Bucket Nut (10 page)

‘Look,' she said, facing me, ‘don't worry.'

‘I'm not worried.'

‘I'm just a face again,' she said. ‘I can't actually
do
anything. No one takes me seriously. I'm a prop. Y'know, a puppet or a mascot. Like George says, a gimmick.'

‘Who's George?'

‘Mr Deeds. George Deeds.'

Well, I never knew that. I'd been working for him for months and he never told
me
his name was George.

‘Nobody knows me,' she said. ‘Nobody knows who I am. Only you. I'm just a face.'

She looked so sad I said, ‘Your legs aren't bad either.' Just to cheer her up. And she started laughing so hard I thought she'd choke. It made me laugh too, except I wasn't sure what was funny.

We were still in pieces when we went through to the gym. The artist bloke had stopped drawing and was talking to Harsh.

Harsh said, ‘Don't bite his head off, Eva. Give him a hearing.' And he went to the men's showers.

‘Interesting chap,' the artist said, watching him go.

‘Well?' I said. ‘How'd you find this place?'

‘Harry Richards told me you trained here,' he said. ‘Don't look like that. He didn't tell me your address or anything. And I really had to twist his arm to get this far. He knows me, and he knows I'm all right.'

‘Silly old fool,' I said. I was wondering who else Harry told. But Harry wouldn't dob on me to the polizei. Not Harry.

‘Just a minute,' he said. He patted his pockets. Then he shook his drawing book, and a small, glossy book fell on the floor. He picked it up and gave it to me. On the front it said,
‘Shrodinger Gallery. An Exhibition of Sculpture by Dave de Lysle R.A.
'

‘That's me,' he said, ‘Dave de Lysle.'

‘R.A.' I said. ‘I can read.'

‘I'm giving you the catalogue to prove that I'm genuine.'

‘Oh you're genuine all right.'

‘I'd better talk fast,' he said. ‘Because I can see you aren't going to give me much time. There's a new sports complex being built near Winnipeg, in Canada. They ran this competition, which I won, to do a relief frieze, or rather, friezes, over the main doorways. Also a free standing group in a fountain setting. The theme of the work, or rather, works, is of course, to be sport, physical fitness, strength, energy etcetera. The style is to be figurative. I need models. You'd be perfect. I would pay by the hour. Standard rates. You could fit it in with your other activities, to suit yourself.'

‘How much?' I asked, and then I had a thought. ‘Would I have to take my clothes off?'

‘Well …'

‘Fuck
off.
' I said. I grabbed Goldie's elbow and made for the door.

She said, ‘I knew a sculptor once. He talked too much too.'

‘Sport!' I said. ‘Physical fitness! It's all bums and tits to them. Ever seen anyone train without their clothes on?'

‘No.'

‘There you are then. He's just another grimy old perve.'

He caught up with us on the street.

‘At least come and see my studio,' he said, gasping for breath. For a guy interested in physical fitness he had a lot to learn. ‘Come with Harsh. He's thinking about it.'

‘He is?' I stopped.

‘Bring your friend if you're worried.'

‘I'm not worried,' I said. ‘I could throw a guy like you over a number 3 bus.'

‘I don't doubt it,' he said, and I thought he looked sincere.

‘I'll consult my advisor,' I said, feeling a bit pleased. I walked off fast. Goldie had to trot to keep up.

‘Slow down,' she said. ‘Who's your advisor?'

‘You are.'

She burst out laughing. ‘You really do speak your mind,' she said.

‘I can't speak anyone else's.'

I still had Dave de Lysle's catalogue in my hand so I gave it to Goldie. We turned the corner into a side street, and I had a good look up and down. There was no one interested so I unlocked the Cortina and got in. Goldie got in beside me.

She said, ‘That's weird.'

‘What?'

‘I sort of remember your car as smaller.'

That gave me a bit of a jolt. I thought she was completely brain-dead in the Fiat Panda the night I rescued her.

‘Why didn't we drive to the gym in this?' she asked.

‘I only just picked it up,' I said. ‘There was someone else driving it.' I believe in telling the truth. Especially when lying my head off.

‘Where are we going?'

‘Home. I've got to see to the dogs. And if you're staying with me you'd better get to know them.'

She liked the dogs. I made her wear my jacket so that she smelled like me as well as like her, and after a while they seemed to accept her. She fed them some of their biscuits out of her hand.

‘They're not bleeding pets,' I said. ‘You got to be careful.'

‘I know,' she said. ‘My father has working dogs too.'

Lineker was nuzzling up to her and she stroked his head. I've always had my doubts about Lineker. Given half a chance he'd lick your hand and fetch sticks. He's a bit young and he needs Ramses to keep him up to the mark.

You can't afford to let a dog go soft – not if he's got a job to do. That goes for humans too. Take it from me. It's a tough old world but you'll get by if you don't weaken.

‘You won't bite me, will you?' Goldie said to Lineker.

‘It's not you I'm worried about,' I said. ‘It's him. Don't pet him.'

‘But he likes me.'

‘So what? If he goes soft he gets put down. Because he'd be no use on the job. But no one in their right mind would want him for anything else. See?'

‘You're so hard, Eva,' she said.

‘No,' I said. ‘I'm softer than you. You
want
him to like you. You aren't thinking about him at all.'

She looked at me and her eyes filled with tears. Which made me feel dead choked so I went and emptied the chemical toilet because that needed to be done, and I was right and she was wrong.

When I got back to the Static she had lit the torches and the fire and it was warm and cosy in there. All the same, it felt as if we had quarrelled. I was uneasy.

But she said, ‘What do you do alone at night? I don't suppose … no you can't have.'

‘What?'

‘Television.'

‘Hum,' I said, thinking about it. I wanted to give her a telly because I didn't like feeling we'd quarrelled.

‘I can rig one up,' I said. ‘A little one. Black and white.'

‘How?'

‘Car battery.' As I thought about it I remembered that the Owner had a really little one which he could plug into the cigarette lighter of his motor. He took it to the races with him so he could watch the golf while he was at the track.

Outside, it was cold enough to see your breath. I was thinking about how I could get into the main office without breaking anything when all at once I thought about the artist bloke and how he said I would be ‘perfect'. It was such a queer notion that I stopped dead. I couldn't think why he said it, and I couldn't think why Harsh was taking him seriously. Maybe I was missing something.

I wondered how much ‘standard rates' was and whether it was worth associating with such a grimbo for the sake of my teeth. I am a martyr to my teeth, and sooner or later I will have to do something proper about them.

I want to have the front ones capped because they are a bit chipped and uneven which means I can't smile in photographs. When I was getting my London Lassassin poster done the photographer told me to keep my mouth shut. He was a bit rude about it in the end because I kept forgetting. That was what decided me. If I was going to have a career I ought to have a good set of gnashers, like Harsh.

The main office doors were locked tighter than a fish's arse. But someone had left the window to the ladies' lavatory ajar. It was Mr Gambon's job to lock up the main office and he'd cocked it up. I was pleased for two reasons. One – I could get in without smashing a window. Two – Mr Gambon was such a snotty bastard it would give me great pleasure to tell him he'd cocked up.

I pinched the little telly with no trouble at all. The trouble came with the battery. You wouldn't think, in a place chock full of cars and car parts, I'd have trouble finding a battery but I did. The good ones were all shut away in a shed which had no windows. No one had forgotten to lock that.

I could have nicked one out of one of the second-hand motors on the lot, but that was too risky. You never knew which were going to be taken out and driven.

In the end I let myself out of the yard and went to find a battery on the street.

I don't know about you, but I make it a rule not to get up to anything hooky too close to home. But it was a cold night, and rules are made to be broken. I wanted to get back to the Static quick. I wanted to see Goldie's face when I presented her with her own little telly.

It's when you are thinking too far ahead that trouble creeps up on you.

I found a nice Volkswagen not a hundred yards from the main gate, and it only took a couple of minutes to get inside and unlatch the bonnet. I took the terminals off the battery and I was just lifting it out when a hand landed on my shoulder and a voice said, ‘You're coming with me.'

I swear my heart stopped, I was that scared. I whipped round. I was still holding the battery. There was this dark figure of a man with his arm raised.

I threw the battery at him.

Well, I wasn't to know, was I? A person shouldn't scare the brown stuff out of another person late at night, should they?

You probably already know it, but a car battery is a big hard heavy thing and not many people, male or female, can throw one far. This one landed somewhere between the knot of his tie and his trousers. He went down like a shot deer, and just lay there.

‘Eva?' he said in a funny woozy way. ‘What you done, Eva?'

He was Chinese. That was all I could see in the dark. So I said, ‘You from Mr Cheng?'

He didn't say anything at all. His eyes were closed and his breathing was all wispy.

‘Shit in the shallow end,' I said. Because I'd forgotten I'd promised to go and see Mr Cheng. I was beginning to feel really bad about it.

I thought the man would die and I didn't know what to do. He shouldn't have come up behind me in the dark, but I shouldn't have thrown a battery at him without checking whether he was someone I knew.

I picked the battery off his chest and I knelt down beside him.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I didn't know it was you.'

But having said that, I realised I didn't actually know his name. He might have been the bloke who came the night before, but on the other hand he might have been someone else entirely. And really, if you're going to kill someone you ought to know his name. It's a matter of respect.

One way or another it seemed best not to let him die on the pavement, so I picked him up and put him on the back seat of the Volkswagen. Then I picked up the battery and fitted it back in the motor. I wired it, started it, and drove away.

I drove him to St Thomas's Hospital on Lambeth Palace Road. It was the only one I could think of with a big accident department. While I was driving I worried about him dying, and I worried about Goldie all by herself in the Static, and I worried about what Mr Cheng would think. I mean, he wouldn't take too kindly to me clobbering one of his waiters with a car battery. It was a good thing the battery was all right or we'd never have got to St Thomas's.

I decided I'd better go and sort it out with Mr Cheng.

The Beijing Garden was closed but someone came down to let me in. Everyone was upstairs in a private parlour. Some of them were playing that weird Chinese domino game and a lot of money was going round.

As soon as she saw me, Auntie Lo left her game and came over.

‘Mr Cheng is waiting for you, Eva,' she said. ‘You are very late.'

‘I've got a problem, Mrs Lo,' I said. ‘The man Mr Cheng sent to fetch me is at St Thomas's Hospital. He had a bit of an accident.'

‘Accident? With a car?'

‘Well,' I said, breaking it to her gently, ‘it was a bit of an accident with a bit of a car. But I took him to the hospital and they're looking after him ever so well.'

‘Oh dear, dear, dear,' Auntie Lo said. She turned away, beckoned over two thin young men and spoke to them. Then, in English she said, ‘Say again where Kenny is.'

I told them. The two men looked at each other and at Auntie Lo. All three of them left the room. I stood by the door twiddling my thumbs, feeling pronkish.

After a while Auntie Lo came back and led me to Mr Cheng's office. He was sitting behind his desk, and with him were the two men I had picked up in the Rover with Auntie Lo three days ago.

The first thing Mr Cheng said was, ‘Where zastra?'

‘I don't know, Mr Cheng.' I was relieved he was asking about the car and not Kenny. ‘It's probably near my place.'

‘Yoogetastra,' Mr Cheng said.

‘Now?' I said.

‘Now,' Auntie Lo said. ‘Straight away.'

‘Whatew see Smees?' Mr Cheng asked. ‘Whygo there?'

So I explained about Harry Richards expecting trouble and how he'd asked me to help.

‘I'd finished all my jobs for you, Mr Cheng,' I said finally.

‘Ha!' said Mr Cheng.

‘What happened?' Auntie Lo asked.

I told her about the police and the tear gas.

‘Did you see who threw gas?'

‘No.'

‘No?'

I shook my head. They seemed to expect something more and I began to feel awkward. They weren't exactly unfriendly but nobody was smiling.

There was a silence that went on for ages, with everyone looking at me. Then Auntie Lo said, ‘Go get the Astra, Eva. Come straight back.'