Bucket Nut (21 page)

But as I got closer I saw Lineker move. I ran.

He was hanging all right, but his back legs were on the ground and he had been able to save himself from choking.

Further on Ramses' great body dangled from the fence. His huge neck was rolled up in a ruff round his face.

As I approached he opened his evil yellow eyes and glared at me.

He blamed me. I could see that at a glance.

I raced to the gate, opened it and took a look round. The yard seemed to be empty and silent. Everything looked in order. It was just the two dogs hanging from the fence.

I went to Lineker first. To tell the truth, although Ramses looked worse off I was worried about what he might do to me when I cut him down.

As soon as I got to him Lineker started threshing weakly. The silly bastard was even trying to wag his stumpy tail.

‘Stay still, you dopey bugger!' I growled, because he was just making things worse for himself.

His head was in a noose and the free end of the noose was tied tight to the fence. There were scraps of sacking caught between his teeth. While I was freeing him, I realised what had happened. It's a method of trapping animals which is in my own SAS Survival Handbook. I could do it myself if I wanted to.

You stand outside a fence with two sticks. On one stick you have something to attract the animal – a piece of meat or something. On the other stick you have the end of a noose. The animal puts its own head in the noose to get at the bait. Then you drag the animal towards you, the noose tightens and the animal chokes.

With guard dogs you don't even have to use meat. Guard dogs are trained to attack moving objects, so all you have to do is wave a rag or a piece of sacking to provoke the dog and you get the same result. But you don't have to choke the dog. You only have to tie him up. A nice person would cut him free afterwards. There's no need to hurt him. If he's tied up, he can't hurt you.

Lineker's throat was red raw with rope-burn. He was so weak from struggling that he dropped to the ground and lay there. I was not dealing with nice people. Whoever they were, they were not dog lovers.

I approached Ramses with caution, but he didn't move. He didn't move when I cut the rope. And then I saw that on him the bastards had used wire as well. It was buried so deep in his neck that I couldn't see it. I went to get some wirecutters and when I got back I found that Lineker had recovered enough to come over and try to lick the blood from Ramses' chest.

Ramses just stared at me. I didn't like that look at all, so I made a rough muzzle with the cut rope and slipped it over his nose. You'll think it was cruel, but I know Ramses, and the way he was looking at me – as soon as I freed him he would have torn my hand off at the wrist and used it for shredding practice.

I supported his weight and cut the wire. I let him down slowly. I couldn't let him go because I had to find the wire that was still round his neck.

‘Sit!' I said.

And I talked to him while I searched in the folds of his neck.

‘You stupid bastard,' I said. ‘Fancy you falling for that old trick!'

He kept looking at me with those evil eyes. Lineker was too stupid to blame me, but Ramses knew better, and Ramses is an unforgiving sod. Even when he was strangled half to death I had to dominate him or he would murder me.

‘You should know better,' I said. ‘What do you think I feed you for, you great plonker? You're supposed to be the brains of this team.'

I got the wire off. It was only because he had enough brains to stay still that he hadn't died. The wire had almost cut his throat in half.

I led them back to their pen. Lineker went straight for his bowl and lapped up water like there was no tomorrow. Ramses wanted a drink too, but I couldn't take the muzzle off him till I'd cleaned his neck.

I went to the Static to find some cloth. And then I saw what they had done to my home. It looked like they had attacked it with an axe. The outside wasn't too bad except for the broken glass and the smashed door. But inside! Inside was like the council rubbish tip.

I squeezed my eyes tight shut and just stood there. The only way I could think was by shutting my eyes and not looking.

‘The dogs,' I said to myself. ‘See to them first. Then you can worry about this lot.'

I opened one eye and grabbed the first piece of rag which came to hand. Then I ran back to the dogs.

The rag was one of my own T-shirts. I wet it and got to work on Ramses' neck. The wound looked nasty and I cleaned it as best I could. I rummaged in my kit bag until I found the antiseptic cream. It was the same stuff Goldie had used on me the time I came back
from Count Suckle's scraped and bruised. I spread it all over his cut neck.

‘You fool,' I said to him. ‘You silly old fool.'

All the time I was thinking, if this is what those bastards did to the dogs what would they have done to me if they'd caught me?

‘You poor old bugger,' I said to Ramses. I ripped a bit more off the T-shirt and tied it round his neck to keep the germs out.

Then I had a go at Lineker, and the dumb animal tried to lick my face.

‘Don't you ever learn?' I said. ‘Look what being soft does for you.'

I put food and fresh water out for them, and when I was ready to go I slipped the muzzle off Ramses' nose. After all I'd done for him he still tried to snap my fingers off. You can't blame him though, can you? Not after what he'd been through.

He drank a little water, but he wouldn't eat. He just slunk away into his shed to hide, poor old bugger.

I trailed slowly back to the Static. I wasn't feeling too bright any more. Armour Protection had taken a terrible whacking. There was only one good thing about it – this was Saturday and there was no one in the yard to see what had happened. Some of the second-hand dealers would come in at about nine, but they stayed in their nice clean area. They hardly ever strayed into the wrecker's yard.

I stood outside the Static shaking with rage.

What shall I tell you first? Well, first, the bastards had found my stash. I can tell you where it was now. Why not? Everyone else seems to know.

My stash used to be in a hole in the ground under the steps to the Static. The steps were box-steps. They looked nice and solid, but you could move them easily. I had dug a hole and lined it with polythene. A board went over the hole and the steps went on top of that.

There had been some extra protection. The hole had been quite deep – you had to reach your arm in to get at what was inside, and while you were doing that you couldn't see where your hand was going. If you didn't know, your hand went straight into a small coil of razor-wire. And, if that wasn't enough to put you off, at the bottom, on top of my stash, were two mousetraps.

It wasn't much comfort, but there was blood on the razor-wire and both mousetraps were sprung. Some bastard, somewhere, had a very sore hand.

But my stash was missing. All my savings, everything I had put by to pay for new teeth, all gone. Nothing left. Not even the little gold earring Simone gave me when we had our ears pierced. Well,
she
had her ears pierced. I gave up after one. I have never fancied punching holes in myself anyway, and I only did it to keep her company. It wasn't the pain which frightened me off. It was the horrible crunching sound as the punch went through the earlobe. Anyway Simone gave me one of her gold earrings because she lost the other and I only had one hole instead of two. My earlobe went septic in the end and the hole closed up, but I always kept the earring. Well, it was gold, wasn't it? And Simone gave it to me.

As for inside the Static – well, it took me all morning to clean up. It was such a tip that I didn't know where to start. There was nothing that wasn't broken, torn or dented. The bastards had even pissed on the sofa and crapped in my bed. They had written stuff on the walls, like DIE OF CANCER, SLAG, and worse things which I couldn't possible tell you because they were so revolting. It's funny, isn't it, when the nicest thing someone says to you is, ‘Die of cancer, slag.'

I solved the problem by chucking everything out and making a bonfire.

Everything went on that bonfire, and I do mean everything. That includes my London Lassassin poster which now had extra bits of drawing and writing on it, my bed, the sofa, the curtains – everything.

What those bastards didn't take or destroy I burned.

And when I was finished the Static was just an empty shell.

I boarded up the windows and I mended the door. Then I went and broke into the paint shop – where the blokes from the yard keep the spray guns and stuff. I chose scarlet, because it went with the way I felt, and I spray painted the entire inside of the Static with scarlet car paint.

It made me feel quite dizzy. Partly that was due to the colour, and partly it was because I shouldn't have boarded up the windows first. I should've had more fresh air.

And it looked like hell – I mean really, like hell is supposed to look. But it covered up the writing on the wall like nothing else could.

Then I went to look at the dogs. Ramses still hadn't touched his food, and it worried me. If he hadn't eaten by tomorrow, I would take him to a vet.

Then I left the yard. The bonfire was still smouldering. Everything I had left was on my back. It was, in any case, everything I needed to survive. I even had a tin opener now.

I didn't tell you about that, did I? There just happened to be a spare tin opener in Dave de Lysle's kitchen and I sort of borrowed it. But it seemed a long, long time ago. Hardly worth mentioning.

Everything I had left was on my back, and it seemed to me I was right back to square one. Except one or two of the things I had weren't exactly mine. Apart from the tin opener, I still had the keys to the Cortina. So I drove straight to Sam's Gym to have a long hot shower.

When I got there, I was in a funny old mood. You'd expect that, what with the morning I'd had. I felt as if I had billiard balls all up my back and in my neck and shoulders. I felt as if my head was packed from ear to ear with high explosives. I felt as if I had sand rubbed into my skin.

So instead of having a shower straight off, I worked out. There was no one else there, and there was nothing else to do. I went from machine to machine and from weight to weight until the sweat poured. My skin leaked poison like a battery leaks acid.

After that I had my shower. After that I almost felt clean.

I lay on the bench in the ladies' changing-room. It was the same bench where Goldie had sat when I told her about Simone.

That was yesterday, but Goldie was already a stranger.

Goldie was worse than a stranger. Goldie was an enemy.

Because it was Goldie who sicked Count Suckle's people on to me.

I knew that now. I knew it because of what happened to the dogs, and most of all, I knew it because the bastards had ripped off my stash.

Because, aside from me and Ramses and Lineker, Goldie was the only other person on earth who knew about the hole under the steps. I didn't tell her about it, but I didn't hide it either. And while she was staying with me I took some money out. I took money out because
she needed things. When I found her she had nothing. I even bought the soap she washed with, more fool me.

Do you like it? I do. Goldie, my friend. Goldie, my enemy.

I counted the money in my pockets and realised I had problems. The money in my pockets was my week's wages from Mr Gambon. Normally it would see me through till next Friday. But I had to buy stuff now. First of all I had to replace my fighting gear which included knee pads and boots.

In the ring, I am the one who wears black. It's like in cowboy movies – I'm the one in the black hat. I'm the baddy. Baddies always wear black – except of course if you're a mad monk or a kendo warrior in which case you wear red. Black and red are the colours of the devil, see.

I don't go in for fancy stuff. No sparkle or sequins for me. Just a plain black costume and plain black tights. But you don't want gear which sags at the bum or bags at the knee. You want quality gear, and quality costs.

If I bought all the gear including new boots and knee pads I would be stony for the rest of the week. But it had to be done. Tonight I wanted to look my best – whatever my best was.

I put on my Big Is Beautiful T-shirt – it was the only clean one left – and I went out through the gym.

There were about half a dozen weekend recreationals pumping away with the weights. And Soraya.

Soraya stood by the window wearing a pale pink and blue sari, looking like the Queen of farkin' Sheba. Just the person you want to meet when all your clobber is mucky and all you have left is a Big Is Beautiful T-shirt. Soraya makes me feel like a toad, but I suppose it's not her fault.

‘Hello, Eva,' she said, in her soft sweet voice. ‘Are you leaving?'

I looked round for Harsh but he was in the changing-room.

‘I got to go shopping,' I said. You feel you could get Soraya dirty just by talking to her. ‘Got to get gear for tonight.'

‘Ah, yes,' she said. ‘It is a big night for you, Eva. Harsh has told me.'

I couldn't imagine Harsh telling Soraya about me and Sherry-Lee Lewis. I couldn't imagine them talking about sweaty subjects.

Harsh came out of the changing-room. He said, ‘Did you find your friend, Eva?'

Fancy him remembering that. I thought his mind was on higher things.

‘She's gone,' I said. ‘Doesn't matter no more.'

‘Eva is going shopping,' Soraya said. ‘Shall I come with you, Eva? Otherwise I shall just get bored waiting for Harsh.'

‘Got to go to the launderette first,' I mumbled. I was hiding my bundle of dirty clothes behind my back. ‘Launderettes are even more boring than waiting for Harsh.'

‘This is true,' she said seriously. ‘Quite true.'

‘I am flattered,' Harsh said, and went away to warm up.