Dirty Old Town and Other Stories Read online

  Dirty Old Town (And Other Stories)

  Copyright 2011 Nigel Bird

  Taking a Line for a Walk

  There was a bug going round the school. If it wasn't coming out of one end of a child it was coming out of the other.

  Duke Earl was doing his best to hide away from it all. Couldn't blame him for that. Didn't mean he wasn't working, mind. Nobody could say he hadn't earned every penny the state had ever paid him. And then some.

  As he painted the perimeter fence, he saw a girl coming towards him. Couldn’t make out who on account of his weary eyes.

  "Hi Grandpa," Daisy said wandering over.

  "How's my girl?"

  "Doing fine." She was growing up so fast. Was starting to look like her mother and her mother's mother before her. Made his heart feel like it was swelling and shrinking at the same time.

  "They send you looking?"

  "Miss Prime. Third grade. One of the Johnson twins has gone and puked all over the mat."

  Duke took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow like he needed a moment. Reached into his pocket. Took out a poke of chocolate-limes. Opened it up and passed it over.

  "Thanks," Daisy told him as she unwrapped her candy. "You all right, Grandpa? You're looking old. All them wrinkles round your eyes and all."

  "Them's laughter lines," he said.

  They both smiled, knowing it wasn’t even close to the truth.

  Duke Earl hadn’t laughed more than twice since his dog died.

  First time was when Rufus Kelly, hardcase class of '99, got his nose spread by a little guy who was tired of taking his shit. The second, well he couldn't remember exactly when that was, but that didn't count for nothing.

  "Tell Miss Johnson I'll be along presently." He bent down, put the lid on the paint tin and pushed it with his palm. Looked up to watch Daisy heading back. Felt something give in his neck. Couldn't do nothing anymore without part of him breaking down.

  He waited for a moment for the pain to go and straightened up as best he could before heading for his supplies.

  *

  Amy Johnson was sitting outside the secretary's office waiting to be collected. Orchid-white she was, all wrapped up in her coat even though it was 90 degrees outside. Didn't stop her taking one of Duke's candies when he offered the bag. Seemed to get in the way of her saying thanks, though.

  That was one thing that had gone to pot since his day. Way the kids talked to adults was a crying shame.

  He carried on down the corridor till he reached Room 3.

  The door was open, but Duke knocked anyway. Folk liked it better when everyone behaved like they knew their station.

  "Mr. Earl, thank goodness. Do come in." It was like he was taking her flowers or something the way she greeted him. "We're so glad you're here, aren't we children."

  She was one of the good ones, he could tell. Had the kids eating out of her hand. Wouldn't have thought she could manage from looking at her. Hair tied up in a bun and thick-rimmed spectacles like a librarian from yesteryear. It was a darned shame, in Duke's opinion, young girl like that going to waste the way she was.

  “Morning Mister Earl,” the children called in unison, as if she’d counted them in.

  He nodded in return.

  “I’m afraid we’ve had an accident, haven’t we boys and girls?”

  If he hadn't known already, he wouldn't have needed telling. Even with the windows open the stench in the room was like someone had shaken a pint of off-milk around the room then dusted the place with Parmesan.

  It’s over there.” Miss Prime pointed down toward the floor, as if he needed showing.

  “What the hell did the girl have for breakfast?” he asked. There were lumps the size of cherries in there.

  “I wouldn’t like to say,” she said, then went back to her business.

  Duke picked out the container from his bag and shook the powder over. Looked like one of those murder scenes by the time he'd finished. As he set about sweeping up the crime, he allowed himself to listen to the lesson. Took him back many years to the time he was a boy.

  "Remember not to take it off the paper. That's it, Christopher, keep it going. And not just in the middle, you can go anywhere you want."

  Taking a look at the children going about their work, he saw them concentrating like they were taking an exam. Some had their heads to the side, a few squinted and one or two had their tongues sticking out. They looked so angelic he could almost believe they were the innocents. Not that he was going to be taken in. He'd seen what they could do and the way they turned out.

  Even the good ones would lose out in the end. Look what had happened to him. Lost his wife, his dog, and when they close the school down at the end of the semester he'd be losing the janitor's house he'd been living in for thirty-five years. Where the hell was he going to go? His pension was worth shit and his savings wouldn't pay for a month in a motel.

  "When you finish," Miss Prime went on, "color it all in and see what you end up with. Can you see why I call it, 'Taking a line for a walk'?"

  Some of the kids put their hands up.

  Duke didn’t even listen to the answer. He was too busy concentrating on shovelling up the vomit to think of anything else in the world.

  *

  The principal asked him to sit down when he entered her office. Only got to park his cheeks on the soft leather when she had something important to say. Usually bad important.

  "Mr. Earl, I'm afraid it's what we'd feared. When we merge with St. Joseph's, they'll only allow for one janitor."

  At least she was doing him the service of looking glum while she passed on the news. "The thing is, you're coming up to retirement anyway..."

  He stood. Didn't want to hear any more. Picked up his cap and turned to leave.

  "So sorry, Earl. If there's anything I can do."

  He stopped and looked across the desk. "Find me a house, get me a job and sort out a way I can see Daisy every once in a while."

  She screwed her eyes tight and when she opened them again it was as if she'd completely forgotten what he asked for. "There was one other thing, Earl." She was using her soft voice, the one where she tried to sound like she was asking for a favor rather than passing out an order. "The boys' toilets outside Mr. Clap's room. There's been an incident."

  *

  Took him a shower and a shave to get rid of the smell of shit from his nostrils. Not that he minded. It was all part of school life.

  Polished his boots up real good and had his favorite lunch, even had double cream on his strawberries in spite of what the doctor'd said. He put on a new set of dungarees, popped a chocolate-lime into his mouth and got on with his final effort of the day.

  Found the washing line he was going to set up for Miss Prime to hang wet paintings on. Measured off a length, folded it over, and cut it with his blade.

  Tied it to the door handle, looped it around the hat-stand, moved it across to the top of the banisters and hitched it to the highest rail.

  Made the knot just like he’d practised and placed a chair right underneath it.

  The chair wasn’t tall enough. Found a phone book and put it on the wicker. It was perfect.

  Wrote a note on a piece of paper and pinned it to the outside of the door.

  *

  When he didn't show for work the next morning, the principal went across to his house to give him a knock.

  Found the note saying, "Taking a line for a walk."

  Didn't mean a thing to her until she opened up and took a look inside.

  *

  * *

  * * *

  * *

  *

  Sisterhood

  “Veil and evil.” Thi
s was the part Brandon enjoyed the most. “Same four letters. Ever noticed?”

  The three women tied to the chairs that used to sit round his grandfather’s table offered no response. Just stared.

  Ever since Grandad had gone into the home, Brandon had been using the house as a base. Seemed fair enough - he spent his week teaching brats who didn’t want to learn to pay for the old goat to stay there.

  ‘The Chamber’ he called it. He liked to hear himself say it out loud.

  Brandon and his mates loved weekends. A couple of pints at the meeting followed by a trawl round town to do their bit to clean the streets.

  Seemed like their lucky night when they saw three of them together.

  When they bundled them into the van they made no attempt to struggle. Wasn’t so much fun without having to beat them into submission, but there was still time to get their kicks.

  Billy was all for chucking them into the Ribble, leaving their fate to the undertow, but Brandon ordered them to head for the usual place.

  Number 36 was in the middle of a red-brick terrace.

  Newspapers taped to the windows stopped neighbours taking a nose.

  The Chamber was upstairs at the back. Soundproofed and blacked-out, it was perfect.

  “See, in Britain, we like to see people’s faces.” Billy had stripped down to his boxers. Sweat dripped from his armpits to his waist as he coiled a studded belt around his hand. He always undressed in front of their prey. Like it was part of a ceremony or something.

  Brandon gave Ian a nod.

  Ian pulled scissors from the bag, wandered over and cut the hijabs to the knees.

  Brandon’s skull tingled at the sight of their skin. He itched to take them there and then. Waiting for their tears, for the begging and the squirms merely heightened the pleasure.

  They never came.

  “Maybe we’re not getting our point across.” Brandon picked up a blow torch and turned the valve.

  Billy reached over and gave it a light. The flame hissed orange and blue.

  “I’ll take off the niqabs then our mouths are going to get intimate.” He flicked his tongue up and down. Shook his shoulders with delight. “And Billy’s lips wouldn’t mind a friend tonight, eh?”

  Billy licked the studs at his knuckles and smiled.

  “Don’t co-operate and you’ll need those masks to hide the scars.”

  Brandon stepped over to the first girl, noted the smell of spices. Decided to go for a curry afterwards.

  He reached for the veil. Tore it from her face.

  *

  “Watch yourself with that bloody razor.” As Yusuf pulled his leg away from Arash he kicked over his mug of tea.

  “Dickhead. Mum’ll be furious.” Arash took off his tee-shirt and rubbed the carped clean. “We’re supposed to be slick. Fuck would Naz say?”

  “Sorry mate,” Yusuf said, “but you cut me.”

  “Can’t take a nick from a razor, how the hell are you going to sort out these fascists?”

  Yusuf, Zeeko and Ahmed sat in a line on the sofa watching the North End with the sound down. All three had their legs stretched out covered in shaving foam.

  “We’ll take what they give,” Zeeko said. “They won’t be coming for any more of our women after tonight.”

  Arash set about his work again, stripped away the leg-hair and sent them off to get showered and dressed.

  *

  “Jesus.” Brandon pulled his hand away as if he were about to be bitten. “It’s the bearded fucking woman.”

  Billy ripped off the veils from the others. Two more beards. “Shit.”

  “It’s a bloody trap,” Ian said backing away.

  “Cool it, man,” Billy said. “They’re the ones in the snares.”

  Brandon felt anything but cool. He’d been lusting after men. It didn’t feel right. Nobody should play tricks like that. He put his feet on the chest of the biggest and pushed him over. Grabbing the scissors from Ian, he stabbed it into the man’s thigh.

  “Crazy bastard,” the man shouted, writhing in his upturned chair in spite of the bindings. It was the first sound he’d made since they’d taken him from the street.

  There wasn’t much blood until Billy pulled the scissors out. After that the trickle was steady.

  “You girls need a facial, know what I mean?” If they hadn’t, it didn’t take long for them to find out.

  Brandon took the blowtorch. Went straight for the face. The smell of singeing hair, accompanied by Brandon’s laughter and the victim’s screams, filled the room.

  *

  Arash pulled up a couple of doors down. Reversed into the space outside number 42. Caught the front wing on a scaffolding pole sticking out from the back of the flatbed he was trying to avoid.

  “I’m a dickhead. A total knob.” Arash jumped out of the car to inspect the damage. “Mum’s going to kill me.” He licked his fingers and gave the scratches a rub. They didn’t go away.

  In the passenger seat Naz wound down the window and took the headphones phones from his ears. “Park the bloody car and let’s get to work.” He looked behind him to his brothers, their necks bent, heads pushing dents up into the roof.

  Arash slapped the truck. Pulled back his hand and got ready to punch it. Decided he’d be better off saving himself for later. Got back behind the wheel, edged forward and started again.

  The car ended up two feet from the kerb. It would do.

  The boys in the back contorted themselves to get out when Naz pulled up the front seat then uncurled to their full height once on the pavement. They looked down at the car and nodded.

  “I’ll get better after my lessons,” Arash told them.

  “When you’re old enough,” Naz said. He unzipped his holdall, checked the contents and closed it up again. “Now move.”

  *

  It was the first time Brandon had actually used the torch. They usually folded at the sight of it. Gave in to whatever they wanted.

  What they wanted was always the same. Sex and the promise that they’d show their faces when in public from then on. That or stay indoors.

  It had been working. The head of the Preston Chapter had been pleased with their work. Fewer Muslims in traditional dress. Fewer Muslim women on the street full stop.

  Brandon and Billy were in line for a promotion. Ian, well he might make it if he held tight to their tailcoats, but Brandon didn’t really care what happened to him. He was soft. Took all of the pleasures but had to be carried.

  “I’m definitely not screwing them now,” Billy laughed. “Shame they wasted all that eye make-up.”

  “Don’t know if these guys’ll get laid ever again,” Brandon said. He looked down on the three men lying on the floor, still trussed to their chairs. The screaming had stopped. Instead all three of them cried softly. Maybe the tears were nature’s way of cooling the burns, Brandon thought. “In fact we’re going to have to make sure of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Ian asked.

  “Sometimes you’re slower than a bloody tractor,” Billy said.

  “Aye. They came to sort us out I reckon. We have to send a message.”

  “Can’t you just write it down?”

  “Gotta get rid of them for good.” Brandon turned down the flame and put the torch over on the mantelpiece.

  “Needs to be done,” Billy said.

  “Hear that boys? Your Krishna’s not going to be any good to you now.”

  “Paper, scissors, stone?” Billy asked.

  The three men formed a circle and clenched their fists.

  *

  Naz went up to the door followed by his younger brothers Zulfi and Ali.

  The three of them were destined for greatness, Arash was sure of it. They were the kind of people that nothing ever touched. It was rare for them to get involved in battles these days. Most of their time was spent studying or down at one of their gyms. If they didn’t make it at boxing it would be basketball. Had their sights on a scholarship in the States.
Anything had to be better than a life on the Broadgate.

  Arash came from the side, his head turning from left to right checking for witnesses. He knew it was pointless. A street like that, full of curtain twitchers and old folk, and they might as well have been posting photos of themselves through every letter box.

  Replacing his headphones and switching on his tunes, Naz opened up the bag and passed out the goodies. The Amir boys should be able to scare the shit out of anybody without needing weapons, but having a few to hand wasn’t going to do them any harm.

  The scimitar, curved and polished, caught the light even though the sun was already setting. Zulfi took that. Ran his thumb across the blade. Felt the weight of it in his hand.

  Arash was given a ball and chain. It was a token gesture and Arash knew it. He could swing it and look intimidating, but the brothers wouldn’t let him get close enough to do any damage. They just needed his mother’s car and his brains.

  Ali had a bow and a handful of arrows. Placed one of them into the string ready for action. His head nodded up and down to the dubstep that was probably ruining his hearing.

  It was going to be the first Medieval battle since the middle ages, Arash thought. Made him feel better to have that picture in his mind.

  Naz took the crossbow for himself. “Ready?”

  Without being asked, Ali leant his shoulder into the door. Stood back to give it a good bash.

  Putting his fingers on the handle, Naz pushed down gently. The door opened it without making a noise.

  Ali turned rubbed the arm of his shell-suit as if removing dirt and turned down his tunes.

  Everyone nodded and they followed Naz inside.

  *

  Ian was first out, just like always. No matter how random the game should have been, he never guessed right.

  On the count of three, the finalists threw down their hands. Billy’s was open, Brandon’s clenched.

  “Paper wraps stone,” Billy said and punched the air. “Yes.”

  Brandon was pissed off. Maybe he was losing his touch. Not that it mattered. He’d still get his turn.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” Billy pointed at the three men in turn. Mouthed the rest of the rhyme to himself. Settled on the one in the middle.