I see the light crack in the glass so I ready myself in fighting stance in case the naked hard man with the fists is coming out. The door opens and my things are thrown at me. A shoe lands on my bare toes and I yelp. The door slams shut. It’s cold so I throw myself into my clothes and go to pick up my wallet and phone off the ground when the door opens again and a completely naked Kitab 2, bundling his clothes into his crotch, is pushed out as well.
He falls back into me and I push him forward. He spins round and sees me.
‘Fuck you, Kitab, you fucking idiot,’ I say.
‘They threw me out. I accidentally tried it on with that girl. I thought she was part of it, dude.’
‘I don’t care, Kitab. I’m going home. I never want to see you again.’
He starts babbling as he throws his jumper over his head but I’m not listening. My chest is pumping, the anger has manifested. I’m shaking. If I don’t walk away from Kitab 2, I might cry. The stomach churns of grief and anxiety peel through me. I need to keep moving. I jump up and thump a sign that says ‘No through road’ with the vigour of a thousand high-fives. I decide to walk home because it’s a nice night and Aziz would have said, when you need a pilgrimage to have a long hard look at yourself, why take the bus?
aZiZWILLKILLYOU episode 14 Aziz vs Teddy Baker
[posted 17 September, 15:21]
Detective Alverton leant back in his chair and burst out laughing. He stood up and held his belly. I didn’t know whether I was supposed to laugh too so I was doing awkward smiles the whole time, trying to work out if this was a maniacal ‘I am going to fuck you’ laugh or a ‘you are fucking funny’ laugh. Either way, this was getting to the point whether he either arrested me or sent me to the pub with a pat on the back. I was considering calling my brother to sort me out a lawyer or something. There was some fucked up atmosphere in this place.
He eventually calmed the fuck down, sat back down at the desk and looked at me. He shook his head.
‘You’re a funny guy,’ he said. ‘I like you.’
‘So what’s happening now?’
‘Oh, right … yeah, sure …’ Detective Alverton slid a file over to me. I opened it. It was mugshots of some serious-looking white dudes, all thick necks and evil eyes dogging me up. ‘Recognise any of these people?’ I shook my head. ‘Well, they were the guys shooting at you in the train.’
‘Oh right, okay.’
I looked at the photos of these shooters. They were generic angry white men with neck tattoo types. I shrugged. I didn’t recognise any of them.
‘Who are these guys?’ I asked.
‘Oh, it’s quite complicated. Sterling’s a banker, whose investment portfolio included a complex of car factories. He ran the business into the ground and collected a bonus for selling the land because it was the site of a Civil War battle. Anyway, all these families lost all their money. And so, one of the people, this guy here …’ Detective Alverton pointed to someone weedier than the others, his eyes sunken into his face, greying thinning hair hanging on for dear life on the top of his dome. ‘He lost everything. His wife died of stress. She was pregnant. So he must have flipped. Turns out, his cousin’s a capo in a local crime mob so they decided to kidnap the guy’s baby and hold her to ransom.’
‘Not the best plan.’
‘No, especially seeing as the nanny thought they were immigration and ran.’
‘Really? How do you know?’ I said, sitting back, my arms folded.
‘Because she was also being chased by immigration officers when she started running,’ Detective Alverton said, leaning forward and shaking with barely restrained mirth.
‘That shit cray.’
‘That shit cray indeed.’
‘So, in all, we’re lucky.’
‘No, you guys are idiots. The baby’s lucky. Because, hey, no one needs to be kidnapped, whatever age.’
‘Cool, so what happens now?’
‘Nothing, we let you go, you go. We can call you as witnesses when this case goes to trial. I’ve got your official statement.’
‘That’s it? What was the good cop/bad cop thing about?’
‘There’s only one of me …’
‘Okay, the bad cop shit.’
‘Oh, you know … fun. It’s been a slow night and Detective Martinez is with the actual punks who kidnapped the girl.’
‘So, you drew the short straw?’
‘If you call a couple of heroic fucktards in leotards the short straw, then yes. Yes, I did.’
‘Fair play, mate.’
‘I’m sorry – indulge me, I gotta ask … what made you think this was okay?’ He laughed.
It turned out Detective Alverton was alright. Had loads of stories about weird New Yorkers, like the guy he arrested for shitting in envelopes and sending them to publishers, like the band who always recorded vocals in a jail cell for an authentic sound so the lead singer had to keep finding ways to get arrested and then phoned his vocals in, to people like Teddy Baker and Bob, but who did actual weird vigilante shit like beat purse-snatchers to within an inch of their life. He blamed Kick-Ass and the internet. He supported Man U, which was okay I guess, they are the Gooners of the North. His barbecue chicken was to die for. And his wife’s going in for a boob-reduction this weekend.
We sat there chatting for an hour before he finally let me go. We swapped emails. He told me to stay away from Teddy Baker, but didn’t tell me why. I nodded sagely at him and we went our separate ways. I headed out of the police station. I needed to head back to Brooklyn and try and get some of my stuff back. Outside the police station, Teddy Baker was waiting for me.
He smiled at me and shrugged.
‘Every night something new, eh?’ I said.
‘What was all that about?’
‘Cops just being cops.’
‘You’ve been in there for hours.’
‘Yeah, come on, man. I need a beer, my balls are chafing in this Lycra and I wanna get my phone and stuff from Disappearing Bob.’
We started walking to the subway and I asked Teddy Baker what the deal with Bob was. He told me that Bob was a good guy really, just not very good with confrontation or making decisions. He was one of those guys who prided himself on a moral code, but often that moral code didn’t involve anything happening in real life to question it. I said he sounded like a massive dickhead.
‘Man, that wasn’t cool what he did, just leaving us like that.’
‘Teddy Baker,’ I said. ‘I have to ask you. We look alike, right? We both have similar facial features, similar build, similar skin tone – Teddy Baker, why the honky name, brother?’
Teddy Baker thought about it, then shrugged. ‘I’m just racially ambiguous, I guess.’
‘Where your parents from?’
‘My dad’s from New York, upstate. My mom, she’s from Pakistan.’
‘Jeezus, that solves a few mysteries, why didn’t you say that before?’
‘Cos she’s whiter than me.’
‘Oh, right. Why do you think Detective Alverton told me to be careful of you?’
Teddy Baker stopped walking at the subway entrance and faced me. ‘He said what now?’
Yes, I shouldn’t have said it, but sometimes you want to know that bit of information so bad you end up splurting shit you’re not supposed, you know?
‘I thought they said that incident was irrelevant,’ he said to himself and then shut down, big time.
Teddy Baker looked crushed. He just stared at me and then walked down the stairs to the subway. At the bottom he turned back to me and gestured for me to catch up.
We didn’t talk for the rest of the subway journey to Brooklyn. We didn’t talk when we got to Bob’s house. We didn’t talk as I gathered my stuff. And we didn’t say much beyond ‘laters’ when we said goodbye.
I got back to my hotel at 3 a.m. and fell asleep. As I lay in my hotel room and thought about all the crazy shit that went on tonight and the person who it all thundered around, I knew that the next da
y I had to see Teddy Baker and get to the bottom of who this guy is. Because we still had a journey to go on, him and me. It’s beyond our tattoos. We’d started something. Something nuts is in the air and it’s pulling us together. I felt it as we both ran along that train platform up the stairs – I felt changed, people. I felt it as he and I were carted away in cop cars. I felt something.
All my life I’ve been waiting for the greatest adventure and right then, I felt like I was only at stage 1 of it. I’m being unfair, I was shot at last night. Maybe stage 4 or something. I don’t know. But look, right, here’s the thing – I’m addicted to this shit. I spent the night trying to think about what my mum, god rest her soul, would have said about this all. They would have called me nuts. But there you go, you live and you definitely don’t learn.
All these nuts scenarios passed through my head as I watched the flicker of various chat shows on the mute television in my hotel room. What if his Pakistani mother actually recruited him for a terrorism thing and that’s why I should stay away? Maybe he stole Detective Alverton’s girlfriend once and that’s why I should stay away? Maybe he’s just a deviant and this was all part of some ploy to get into my pants and that’s why I should stay away? Does Detective Alverton know this guy? But mostly importantly, do I want to know him beyond the weird week we’re having?
Either way, there’s more to be discovered with this guy.
There are 18 comments for this blog:
Anonymous: too funny. new york city pigs eh?.
Gustave_the_Great: Just one thing: why would that detective tell you all those things? sounds like you made it up. surely he can’t tell you those facts. They’re part of an ongoing investigation.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Well he did.
Gustave_the_Great: Oh really? Because I did some Googling and I couldn’t find any reference to this case. I spoke to a buddy of mine in a law firm in New York and he couldn’t find any reference to this case. Certainly no reports of trains getting shot at. Are you so sure this actually happened?
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Just because it didn’t get in the papers, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
df232: Hey Aziz, it’s Della. We met in Whole Foods. Call me.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Yo, Della, I’m flying back soon. Next time eh?
df232: I just found you on Facebook. I’m coming to London in the spring. Let’s hook up then.
BrightStar: Just found this blog on StumbleUpon. It’s too dope man. Hilarious stuff.
Gustave_the_Great: All I’m saying is, if you’re writing non-fiction, there’s 2 rules: 1) Make it real. 2) Make it good. You’ve achieved nothing. Why don’t you come and read my blog: www.alexdoesfood.wordpress.com. I got loads of stuff on there that would put this turgid shit to rest.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Wait, so this entire time, you just wanted me to look at your blog?
Brightstar: Hey man, so, I sent this to aLL MY FRIENDS. Can’t wait to happen next.
NB_Tony: Hi Aziz, mind giving me an email on [email protected]. I think we can talk about taking this blog to the screen.
Gustave_the_Great: What the fuck? This guy? SERIOUSLY? You people have no fucking idea. I work everyday as a lawyer and I spend hours writing this food challenge blog and this cunt gets a comment from someone at a television station? Fuck you Aziz. I’m going to stab you if I ever see you.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: I’ve just forwarded that comment on to the police my friend. Trolling can be tolerated. Death threats? You gots to go.
Alvy_CHickenz: Yo, Aziz, you make me sound like a chump in this. Douchebag! Email me back. Alverton, son!
df232: AZIZ! What the fuckkkkkkkk?
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: one more instalment my friends. Get ready. Especially if you’re wondering what happened to Bob.
History:
Track lost phone – Google
How to stop identity theft – Google
I get 100 metres down the road in my outraged stomp before something hurtles into my back and sends me crashing to the ground, chin first. I feel the tarmac graze down my face at high speed.
It lands on me and starts pounding my back like a massage gone wild. I fling myself from side to side and eventually shake it off. I flip round to find it’s Kitab 2, half-dressed, trousers in his hand, no underpants on. He throws more punches and I fend them off in a way Mr Miyagi would have been proud of. Wax on. Wax off. He isn’t deterred and throws harder punches. I catch one wrist, then the other, like a ninja master, and I push him off me. I try to pull myself off the pavement without the use of my hands. It’s harder than it looks. I struggle up to a crouch, consider a sucker-kick to his unhindered groin, but rise to standing instead.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I say, letting go of his wrists, hoping he has calmed down.
‘Dude, why did you ruin that?’
‘I didn’t ruin anything.’
‘You did … you did. I was going to have sex with a girl. Now I’ll never have the chance. You ruined it. You ruin everything.’
‘Of course you will. Man, calm down!’
‘You get what you want. You always get what you want. This was for me. This was my thing. You were winging me, dude.’
‘I didn’t want any of that,’ I say, as Kitab thrusts his wrists at me and I bat them away.
‘No, but you got it. What did I get? They all laughed at me. All of them.’
‘Sorry man. You were just so …’
‘So what? So Indian? So bud-bud-ding-ding? You hate your own kind that much?’ I feel dizzy. I’m surrounded by fresh air. Where’s my phone? I need to live-tweet this.
@kitab: ‘My doppelganger just punched me in the face.’
‘No. It’s nothing to do with that. It’s you. Me. We don’t know each other. Kitab, man. Look … you embarrassed me by even going there in the first place …’
‘Whatever, dude. You got everything. I got nothing.’
I check in my pocket for my wallet to give Kitab 2 some money to go away.
‘No. No way,’ I say. Kitab 2 holds something up. It’s my phone and my wallet. I forgot to pick them up after they threw Kitab at me. They’re usually the first things I check I have.
I lunge towards him but he dances back.
I run towards him.
He socks me in the face and sprints back towards the sex cul-de-sac. I watch him run off, stunned. I consider chasing after him but I’m tired. And I can’t run anymore. I rub my face where he punched me. I’m screen-less. It doesn’t feel right.
I then decide maybe I should get the tube, so duck into a train station. I have my Oyster and keys still. I hobble into the station and limp down the stairs to the platform. I wait 3 minutes before a train turns up. 3 minutes of dead air. No internet, no music in my ears, just my thoughts. I sit down in a train and realise my chin is cut and I’ve bled all over my nice jeans. A necessary sacrifice to the god of self-preservation. If you could call 2 wimps brawling in the street that. If you could call it brawling. That’s if we’d even qualify as wimps. All I have left of my identity is my Oyster card. I live through the journeys I have made in the past. I am laid bare.
Have I just created a nemesis in my own name?
The train journey is painful as it waits at all the stops for longer than necessary, and it takes me an hour and a bit to do a 30-minute journey. I walk down my high street, up my road to my house. I call my dad from my landline as I enter the flat. It takes me a few minutes to get used to pushing buttons again, so used am I to touchscreens.
He answers on the second ring. ‘Balasubramanyam speaking.’
‘Hey Dad.’
‘Kitab-san. Where have you been?’
‘You know, just hanging out.’
‘At sex parties, I see. Do you have to make them so public? Actually, you are lucky you did this time because I was thinking of going. Don’t want to go to the same ones as your children, eh?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘What?’
‘The sex
party.’
‘No, Dad,’ I say curtly.
‘You okay? You sound down in the dumps.’
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
‘Want a drink with me? My treat, kiddo.’
‘No. I just want to watch something crap on television and go to bed. I’ve been out too much recently.’
‘Fine. So … what’s your new book about?’
‘I don’t know, Dad. Not yet.’
‘Maybe you should write about a writer. Write about a writer doing things out of his comfort zone.’
‘Sounds like a cliché.’ I fire up my laptop. I wonder what I’ve missed online.
‘Well, if you haven’t got any other ideas, I will give you that for free. Just dedicate your book to me for a change.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ I don’t know if he can hear it, but there’s a lump in my throat stopping me talking at a normal pitch.
‘You know, I love you, son. I may not show it and I may be preoccupied with my own life, but you know I love you, kiddo.’
‘I know.’
‘Death, it forces us together in a way that isn’t natural. If they were around, we wouldn’t be meeting up and talking about sex parties and social lives, you know? But we’re forced to because we’re scared of death driving a wedge. I love you. That’s all you need to know.’
I miss Aziz.
‘Me too, Dad.’
I need Aziz around. I feel formless without him.
‘Come home soon. I miss you. Maybe we can watch cricket.’
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