STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part 9
It was early in the evening and the club in Old Compton Street was empty. Joe had hoped to find Mandy there, but Nick the owner's son was behind the bar on his hands and knees, stocking up the cold shelves with bottled lagers and fruit juices. Nick had not seen him come in so Joe sat himself on one of the high bar stools and cast a long leisurely eye over the row of spirit bottles. He wanted to start with a short, something smooth on the tongue and warm in the belly. His eye stuck on the rounded bottle filled with honey coloured liquid and the label with a pen and ink drawing of a Mississippi paddle steamer. He waited for Nick to squeeze the last bottle of lager onto the cold shelf.
" I'll 'ave a Southern Comfort please Nick ! "
Nick shot up. He was tall, dark haired boy, well dressed and quiet mannered, good looks, dark eyes and a smile that got him friends and rich women.
" Hello Joe ! " Nick kicked the empty crates aside and stuck a glass under the optic. Joe watched the measure of clear gold run into the bottom of the glass and stop.
" Make it a double, "said Joe. The optic was pushed up again and another measure was added.
" Where's Mandy ? "asked Joe, without showing any obvious interest.
" Gone. Got a job in Amsterdam. "
" Oh ? " Joe's surprise showed.
" Yeah. Always off somewhere. It was Go-Go dancing in Bangkok last time. "
Nick lifted the flap of the bar and moved quickly round the tables, putting an ashtray and four coasters on each one. The Southern Comfort was as smooth and warm as Joe had anticipated but Mandy's spirit of adventure soured it a little. He imagined nothing past the safety of her cosy, heated room and the gentleness of her kisses. Nothing more had occurred to him and now the pieces did not fit and a mild sense of betrayal gnawed at him, because his understanding had misunderstood. He pushed the matter somewhere deep in his mind where it could be forgotten and instead he wondered why Ned was not there yet to chew his ears off with stories of old Ireland, its green lands and sweet grass. Maybe he was about his business of extracting coins from meters and phone boxes or maybe he was in his rented bedsit sitting amongst piles of money, all counted and stacked into little pillars of silver and gold. Joe wondered what three million pounds would look like in coins and how big a room it would fill. He could hear the gentle clinking of little cascades of coins falling from mountains of money. But it was Nick rearranging glasses on a high shelf behind the bar.
" There's a card game on tonight Joe. Fancy joining ? " said Nick.
Joe thought for a moment,
" Yes !" he said and smiled because he could think of nothing he would like more. He loved the feel of cards . The dealing and receiving of hands, chance combinations of luck that turns as the cards are played. He liked the raising of bets, the pushing of money and paper promises to the centre of the table and after some moments of solemn silence, tension and cigarette smoke the drawing back of money towards a winner. Joe had always walked away from a card game with nothing but a pocket full of debts. He had winning streaks, but he never learnt to leave the table until a losing streak forced him from it. This time Joe had a secret mountain of money so that he could win or lose with no other goal but the joy of playing and it seemed so long since he had played.
Nick had a final look around the room to see that everything was set up for the night. He turned bright lights off and low lights on, put some funky music on the stereo, turned the volume up and sat down to a drink. Joe offered him a cigarette. The two men smoked and drank, they talked of the comings and goings in Soho, the court cases and the pay offs, they exchanged jokes and remembered good times and beautiful women. And so the evening went on. Nick was kept busy behind the bar as the club filled up. Cousin Carrot Top turned up with a crowd of friends he and Joe had grown up with and hour passed hour with new rounds of drinks and old rounds of conversation. Joe was relieved to see Ned come through the door and know that he had not been crushed by the weight of his fortune. Nick gave Joe a nod and a wink. The card game was about to begin and there was no time to hear Ned tell of clear running streams through bluebell woods and full cream milk, frothy, warm and fresh from the teets of fat, juicy, brown eyed cows. Joe turned to his friends and cousin to bid them goodnight but there had been some joke that Joe had missed and their faces were red and screwed up with laughter, Joe left them that way and slipped out through a side door.
The backroom was set up for the game, everything was spick and span. Bottles, glasses and cans of cold beer were set up on a small bar, the ashtrays were clean and the packs of cards were in neat piles on the table. Several men hung around the edges of the room to spectate. Some of the faces Joe recognised, others he did not. Three men sat round the table; one was a young trendy who Joe did not know, with the latest cut in clothes and longish black hair stuck back with brylcreem, another was a wiry, middle aged villain with nicotine stained fingers and eyes as sharp as needles , Joe remembered him as an old drinking partner of his dad's. The third was Harry, Nicks father and owner of the club. Harry was a kind hearted man, he was short, fat and bald and had a permanent cigar sticking out of his face.
"Hello Joey boy ! Glad to 'ave you with us. This is Ted and this is Ken. "
The trendy was Ted and the villain was Ken. Joe nodded to them and took his place opposite Harry. Harry dealt the cards and the game began. The cards felt good to Joe, they were smooth and shiny. Hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, blood red and jet black, clear and sharp edged on bright white. The court cards sat straight backed and stern faced in their regal crowns and embroidered robes. They played on while disorganised piles of money appeared in the centre of the table, disappeared and then reappeared. Jackets were taken off and sleeves were rolled up. Stale smoke hung in the air, ashtrays overflowed, empty bottles and beer cans littered the room and the players played on. Sandwiches were brought in and offered round and more drinks. Joe refused the food and took the alcohol. More hands were dealt, more bets were raised and more time passed. Joe was winning when the cards began to bore him. The air was too thick to breathe and the booze was racing around his veins. He wanted to be outside, he wanted to walk through the ice cold night and ring on Annie's doorbell in case she was alone. So he gathered up his money and left the table.
Monday 31 August 2015
Sunday 30 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN.
Chapter three Part 8
Leicester Square was crowded with people and pigeons, all brisk and strutting. Joe sat in the park in the middle. It was anaemic patch of grass with a path around it, all covered in bird shit and surrounded by iron railings. Joe sat beneath the grey spidery branches of winter trees, on a wooden bench that was so cold it felt like stone. He looked around at the film titles, he picked one out and headed for the ticket office underneath its big, brash letters.
Joe found himself a place in the back row while the adverts were showing. He sank down into the soft velvet seat, it was large and comfy with a high back and wide arm rests. Joe ripped the cellophane from a new packet of cigarettes and lit one, and in the blackness of the auditorium the flame threw a flickering orange glow over his face. He flicked his wrist and the match died and the glow was gone. He sat back and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. It seemed to have been days since he had smoked, he guessed it had been his lack of money before Morgan Alexander had paid him his pittance and then after that , one thing after another had simply left him no time to think, or maybe it was just forgetfulness. He felt the nicotine mingle and move with his blood, it felt good. He relaxed and looked at the screen that was filled with the sea, breakers and surfboards and girls in bikinis with droplets of salt water over their dark tans, and bottles of clear, sparkling lemonade. The lights came on. The tiny matinee audience was scattered over the rows of red velvet seats. The floor was littered with spilt popcorn, plastic cups and sweet papers. Joe dragged hard on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nose to deaden the stale, toasted smell of the popcorn. He watched in disgust as a teenage couple three rows in front of him gave each other salivary kisses and he was relieved when the lights went out again and the movie began.
He sat through two hours of star ships flashing through space outer space and landing on mountainous and cratered planets where humans wearing bizarre uniforms and six eyed aliens shot at each other with laser guns on battlefields of swirling orange mist. And a beautiful alien queen who wore garments of coloured scales like an exotic fish and who had foot long silvery eye lashes , was rescued by a swarthy, blue eyed space outlaw. They got married and there was peace throughout the universe and Joe knew he should have gone to see the movie on the other side of the square.
Chapter three Part 8
Leicester Square was crowded with people and pigeons, all brisk and strutting. Joe sat in the park in the middle. It was anaemic patch of grass with a path around it, all covered in bird shit and surrounded by iron railings. Joe sat beneath the grey spidery branches of winter trees, on a wooden bench that was so cold it felt like stone. He looked around at the film titles, he picked one out and headed for the ticket office underneath its big, brash letters.
Joe found himself a place in the back row while the adverts were showing. He sank down into the soft velvet seat, it was large and comfy with a high back and wide arm rests. Joe ripped the cellophane from a new packet of cigarettes and lit one, and in the blackness of the auditorium the flame threw a flickering orange glow over his face. He flicked his wrist and the match died and the glow was gone. He sat back and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. It seemed to have been days since he had smoked, he guessed it had been his lack of money before Morgan Alexander had paid him his pittance and then after that , one thing after another had simply left him no time to think, or maybe it was just forgetfulness. He felt the nicotine mingle and move with his blood, it felt good. He relaxed and looked at the screen that was filled with the sea, breakers and surfboards and girls in bikinis with droplets of salt water over their dark tans, and bottles of clear, sparkling lemonade. The lights came on. The tiny matinee audience was scattered over the rows of red velvet seats. The floor was littered with spilt popcorn, plastic cups and sweet papers. Joe dragged hard on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nose to deaden the stale, toasted smell of the popcorn. He watched in disgust as a teenage couple three rows in front of him gave each other salivary kisses and he was relieved when the lights went out again and the movie began.
He sat through two hours of star ships flashing through space outer space and landing on mountainous and cratered planets where humans wearing bizarre uniforms and six eyed aliens shot at each other with laser guns on battlefields of swirling orange mist. And a beautiful alien queen who wore garments of coloured scales like an exotic fish and who had foot long silvery eye lashes , was rescued by a swarthy, blue eyed space outlaw. They got married and there was peace throughout the universe and Joe knew he should have gone to see the movie on the other side of the square.
Sunday 23 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part Seven
Joe sat in a greasy café and looked down at the weak tea in a grey-white china cup on a grey-white china saucer on a red formica table top. Then he looked out of the glass front of the café at the clear winter's day. The sky was a clean blue and the sun bright, but the air was freezing and the pavements were busy with fast walking people buttoned deep inside their overcoats and carrying small white clouds of breath in front of their faces. Lunches wand were being ordered and served all around him, there was a smell of frying and the sight of plates full of egg, sausage and chips or pie, chips and peas or liver, bacon and onion. Joe could not remember eating over the last few days, but he reckoned it was a trick his mind was playing on him because if it had been so long since he had eaten he would be feeling the need to eat, but he felt no hunger.
Joe tried hard to concentrate. His brain reached out long tentacles in all directions to try and gather in any tiny clues and details that would make some kind of sense out of Jason's deal. But it all got scrambled inside his head. He found no reasons and he found no answers and when he could not even find the questions he stopped. Because all there was was Jason's deal and he had to kill four more times or get killed himself. Joe sipped his tea. A calmness began to grow inside him and it grew into a decision. He would kill, maybe easily and maybe not, but he would kill. The decision made him happy and he was glad that Jason had not believed that he could get hold of any significant amount of money and he was glad Jason had not allowed him to buy himself out because now his inheritance could not be forfeited, it was all his and nobody knew about it and when the killings were over Joe would lose himself in three millions pounds where the dead men, the chinamen and Jason would never find him. Joe continued to stare through the glass front of the café, but he was blind to what his eyes were seeing as his thoughts carried him even further to a realisation he had reached once before. A game was being played and he had been put on the board without being asked and he could play to win or play to lose and winning was surviving and losing was dying. Joe no longer felt so guilty about killing. He had no choice. He drank the rest of his tea and paid the twenty pence it cost to a greasy haired, acne ridden girl behind the counter. He crossed the street to the post office.
The phone cubicles inside the post office were door less. Joe dialled a number and pushed in the coin almost immediately as Jack O'Neil answered. Joe was half himself again, sparky and cheerful, a fast talking wide boy.
" Hello Jack old man ! It's Joe here. Listen ! I want to meet with you, I've got a little business proposition I think you'll like............ No, no I can't say any more on the phone. Where shall we meet?.......... Saturday at the races. OK I've got it. See ya then. "
Chapter Three Part Seven
Joe sat in a greasy café and looked down at the weak tea in a grey-white china cup on a grey-white china saucer on a red formica table top. Then he looked out of the glass front of the café at the clear winter's day. The sky was a clean blue and the sun bright, but the air was freezing and the pavements were busy with fast walking people buttoned deep inside their overcoats and carrying small white clouds of breath in front of their faces. Lunches wand were being ordered and served all around him, there was a smell of frying and the sight of plates full of egg, sausage and chips or pie, chips and peas or liver, bacon and onion. Joe could not remember eating over the last few days, but he reckoned it was a trick his mind was playing on him because if it had been so long since he had eaten he would be feeling the need to eat, but he felt no hunger.
Joe tried hard to concentrate. His brain reached out long tentacles in all directions to try and gather in any tiny clues and details that would make some kind of sense out of Jason's deal. But it all got scrambled inside his head. He found no reasons and he found no answers and when he could not even find the questions he stopped. Because all there was was Jason's deal and he had to kill four more times or get killed himself. Joe sipped his tea. A calmness began to grow inside him and it grew into a decision. He would kill, maybe easily and maybe not, but he would kill. The decision made him happy and he was glad that Jason had not believed that he could get hold of any significant amount of money and he was glad Jason had not allowed him to buy himself out because now his inheritance could not be forfeited, it was all his and nobody knew about it and when the killings were over Joe would lose himself in three millions pounds where the dead men, the chinamen and Jason would never find him. Joe continued to stare through the glass front of the café, but he was blind to what his eyes were seeing as his thoughts carried him even further to a realisation he had reached once before. A game was being played and he had been put on the board without being asked and he could play to win or play to lose and winning was surviving and losing was dying. Joe no longer felt so guilty about killing. He had no choice. He drank the rest of his tea and paid the twenty pence it cost to a greasy haired, acne ridden girl behind the counter. He crossed the street to the post office.
The phone cubicles inside the post office were door less. Joe dialled a number and pushed in the coin almost immediately as Jack O'Neil answered. Joe was half himself again, sparky and cheerful, a fast talking wide boy.
" Hello Jack old man ! It's Joe here. Listen ! I want to meet with you, I've got a little business proposition I think you'll like............ No, no I can't say any more on the phone. Where shall we meet?.......... Saturday at the races. OK I've got it. See ya then. "
Saturday 15 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter three Part six
Joe found the massage parlour and stepped in from the cold. An old, toothless chinaman sat at the reception desk, which was a high counter with sides of black plastic and buttons. Patches of foam rubber could be seen where the covering had been ripped. The gloss paint on the walls and doors had yellowed with age. Small metal grills made small burring noises as they blew hot air around. Joe looked at the skeletal face of the old man, the skin was stretched over the bones, the cheeks were hollow, grey stubble grew out of the tiny chin and the eyes were glazed and staring. Joe asked if Jason Donaldson was there. The old man nodded, climbed down from his stool and disappeared behind a door. He came back after half a minute and held the door open for Joe.
" Nummer four." he said, his voice was dried and cracked with age and his gums could not find as many consonants as his teeth used to. Joe stepped behind the door and the old man closed it after him. He was standing on a deep piled carpet in a thin corridor lined with doors on either side. The air seemed even hotter and he began to sweat. He knocked lightly on the door of room number four, but nobody bothered to answer so he walked in.
The lighting was soft and deep red. Quiet Chinese music came through the speakers. Joss-sticks were burning. The walls were covered in erotic Chinese art and there were satin cushions arranged on the floor. Jason was lying face down on a low couch, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. Another man who Joe did not recognise, lay on a second couch next to Jason. His face was turned away to the wall, he had shiny black hair, he was medium height , his body was agile and tight with muscles, there was along scar down his back and his skin looked darkish. Jason's mass of blubbery flesh was white in spite of the dark lighting. The two men were attended by identical Chinese girls whose long, straight, black, silk hair touched the floor as they knelt beside the couches. The girls were naked and their small, dark nippled breasts shook slightly as they worked the various oils and ointments deep into the men's backs. Jason looked up at Joe. The other man kept his face turned away and did not move.
" What do you want ? "said Jason, he was annoyed at the intrusion.
" It's important, " said Joe. He was nervous, he could feel the sweat running down his back but he would not take off his jacket.
" So, what is it you want ? " said Jason, forcing his patience.
" I want out, " said Joe. Jason chuckled.
" You want out! "
" Yes, " said Joe, " I don't want anymore killings. I want to buy myself out. I'll have the money in about a month or so. "
Jason shook with laughter and Joe knew he had come unprepared. He had rushed to out to find Jason with the idea of buying himself out but with no thought of the words he would use and the convincing story he would tell.
" Since when did you ever get near that kind of money?" said Jason, still wracked with laughter. Joe's anger flared and he started shouting.
" I'm s'posed to 'ave lifted a load of dough and a load of gear, ain't I ? "
" Joey boy, if you had all that, we'd have our hands on it by now."
" So why am I doing the killing ?" Joe's voice had become sharp and hysterical, his eyes were staring and his head swam in disbelief.
"I told you. You were careless enough to lose it all for us, that's why. " said Jason.
"Oh, I see, "said Joe, but he didn't see at all. " And I'm not allowed to buy myself out."
" No." said Jason flatly, "That's not the deal. The deal is that you kill or get killed. "
The other man spoke without turning his head. His words were slow and his voice was deep and relaxed,
" Can't he pay someone else to do the killing s for him? "
Jason laughed and his fat, oily body quivered.
" What hit man is going to do the other four jobs then wait around for the money to show up on a wink and a promise from Joe Monroe ? Either way he's going to get topped by the end of it. " Jason calmed his laughter and wiped a tear from his eye. Joe was numb, he just kept staring as if he were asking over and over again, Why ? Why ? Why? Jason looked up and read the question in Joe's eyes, he let out more careless laughter, shrugged his shoulders and said ,
" Why not ? "
Joe left, slamming the door behind him. The girls looked up quickly and then continued with their careful hands and sensual movement as they spread soothing oils over skin and rubbed away tension from tightened muscles. The dark haired man said slowly,
" You're going to lose this one, Jay. "
"Na, na, " said Jason smiling " He'll shape up. You'll see."
Then he turned to the girl,
" Get us a cigar luv' There's one in my jacket pocket. "
She got up obediently and drew back a curtain that covered an alcovein the a wall where the men's coats and suits were hanging on a rail. Beside Jason's dark suit and dark overcoat there was a grey suit and a green gabardine mac and beneath them on the floor beside Jason's black boots there was a pair of tan, leather shoes.
The dark haired man turned over and then sat on the edge of the couch facing Jason while the girl knelt up close behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. He had another long knife scar down the left side of his face, he wore a thin moustache and his eyes were oriental. His name was Collin Roach. His mother had been a Chinese whore and his father a cockney gangster. He killed for a living, he kept his face in the shadows and his day to day life well hidden. The few who knew him had named him The Cockroach.
Chapter three Part six
Joe found the massage parlour and stepped in from the cold. An old, toothless chinaman sat at the reception desk, which was a high counter with sides of black plastic and buttons. Patches of foam rubber could be seen where the covering had been ripped. The gloss paint on the walls and doors had yellowed with age. Small metal grills made small burring noises as they blew hot air around. Joe looked at the skeletal face of the old man, the skin was stretched over the bones, the cheeks were hollow, grey stubble grew out of the tiny chin and the eyes were glazed and staring. Joe asked if Jason Donaldson was there. The old man nodded, climbed down from his stool and disappeared behind a door. He came back after half a minute and held the door open for Joe.
" Nummer four." he said, his voice was dried and cracked with age and his gums could not find as many consonants as his teeth used to. Joe stepped behind the door and the old man closed it after him. He was standing on a deep piled carpet in a thin corridor lined with doors on either side. The air seemed even hotter and he began to sweat. He knocked lightly on the door of room number four, but nobody bothered to answer so he walked in.
The lighting was soft and deep red. Quiet Chinese music came through the speakers. Joss-sticks were burning. The walls were covered in erotic Chinese art and there were satin cushions arranged on the floor. Jason was lying face down on a low couch, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. Another man who Joe did not recognise, lay on a second couch next to Jason. His face was turned away to the wall, he had shiny black hair, he was medium height , his body was agile and tight with muscles, there was along scar down his back and his skin looked darkish. Jason's mass of blubbery flesh was white in spite of the dark lighting. The two men were attended by identical Chinese girls whose long, straight, black, silk hair touched the floor as they knelt beside the couches. The girls were naked and their small, dark nippled breasts shook slightly as they worked the various oils and ointments deep into the men's backs. Jason looked up at Joe. The other man kept his face turned away and did not move.
" What do you want ? "said Jason, he was annoyed at the intrusion.
" It's important, " said Joe. He was nervous, he could feel the sweat running down his back but he would not take off his jacket.
" So, what is it you want ? " said Jason, forcing his patience.
" I want out, " said Joe. Jason chuckled.
" You want out! "
" Yes, " said Joe, " I don't want anymore killings. I want to buy myself out. I'll have the money in about a month or so. "
Jason shook with laughter and Joe knew he had come unprepared. He had rushed to out to find Jason with the idea of buying himself out but with no thought of the words he would use and the convincing story he would tell.
" Since when did you ever get near that kind of money?" said Jason, still wracked with laughter. Joe's anger flared and he started shouting.
" I'm s'posed to 'ave lifted a load of dough and a load of gear, ain't I ? "
" Joey boy, if you had all that, we'd have our hands on it by now."
" So why am I doing the killing ?" Joe's voice had become sharp and hysterical, his eyes were staring and his head swam in disbelief.
"I told you. You were careless enough to lose it all for us, that's why. " said Jason.
"Oh, I see, "said Joe, but he didn't see at all. " And I'm not allowed to buy myself out."
" No." said Jason flatly, "That's not the deal. The deal is that you kill or get killed. "
The other man spoke without turning his head. His words were slow and his voice was deep and relaxed,
" Can't he pay someone else to do the killing s for him? "
Jason laughed and his fat, oily body quivered.
" What hit man is going to do the other four jobs then wait around for the money to show up on a wink and a promise from Joe Monroe ? Either way he's going to get topped by the end of it. " Jason calmed his laughter and wiped a tear from his eye. Joe was numb, he just kept staring as if he were asking over and over again, Why ? Why ? Why? Jason looked up and read the question in Joe's eyes, he let out more careless laughter, shrugged his shoulders and said ,
" Why not ? "
Joe left, slamming the door behind him. The girls looked up quickly and then continued with their careful hands and sensual movement as they spread soothing oils over skin and rubbed away tension from tightened muscles. The dark haired man said slowly,
" You're going to lose this one, Jay. "
"Na, na, " said Jason smiling " He'll shape up. You'll see."
Then he turned to the girl,
" Get us a cigar luv' There's one in my jacket pocket. "
She got up obediently and drew back a curtain that covered an alcovein the a wall where the men's coats and suits were hanging on a rail. Beside Jason's dark suit and dark overcoat there was a grey suit and a green gabardine mac and beneath them on the floor beside Jason's black boots there was a pair of tan, leather shoes.
The dark haired man turned over and then sat on the edge of the couch facing Jason while the girl knelt up close behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. He had another long knife scar down the left side of his face, he wore a thin moustache and his eyes were oriental. His name was Collin Roach. His mother had been a Chinese whore and his father a cockney gangster. He killed for a living, he kept his face in the shadows and his day to day life well hidden. The few who knew him had named him The Cockroach.
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