Release Candidate

by Aziz, M.

  ‘Believe me, I’ve not been spending all my energies on making expensive decorations. You mightn’t be the poster boy we parade before the world’s media, but we want to make damn sure you’re just like the one who goes to retail; so to speak.’

  ‘You’re not gonna wash your hands as soon as you’re done with me, though, right?’

  ‘There’s a whole support package, which you shouldn’t think has an expiry date attached to it.’

  Tomás grindingly rubbed his shoes over each other. ‘So, I guess there’s nothing more to this conversation, then?’

  ‘It ends with whatever is your last question.’

  ‘So, I pick up the phone when my days start getting less rosy?’

  ‘And not a second too late.’

  Tomás leant forward, shook hands firmly and walked out.

  He followed Marilyn outside, trailing somewhat behind her fast pace. When he finally caught up she looked left and locked onto a sign featuring a coffee cup.

  ‘I need to refresh my head.’ she said.

  ‘Mmm. No problem with that.’ he looked down.

  Inside, Marilyn ushered Tomás to corner seating then went to order their usual choices. He unfolded the printout on the table and cupped his hands around it. Shortly after, Marilyn tightrope-walked back with a tray.

  ‘Mind, it’ll burn you.’ she said.

  ‘I got it.’

  She spotted the document and quickly shifted her gaze. Tomás repeatedly cleared his throat as he whisked his cappuccino aggressively. Sitting, she took her time opening the wafer biscuits. The foil crinkling seemed endless.

  ‘So, you can’t not have an opinion?’ he said.

  He quickly reversed and pushed the printout while Marilyn’s eyes were on the table. She looked up, saw his stony eyes and looked back down. As she slowly stirred her drink she winced before leaning forward.

  ‘Why that?’ she whispered sharply. Her eyes bulged.

  ‘Your favourite Hollywood actor wasn’t on there. You really should’ve got a look at the other guys. Anyway, they’re not gonna leave him like that; some knife work.’

  Marilyn looked away and saw a couple staring at them. Her heart doubled a beat. The couple turned and resumed their sign language conversation. Marilyn swung her head back to the paper, drinking in the details. Tomás touched her hand. She didn’t respond to it.

  ‘Just remember that underneath that will be me.’

  Marilyn shut her eyes, quickly opened them and swigged her tea. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Not so hard to accept, is it?’ he smiled.

  An hour later back at home Tomás handed the printout to Alberto who smiled without looking and immediately put it aside.

  ‘Why you not choose other than this?’ Estela picked it up.

  Marilyn raised her brows at Tomás. She smiled when Gus ran up to her.

  ‘Why start a fuss, Estela?’ asked Alberto. ‘He can look like an old German dictator and I would still not be crying.’

  ‘That man look painting than this! Why you no go look again? I come with.’

  ‘Mum. Stop a second. This isn’t buying a coat. Of all the ‘zuelan-faced guys there, this was the only one that didn’t make me screw up my own face. Don’t want to be anyone too far out in the family tree, you know? The question is no longer open.’

  Estela shook her head. ‘So what ahead now?’

  ‘Now, you just prepare the slow leaving party for this flesh.’

  Tomás went to the kitchen and poured himself some water. He let the mug overflow when his knees buckled slightly.

  ‘Need a hand?’ asked Marilyn from behind, Gus by her.

  ‘Do I ever?’

  He lifted himself up and turned the tap off. His forehead was peppered with shining specks.

  ‘Come, the mattress is calling you.’ she said.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it? Show a man a scratch card and his heart lights up before and during peeling away those silver boxes.’ he drained his water fast. ‘Three gold bars and I’ll have nerves that don’t light up like mine. Muscles that actually hold fucking energy! Eyes that aren’t dirty windows. And all thanks to men on Earth when some alleged bearded man in the sky doesn’t care to refurb anyone.’

  ‘One gold bar less and your dream will only be that.’

  ‘You know how some pets can get all mystic when their owner’s about to be no more, I wonder if Gus is smart enough? I wonder can he cotton on when I’m looking through a new pair of eyeballs?’

  ‘Barraging questions. I think you’ve used your quota for today. Come, rest yourself upstairs.’

  ‘Will you still ask me to come under the sheets when this face is unrecognisable; without pause?’

  Marilyn froze.

  ‘Look, I’m going up.’ she said.

  ‘I’m hopeful I’ll be coming and up at a later date.’ he laughed.

  She rolled her eyes and walked away, her huff loud.

  Gus stayed put. His tail brushed the floor slowly as his bright eyes studied Tomás’s face.

  Marilyn’s eyes were shut tight and quivering when Tomás went up. He slipped into bed and stared at the ceiling until his eyes blurred with the beginnings of tears. Picking up his mobile phone beside him he popped on some earphones. After turning on his side to get a comfortable view out of the window he selected some music to soundtrack the misty navy sky. Low, aching strings filled his ears.

  Sound bleed from the earphones made Marilyn open her eyes. She looked at the plastic in his ear then at the window.

  In the other bedroom Alberto gazed at the fading printout before scrunching it up and tossing it in a green bin.

  ‘Estela, just as we will see that paper come back in a new form, the same with our boy.’ he slipped into bed. ‘Do not picture it in any other way than that.’

  ‘But is toilet roll become book of poem, or other way around?’

  ‘You can write a masterpiece on toilet roll if you print small enough.’

  ‘You can tear pages off book, use as toilet paper!’

  He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Come morning, with a sunbeam resting on him through the window, three loud beeps spat in Tomás’s ears. He yanked off his earphones, rubbed his eyes and pressed the speech bubble icon.

  “Hope u not dozin bro! Got free tix 2 see FG reunion at rah 2nite in box. Can’t pass down that?”

  Marilyn rolled onto her back and stretched her arms. ‘Whooza’ a’ this hour?’ she yawned.

  ‘Jammy Haroon blagged tix for Frozen Gold comeback gig tonight. Damn band couldn’t control their self-destructive egos ‘til after I heard of them. Seats are far from where you can’t see shit.’

  ‘A crime to pass it by, then.’

  ‘Nanny doesn’t disapprove?’

  ‘If someone’s eye is over you why can’t I sit here without worry?’

  ‘There should be some extra tix again which would be a hella shame to waste. Can’t be anything clever on the tele this evening.’

  Marilyn paused. ‘A song of theirs came up on the radio one time and I just had to turn off. A girl with her fingers in her ears is just going to spoil it for both of you. I mean, you might never...’

  Tomás narrowed his eyes at the phone and began tapping at the air.

  “Sweet. Get over here 1hr/so b4”

  After an uneventful day thus far Haroon and Tomás entered the Tube station.

  ‘You get down on your knees and unzip some flies to get these, don’t you?’ asked Tomás. ‘Can’t use ordinary pocket money to enter this gig.’

  ‘Supplier might be a sucker, dunno man. Never gotten fakes yet either way.’

  Tomás halted before a ticket barrier and rested his arm on the reader.

  ‘Dude?’ said Haroon.

  ‘Just... Catching some air.’

  ‘Bro, you do know they’re gonna stream some of the tracks live online? Man, I should’ve made these tickets option B.’ Haroon squeezed Tomás’s shoulder.

  ‘No, no. I’m
fine.’ he shrugged him off. ‘I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see the famous smoke curtain.’ he laughed.

  ‘You might have to wish hard for that.’ chuckled Haroon. ‘They just don’t see the dough from their glory days now, as you know. They’re only ready to work up a sweat tonight to avoid kipping on the streets; that bad. Unfortunately for us the original bass player’s still got self-respect and property abroad.’ he walked in front of Tomás as they descended a staircase.

  Walking along the platform something crackled with feedback out of the tannoy.

  ‘I’m getting the bloody hearing of a ninety-year-old, man. What was that?’ asked Tomás.

  ‘Dude, I think it’s the speaker system that’s that old... Beats me. If they’ve found a sus package, no one’s moving their behind.’

  ‘If that’s the case they’ve probably connected it to a certain Asian walking in.’ he laughed.

  Haroon shook his head and glanced above at the orange on black dot-matrix display. Only certain characters of a destination were fully lit and unflickering.

  ‘Bet you the carriages that come in are a wave of black Frozen shirts.’ said Haroon.

  A few minutes later the tracks strained to life as if about to give birth. Their train whooshed in with a high drone.

  The tannoy crackled. ‘Please mine the crap between the brains and the pratform.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ beamed Haroon. He nodded towards his prediction. Logo variations scrolled past almost in chronological order.

  The pair stepped in and stood by the doors. They fell silent and looked at whizzing platform advertisements and new entrants at each stop. Upon reaching their destination a wide-eyed, grey-haired man limped up to Haroon.

  ‘Night shines dark! Night shines dark!’ he sang in a gravelly voice before grinning and walking off.

  ‘Pay no mind to those types. We’re not sitting with the plebs.’ said Haroon.

  A few yards down at the domed venue the pair queued for a few minutes before meeting a red-coated attendant.

  ‘Tickuts?’ she said.

  ‘No one else is entering our box.’ Haroon concertinaed eight unperforated tickets.

  ‘Ohh! Won the lottery, did you?’ she beamed.

  ‘How’d you not just score normal admission again?’ whispered Tomás.

  ‘Record label. You’ve bad memory, dude. Damn, not hordes of fans rushing to get in.’ he pointed out the queue’s short end.

  After walking down a bright corridor another red coat greeted them and led them to their cavernous box.

  ‘If either of you gents would like to grab refreshments or relieve yourselves at any time, ask one of us to let you back in.’

  Tomás sat on a plush red seat, leant forward and laid his arms across the felt rest. He watched roadies assemble a drum set for an act advertised as The Cytokines on a glittery purple kick drum. Haroon entered video mode on his phone.

  ‘I’ve picked my suit, if you follow.’ said Tomás.

  ‘...Cool. The, er, style... Not a radical move, is it?’ he rolled his phone within a hand as one would a bar of soap.

  ‘Same colours I’m familiar with. A decent tailoring job.’

  ‘The Eastern look’s climbed outta the bargain bucket. Should go for that.’

  ‘Mmm... I don’t wanna get arrested.’

  Haroon laughed.

  ‘I’d be talking bull if I said I wasn’t getting sweaty palms about it. No clue about how they’re going to do their magic, but you can trust people with letters after their name, right?’

  ‘Bro, I’d be surprised if you treated this just like going to the dentist.’

  ‘You should know who I am when you think for a second Marilyn’s quickly found my replacement.’ his laugh morphed into a cough.

  ‘A replacement other than me?’

  The sound of four kick drum hits thumped like exclamation marks, followed by a slow, full kit roll; snare to cymbal. The easily pleased roared.

  ‘You’re not about to keel over on me, are you, man?’

  ‘That noise turned everything the wrong way round for a second but I’m adjusted to it now.’

  The chug of thick, distorted guitar chords was mixed with ‘one, twos’ on the microphone.

  ‘I know this is a crappy time,’ continued Tomás, ‘but in case it turns out, you know, you don’t actually see me again, I just want to say... All that sappy stuff.’ he slapped Haroon’s knee. ‘I have no lack of friends who would come to a funeral but you would be the last one to walk out of there, I’m sure. I could be breathing in my final days on planet Earth.’ he sighed.

  Haroon looked at the topmost level of the hall, studying the regal detail.

  ‘Shut the hell up, man. You’re staying put. This diarrhoea came out of your mouth before.’

  Tomás’s smile reflected onto Haroon. The two then focused on the pink-hued stage.

  ‘Get readayy to ‘ave yer ass kicked, Laandaan!’ roared the mop-haired singer. ‘Whee. Are. Cyto-Keens!’

  Scattered cheers greeted his band.

  ‘Faakin’ respect to the lads from Frozen Gold fer pickin’ us outta obscuri’y tonight. Gonna get shit goin’ wiv a coover of Michael Jackson’s Man In A Mirror!’

  ‘What the...?’ Haroon’s jaw dropped. ‘You couldn’t script this intro.’

  Tomás shook his head.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ continued Haroon, ‘these jokers will be off as soon as they start.’

  ‘Can’t you let off the bomb any sooner?’

  ‘Stan, envelope.’ said a guard in a voice layered with sputum over at Caldwell the following morning. He dropped the heavily-stickered manila on his desk with a whap. ‘Needed to sign for it.’

  Stanley tore the seal with a thumbnail and pulled out the contents.

  ‘Oh... Um, paper. Work... Look, go see if anyone’s being a dick, will you?’ he rubbed his earlobe.

  The guard gave a bemused look before walking out.

  Stanley waited for the footsteps to fade before skimming through the papers. He signed the last page and downed the last of his tea which made him scrunch his face.

  After exiting the room and bolting the door he walked through the middle of the prison and up to the top floor via a cold blue metal stairway. His footsteps echoed a precise mechanical rhythm. He stopped before a cell and touched a card on the lock.

  ‘Hope you lads weren’t catching up on your beauty sleep. That would be a waste of time.’ he laughed.

  ‘Likewise.’ said Jim.

  Pascual, slouched on his bed, raised his brows. Stanley eyed him down, his neck moving in accordance.

  ‘You’ve won the next best thing to the lottery, Jim.’ said Stanley.

  Jim o’d his mouth and stood up straight.

  ‘That other bunk there’ll be empty soon.’ he continued.

  Jim’s o turned flaccid. He looked over at Pascual who raised his brows again.

  ‘Nah, please don’t mess things in here! Pas keeps me sane!’

  ‘Sardines get lumped together but if we can avoid doing that with humans, so we will.’

  ‘...No point me workin’ up a huff, then?’

  ‘Pascual, you not itching to know where you’re being offloaded to? We haven’t made this zoo bigger.’

  ‘Between your butt cheeks?’ he mumbled.

  Jim looked over at Pascual as if he’d been stung.

  Stanley smiled. ‘You’ll wish you were up there.’ he laughed. ‘No. We’re letting you breathe dirty city air again.’

  Pascual looked at Jim, then Stanley.

  ‘Say again? Why don’t you pull out Jimmy Breeze here? He didn’t spill no blood.’

  Stanley giggled. ‘You thought I ended on a full stop, not a comma. New outdoor oxygen is just temporary; new walls for you far from here are not. They run things a bit different and, well, you’ll see.’

  Pascual dropped his forehead into a hand.

  ‘You folks ain’t gonna let me rest my head in one place, are you?’

&nb
sp; ‘I think you’ll certainly live your final days in the next place. Certainly. That’s all my mouth came to deliver. If you two have made any sort of bond,’ he grinned, ‘I suggest you begin savouring the last of it.’

  Jim half-raised his hand.

  ‘Go on, Jim.’ said Stanley.

  ‘Can I ask you summink?’

  ‘Spit it out, then.’ he replied.

  ‘‘ow is it you got dough to make ‘is place well-less grotty, but ain’t got it to build mo’ cages? There’s no lack of blank tarmac raound. Surely that’d burn your green bet’er?’

  ‘Why give more oxygen space to you when there’s a new bin? Just be thankful for fresh white walls and fixed pipes.’

  ‘We might be shit on a shoe, but we’re human shit on a shoe.’ said Jim.

  Stanley laughed. ‘That’s hardly the loveliest kind, is it? Anyway, Pascual. I’ll let you know when we’ll slam the outside door shut on you.’

  Pascual waved childishly. Stanley exited.

  After picking up the file from his office Stanley walked to the doctor’s room.

  ‘Mr Arturo’s our lamb.’ he said.

  A man wearing an unbuttoned, green, army-style shirt revealing his pink pot belly turned off his fan set on high. He thought for a moment.

  ‘Him?’ he sighed. ‘Never been bad blood between me and that fellow, not much anyway.’

  ‘Whatever. Just make sure he’s roadworthy and stays that way.’

  ‘I’d love to blow the whistle on this,’ he coughed, ‘but many of them are never shedding their jumpsuits anyway. Unlucky sods. They’re already with their maker, if there is one. I’ve a pension to look forward to in a few years and want to enjoy it.’

  ‘Don’t focus on playing the butcher, Dave. You’re being an angel to the other guy in the file.’

  ‘Yes, you’re not wrong. Think like a machine. I’ll go and stethoscope the bugger later, and everyone else.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Give me a knock and I’ll tag along with you.’

  Come the evening shadows Stanley sipped his third cup of tea and continued adding to a growing spiral, black fountain pen drawn in a lined notebook. Each coil was separated by a rough millimetre. Only ink bleed joined a few of them together. He was close to reaching the page’s restrictions when Dave knocked.

  Startled, a sharp diagonal line stabbed across the design. Stanley threw his pen on the desk and followed Dave to Jim and Pascual’s cell.