I know what we agreed, but I want to pay for your time.’

  He recoiled. ‘You can fuckin’ forget it, mate. The least I can do is give you that.’

  In view of my financial situation I didn’t see any point in arguing with him.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, that’s really good of you. Thanks a lot.’

  ‘My pleasure, son, my pleasure. I tell you, that’s some of the most important ink that I’ve ever spilt. That’s karma in action, that is.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘What, you mean you don’t believe in it?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Fuckin’ sceptic, don’t come the determinist bollocks with me. There’s a reason you missed that plane, you wait and see. It’s just a shame you didn’t tell me about it earlier.’

  I looked confused at him. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, then I woulda spelt your tattoo right, wouldn’t I?’

  His goons laughed and Nathaniel put an arm around me.

  ‘I’m only fuckin’ with you, mate. You’ve been given a second chance in life, you hear? A second fuckin’ chance. I’d kill for that, we all would. Try not to fuck it up.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

  Nathaniel let go of me and after yet another painful back slap I slipped my clothes carefully back on. When I was fully dressed I turned to him.

  ‘Listen, Nathaniel, I’m still feeling bad about this whole deal. You got any need for this?’ I lifted my overnight bag. ‘I don’t need it, and there’s a laptop in there, which is of no use to me anymore. Bloody thing will just slow me down.’

  Nathaniel shrugged and took the black holdall from me. ‘Why not, it’s a bit fuckin’ corporate, but I reckon I can give it a good ‘ome.’

  I scribbled the login details down for him and then made my way back out to the front of the shop. When I reached the door he called out.

  ‘So what’s the first thing that you’re gonna do with yourself, now that you’ve been resurrected?’

  ‘He’s off down to Soho to get his pole greased,’ replied the goon, ‘I saw him looking on the web earlier.’

  Nathaniel laughed. ‘See? I knew you was a kinky fucker.’

  3.25am, Friday24th June, 1988

  All around, the sea of people was a multicoloured blur. Felix tumbled and thrashed with them until a sudden and overwhelming wave crashed over him, its force so strong it made his eyes roll back in their sockets before submerging him into a world of neon fractals and mercurial reverberations. His body fell weightless and aglow with peace, as though some giant hand had plucked him up and dipped him into a golden pool of pure ecstasy.

  Was this heaven…?

  Was it…?

  …oh yeah… No!

  …wha-?

  This is Hedonism!

  Hedonism?

  …Oh yeah.

  …Yeah.

  After an eternity of rapture, Felix opened his eyes and tried to focus on the flickering roof of the warehouse. A pair of hands hung in the air nearby. It took a few seconds before he realised they belonged to him. He waved them. Harder. No use.

  That was OK… that wasn’t a problem… that wasn’t a problem because problems didn’t exist here… this… this was the most beautiful place in the world.

  Sliding his head to one side, Felix saw Ralph dancing, a smile glued to his face, eyes closed as he nodded in time to the music.

  Ralph! Jesus! What was he doing there?

  Felix considered asking him, but he didn’t have the heart. Ralph looked too contented. Anyway, did it really matter?

  Of course not. All that mattered was that Felix was sharing this with someone he felt so comfortable with. Come to think of it, he felt comfortable with everyone here. Man, this was the best time ever.

  The best time… the best… the… …

  Another wave about to break.

  Mouthful of water.

  Deep breath.

  And awaaaaaaaaaay

  ………Jeez……. ....strong ….so strong… …together… …we’re all in this………

  … in the middle of forever …… ………can handle ……

  ……anything…nothing… …..nothing…..

  ………nothing… can… …nothing can touch… …us……

  …………here…..

  Felix was gone. Lost. At one with himself. In unison with the music.

  Then a flash of light tore across his face, followed by a high ringing in his ears. The gyroscope in his mind spun off its axis. He fell uncontrollably backwards.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he heard the blonde girl behind him scream.

  ‘Good question, love,’ a familiar voice replied.

  Felix sensed that the people around him were backing away. He shook his head to regain focus, but that seemed to make things worse. The music’s beat was out of synch with the thudding in his skull. Something bit into his lip.

  ‘See? I told you this was a bad idea,’ the voice said calmly.

  Someone else spoke. It was Paul. It was Paul and he was shouting. No, screaming.

  ‘Motherfucker, I’ll have you. I’ll have you.’ His voice sounded strained, as though he were struggling against something.

  Felix found it difficult to stand upright. He lumbered to his feet. His friend was fighting. Trying to protect him. He had a duty to try and help.

  When he turned around Felix saw that the nearby ravers were no longer dancing. They were looking at him with disdain. He might’ve felt embarrassed at the attention, but at that moment there was a more immediate issue looming.

  In front of him, fighting desperately to get past Ralph was a red-faced Paul Storer, clawing at the air, trying to get at someone behind Felix. He turned to see who it was, but no one was there. Just more disgusted onlookers.

  ‘If you’re gonna fight, then take it outside, you pair of fucking twat
s,’ the blonde girl said.

  But Felix wasn’t listening. Felix was confused. And in pain. He looked at the blood on his hands and then at his friend.

  ‘Paul? What the fuck’s going on?’

  4

  So, was I showboating back there?

  You know, for a second I think I was. Once I saw the reaction from Nathaniel and his goons, I realised for the first time what my story was capable of. It seemed to hold a power over them, the likes of which my personality alone has never been able to inspire, and I admit I played up to it. There was something about me now that could genuinely arouse awe in people. And that felt bloody good, I can tell you.

  Still, no matter how much I enjoyed this newfound influence, I knew it had to stop. After trying so hard to slip away undetected, I had just shared my secret with three highly dubious characters. People, who, in an attempt relieve the monotony, probably spent their entire day in pointless conversation. My story would keep them going for weeks. They would recount their yarn to anyone who walked through the door. Probably put my laptop in a place of honour.

  No, it was a mistake. One that could ultimately lead to my discovery and that was inexcusable. The phenomenon of flight BH1612 might’ve helped me out of one sticky situation, but from now on it was a tale I would keep to myself.

  However, as I walked around in search of Sassie’s, I saw my attitude for self-restraint was not popular among the residents of Soho. On these streets, tails were definitely meant for sharing.

  Emaciated girls stood framed in the doorways of strip clubs like pallid harpies, each fighting desperately to entice the sweaty raincoats walking past into their particular little entrance. If there really was a battle between the sexes, then this was a skirmish fought by two leprous armies without pride or dignity.

  With so many gaping flaws in my own moral armour, I tried my best to sidestep their attentions, but some of the women were impossible to avoid. They thrust their fruits into my face regardless of how badly they were bruised. Some American punters didn’t mind a bit of surface damage though. I guess for them, the odd blotch was the sign of an authentic harlot, and that just added to the whole London experience. I watched one dirty bastard slavering over a young girl and could almost hear his mind working.