Release Candidate

by Aziz, M.

  ‘Come on, Dad. Mum doesn’t hate you, you’re both just a bit embarrassed by mushy stuff now.’

  ‘I am not exaggerating. But this new battery you have became our glue. Still, we do not even properly hug.’

  ‘Was it another woman?’

  ‘There is no hidden side to me.’ he laughed. ‘One nagging voice is enough. I am just glad I do not have to face my own cooking.’

  Tomás repeated graffiti boy’s expression.

  Hours passed as they talked and laughed quietly. Occasionally they were put on edge by distant fleeting sirens.

  As the sky turned navy Alberto made another squirrel-like trip.

  Shortly after, Tomás held out his hand to receive a packed triangle of sandwiches. He crackled the plastic open and devoured half of one in a liberal bite.

  ‘Son, you should think about getting up. We cannot sit out to sunrise. Torches could be out soon.’

  Tomás ground his teeth. ‘Can I digest this first?’

  Alberto sat back against the tree and opened his sandwiches.

  ‘You know about the white flags? Erase that. I ring her without fuss even if I am going to be a bit late. We have not even reached morning. I am a lightweight.’

  ‘Dad, what the fuck? She’s been buried a while now!’

  Alberto bit deeply. His cheeks remained still.

  ‘Man, what I wouldn’t give for your daughter in-law right now, but the bitch acts like I’m radioactive.’

  Alberto threw his sandwich to the floor. He shook Tomás’s collar. ‘You control that tongue or I...’

  Tomás dropped his brows. ‘Jim said he would box up a fuckin’ fresh handset for me. No, wait...’

  Alberto gently let go.

  Tomás stared at Alberto. Then sprung on him. Hands gripped around his pulsing neck.

  ‘Have another go, you past it bastard!’

  Alberto’s eyes bulged. He directed his shaking hands towards Tomás. They were prevented from connecting by an invisible force field.

  Tomás’s thumbs puffed up. He swung Alberto’s head against the trunk. Alberto’s legs trembled.

  Following a minute of sustained pressure Alberto’s hands slapped to the ground. Beads of sweat ran to his brows. His eyes shone like pearls.

  Tomás relaxed his hands. He lowered the tempo of his panting.

  His knees hit the floor as he looked at Alberto’s face.

  ‘Dad?’ he patted Alberto’s cheek. Moisture greeted his fingertips.

  Tomás looked at his own palms. Then back at Alberto sprawled against the trunk like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Tomás’s chest rapidly expanded and contracted.

  ‘You have to be alright!’ he shook Alberto’s shoulders. The head drooped forward.

  Putting a quivering hand to his mouth he levered off his knees. Upon closing his eyes a burst of tears fell to his cheeks.

  The distant entrance was bathed in brilliant light. His shoes swiftly thudded towards it.

  Next morning Tomás opened his eyes in response to a beam of burning light cutting across his forehead. Four crushed green cans laid beside him. He rubbed the back of his neck as he rose to his feet.

  He walked jaggedly towards the edge of the olive-grey roof. Miniature vehicles and pedestrians breezed along a grey play mat of compatible ratio. An endless column of shrinking floors connected to it.

  Tomás rubbed the spiky stubble on his chin. He tripped a few steps backward and landed on his bottom.

  Beside him a cardboard-enclosed item labelled “Kitchen Essentials” poked out of a short paper bag. Turning, he pulled it out and dug a thumbnail under its surrounding display window.

  Messily torn bits fluttered off in the breeze. He rotated the unearthed black-handled utensil. Its serrations gleamed in the sun. Exhaling, he got up with it and stumbled towards the edge again.

  ‘Okay. In and fuckin’ drop. Ain’t hard.’ he slurred.

  Gripping the handle hard he turned the point towards his chest. Lowering his eyelids the tip slid millimetres into his breast. He opened his mouth for a few seconds then dropped it. Patting the dab of red on his shirt he sat down.

  Rising to his feet he ran backwards then towards the edge. Stopping at an arm’s width over he slowly walked back. Shaking his head he began to snake down the building’s rear via a thick liquorice-black pipe.

  His hands and feet squeaked off a metre from the ground. He landed on his shoulder before the stolen car’s hub cap. Standing up he rubbed a hand across his shirt. He pulled the door hard a second time before it opened.

  Resting his hands on the grainy steering wheel he gazed through the windscreen. The view appeared foggy. As did the dashboard dials. He moved his hands around the immediate space as if a poorly-manoeuvred marionette.

  ‘How the fuck did I get this moving?’

  Just then a swathe of neon blue in the rear view made him inhale sharply. Squeezing the steering wheel he deeply pushed an oval button beneath his thumb. As he swerved into the road an orphan wa-waoh sounded behind him before locking into an indefinite loop.

  The panda car enlarged in the mirror. A beige megaphone protruded from its side like a mushroom.

  ‘Go to the curb!’ said a distorted female voice.

  Tomás stomped his foot. Cars either side blurred into coloured streaks. Stray horns lowered in pitch. The panda car shrunk. Then grew again. He felt his car jolt. A female black-capped head popped out from the panda car’s side. She held a walkie-talkie to her mouth.

  Below the mirror Tomás spotted two full-size panda cars with their blue blinding him. He veered left, narrowly rubbing doors with a white van. An undecipherable expletive bounced off his side window. The three panda cars minutely shifted positions like studio mixer faders. The original remained in the lead. The officer returned the megaphone to her mouth.

  ‘This is Officer Harrison. I’m giving you a few seconds.’

  The lead panda car rolled out of rear view. It emerged beside him. Tomás looked right. He slid in his seat as the panda car pushed him left. A bump from behind pin-balled Tomás forward in his seat.

  Tomás clicked a switch on his right window. The wind rumbled in his ear.

  ‘Just get off my back! You’re not gonna connect any more bodies with me, alright? This ain’t really even my doing!’

  ‘Cut the engine now!’ she replied without her megaphone.

  ‘Nice joke. Let me save you some paperwork.’ he jabbed an index finger at the windscreen.

  The River Thames’s dark sedentary waves drew line by line.

  ‘Mr Gabino!’

  His view shook in tandem with the aggressive knocks from behind. He pressed the right window button in sync with the left. The sirens swapped stereo channel sides. Ahead scrolled fast.

  He felt his wheels spin above ground. The windscreen webbed and displayed an even division of white sky and chunks of slate rubble. Then beige water.

  The thunderous splash whipped white foam around the car. It fully submerged then bobbed half up.

  The driver seat was unoccupied.

  The panda cars halted close to the edge. The sirens died.

  Some hours later an orange lifeboat sped towards Officer Harrison standing by the river’s edge.

  ‘I’d ‘ave better look fahndin’ a leprechaun.’ said the wrinkled, grey-bearded leader of four. ‘Houdini’s done for.’ he unstrapped his white helmet.

  ‘No magic wand or hat?’

  ‘Maybe soom fish’ll be sellin’ ‘em on t’internet tonight.’

  ‘You better get ready for some other thing, I guess.’ she sighed.

  ‘Know our job well, ma’am.’ he nodded.

  The boat whipped a white trail as it reversed.

  She put the walkie-talkie to her mouth and clicked a button.

  ‘Time to bring out the mop, Sarge.’

  ‘Ah, sh...’ it crackled.

  Twelve minutes later an arm shot out and back into the water a large distance from the crash site. Ripples concluded at a river bank
. Several seconds passed.

  A head and torso sprung up. Tomás pressed his shivering pink hands on the bank’s rim. He dragged his waterlogged body onto the asphalt. His tongue curled as he shook with the strain of coughing. Both eyeballs were bloodshot. The exploded firework leaked over his face. His chest heaved rapidly.

  Following a seemingly endless series of contortions he rolled to one side. His nose pressed hard against the ground. Water oozed around him to create an emphasised shadow.

  His lips gently parted. Strings of saliva pillared to the ground. Asphalt grains greeted his irises.

  Rolling onto his back he saw paper-white sky misted by internal water blur.

  Turning his head like a clock hand he looked across the river. A pixel bobbed in the distance.

  Touching his chest he flinched at disturbing the small knife gash. After spitting a frothy blob he turned on his side and pushed off the ground by his palms and toes. He stood up with dripping arms and knees.

  Turning around he rubbed a sleeve across his face.

  Opposite him a road and buildings were framed beyond a light green clearing. After circling on the spot he walked towards it.

  He paused as a car whooshed past. Then he hopped across the road in hunchback fashion.

  His eyes caught a gap between a pair of buildings.

  In advancing through that passage his height rose and ebbed on cobbled stones. Crevices in concrete walls either side appeared to pulse and ripple.

  He turned right and paused again. Beside him arched, black brickwork layered on a long orange wall expanded into the distance. Stepping onto the adjoining pavement he began walking along. His trousers swished audibly in the quiet street.

  After fifteen yards the wall rounded off.

  A green-coloured pub had customers enjoying beverages inside and out. Tomás stopped. A few looked at him briefly then elsewhere. Their smiles had broken. Ignoring them, he walked past.

  ‘Yo, mate!’ shouted a yellow football shirt. ‘Look at the state of him!’ he said to a clone beside him.

  ‘Cunt just looks like ‘e’s lost ‘is biccie tin.’ it replied.

  Tomás ran. Seconds after picking up pace he stopped and backed up. A taut basement-level flag caught his attention:

  “Want to be fighting fit? Come on in!”

  Scratching his chin he looked behind before ascending. Bells chimed as he entered.

  11

  Dull rebounds off gym mats and the smell of plimsolls greeted him in a Seventies kitsch maroon corridor. A door behind him squeaked. He felt his shoulder tapped.

  ‘Can’t go further, brother.’ said a heavy male voice. ‘Class don’t pay for disruption. You must need a form?’

  Tomás turned to see a dreadlocked black man with pink-speckled hands.

  ‘I guess you ain’t seen me before?’ asked Tomás.

  The man upturned one boot on a heel.

  ‘First time I seen a fish in here. Your pockets don’t look too good.’

  ‘I haven’t had an easy time lately. I know these walls, this is just where I need to be.’

  ‘Uh-uh. This ain’t no café.’ he pinched Tomás’s elbow.

  ‘Come on, man.’ he looked at the brown door dreadlocks emerged from. ‘I’ll just hang like a ghost in there. Won’t stay ages.’

  ‘This calm face can turn.’ he pushed Tomás towards the exit.

  The brown door squeaked.

  ‘What’s the deal?’ said a small, built Korean. His quiff had the groove shine of a vinyl record.

  ‘Jus’ shooin’ a fly.’

  ‘Pal, turn around.’ said the Korean.

  Tomás complied.

  ‘It can’t... Nah!’ the Korean shook his head.

  ‘Seems like I stirred something.’ said Tomás.

  ‘You been wrestling with sharks, pal? This way. Rob, kettle.’

  Tomás followed.

  Inside the room was a wood desk and chair facing a wall plastered with glossy photos of people in white robes. On the opposite wall rosettes of various colours hung next to laminated certificates.

  The Korean pulled out the chair. Tomás sat down as the man exited, returning a minute later with a light-blue towel.

  ‘Better call to get you seen to, pal.’

  ‘No! No need to waste their time.’ he patted the towel on his head.

  ‘Well, okay. All extra robes are in the wash but the heat here’s good.’ he squinted at Tomás.

  Dreadlocks entered with a steaming mug.

  ‘Brother, this hospitality ain’t from me. Don’t overstep.’

  Tomás nodded upon receiving the mug. As he sniffed the beige brew a tear fell from one of his ducts. He popped it with a finger and quickly sipped. His jaws quivered.

  ‘I’m Dong-yul.’ said the Korean. ‘You?’

  ‘If I told you this ain’t the first time I’ve been here but not for an obvious reason, how would you take that?’

  ‘Just kick him out, Dong.’ said dreadlocks.

  ‘Hold on.’ replied Dong-yul.

  ‘Dong, this guy smells of pork.’

  ‘Rob!’ shouted Dong-yul. ‘Pal, your face did get my head rolling for a second.’

  ‘Go on.’ said Tomás.

  ‘You don’t get when topics close, do you, pal?’

  ‘I’m not a squealer. My ass was once in this very spot with possibly you and some others. That ain’t some story.’

  ‘That so? Listen, I think you better down your mug fast. Who do you think helped get these?’ he tapped one of the certificates. ‘Up to you now if you wanna cross me.’

  ‘I can picture two faces not here, with the light flicked on.’

  ‘Rob, remind this dick where the entrance is.’

  Rob nodded.

  ‘Goyo!’ Tomás put down his mug.

  Dong-yul and Rob locked eyes as if initiating telepathy.

  ‘If that name means nothing,’ he added, ‘I don’t need help getting out.’

  Tomás felt Rob’s heavy arms ease on the back of his chair. Dong-yul sat one leg over the other on the edge of the desk.

  ‘You want a service, that it?’ asked Dong-yul. ‘You should know we only take dough through wire.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Start again.’ said Dong-yul. ‘How did you learn about this name?’

  ‘Those four letters and a smiling face are in this head.’

  ‘What’s that I smell?’ asked Rob. ‘Bacon?’

  ‘Look, let me just get lost after I see Goyo.’ said Tomás.

  ‘These days aren’t marked available on his calendar.’ replied Dong-yul.

  ‘Well, surely he can put a phone to his ear?’

  ‘There’s never even a hello from him on this day of the week, pal. That’s the small print nobody forgets. Man, you must just be some beer fiend he come across. Get your butt off of that chair!’

  ‘Please.’ Tomás pleaded. ‘Get Goyo and whoever else on the line. Tell them to drop what they’re doing this instant! If we only end up talking about the weather, you guys can take me on as a kick bag.’

  ‘You sailed the Titanic to get here, or what?’ asked Dong-yul.

  ‘All I’ll say is I didn’t get here by rollin’ sixes.’

  ‘Your voice, you putting that on?’

  ‘I got a story about that but it would put you to sleep.’

  ‘Don’t worry, pal. I’m an insomniac.’

  ‘Well, tell you what. Go call the other kid and I’ll even tuck you in at night.’

  ‘You must be achin’ for some more bruises, huh, brother?’

  ‘You’d regret to leave it at a what if.’ said Tomás. ‘Push that turd out of your ass.’

  Dong-yul scratched the small of his back. Rob’s weight left the chair. It creaked.

  ‘Alright, wise guy,’ said Dong-yul, ‘you’ve got me hooked. But your gob opens before any of ours, got it? You better pray your words aren’t a fairy tale.’

  ‘I’m not wetting my pants.’

  ‘One condition. Now yo
u stay within these walls ‘til then.’ he pulled a phone from a desk drawer.

  ‘My mug’s empty. Would you mind? Please.’ he held it out to Rob.

  Rob sucked his teeth and snatched it.

  An hour after the last stampede of exiting students Dong-yul and Rob returned to the office. Rob pressed a wall switch. Early evening grey was replaced by a piercing yellow from an unshaded bulb.

  Tomás remained sat at the desk. His dried clothes retained their colour deepening.

  ‘Wipe the tiredness.’ said Dong-yul. ‘They’ll be here well before the little clock hand moves again.’

  Tomás sat up straight.

  ‘Listen pal, you got good time here duckin’ away from whatever. If what’s to come out your mouth ain’t honey, you best hit the street now while I can turn a blind eye.’

  ‘You’re not gonna be disappointed. Besides, I have no doormat waiting for me.’

  ‘No olds or woman?’ asked Dong-yul.

  ‘I sort of came from two different branches.’

  ‘Branches?’

  ‘Just wait for those guys to come.’

  Dong-yul walked to the wall east of Tomás and pressed his back against it. He looked up at the bulb then at Tomás.

  ‘The small similarity between you and someone doesn’t cross into your overall way of speaking or dress style.’

  ‘I’m thinking this person ain’t a regular these days.’ said Tomás.

  ‘Good guess.’

  ‘What’s the deal with that?’

  ‘Brother, you a journo?’ asked Rob.

  ‘Rob, it’s alright.’ said Dong-yul. ‘That guy just got tangled up somewhere and we drifted.’

  ‘Drifted?’ asked Tomás.

  ‘You heard right.’

  ‘Oh.’ he said in a high voice.

  ‘Why oh like that?’ Dong-yul laughed.

  ‘You shouldn’t rule out seeing him again.’

  ‘When he’s soon covered by grass and shit maybe, yeah.’

  ‘What if I told you your pessimism ain’t needed?’

  ‘I’d say you enjoy pain.’

  ‘Seems like you won’t be interested in one name I go by, then.’

  Six rapid knocks on the outside door glass reverberated inside. Dong-yul scratched his nose as he left. Rob stepped before Tomás.