Dr. Yes (20 page)

    Spider-web
said, 'Who're you calling a fucking pixie?' and head-butted me, expertly, on
the bridge of the nose. As I fell, the blood already exploding out of my face,
I was regretting, not for the first time, saying something out loud that I had
presumed to be merely thought.

    I hit
the ground. My skull felt like it had caved in. I lay there clutching my nose
as the blood squirted out between my fingers.

    'I
have you now,' I cried. 'I have you now . . .!'

    'What
the fuck are you talking about, you limp little

    'I'm
a haemophiliac! You were only meant to give me a scare, but now you've
busticated my nose and it won't stop bleeding until there's no blood left!
You've killed me! You're going down for this! You . . . you . . . fucking
philistines!'

    'What
the fuck is he talking about?' Spider-web asked.

    'How
the fuck do I know? What's a fucking homophiliac?'

    
'Haemo
..." I whimpered. 'Get me a towel ... get me a towel!'

    Spider-web
looked at Rolo, who hesitated before nodding.

    'Where
. . . ?'

    'In
the kitchen . . . back there!'

    Spider-web
hurried through the shop. Rolo crouched and helped me up into a sitting position.

    'That's
a real thing 'n' all, isn't it? It's like being a bleeder. My cousin had that:
every time I gave her a dead leg for a laugh, they'd have to call the
ambulance. Killed her in the end. I mean, not the bleeding; the ambulance
crashed, going too fast, ran a red light and smashed through someone's front
room. But yeah, she had to wear one of those things around her neck like a
silver locket thing to say she was a bleeder in case she was ever brought in
unconscious, but you're not wearing one, so how do I know you're really a . .
.'

    'I'm
. . . allergic to silver

    Spider-web
returned with the towel. He handed it to me and I pressed it to my crushed
nose.

    'Thanks,'
I said.

    'No
problem. Rolo, what do we do now?'

    'Whattya
mean?'

    'Well
if he's going to bleed to death, maybe we should skedaddle.'

    'And
just leave him?'

    'Yeah,
why not? Someone'll sort him out.'

    'We've
been watching this place. There's about four hours between customers; he'll be bled
dry before someone comes through the door.'

    'Well
should we give him a lift to the hospital or something?'

    'We
can't leave the car back with blood on it; it's my mum's, there's like cream
seats, they'll stain something awful.'

    'We
could buy some Stain Devil, wouldn't that ... ?'

    'Nah,
you'd have to get the seats out of the car and into the washing machine; how's
that going to work?'

    I
said, 'I'll be fine. Just go, you've delivered your message.'

    'Are
you sure?' Rolo asked. 'No hard feelings? It's just what we do, same as you do
what you do. We all gotta earn a living.'

    It
was a
very
awkward situation. Particularly when they made me a cup of
tea, and I asked for it stronger, and hotter. We sat around sipping it while
they debated their next move. And after a bit it just felt as if I was getting
on with them well enough to pursue my enquiries.

    'If
you don't mind me asking,' I said, 'what do they pay you for doing something
like this?'

    Rolo
looked at Spider-web. Spider-web shrugged. 'Sixty quid,' he said.

    'Each?'

    They
both looked a bit sheepish.

    'Between
you?'

    'They
chipped in for the petrol,' said Spider-web. 'But I know what you're thinking.
Thirty quid. It's a bit rubbish, isn't it?'

    'It's
the market,' said Rolo, 'it's saturated. The recession, everyone's trying to
make a buck. Do you think I want to be doing this? Do you think I want to be
threatening and scaring and intimidating and breaking knees? Do you think
that's what I dreamt of when I was a kid?'

    'I
did,' said Spider-web.

    'Yeah,
well you're a fucking numbskull. How's the nose?'

    'Sore,'
I said.

    'You
want I can snap it back into place?'

    'No,
it's okay.'

    'It's
no problem.'

    'Really.
I'm fine.'

    It
was funny, looking at him, this bruiser hulk, so recently having vandalised my
shop and supported the vandalism of my face, standing there, looking concerned
and talking wistfully of unrealised dreams. I hadn't really felt fear, mostly
because of my anger about what they were doing to my books.

    I
said, 'What
did
you dream of? When you were a kid.'

    'Me?'
Rolo looked thoughtful. 'Well, you know, I was a kid. Stupid stuff. Astronaut.
But I never got my quallie. Didn't really finish school. Had a kid real young;
he's eighteen now, going the same way as me. It's a fucking shame, no jobs for
anyone.'

    'You
never think of . . . you know, retraining, back to school?'

    'Nah.
Too old for that shit now.'

    'Do
you ever read? Books?'

    'Nah.'

    'What
about movies?'

    'Yeah,
of course. Used to be in the movie business.'

    'Really?'

    'Yeah,
we'd do pirate copies down the markets, but that's all gone to shit now as
well, everyone downloading.'

    'But
you watch them?'

    'Sure.
Who doesn't?'

    'Well,
you know, books are just like movies, except they're movies only you can see.
In your head. That's what makes them so fantastic. They just make life seem a
little better. Take you out of yourself. You meet people and listen to them
chat, you encounter beautiful women and watch them being seduced, you see
terrible crimes and learn how they're solved.'

    Spider-web
said, 'What the fuck are we listening to this shite for? We should get outta
here.'

    Rolo
kept looking at me. Then he said: 'We delivered the message, we slapped him
around, went a bit too far maybe. Where are we going now?'

    'I
dunno. I've a donkey riding at three; go down the bookie's check on that.'

    'Well
it's not three yet. Tell you what, we'll give you a hand putting the books back
up.'

    Spider-web
stared at him. 'What the fuck?'

    'Sure
what's the harm?'

    'Fuck
sake. You do what you want, I'm goin' outside for a fag.'

    Spider-web
shook his head and walked out of the shop. Rolo shrugged. He nodded down at me.
'Sure you sit where you are, I'll sort these out. Will I just put them anywhere
or do they need to be in some kind of order?'

    The
answer to that was
much
too complicated - but it was too early in our
relationship to get into that particular bag of spiders. So I just said,
'Anywhere would be great.'

    And
so he dutifully began to return the books to their shelves.

    I
said, 'You never really did say who sent you.'

    'Well,
we never really know.'

    'Oh.
Right. Okay. Fair enough.'

    'Though
for all we're being paid, don't see what difference it makes. I mean, thirty
quid, and ten per cent of that goes to our agent.'

    
'Your
agent?'

    'Aye
well, you need someone a bit organised, bit of a talker, to bring in the
business. Bit like a taxi service: you call in for a job or they call you and
give you the address. If we weren't available, they'd go down the list to the
next pair.'

    'You
always work in pairs?'

    'Yep.
One to hold you down, and one to do the bashin'.'

    'And
do you take turn-abouts?'

    'Nah.
Yer man enjoys the bashin, I don't mind the holdin'. We just get sent to do a
job.'

    'Do
you think you could find out who wanted me dealt with?'

    He
finished placing an armful of books on a high shelf before turning to study me.
'You serious?'

    'Yep.
Absolutely. I'll match what you were paid.'

    'For
both of us?'

    'Will
it take both of you?'

    'Like
I say, one to hold him down, one to do the bashin'.'

    'Okay.
Both of you. Deal?'

    'Deal.'

    I am
so
good at this.

    Rolo
helped me to my feet. 'Still bleeding?'

    'Slowing,'
I said.

    Still
holding the towel to my face, I went behind the counter and took out one of my
own business cards this time and handed it to him. 'Give me a call when you
find anything out.'

    He
flicked it between his fingers. 'Sure thing.'

    'And
take this.' I handed him a copy of
The Godwulf Manuscript by
Robert B.
Parker. Funny, tense, complex without being forbiddingly wordy. A perfect way
to start. 'I think you'll enjoy it.'

    'I can't
really afford

    'It's
on the house. Go on.'

    He
took it. For a moment I thought he might well up. But it wasn't an act of
kindness or some sort of philanthropic gesture. He would read it and he would
come back for another. And then another. He wouldn't be able to help himself.
Parker wrote nearly sixty novels before his recent untimely demise, and I would
make sure that after this first one, Rolo paid for them all. I would be in
profit in a matter of
weeks.
And then, once he was addicted, I would move
him on to the harder stuff.

    Spider-web
rapped on the window and gave him an impatient
let's go
gesture.

    I
nodded at Rolo. He nodded back.

    He
opened the door. He hesitated. He looked down at the nunchucks.

    He
said, 'Are you really featherweight nunchuck champion of Ireland?'

    'No,'
I said.

    I
told Alison about trying to convert Rolo to mystery fiction. I said it was just
like
Pygmalion,
except interesting. She responded with: 'You can't
polish a turd.' To be fair, that response only came after a lot of screaming
and crying when she saw the state of my nose, although even during that she
stopped long enough to snap: 'I thought you said you were a haemophiliac?' and
I took time out to study my reflection in the shop toilet mirror, and the relatively
small quantity of blood on the towel, and then punched the air and shouted,
'It's a miracle!'

    'You
could have been killed!'

    'Nah,'
I said.

    I
started in on my theory about their reasonably light beating, but she cut in
with:

    'Never
mind that, what are we going to do about your nose?'

    'Is
it that bad?'

    'Man
dear, it looks like someone tried to open it with a can-opener.' She shook her
head. Then she kissed me on the forehead. 'I saw them go in from across the
road, but I was in the middle of this hard sell and couldn't get away. I
thought there was something suspicious about you having two customers in a day,
but I just couldn't get rid, and then the wrinkled old bag didn't buy anything.
I came as quick as I could, a bit like you.'

    I
gave her a look. She gave it to me back.

    'Is
it very sore?' she asked.