Cut To The Bone Page 9

  Jacquie felt bile rising. Saw again the yellow lawn rearing up out the back, which even the birds had deserted.

  "When your father - Dave, I mean - got married to me," she began, slipping her arm around Louis' shoulders noticing that almondy smell again. "We made a pact."

  "A pact? Why? What for?" He wriggled free to stand feet apart, facing her.

  "To help you get along with us better." Relieved he'd not made his customary demand to see the marriage certificate. "After all, your Dad..."

  "You mean Dave?"

  "You know I mean Dave when I say ‘your Dad’ - well, he was the first man to show me any real feelings. Love, if you like."

  "My proper Dad must have loved you enough to put his dick up you." Louis challenged, facing the window. "I mean, how else was I made?"

  Jacquie shut her eyes, seeing the boy as a baby again. His intense gaze, his uncrumpled features, pulling at the bottle's teat, always hungry, needy. Never satisfied.

  "Go to your room."

  "All you can say isn't it?"

  "I'm afraid so, Louis, if you persist in speaking like a drain." She was hotter than ever. Tired. At her wits' end and beyond.

  "Drains don't speak. Anyhow, if you don't tell me the truth I'll hire a private detective."

  He’d watched all the TV cop dramas, and learnt a few tricks. In fact, you could say, he mused to himself as he climbed the stairs, that he had a fine criminal mind. Right now though, he needed a nice line of candy to clear his head of all The Fawn's crap.

  Then, from the landing, he heard the key in the front door lock. The Maggot was back.

  Hallelujah.

  But immediately Louis sensed something was wrong. The Zeller's name was mentioned. They'd just told him their news.

  "Apparently the dead dog was absolutely foul." The Maggot slung his summer jacket over the coat rack in the hall. "Some black, muddy thing from Willow Brook. Gunther said the whole scabby family arrived to take it away. A single mother with half the population of Scrub End in tow."

  Louis listened as the messenger shut the fridge door and pinged open a can of beer. "Still, they'll be on the CCTV in case they get another taste for Meadow Hill. I bet they'd been sniffing out easy pickings. Mark my words..."

  More of the fridge opening and closing. The Fawn obviously guessing what to rustle up for a meal and however long she took, what usually appeared on the table was worse than school dinners. Yet he, Louis was starving and would have offered to go down to McDonalds on his bike, but he'd been out and about enough that afternoon. Best to lie low for a while, he reasoned.

  "Hey, let's order a pizza," he then shouted down. "That'd be cool."

  "Good thinking son." The Maggot took the stairs two at a time and popped a hot face round Louis' open door. Remnants of perfume accompanied him. "What d’you fancy?" he asked. "A Marguerita? Four Seasons or Pastrami?" He smiled white, even teeth, his trouser belt buckle slightly to the left. Louis missed nothing. He's had a shag alright, he thought, wondering who was blind enough to want to do it with him...

  He quickly clicked off the Teen Porn website on his computer. Some blonde with a giant-sized dick in her mouth. Ten times bigger than Jez's...

  "A Vivaldi, thanks."

  "Clever boy." The Maggot smiling again. "I like it. How's the violin going by the way?" he asked, black eyes swivelling round Louis’ bedroom, his nose wrinkling slightly. "I hope Mrs Barber's giving credit where credit’s due..."

  "She says I'll be first violin for the end of year concert."

  "Excellent. Look, I've been thinking..."

  Louis sighed inwardly. Another trip to the Science Museum or a stint at the city library was looming. He knew his not-real dad of old. This was his way of greasing him up for something.

  "We'd like you to play at our soirée on Saturday," he said finally.

  "We?"

  "Yes. Your mother and me. of course. Build up your confidence. Show you and your school off a bit."

  Louis turned to face him. "You mean, show you off a bit."

  The Maggot blinked. "No, I didn't mean that at all, and by the way," his tone altered, "I hear you've been upsetting her."

  "I only asked a perfectly reasonable question."

  "And I would say, Louis, count your blessings."

  "Blessings? You must be fucking kidding."

  "Just then, The Maggot’s mobile interrupted his next riposte. He withdrew it from his trouser pocket and clamped the thing to his ear in eager anticipation. But then his face fell.

  "David? Susan here, number 9," the voice crackled. "Sorry to disturb, but have you a mo?"

  He checked his watch and frowned. The widow had never phoned before. Usually he and The Fawn just nodded if they saw her, but each Meadow Hill resident kept everyone’s contact details in case of emergency. And judging by The Maggott’s next expression, something was up.

  "There's a Neighbourhood Watch meeting at my house at nine." The woman went on. "A constable someone or other is coming, which makes a change. Bad enough our pillars have been vandalised yet again, but the Murrays said some Scrub Enders were trespassing here this afternoon. If we don't stop it now, it'll be the slippery slope..."

  Once The Maggot agreed to attend, Louis decided to go too. Seeing a pig in close-up would be cool. He’d find out what he knew.

  He’d also play at the soirée or whatever that stupid evening was called, and wear his black waistcoat and red tie decorated with quavers. The one The Fawn bought him for the school's end of year concert. Moreover, he would play ‘like an angel,’ the old Barb's very words after his last performance. Not because he wanted to, but because he must.

  16

  The Maggot and The Fawn didn't hold hands. Unlike the Smiths or even the Linbergs who walked down from number 5 to number 9 with their arms loose around each other's bodies. Louis also noticed that she led the way to the widow's house. A woman he detested, like Grandma, The Fawn's dead mother in Swindon. And whenever he came across Susan Linklater, imagined her dry old muff and its grey hairs like mould he'd once grown in Science.

  He hung back, looking over his shoulder, checking on everything more now, aware of sweat surfacing under his new white shirt that The Fawn had made him wear.

  Suddenly a blue and yellow chequered Mondeo cruised into the development and stopped in the kerb by number 9.

  A shirt-sleeved pig at the wheel.

  Despite disappointment at the lack of full uniform, Louis nevertheless grinned and waved at this stranger as if he was a mate. The pig grinned back. A right pushover, thought Louis as the panting Zellers caught up with him and The Maggot. He smelt garlic from the German's gut. Saw his full dry lips like a baguette crust. His wife was no better with her tits down to her waist.

  "It's good to see the law around here at last, ja?" Franz Zeller said, eyeing The Fawn's butt and panty line showing through her cream, cotton trews. "This could be most significant... "

  His wife pointedly overtook him, her horny heels overlapping her Scholl sandals, a whiff of Jeyes Fluid in her wake.

  As the luxury homes emptied their occupants on to the hot, semi-circular pavement, Louis was slowing down, practising his line of defence, should there be any awkward questions from the pig's shining lips.

  *

  Susan Linklater's drive seemed to stick to his trainers. She'd just had it re-surfaced, and even with the sun gone for more than an hour, her south-facing front wall trapped him in its heat. He felt his mind dulling over, just when he needed to be most alert to read the pig's eyes, his body language, to gauge just how much he might know.

  Her house was decorated and fur
nished in every shade of grey - matching her own colouring. The slate-hued carpet, dull paintwork and numerous pewter frames encasing photos of the late Mr Linklater, from boyhood to a golfing holiday in the Jura. There didn't appear to be any children from the marriage, nor indeed any other relations, for the wedding photograph on the hall table showed the couple on their own in front of some gloomy municipal building.

  Now, the widow stood thin as a reed in a grey, pleated skirt and flat shoes as each neighbour passed through her semi-opaque glass doors into the lounge.

  "This is Constable Derek Jarvis," she announced when all were settled. "And we need to make a prompt start as he's a very busy man. I'd hate to think our being late kept him from an important case, or allowed a murderer somewhere to get away..."

  Louis blinked. Felt himself shiver despite the war room filling up with others' post-dinner breaths. He was even more unsettled to see the pig heave his bulk from his chair and come over, bathed in sweat and aftershave.

  "Good to see one of the younger generation here." Jarvis’s smile showed bits of a meal lodged between his teeth. "And you are?"

  "Perelman. Louis Claus, sir." He almost saluted and clicked his heels. The navy blue uniform was certainly flattering and he especially liked the two-way radio tucked snugly into his belt.

  "Excellent." Jarvis then turned to the door as the pink-faced Zellers arrived, and, having re-introduced himself, escorted them to seats near his. He then placed his uniform jacket over the back of his chair and in doing so revealed dark maps of sweat under each armpit.

  The room was now full of varying shades of summer skin, from queasy yellow to lobster pink. Susan Linklater unlocked the patio doors, admitting a swarm of flies, one of whom settled in Frau Zeller's hair.

  "We'd better make a start, everyone." The widow clapped her veiny hands. "What Constable Jarvis has to say, may take a little while..."

  He duly swivelled round to ease a scrap of paper from his jacket's breast pocket while Louis studied his own hands in the strained silence. He noticed dried blood under his right thumbnail, and, recalling a recent Personal Hygiene lesson on AIDS at school declined to dilute it with saliva. Instead he poked at it with his biro’s clip and cleared it.

  The Maggot and The Fawn sat behind him. She was getting something out of her bag and clicking it shut. Her Chloë perfume way too strong.

  "As you know, ladies and gentlemen," the pig finally began, "we have a policy of zero tolerance in this area. Zero tolerance for racist behaviour and incitement to unrest, but above all," his unhealthy eyes roved around and alighted on Louis, "for damage and theft from private property. Now I know many of you leave your desirable cars out on your drives to show them off. Fine, except don't be surprised if envy rears its ugly head. These homes too, are the most expensive and sought-after within the city's urban perimeter. You update them constantly. Electronic garage doors, swimming pools, plunge pools, and we know you, Mrs Murray, have just created a tennis court in your rear garden. So, human nature being what it is..."

  "Excuse me, sire," snapped Gerald Murray – aka ‘Mr Spotty’ - whose skin around his vitiligo patches glowed a deep red. "I've worked a bloody eighteen hour day for the past thirty years for what we've got. I've bloody earned it all Every last bloody blade of grass."

  "I'm not saying you haven't, sir. I'm just trying to point out the realities of life."

  Well if that lot over there in Scrub End," Murray pointed in the direction of the black trees, "got off their sponging backsides and stopped breeding for nine months of their bloody lives, they could have the same."

  "Hear hear." Louis called out, aware of heads turning his way. He felt a prod between his shoulder blades. The Maggot getting nervous.

  "Hear hear," chorused everyone and began a slow handclap. Jarvis looked uncomfortable.

  "Er... umph. Right. Point taken. But don't expect mere burglar alarms will keep jealousy away. And for the record, it wasn't me who mentioned that particular estate." "Someone had to." Frau Zeller's mottled hand was raised like that of a keen schoolgirl. "We had four of that scum round last Wednesday afternoon. And," she glowered at the constable, "we weren't at all happy about having our names in the paper."

  Another slow handclap which brought Jarvis to his feet.

  "OK, so it was a dead dog. Let's hope it stays at a dog," he added darkly. Another look at Louis who in turn let his gaze stray to ‘Mr Spotty's’ strange complexion. A numb silence was broken by someone's mobile quickly suppressed.

  "What exactly are you implying?" Demanded Ahmed Patel from number 7.

  "Just that the family who called with an RSPCA officer to identify it, could have done a quick recce and passed on what they saw. We know what the drugs scene's like over there."

  Mr Patel's liquid eyes fixed on the constable. "Are you saying murder is possible?"

  Jarvis shrugged. Robbery with violence. Who knows?" He looked at his hostess finishing off her glass of water. "If you live on your own here, a) make sure you're ex-directory and b) install a front door spy hole and intercom…"

  "I will, thank you officer." But Louis saw how she'd suddenly grown more pale. Her teeth fastened on her bottom lip.

  "So who exactly were these interlopers?" asked The Maggot.

  "A woman and three kids." Frau Zeller again.

  Dave winced at that last word, while someone muttered something about rabbits.

  "Names? Ages?"

  "I tried asking for identification," said the German, "but she said her name was Mrs Jones and that would do. Of course I didn't believe it for a moment and because the dog was smelling so bad, I was glad for her to take it away. As quickly as possible, you understand..."

  "Are we talking teenagers or what?" queried Don Smith, Head of Sales for a franking machine company.

  "Bloody allsorts." The Booth-Collinses spoke in unison. "We actually saw them heading into the Zellers," the husband continued. "I tell you something else. The red-haired lad - about twelve he was - gave our Landcruiser a good looking over. We found it most disconcerting. I expect he'll be nicking it next."

  "Not unless you garage it and alarm your garage." Jarvis said.

  A collective sigh rose up. Even with the patio doors open, the room was solid heat, the flies ever noisier. Mrs Linklater had fetched herself another glass of mineral water and stood sipping it.

  "We could run the CCTV camera in slow motion to pick up on these characters," she said, her lips glistening. "And the learner driver nuisances who think our development's just for practising reversing..."

  "It's called Seccam," Louis corrected her.

  "Well, whatever. There's been no film in the thing for a week now." The salesman again. "Whose turn is it?"

  All eyes swivelled on to The Maggot. Louis too, turned round, smirking at his embarrassment.

  "Look, I've had assessments up to here,” protested the Senior Lecturer. “Q A A stuff and an Inspection to worry about. I can't do bloody everything."

  Jarvis coughed. "Well that's up to you lot to sort out, but in the meantime, I suggest you club together for some more street lights. It's too dark. You're all vulnerable because four isn't adequate - not in the present climate."

  "We've not been adopted yet." Mr Patel complained.

  "Count your blessings, then." Louis piped up.

  "Louis!" Snapped The Fawn behind him as everyone turned to stare. He felt The Maggot prodding him again, to the sound of more discreet coughing. More shuffling of feet.

  "Best proceed." The constable drew out a second scrap from his jacket pocket and cleared his own throat before listing possible crime prevention measures including carpet gripper and razor wire along the tops of side gates an
d fences, with a public warning of course. Extra trellis work, security beams on all four walls, guard dogs, personal CCTVs and above all, constant vigilance.

  Louis smiled. He liked the buzz of anxiety that this ordinary, overweight guy was generating. It was an equation more relevant to him than anything offered up by algebra or calculus. A Uniform equals Power, right? He told himself. Power and Knowledge equals More Power. More Power and a Weapon equals Fear. Q.E.D. And Fear was his favourite four letter word, he knew that now, and promised himself he'd see Mr Blanchard the Careers teacher, to ask him the quickest and easiest way to becoming a pig.

  "There's one last item before we disperse." Jarvis added reaching round for his uniform jacket.

  The boy felt a tremor of unease at what might be coming next, and kept his eyes lowered.

  "It may be something and nothing, but that lad who came to collect the dog with his family, has so far failed to return home today. His name's actually Jez Martin, not Jones, and he attends Scrub Lane Comprehensive School. As you can imagine, without putting too fine a point on it, his mother is very worried indeed. If any of you can help, this is the number to ring." He rattled off a Freephone number, but Louis noticed with relief that no-one reached for a pen.

  Then Mr Booth-Collins swivelled round, his red neck spilling over on to his collar.

  "Where's the bloody father? That's what I'd like to know."

  "Exactly. They're never around, are they?"

  "Get the woman pregnant then off they jolly go."

  "This country's going to the dogs."

  "My dear, it's there already. Or hadn't you noticed?"

  "All they do is claim benefits. Half my salary goes on those inadequates..."

  Louis looked up as the comments multiplied, more heated, more derogatory each time and when he'd scoured the room for any sign of the pig, realised he'd slipped away.

  *

  Later that evening, with the meeting’s rants about dole cheats, foreign criminals and how to beef up security still swilling around his head, Louis surfed the Net and after several abortive attempts, plus a few sneaky looks at FLESHLINK and TEENS LOVE IT, found just the site he was looking for. A colourful Home page, full of gear to hire, from firemens' outfits to all-in- one ape suits.