got Laura to a bench. A wino was slumped at one end, humming softly. Sounded like a Britney Spears tune.
Go figure.
I asked,
“What happened, darling?”
“I was talking to Declan in Zhivago and I saw that man.”
“Which man?”
As if I couldn’t guess. She said,
“The English fellah who came to your house.”
“Bryson.”
“He followed me out of the shop.”
“You should have told Declan, he’d have put his shoe in his hole.”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss.”
And so evil flourishes and spreads because decent people don’t want to make a fuss. She continued,
“He spooked me. I’d got as far as Faller’s when he caught up. He said, ‘Don’t be in such a hurry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d like you to deliver something to our Jack, could you do that?’
“I said I would and he spat in my face.”
I wiped her face as if the spittle was still there. I felt near blind from fury. Lifted her up, said,
“I’m going to bring you to some friends of mine, OK?”
She clung to me, pleaded,
“So you won’t let him hurt me, Jack?”
“I guarantee it, sweetheart.”
I got her to Nestor’s. Jeff was tending bar, the sentry in his usual slot. I put Laura in the hard chair, walked to the counter. The sentry asked,
“Have you another wife?”
I said to Jeff,
“This girl has had a shock; would you mind her for a bit?”
He raised an eyebrow but said,
“I’ll get Cathy.”
“How’s Serena May?”
“Doing good.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The madness was burning. I’d have anybody.
Jeff said,
“Don’t do anything crazy.”
“What’s that mean?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, said,
“Hey, back off, buddy. You should see your face.”
I left.
Tearing along Forster Street. I heard my name called. Ignored it, kept going. Felt my arm grabbed. Whirled round to face Keegan. He said,
“Slow down, boyo.”
“Fuck off.”
He didn’t let go of my arm, said,
“It’s been a long time since anyone said that to me, Jack.”
“You want to let go of my arm?”
“Tell me what you’re doing, Jack.”
I gave a long sigh, one my mother would have been proud of. Could feel some of the white heat dissipating. I wanted to hug it closer, said,
“I’m going to tear that fucker’s head off.”
“Not smart, Jack.”
“Screw smart. You said yourself you’d destroy anyone who touched your woman.”
He nodded.
“But not with witnesses. Let me go up there, see what the story is. You hang here, smoke a cig, get your act together.”
It made sense, so I said,
“It makes sense.”
“OK, see you anon.”
I watched him walk to the green, turn towards the Simon. Even from a distance, you could sense the balled up menace of his posture. I tried not to think about the damage I wanted to inflict. Sat on the small wall, favoured seat of many drinking schools. The meths passed round here didn’t come in a fancy bottle or get stocked in trendy pubs. No, it was true rot gut, what they called “Jack” or “White Lady” in south-east London, 100 proof methylated spirits. I’d sipped it on rare occasions.
Moved my mind to books. Tommy Kennedy had said,
“There’ll be times when the only refuge is books. Then you’ll read as if you meant it, as if your life depended on it.”
My life and certainly my sanity had fled to reading through a thousand dark days. Resolved to get hold of James Sallis and his bio of Chester Himes. I’d reread all of David Gates. His
Jernigan
was my life if I’d had a formal education. Heard,
“Jack!”
Snapped out of it, looked at Keegan. He asked,
“Jeez, Jack, where did you go?”
“I was here.”
“Not if your eyes are any guide. Tell you, boyo, you’re going to have to quit the nose candy; it’s frying your brain.”
“I was thinking of books.”
“I rest my case.”
I stood up, asked,
“What went down?”
“He’s legged it, gave his notice.”
“Fuck.”
Connections were screaming in my head,
Go figure.
I asked,
“What happened, darling?”
“I was talking to Declan in Zhivago and I saw that man.”
“Which man?”
As if I couldn’t guess. She said,
“The English fellah who came to your house.”
“Bryson.”
“He followed me out of the shop.”
“You should have told Declan, he’d have put his shoe in his hole.”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss.”
And so evil flourishes and spreads because decent people don’t want to make a fuss. She continued,
“He spooked me. I’d got as far as Faller’s when he caught up. He said, ‘Don’t be in such a hurry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d like you to deliver something to our Jack, could you do that?’
“I said I would and he spat in my face.”
I wiped her face as if the spittle was still there. I felt near blind from fury. Lifted her up, said,
“I’m going to bring you to some friends of mine, OK?”
She clung to me, pleaded,
“So you won’t let him hurt me, Jack?”
“I guarantee it, sweetheart.”
I got her to Nestor’s. Jeff was tending bar, the sentry in his usual slot. I put Laura in the hard chair, walked to the counter. The sentry asked,
“Have you another wife?”
I said to Jeff,
“This girl has had a shock; would you mind her for a bit?”
He raised an eyebrow but said,
“I’ll get Cathy.”
“How’s Serena May?”
“Doing good.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The madness was burning. I’d have anybody.
Jeff said,
“Don’t do anything crazy.”
“What’s that mean?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, said,
“Hey, back off, buddy. You should see your face.”
I left.
Tearing along Forster Street. I heard my name called. Ignored it, kept going. Felt my arm grabbed. Whirled round to face Keegan. He said,
“Slow down, boyo.”
“Fuck off.”
He didn’t let go of my arm, said,
“It’s been a long time since anyone said that to me, Jack.”
“You want to let go of my arm?”
“Tell me what you’re doing, Jack.”
I gave a long sigh, one my mother would have been proud of. Could feel some of the white heat dissipating. I wanted to hug it closer, said,
“I’m going to tear that fucker’s head off.”
“Not smart, Jack.”
“Screw smart. You said yourself you’d destroy anyone who touched your woman.”
He nodded.
“But not with witnesses. Let me go up there, see what the story is. You hang here, smoke a cig, get your act together.”
It made sense, so I said,
“It makes sense.”
“OK, see you anon.”
I watched him walk to the green, turn towards the Simon. Even from a distance, you could sense the balled up menace of his posture. I tried not to think about the damage I wanted to inflict. Sat on the small wall, favoured seat of many drinking schools. The meths passed round here didn’t come in a fancy bottle or get stocked in trendy pubs. No, it was true rot gut, what they called “Jack” or “White Lady” in south-east London, 100 proof methylated spirits. I’d sipped it on rare occasions.
Moved my mind to books. Tommy Kennedy had said,
“There’ll be times when the only refuge is books. Then you’ll read as if you meant it, as if your life depended on it.”
My life and certainly my sanity had fled to reading through a thousand dark days. Resolved to get hold of James Sallis and his bio of Chester Himes. I’d reread all of David Gates. His
Jernigan
was my life if I’d had a formal education. Heard,
“Jack!”
Snapped out of it, looked at Keegan. He asked,
“Jeez, Jack, where did you go?”
“I was here.”
“Not if your eyes are any guide. Tell you, boyo, you’re going to have to quit the nose candy; it’s frying your brain.”
“I was thinking of books.”
“I rest my case.”
I stood up, asked,
“What went down?”
“He’s legged it, gave his notice.”
“Fuck.”
Connections were screaming in my head,
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