Headhunters

by John King

  ‘In a bit,’ Carter said, watching Denise and Slaughter.

  The perfect couple and the imperfect twosome walking down the aisle in a double marriage. Will and Karen with a bun in the oven dressed in a white wedding gown with pink flowers in her hair, followed a minute or two later by Slaughter and Denise in a short skirt and high heels. Will would be in top hat and tails, while Slaughter would be wearing his leather coat with a specially-designed secret-agent holster for his favourite machete. The two couples would stand side by side as the vicar struggled with their names and rambled about sickness, health and obedience. The reception would be a laugh and end in a punch-up between the good, bad and ugly.

  Carter didn’t care if Denise married Slaughter or not. He’d still be able to give her a portion whenever he wanted. But those birds at the bar were alright and he felt the familiar urge. He couldn’t wait to get away. It was going to be good. He needed a holiday, though tonight he was going to rub the Sex Division’s nose in it and pull something classy to round off a successful season. It had been a good campaign and he’d had a few results along the way, irrespective of the opposition. He’d had his share of pigs, but a few crackers as well. Carter reckoned he deserved a lap of honour. Maybe later. There was a party tonight and it would be stacked with crumpet. A few beers in The Unity, down The Hide, maybe Blues, then the party. It would be a good warm-up. They’d be knackered tomorrow getting down to Gatwick, but a drink in the bar and a few sherbets on the flight over and they’d be raring to go. Carter was going to shag himself silly. He always did when he went away. He was looking forward to the sand, sun and low prices. He’d come home with a dose on a couple of occasions so this time he was taking a big supply of rubbers. Not being able to drink while he took the cure fucked him right off.

  ‘You heard about that queer march they’re planning,’ Balti asked. ‘They should ban it. Who wants a bunch of poofs walking through the streets upsetting everyone? It’s not like they even come from round here.’

  ‘They’re dirty bastards,’ Carter agreed. ‘Fuck anything that moves. They should line them up against the wall and shoot the lot of them. They’re full of disease. Just the blokes though. I don’t mind the lesbians, because you can see their point of view. There’s nothing wrong with that and I like a good lesbian video like the next man. It’s only natural. Queers, though. Fucking horrible.’

  ‘I’ll tell you who’s full of disease,’ Harry said, shifting the conversation, ‘and that’s Slaughter. I heard he did some bloke down the news-agent’s yesterday because he leant across him to grab a paper. Went fucking mental right there in the shop, dragged the cunt outside, and gave him a right pasting. He’s got a fractured skull. The old bill were down but they didn’t get anywhere. I would never, ever want to get on the wrong side of that bloke. He’s a fucking killer.’

  Harry was looking at Carter as he said this, but the sex machine brushed the warning aside. What did he care, he was going on holiday and didn’t give a toss. He watched the birds he’d been eyeing move across the pub. They weren’t all that, now he thought about it, and they’d seen him and not shown any interest. The Hide would be better.

  ‘Come on then, let’s fuck off,’ he said. ‘It’s all blokes in here tonight except for those birds over there, and just our luck they’re probably lesbians. Lets go down The Hide.’

  The Sex Division drank up and were soon following the familiar run from The Unity to The Hide, a golden path that led on to Blues. They were following Children’s Ward painted footprints through sterile hospital corridors, straight past Pathology concentrating on those red and blue cartoon toes and heels. The only Sex Division member missing was Mango, the rest of the lads pounding the same pavements they’d been pushed through as babies and run along as kids. Balti saw them as family men treading the rutted path, grey hair sprouting and baldness spreading, finally pensioners hunched over standing on the corner watching a demolition crew rip down The Unity, a Space Age amusement arcade planned for the site. He looked at his mates and tried to picture them with kids, because it always happened that way. It was the fucking domino effect, and he wasn’t talking about the spread of communism. Will was expecting and getting married. He was the first one to go. Planting a seed in Karen’s belly and the rest of their heads. It only needed one person to break the pattern and those left would eventually follow. Bollocks. Now they were following the leader into The Hide.

  ‘That’s a bit better,’ Carter shouted, once they’d settled in. ‘I prefer drinking surrounded by beautiful women rather than a pub full of pissed-up geezers.’

  Harry pointed out the birds they’d entertained earlier in the year with tales of stretched scrotums. Balti was up for another go, because after all they were the Bollock Brothers, or was it the Lager Twins, he couldn’t remember because it had been a while back and they’d been well pissed. He bounced forward as someone bumped into him, turning to look the bloke in the eye. He could feel the violence rush up from nowhere and a split-second temptation to glass the cunt was cut short as a fist connected with the man’s face. It was kicking off behind them between two headbangers and Balti could afford to smile and take a step sideways, watching the cabaret. It was only half-nine and already the muppets were performing as three bouncers steamed through from the door and separated the two men, kicking them back through the pub and bouncing their heads off the brickwork in the doorway, sending them on their way. Glass and lager covered the floor and there was a pool of blood that looked worse than it was because blood had mixed in with the drink, but the show went on and the jukebox kept playing as it moved through the tunes of the moment, the incident quickly forgotten, Balti laughing and turning his head to find that Carter had moved over to the women with pierced tits and lips. The flash cunt didn’t waste any time, he’d give him that, and Harry was telling the boys old Carter’s on the pull tonight, and Balti knew what he meant because he was back in the groove himself.

  A bit of respect. He’d come through in one piece. And after all these months he knew what was going to make it a perfect night. He was going down Balti Heaven, because it was in the name and he’d been a regular there until the beginning of the year when he made a resolution to lose weight and that was followed by a lack of cash, so tonight he was going down there even if the rest of the lads fucked off down Blues. He wasn’t bothered because there was that party round Julie Jones’ later and she had some nice mates. It would be heaving. Funny what the drink and a bit of whizz could do for you because when he’d come out he wasn’t thinking about getting his leg over after his night with Suzie in Archway, but now he was plugged in again. It was more about the Sex Division really, because Carter was such a cocky bastard thinking it was all over just because he was fifty-two points ahead. It was the arrogance that got him. You had to believe in miracles, even if the Virgin Birth was impossible. You had to think things like that could happen. The Sex Division was supposed to be a laugh, but Carter was taking it seriously like it mattered or something and Balti was moving up the social scale. He had self-respect. Julie Jones really did have some tasty mates, and Julie herself wasn’t bad and had a bit of a reputation. It would be a rave up, Harry shouting in his ear that it was time for the Nutcracking Nephews to get into top gear because Carter was bringing those posers over, the ones in the trendy clobber, the fucking lesbians who’d blown them out last time.

  ‘Alright girls?’ Harry asked, back in the swing of things, forgetting all about dodgy dreams.

  The girls smiled but didn’t say much, and if they had it would’ve been hard to hear them because the music was thumping out, tapping eardrums. Harry had to hold back from giving it the old stretched bollocks routine, while Balti was thinking how it didn’t matter that all those months had passed because here they were in The Hide again with the music drowning the conversation, with the same birds.

  He fancied a curry. He couldn’t be bothered shouting to make himself heard over the drums, though Will was leaning into one of them going on about s
omething. Probably telling them he was going to be a dad, and though he wouldn’t be thinking anything, birds liked that, because women were soft and sentimental and Balti loved them, and he’d like to fuck the arse off every female on the planet he was feeling so good. They all loved women. Certainly Harry did, and he was keeping away from the speed because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sleep and he had to pack tomorrow. More than his rest, he didn’t want his dreams scrambled. He was beginning to feel better about last night and was ignoring the possible interpretation of the Turkish bath and all the rest of the gibberish. That’s what happened when you got into all that psychic stuff. How could you know what was going on in your head? They could put men on the moon and genetically manipulate life, but the scientists never worked out what was going on inside the brain of your everyday herbert. Harry wouldn’t have minded a bit of help now and then, some kind of explanation.

  It was all shit really, and just because he’d had a few dreams that came true, maybe it didn’t mean he had a special gift. It had to be down to chance. Maybe it was a bottle job, because if you took the glory then you had to take the stick as well, but there were no rules and without rules you drifted. One thing was certain, he was no queer, because he wouldn’t have minded these birds and he was looking forward to going to Spain and getting stuck in. Women made the world go round and your head spin. So fucking what anyway. If he was a bum bandit, he’d come out and say so. He wouldn’t hide away. No matter what the lads said, it wouldn’t make any difference. Not really. He just wanted things straight in his head and put in their proper place. He was alright.

  ‘I was talking to this bloke I do business with,’ Will said, standing next to Harry now. ‘He’s had three kids and been there when each of them was born. Can you imagine that, seeing your child being born. He says there’s nothing like it. Says it’s a bit messy and the woman suffers, but it really is a miracle. I still can’t get my head round it, that I’m going to be a father. Can’t believe me and Karen have created a life out of nothing. When you really think about it, it’s unbelievable.’

  Harry smiled and nodded. Something like that must take you back to the beginning. It was where they’d all come from. The lust of their mothers and fathers. None of them wanted to think of their parents doing the business. It was a disgusting thought and the old folk had to remain sexless, beyond frantic mating sessions. The mask had to stay in place because it gave you a foundation. Kids made you think. Took you back to the meaning behind the action. Men and women creating life. Something from the Bible or a mushy film. Sperm and eggs working to a hidden plan. Harry felt very unimportant. He dreamt all kinds of things and it was beyond his control. Every time one of them took a shine to a bird, there was another pattern working under the surface. It was one big mating ritual really, the use of language to show you didn’t care, the pisstake and humour, the pubs and clubs and clothes and music, and the need for drink and drugs to loosen the restraints. Behind it all, the eggs and sperm were waging war, demanding action, eating into you the whole time, pushing you forward. A drunken shag and the glands were sober and efficient and working fast. You were nothing more than a messenger, a slave to the almighty DNA. But you had the last laugh because the birds were all on the pill, and it was that forward planning that kept you in charge.

  ‘This bloke even videoed one of his kids being born,’ Will said. ‘When that kid grows up it’ll be able to see its first second of life. Think of that.’

  Harry thought about it, but wouldn’t have fancied sitting down in front of the VCR watching his head emerge from between his old girl’s legs. He didn’t like the idea at all. He thought about Chelsea’s first game in Europe after more than twenty years when they played Viktoria Zizkov in the Cup Winners Cup. It was a big match for the Blues and at half-time the announcements were made over the tannoy and three Chelsea boys were informed that their wives had given birth, while another was told his girlfriend was in labour. That showed dedication. Respect was definitely due, putting Chelsea first. Talking to Will, he wondered about the ways of the world.

  ‘Karen’s got a video of her mum,’ Will said, going on a bit now, enjoying the drink and the course his life was taking. ‘I watched it once. I saw the past frozen and when I think of it now I reckon I’ve seen the future as well. A bit like you and your dreams, though this was just a machine. It was towards the end of her life. Cradle to grave and you can catch it all on video.’

  ‘What’s the point though?’ Harry asked. ‘If you get a rerun when you snuff it then the video’s in your head already so why waste money on VCRs? It’s all a bit sad. There’s no point thinking about the past too much.’

  ‘If you don’t think about the past, then you don’t learn, do you? If that happens then you keep on making the same old mistakes.’

  Harry wasn’t bothered. The more he thought about things, the more it seemed his dreams were starting to bleed in with reality. Until recently he’d have insisted the two things were separate, but since his lucid dream, and the recent blurred lines, he saw the two worlds merging. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing, though of course generally speaking he liked everything in its proper place. Without order you ended up in the nut house. That lucid dream had been a one-off. He’d like to dream like that again and take control. Before that dream he’d been at the mercy of the controller sitting deep in his skull directing operations. It was like a computer with one of those viruses loaded for fun, to cause disruption, fucking up the circuits. It was all this digital music that was making him think about machinery, because the nightmare was up in the air and he needed order. He also needed another pint. A couple more and he was going to fuck off home. No curry, no Blues, no pierced birds, no Julie Jones. He was going home to bed. Tomorrow he was off on holiday and starting fresh. Early swims and orange juice for breakfast. Civilised living asleep by the pool. Last time hadn’t been all that civilised, but that was then. He’d get himself some nice slow sex with a half-decent bird. He wished Will would shut up for a while. He was doing his head in going on about placentas and afterbirth and umbilical cords. It was making him feel sick. Will said it was amazing, and he was right, but Harry still felt ill.

  Standing outside The Hide at closing, Will said he was off and left Carter, Harry and Balti with the three posers. In the lit-up street and with a few lagers and a bit of whizz they were alright. They started walking towards Julie Jones’ place, Balti forgetting about his curry with the three women showing a lot of interest, while Harry reckoned he’d go along and see what happened. It was a ten-minute walk and they were soon hammering on the door to make themselves heard, a three-bedroom house that Julie shared with a couple of other women. Slaughter opened the door, and going inside they found a lot of regulars from the pub, as well as Denise and Eileen. As promised the place was stacked out, and the three remaining Sex Division members rubbed their hands and found some cans. Carter and Balti were at the whizz again and Harry knew that some unfortunate was going to get their ear bent. He looked for the three birds who’d come with them, and for a moment reckoned they’d blown the Sex Division out, but there they were coming through from the kitchen, helping themselves when Carter offered the speed.

  Harry soon found himself cornered by one of the girls. He was sipping from a can of supermarket lager. It tasted like shit. It wasn’t cold enough, and it was going to be one of those nights because the woman chatting him up was racing to keep up with her thoughts and it was doing his head in, but then he felt her brushing against him and the whole thing was changing because he knew he was in. He adjusted his hearing and forgot about the music, because whoever had chosen the CDs had done a good job, and the bird was only going on about blokes stretching their bollocks, and did he remember that time when him and his mate had been going on about being the Bollock Brothers? Harry smiled and was trying to think of a smart one-liner not knowing whether to play the game or take the piss, part of him wanting to feed her another line, but the sensible voice inside telling him
not to be a mug because she was dying for it, fucking gagging, couldn’t he see that? So he kept quiet and the girl, whose name he found out was Jo, was saying that his mate Terry had told them it was just a wind up. She was laughing because it hadn’t been much of a turn-on imagining a bloke with balls round his knees, and it was her mate who had the pierced lip, she couldn’t do that to herself, what did Harry think about it all?

  Harry didn’t know really, and fuck it anyway, it didn’t matter what he thought because he was drunk enough and before long he was going upstairs for a piss, standing in line with a couple of boneheads and several birds in white leather mini skirts, taking his time, finally giving up and going downstairs and outside, pissing round the back of the house. He was a cunt sometimes, because everyone was using the garden, and when he went inside Jo was sitting at the top of the stairs calling him back up. He worked his way through the people talking in an orange glow and he was sitting next to her, feeling her mouth against his, the taste of fags and drink, a fine mixture, the best kind of perfume, and then he was walking with her along the landing to one of the bedrooms.

  Harry was back in the saddle. Jo was game and wasn’t bothered by the couple in the next bed grunting and groaning in the blackness. They were soon stripped off and she was tugging his bollocks, laughing quietly, moving now to his cock. Harry brought her off and she was telling him to come inside her, which he was only too pleased to do. She was digging her fingernails into his hips spreading her legs as wide as they’d go, and before long he collapsed and pulled the sheets over them. He laid his head back against the pillow and the next bed was quiet and the music far off in the distance, a gentle thud through the bricks and plaster. There were no words now, just the soundtrack, and he felt himself drifting a bit because he was knackered, and the drink was wearing off leaving a dull ache between the eyes. He felt sad, post-sex reality coming through fast and chilling. He thought about the Sex Division and realised he’d picked up two valuable points in the relegation battle. If Balti missed out tonight then he was equal bottom. Harry was well pleased. No he wasn’t, Balti had picked up three points in Archway. He looked at the body next to him and wondered if she was up for giving him a blow job? Probably not. He’d leave it a while. That was the difference between someone like him and Carter. He wasn’t planning ahead. He hoped he hadn’t missed out. If he was Carter he’d try and slip her one up the jacksie and send Balti down, but Harry was no bum bandit. Still, he’d made a last ditch effort, but the way Balti was getting on with her mate the fat cunt would be doing himself some good as well. Harry didn’t care. He could hear Jo’s breathing. He wondered what she was like sober. He started drifting.