The Kimota Anthology Part 17

Lee's final trap had been sprung, but whatever had been in there had got away. From the tuft of bloodied fur the creature had left behind, it had obviously been something of a struggle. Lee wondered whether he ought to cast about a bit, see if the animal was still around. The fur suggested another rabbit, and from the looks of things it was badly wounded. It had probably crawled off to die in a bush somewhere.

He picked up a stick and thrashed half-heartedly at the surrounding undergrowth, but after a few minutes he gave up. Flies droning round his head and he was desperate for a pint. Besides, today's was a good haul as it stood. Might as well let the poor little b.u.g.g.e.r die in peace.

He took a sack from his jacket and stuffed his catch inside, then carefully reset the trap. That done, he heaved the sack onto his shoulder. Next stop the market to earn himself a little money, and then it was off to the pub for his lunch.

As he entered the main bar of The Vine he was met by a chorus of greetings. He raised a hand, then went to the bar and ordered sausage, beans, chips and a pint of bitter. At this hour the pub was a sociable place: sunshine slanted in through the windows, gleaming on the horse bra.s.ses that adorned the walls; the greasy smell of food and the sc.r.a.ping of cutlery on plates made him hungry; the click of pool b.a.l.l.s and the bleeps from the fruit machine provided a soothing backdrop to the buzz of conversation. Lee moved from the bar to where his mates were seated, already sucking at the froth in his gla.s.s. When he got to the table, the beer was half-gone.

"Thirsty work, killing things," Reg Trenshaw said. His words were greeted with laughter.

"Aye, it is that," Lee replied. He sat down. "Better than sitting on your a.r.s.e all day, though."

Reg stuck his nose in the air. "I'll have you know, I'm what is known as a casual labourer."

"Aye, very casual," said Lee. Laughter exploded around him once more. Reg grinned too, and companionably punched his arm.

"How many d' you get today, then?" Peter Raven asked. He was the youngest of the group, only twenty-two. The others were in their late twenties or early thirties; Lee himself was twenty-eight.

"Three rabbits and a pigeon," Lee replied. "I've already flogged 'em down the market."

Darren Buckle, hunched over his pint, said solemnly, "Not much meat on a pigeon."

Lee looked at him, unsure whether he was joking or not. You could never tell with Darren. In the end he shook his head. "No, not much," he agreed.

"Sausage, beans and chips," a voice said shyly beside him. Lee turned to see a dark-haired girl in her late teens holding a plate of steaming food.

"Aye, that's me, love. Just put it down there." She did so and Lee tucked in.

As he ate, the conversation ebbed and flowed around him. Football, pigeon racing, women, cars and work were discussed. Occasionally, when he felt the tide of conversation flowing his way, Lee would toss in the odd comment, but on the whole he was content just to sit and eat and listen.

Around twenty past one the gathering began to break up. Darren Buckle and Peter Raven, who both worked at a nearby garage, got up to go. Peter drained the last of his pint.

"Well, I'll see you all tonight then," he said.

"Tonight?" Lee asked, confused.

"Aye. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Lee, you've got a mind like a sieve. It's Mich.e.l.le Patterson's party at the Bar Bados. Don't tell us you've forgotten already."

Lee had forgotten, but he shook his head. "Course not," he said, "I'll be there."

The Bar Bados was sleazy and run down. Somehow it looked even more depressing now than it had done as a carpet showroom. Lee knew it was a favourite haunt of drug pushers, prost.i.tutes and pickpockets, but that didn't bother him. If the price was right, he was not averse to anything that the first two had to offer, and as for the latter, well, his trousers were so tight that even he had trouble getting his hands into the pockets.

Outside the door were two gorillas in dinner suits. As Lee walked up, one of them stepped forward and planted a large hairy hand in the middle of his chest.

"I've come for the party," Lee said, showing his invitation, "Mich.e.l.le Patterson's"

Grudgingly the bouncers let him through, and he made his way to the bar through an almost tangible cloud of sweat and marijuana smoke. The barmaid was a large-breasted bottle-blond with an expression that hovered somewhere between stupid hostility and boredom. Lee asked her for a pint of bitter. She gave him a lager in a gla.s.s with lipstick smears on the rim, then moved on before he could complain.

He sighed and looked around for his mates. The dance floor was a smoke-wreathed arena of writhing, sweaty bodies trapped by coloured light. The music that throbbed from the speakers was m.u.f.fled and distorted. Lee spotted his mates sitting at a table to the right of the stage and skirted towards them round the edge of the dance floor. He held his beer above his head to avoid being jogged. his feet slid on crushed cigarette buts and patches of wet. As he got near the table, Peter Raven spotted him and raised a hand in greeting.

"Lee, over here," he shouted unnecessarily. Lee acknowledged the gesture and struggled his way through.

"We were beginning to think you weren't gonna come," Peter said, pulling out a chair with a slashed seat for him.

"I never like to get to these dos too early," Lee replied, sitting down, "otherwise I'm always blind drunk by the time the birds start to arrive."

"Aye, and there's some nice ones here tonight," Peter said. "Look at that lot." He pointed at a group of four girls who were dancing around a pile of shoes and handbags. One of them was Mich.e.l.le Patterson. Their intent expressions and heavy make-up made the scene appear somehow primitive, like a rain dance or a mating ritual.

"Yeah, they're all right," Lee said, nodding, though the prospect of breaking into the hallowed circle was a daunting one. He looked around, trying to pick out a girl who looked as though she might be on her own. "Mind you, she's more my type," he said, pointing across at a pet.i.te, darkly attractive girl with short black hair, who was sitting alone on the other side of the room.

"Why don't you go and chat her up then?" Peter said. "Quick, before someone else does."

Lee nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I think I will. See you in a bit." He stood up, still clutching his pint, and manoeuvred his way through the forest of flailing limbs on the dance floor. As he approached her table, Lee saw the girl look up and smile as though she'd been expecting him.

"h.e.l.lo," she said. She hadn't raised her voice, but Lee could hear her clearly over the music. "Who are you?"

"My name's Lee, Lee Mitch.e.l.l. I saw you sitting on your own and thought you might like some company."

"That's very kind of you," she said, and smiled at him again. She was wan and frail looking, she wore no make-up, and her clothes were drab, but in that instant Lee decided she was beautiful. He leaned forward, staring into her eyes, which were large and, in this light, seemed black as ebony. "W-Would you like to dance?" he asked.

The girl glanced at the dance floor, then gave the tiniest shake of her head. "No, thank you. I'd rather just sit here and talk."

Lee nodded, trying to look enthusiastic, though conversation was not one of his strong points. Most of the girls he had known had shared his bed in exchange for a few drinks and a dancing partner for the evening. Looking down at his empty gla.s.s, he said, "Can I buy a drink then?"

The girl gave a little half-smile as though she had a secret joke she was unwilling to share. "That would be nice," she said. "I'll just have a Perrier water please."

"A what?" Lee said. The girl repeated her order. "Do they do that here?" Lee wanted to know. The girl a.s.sured him they did, and Lee went to the bar, clutching his empty pint gla.s.s in one hand and a crumpled five pound note in the other.

The area in front of the bar was crammed with people and hot as an oven. As Lee queued, he glanced back at the gill to make sure she was still there. She was - a tiny dark-haired figure who from this distance looked no more than twelve or thirteen years old. Looking at her, Lee felt nervous. He had never actually sat down and talked to a girl before, not properly anyway. What could they talk about? She was obviously much brainier than most of the slags he went off with. Did that mean she would be harder to coax into bed? Lee hoped not, because he wanted her badly; his hard-on was almost embarra.s.sing.

As he watched the girl, his heart suddenly jumped. A blond-haired, bearded man had approached her and was asking her something. Lee held his breath, and was relieved when he saw the girl shake her head. The bearded man walked away, looking disappointed.

"Yes?" The barmaid's harsh voice jolted him out of his reverie. Without realising it he had shuffled to the front of the queue.

"Er... a pint of bitter and a... a Perry water, please." Had he got that right? Obviously he had, for the barmaid went straight to a bottle with a green label and poured the contents into a gla.s.s. Drinks in hand, Lee swayed back to the table.

"Here we are," he said, setting the gla.s.ses down. "Sorry I was so long. It's packed up there."

The girl flashed her little half-smile again. "Thank you."

Lee took a long swig of beer, then hastily wiped away the moustache it made. "Do you know," he said suddenly, "you haven't told me your name."

The girl hesitated, and Lee frowned. Why was she so nervous about giving her name? Then she said decisively, "Joanna. My name's Joanna."

Lee nodded. "That's a nice name. Tell me, Joanna, what do you do?"

This time the reply was more confident. "I'm a secretary at Smith's in town. Why, what do you do?"

Surely it was Lee's imagination that the question had sounded like a challenge? "I'm the one in eight," he said. When the girl looked puzzled, he added, "Unemployed."

"Oh, I see." Joanna sipped her Perrier water, then abruptly leaned forward and gazed at him intently. "But what would you really like to do?" she asked.

Lee thought this over. In truth he had been on the dole so long that any job would seem a G.o.dsend. With his poaching and his supplementary and his rent money from the council, he reckoned he earned about the same as many of his mates, but that wasn't the point. A proper job was much more than just a wage packet - it was self-respect; it was an end to breaking the law in order to survive; it was a chance to do something with his life. Poaching kept him above the breadline, but all the same Lee didn't particularly enjoy killing animals, and he enjoyed the human reactions to it even less: the way people looked at him as though he was a child-murderer, the way they a.s.sumed he was a sicko who liked inflicting pain on innocent creatures. After his trial, when his picture had appeared in the paper, the animal rights lot had broken his windows and daubed his walls. They didn't seem to care that he had bills to pay, food to buy. And they even seemed to have overlooked the fact that he had a dog - Sabre - who he could ill afford, but who was always sleek and well cared for. Lee was certainly no saint, and had never claimed to be, but by the same token he was no ogre either.

All these thoughts pa.s.sed through his head in just a few seconds. When he looked up, Joanna was still staring at him.

"What would I really like to do? Oh, I dunno - brain surgery or something. Only I don't think they'd accept me. I couldn't even get biology CSE at school."

Joanna smiled stiffly, though Lee could see that his joke hadn't gone down too well. Maybe she thought he was a layabout, maybe she thought if he was on the dole he wouldn't be able to afford to keep buying her drinks. He couldn't give her that impression, could he? Draining his gla.s.s for the second time, and trying to hold down a burp, he said, "Another drink?"

"I've hardly started this one," Joanna replied, "Though you go ahead. Would you like me to...?" She reached for a small black handbag at her side. Lee, recognising her intention, stood up hastily, holding up his hand like a traffic policeman halting a line of cars.

"No, no, that's all right, love, you put your money away. I've got plenty, don't you worry about that." h.e.l.l, that sounded awful, as though he were trying to buy her. Lee knew you had to be careful what you said to birds; they took offence so easily. He turned and stumbled towards the bar, the flashing lights and the speed with which he had consumed his two pints making him feel a little unsteady on his feet.

Ah hour and four pints later Lee was confident he had won Joanna over. The beer had given him the confidence to maintain a steady and, in his opinion, interesting flood of chatter. Joanna had smiled a great deal, but she had not said too much herself. Well, that was okay by Lee; most women talked too much anyway. On his seventh trip to the bar he encountered Peter Raven.

"How y' gettin' on with that bird?" Raven asked, his face slack and stupid with drink.

Lee, who was in much the same condition, winked and gave the thumbs-up. "Great. Got her eatin' out o' my hand."

For some reason this struck Raven as excruciatingly funny, and he went off into a fit of drunken giggles. "Reckon you'll get her into bed?" he snorted.

Lee nodded confidently. "No problem."

By the end of the evening Lee was so drunk he could barely stand up. For the last couple of hours he had been sprouting bulls.h.i.t, too p.i.s.sed to do anything else, but frightened of the silences between himself and Joanna. She, however, had sat through his slurred spiel, smiling and nodding as though it were the most enthralling thing she had heard. Lee reckoned he could have told her his shoe size or counted up to a thousand and she would have found it interesting. This discovery cheered him, gave him confidence. This bird was just like all the rest, he thought; she wasn't at all brainy. He patted his hip pocket, happily convinced that the condoms in there had not been bought in vain after all.

The lights came on, and Lee looked around in surprise. The club was only about a quarter full now. People were standing by the exits, waiting for taxis or struggling into coats. The bouncers were looking for drunks they could take round the back and beat up. The deejay, a tired, pasty, balding man in his late thirties, was glumly winding up a length of cable. "C'mon," Lee said with what he hoped was an enticing grin, "time t' go home." He stood up, but somehow the chair got tangled in his legs. He fell backwards into a pool of beer, hearing wood splinter.

For a moment the room whirled sickeningly, then shadows fell over him and giant hairy paws groped for his throat. "It's all right," he heard the girl say, "he's with me. I'll see he gets home."

Hands reached under his armpits and dragged him up. Lee came face to face with Joanna. Good, she's strong, his befuddled mind thought. "Shtupid chair," he told her, sn.i.g.g.e.ring.

"Come on," Joanna said, and hauled him out into the night.

It was cold. Lee shivered and wished he'd brought a jacket. It took him a moment to realise it was fog, and not his drunkenness, that blurred the street. "Taxi," he shouted, and went staggering off, searching for transport. Joanna ran after him and caught hold of his arm.

"No, come on," she said, "this way. If we're quick, we can catch the night bus."

Lee allowed himself to be led, gaping blearily about. Fog sat on the world like a hangover. Lee was sure it was this, and not the beer in his stomach, that was making him feel sick. He shivered again and put his arm around Joanna as the fog closed about them like a cold womb.

Suddenly he jumped back; a long serpentine neck supporting a flat glowing head loomed from the greyness. "Silly," Joanna hissed in his ear, "it's only a lamp post."

Lee smiled nervously. "Can we stop a minute? I'm not feeling too good."

"We're there now," Joanna said, pointing. "Just a few more steps."

Lee looked up. The bus stop seemed incongruous, something solid and ordinary jutting from the grey void. He shook his arm free from Joanna's grip and staggered to it gratefully. Then he sank to his knees and closed his eyes, his head resting against the cool concrete.

He was woken by the hiss of pneumatic doors opening. He scrambled to his feet, dazed, trying to make sense of the green metal wall studded with squares of light from within which faces were staring at him. A man in a green uniform leaned towards him from behind a steering wheel.

"You gettin' on or what?"

Lee gazed blearily about him. "Where's Joanna?"

The bus driver was obviously in no mood for games. "Who?" he asked dangerously.

"Joanna... the girl... there was a girl with me."

The bus driver shook his head. "No girl, mate, only you."

Lee looked around, confused, then shrugged. "Shtupid cow," he muttered, and boarded the bus.

He paid his fare and swayed towards the back seats. The sickness had sank into a corner, immediately feeling warm and snug despite the pain. He was only dimly aware of the hiss of the doors closing before the chugging of the engine lulled him to sleep.

He woke later. How much later he wasn't sure. Blearily he looked around him. He had a feeling he had been asleep for hours, but the bus was still as full now as when he got on. He sat for a moment, trying to draw his muddled thoughts together. His head still throbbed thickly, but he must have slept through the worst of it. Around him conversation droned, merging with the engine. Lee could not make out any of the words. He stretched himself from his cramped position and looked out of the window. It gave him no clue. The bus was coc.o.o.ned in fog; Lee couldn't even see any street lights now.

He leaned forward at him and tapped an old man on the shoulder. "'Scuse me."

The man turned to look at him. He wore a brown overcoat and a cloth cap. Hair jabbed from beneath the cap like grey straw.

"'Scuse me," Lee repeated, "but are we anywhere near Headingley?"

The man smiled widely without opening his mouth. "Soon," he said. His voice sounded thick and wet as though his false teeth didn't fit properly. "Very soon.'

"Thanks," Lee said, and sat back, relieved. The man nodded and smiled.

Lee looked around the bus, and it struck him for the first time how clean it was. There were no ripped seats, no graffiti, no advertis.e.m.e.nts for cheap fares or late-night services. It looked, in fact, like a bus that had just rolled straight off the production line.

He leaned back. The drone of conversation went on and on, and after a while he found himself nodding off again. Just before sleep claimed him, he thought how strange it was that they had neither stopped at any other bus stops, not turned any corners.

Lee could see countryside, and wondered vaguely where Leeds and the fog had gone. "It's a real pea-souper," the old man said, though now he was wearing a track suit and carrying a tennis racket.

"Well, it was," said Lee. "It's gone now."

The old man nodded sadly. "It's like that," he said. "It comes and goes."

Lee was almost jerked out of his seat as the bus pulled violently into the kerb. He watched as the driver stood up and addressed the pa.s.sengers.

"Which one of you came on drunk?" he demanded. Lee shrank lower into his seat, but the driver had seen him.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he said. Lee opened his mouth, but found he couldn't answer. Suddenly the driver had a whirring drill in his hand.

"People like you need to be taught a lesson," he purred, and advanced slowly.

"Stop him!" Lee screamed to the pa.s.sengers. "Stop him, he's the driller killer!"

One by one, the pa.s.sengers turned to look at Lee. He gasped as he saw the front of their heads for the first time. They had no faces...

He jerked awake. Despite his chattering teeth he was bathed in sweat. Where was he? In bed? He looked around, confused. He seemed to be in a sort of dark corridor: he could just make out an aisle flanked by dim rows of rectangular shapes. Suddenly it came back to him. The bus - he was on a bus. He groaned. He must have missed his stop and gone right through. The driver must have taken the bus back to the depot, locked up and gone home without realising he was still aboard.