Have a Change of Scene

Two

After I had changed into sweat shirt and jeans, I went along to the cop house to report the loss of the cigarette case. I found, a little to my surprise, I wasn’t fazed about losing it, but I knew Sydney would be devastated, and it was only fair to him to make an effort to get it back.

The charge room was thick with cement dust and the smell of unwashed feet. Sitting on a long bench against one of the walls were some ten kids: dirty, ragged and sullen. They regarded me with their small dark eyes as I walked up to the Desk Sergeant.

He was a vast hunk of human flesh with a face like a lump of raw beef. He was in shirt sleeves and sweat trickled down is face and into the creases of his thick neck, mingling with the cement dust. He was rolling a stub of pencil backwards and forwards on the blotter, and as I approached him, he raised himself slightly to break wind.

The kids on the bench giggled.

When I told him about losing the cigarette case he continued to roll the pencil backwards and forwards. Then he suddenly looked up and his pig eyes went over me with the intensity of a blowtorch.

‘You a stranger here?’ he asked. His voice was husky as if worn out with shouting.

I said I was a stranger here, that I had just arrived, that I was going to work with Miss Baxter, the welfare officer.

He pushed his cap to the back of his head, stared at his stub of pencil, sighed and produced a form. He told me to fill it in, then he continued to roll the pencil.

I filled in the form and returned it to him. Under the heading of ‘Value of article stolen’ I had put $1,500.

He read what I had written, then I saw his massive face tighten and pushing the form back to me, placing a dirty finger on the ‘Value of article stolen’ column, he demanded in his husky voice, ‘What’s this?’

‘That’s what the cigarette case is worth,’ I said.

He muttered something under his breath, stared at me, then at the form.

‘My jacket was slashed by a razor blade,’ I said.

‘That right? Your jacket worth fifteen hundred bucks too?’

‘The suit cost three hundred dollars.’

He released a snorting breath down his thick nostrils.

‘You got a description of the kid?’

‘Around nine years of age, dark, bushy hair, black shirt and jeans,’ I said.

‘See him there?’

I turned and looked at the row of kids. Most of them were dark with bushy hair: most of them were wearing black shirts and jeans.

‘Could be any one of them,’ I said.

‘Yeah.’ He stared at me. ‘You’re sure about the value of the case?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Yeah.’ He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, then put the form on the top of a pile of similar forms. ‘If we find it you’ll hear from us.’ A pause, then, ‘Staying long?’

‘Two or three months.’

‘With Miss Baxter?’

‘That’s the idea.’

He studied me for a brief moment, then a slow smile of contempt chased across his face.

‘Some idea.’

‘Don’t you think I’ll last that long?’

He sniffed, then began rolling the pencil again.

‘If we find it you’ll hear. Fifteen hundred bucks, huh?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded, then suddenly in a voice like a clap of thunder, he bawled, ‘Sit still, you little bastards, or I’ll get amongst you!’

I walked out, and as I reached the door I heard him say to another cop who was propping up one of the dirty walls, ‘Another nutter.’

It was now twenty after 13.00. I went in search of a restaurant, but there didn’t seem to be any restaurants in Main Street. I finally settled for a greasy hamburger in a bar, crowded with sweaty, dirt-smelling men who looked suspiciously at me and then away.

I then took a walk. Luceville had nothing to offer except dust and poverty. I walked around the district marked on Jenny’s map as section No. 5. I found myself in a world that I didn’t suspect existed. After Paradise City, this seemed to me to be a trip into Dante’s Inferno. I was immediately spotted as a stranger on every street. People moved away from me and some looked back and whispered about me. Kids whistled after me, and some made what is known as a loud rude noise. I walked until 16.00 and then made my way back to Jenny’s office. By that time I decided she must be quite a woman. To have spent two years in this hellhole and still be able to produce that warm, friendly smile was an achievement.

I found her at the desk, scribbling on a yellow form, and she looked up and there was the warm, friendly smile.

‘That’s better, Larry,’ she said, surveying me. ‘Lots better. Sit down and I’ll explain what I jokingly call my filing system. Can you handle a typewriter?’

‘I can.’ I sat down. I wondered if I should tell her about the cigarette case but decided not to. She had, according to her, plenty of problems without listening to mine.

We spent the next hour while she explained the system, showed me her reports and the card index and while this was going on the telephone bell rang ceaselessly.

A little after 17.00 she grabbed some forms and a couple of biros and said she had to go.

‘Shut up at six o’clock,’ she said. ‘If you could type out those three reports before you go...’

‘Sure. Where are you off to?’

‘The hospital. I have three old dears to visit. We open at nine in the morning. I may not be able to get in before midday. It’s my day for visiting the prison. Play it by ear, Larry. Don’t let them faze you. Don’t let them con you either. Give them nothing but advice. If they want anything tell them you will talk it over with me.’ With a wave of her hand she was gone.

I typed out the reports, broke them down and put them on cards, then filed them away. I was surprised and a little disappointed the telephone bell didn’t ring: it was as if it knew Jenny wouldn’t be there to answer it.

The evening lay before me. I had nothing to do except return to the hotel, so I decided I might as well stay on and get the filing system up-to-date. I have to admit I didn’t do much work. When I began to read the cards I got engrossed. The cards gave me a vivid picture of crime, misery, despair and pressure for money that held me like a top class crime novel. I began to realise what went on in section No. 5 in this smog-ridden town. When it got dark I turned on the desk light and went on reading. Time ceased to exist. I was so engrossed I didn’t hear the door open. Even if I hadn’t been so engrossed I still mightn’t have heard it open. It was opened with stealth, inch by inch, and it was only when a shadow fell across the desk that I knew someone was in the room.

I was startled. That was, of course, the idea. With my nerves the way they were, I must have jumped six inches. I looked up, feeling my belly muscles tighten. I dropped the biro I was holding and it rolled under the desk.

I will always remember my first sight of Spooky Jinx. I didn’t know it was Spooky, but after I had described him to Jenny the following morning she told me that’s who it was.

Imagine a tall, very lean youth around twenty-two years of age. His shoulder length hair was dark, matted and greasy. His thin face was the colour of cold mutton fat. His eyes, like tiny black beads, dwelt closely either side of a thin, narrow nose. His lips were loose and red and carried a jeering little smile. He wore a yellow, dirty shirt and a pair of those way-out trousers with cat’s fur stuck to the thighs and around the bottoms. His lean but muscular arms were covered with tattoo designs. Across the back of each hand were obscene legends. Around his almost non-existent waist he wore a seven-inch wide belt, studded with sharp, brass nails: a terrible weapon if whipped across a face. From him came the acrid smell of dirt. I felt if he shook his head, lice would drop on to the desk.

I was surprised how quickly I got over my fright. I pushed back my chair so I could get to my feet. I found my heart was thumping, but I was in control of myself. My mind flashed back to the conversation I had with Jenny when she had warned me the kids in this district were vicious and extremely dangerous.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Do you want something?’

‘You the new hand?’ His voice was surprisingly deep which added to his menace.

‘That’s right. I’ve just arrived. Something I can do for you?’

He eyed me over. Beyond him I saw movement and I realised he wasn’t alone.

‘Bring your friends in unless they are shy,’ I said.

‘They’re fine as they are,’ he said. ‘You’ve been to the cop house, haven’t you, Cheapie?’

‘Cheapie? Is that you name for me?’

‘That’s it, Cheapie.’

‘You call me Cheapie... I call you Smelly... right?’

There was a suppressed giggle in the passage which was instantly hushed. Spooky’s tiny eyes lit up and became red beads.

‘A wise guy...’

‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘Makes two of us, doesn’t it, Smelly? What can I do for you?’

Slowly and deliberately, he unbuckled his belt and swung it in his hand.

‘How would you like this across your stinking face, Cheapie?’ he asked.

I shoved back my chair and stood up in one movement. I caught up the portable typewriter.

‘How would you like this in your stinking face, Smelly?’ I asked.

Only a few hours ago I wondered if I would scare easily. Now I knew... I didn’t.

We regarded each other, then slowly and with the same deliberation he buckled on the belt again and I with equal slowness and with equal deliberation, put down the portable typewriter.

We seemed to be back on square A.

‘Don’t stay long, Cheapie,’ he said. ‘We don’t like creeps like you. Don’t go to the cops again. We don’t like creeps going to the cops.’ He tossed a packet done up in greasy brown paper on the desk. ‘The stupid turd didn’t know it was gold,’ and he walked out, leaving the door open.

I stood there, listening, but they went as silently as they had come. This was a chilling experience. They seemed deliberately to move like ghosts.

I undid the packet and found my cigarette case or what was left of it. Someone had flattened it into a thin, scratched sheet of gold — probably using a sledge hammer.

That night, for the first time since Judy had died, I didn’t dream of her. Instead, I dreamed of two ferret-like eyes sneering at me and a deep, threatening voice saying over and over again: Don’t stay long, Cheapie.

Jenny didn’t show up at the office until nearly midday. For the past hours I had been hard at work on the card index and I had got as far as letter H. The telephone rang five or six times, but each time the caller, a woman, mumbled she wanted to speak to Miss Baxter and had hung up. I had three visitors, all shabby elderly women who gaped at me, then backed away, also saying they wanted Miss Baxter. I gave them my brightest smile and asked if there was anything I could do, but they scuttled away like frightened rats. Around 10.30 while I was pounding the typewriter the door slammed open and a kid I immediately recognised as the kid who had stolen my cigarette case and had slashed my jacket blew me a raspberry and then dashed away. I didn’t bother to chase after him.

When Jenny arrived, her hair looking as if it would fall down any second, her smile was less warm and her eyes worried.

‘There’s bad trouble at the prison,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t let me in. One of the prisoners went berserk. Two of the wardens have been hurt.’

‘That’s tough.’

She sat down and regarded me.

‘Yes...’ A pause, then she went on, ‘Is everything under control?’

‘Sure. You won’t recognise your system when you have time to look at it.’

‘Any trouble?’

‘You could call it that. I had a character here last night.’ I went on to describe him. ‘Mean anything to you?’

‘That’s Spooky Jinx.’ She lifted her hands and dropped them a little helplessly into her lap. ‘He’s quick off the mark. He didn’t bother Fred until he had been here two weeks.’

‘Fred? Your accountant friend?’

She nodded.

‘Tell me what happened,’ she said.

I told her, but I didn’t mention the cigarette case, I said Spooky had arrived and had told me not to stay long. I said we both made threatening gestures at each other, then he had left.

‘I warned you, Larry. Spooky is dangerous. You had better quit.’

‘How come you have remained here for two years? Hasn’t he tried to run you out?’

‘Of course, but he has his own odd code of honour. He doesn’t attack women, and besides, I told him he couldn’t scare me.’

‘He can’t scare me either.’

She shook her head. A strand of hair fell over her eyes. Impatiently, she pinned it back into place.

‘You can’t afford to be brave in this town, Larry. No... if Spooky doesn’t want you here, you have to go.’

‘You don’t really mean that, do you?’

‘For your sake, I do. You must go. I’ll manage. Don’t make things more complicated than they are. Please go.’

‘I’m not going. Your uncle advised a change of scene. Sorry to sound selfish, but I’m more concerned with my problem than with yours.’ I smiled at her. ‘Since I’ve arrived in this town I haven’t thought of Judy. That must be good. I’m staying.’

‘Larry! You could get hurt!’

‘So what?’ Then deliberately changing the subject, I went on, ‘I had three old girls here, but they wouldn’t talk to me: they wanted you.’

‘Please go, Larry. I’m telling you Spooky is dangerous.’

I looked at my strap watch. It was now a quarter after midday.

‘I want to eat.’ I got to my feet. ‘I won’t be long. Is there any place in this town where I can get a decent meal? Up to now, I’ve been living on hamburgers.’

She regarded me, her eyes worried, then she lifted her hands in a gesture of defeat.

‘Larry, I do hope you realise what you are doing and what you’re walking into.’

‘You said you wanted help... that’s what you’re going to get. Don’t let’s get dramatic about it. How’s about a decent restaurant?’

‘All right: if that’s the way you want it.’ She smiled at me. ‘Luigi’s on 3rd Street: two blocks to your left. You can’t call it good, but it isn’t bad,’ then the telephone bell began to ring and I left her going through her ‘yes’ and ‘no’ routine.

After an indifferent meal — the meat was tough as old leather — I went around to the cop house.

There was a solitary kid sitting on the bench against the wall. He was around twelve years of age and he had a black eye. Blood dripped from his nose on to the floor. I looked at him and he looked at me. The hate in his eyes was something to see.

I went over to the Desk Sergeant, who was still rolling his pencil backwards and forwards while he breathed heavily through his nose. He looked up.

‘You again?’

‘To save you trouble,’ I said, not bothering to keep my voice down because I was sure the kid, sitting on the bench, was a member of Spooky’s gang, ‘I have my cigarette case back.’ I laid the flattened strip of gold on the sergeant’s blotter.

He regarded what was left of it, picked it up, turned it in his big sweaty hands, then put it down.

‘Spooky Jinx returned it to me last night,’ I said.

He stared down at the battered strip of gold.

I went on in a deadpan voice, ‘He said they didn’t realise it was gold. You can see what they have done with it.’

He squinted at the flattened metal, then released a snort down his nose.

‘Fifteen hundred bucks, huh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Spooky Jinx?’

‘Yes.’

He sat back and pushed his cap to the back of his head. After staring at me for a long moment, his pig eyes quizzing, he asked, ‘Are you making a complaint?’

‘Should I?’

We stared at each other. I could almost hear his brain creak as he thought.

‘Did Spooky say he had stolen your case?’

‘No.’

He got some cement dust out of his left nostril with his little finger, peered at what he had found and then wiped it on his shirtfront.

‘You got a witness when he returned it?’

‘No.’

He folded his hands together, leaned forward and regarded me with contemptuous pity.

‘Listen, buster,’ he said in his husky worn-out voice, ‘if you plan to stay around in this goddamn town, don’t make a complaint.’

‘Thanks for the advice... then I won’t.’ I picked up what was left of my cigarette case and dropped it into my hip pocket. ‘I thought I should report it no longer stolen.’

We looked at each other, then he said, his voice now a whisper, ‘Off the record, buster, if I were you, I’d scram out of this town. Suckers who try to help Miss Baxter don’t last long, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Off the record, you understand?’

‘Would that be one of the Jinx gang?’ I asked and turned to look at the kid who was listening and watching.

‘That’s right.’

‘He’s bleeding.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What happened to him?’

He regarded me, his pig eyes now impersonal. I could see I was boring him.

‘Why should you care, buster? If that’s all you want to say, take off with the feet,’ and he began to roll his pencil again.

I went over to the kid.

‘I work for Miss Baxter, the welfare worker,’ I said. ‘It’s my job to be helpful. Is there anything I can do for...’

That was as far as I got.

The kid spat in my face.

Nothing dramatic happened for the next six days, Jenny rushed in and out, dropping yellow forms on the desk, asking anxiously if I had had trouble and then rushing out again. It baffled me that she could keep going the way she did. It also bothered me that she always wore the same drab dress and she made no effort to make the best of herself.

I typed out her reports, broke them down, put them on cards and continued to bring the card index up-to-date.

The word must have got around that I was now the official help, because the old, the lame and the halt began to come to me with their problems. Most of them tried to con me, but I took their names and addresses, wrote down a summary of their problems and told them I would talk to Jenny. Once it got into their muddled heads that they couldn’t con me, they became friendly, and for the next four days, I fell for this, then discovered because of their yakking I wasn’t doing any useful work, so I cut them short.

Rather to my surprise, I found I was enjoying this strange contact with a world I hadn’t imagined existed. I was startled when I got a letter from Sydney Fremlin, written in purple ink, asking how I was progressing and when was I returning to Paradise City?

It was only when I read the letter that I realised I had forgotten Paradise City, Sydney and the deluxe shop with its rich, overfed clients. There seemed to me to be no point in telling Sydney what I was doing in Luceville. Had I told him, he would have taken to his bed in despair, so I wrote that I was thinking of him (this I knew would be a sure-fire success) that I was still very nervy, that Luceville provided me with a change of scene and that I would write before long. I thought that this would keep him quiet for a week or so.

On the sixth day the scene changed.

I arrived as usual at the office around 09.00. I found the office door open. A glance showed me the lock had been smashed. My careful work for the past six days: my carefully typed cards, my reports were all piled in a heap on the floor and over them had been poured melted tar. There was no question of a salvage operation: no one can deal with tar.

On the desk, printed with my red felt pen was the legend: GO HOME, CHEAPIE.

I was surprised by my reaction. The average person, I suppose, would have been angry, in despair and perhaps defeated, but I didn’t react that way. I turned cold and a viciousness I had never known flowed through me. I looked at the work I had done, ruined by a stupid, vicious youth and I took up his challenge. ‘You do this to me: I’ll do it to you,’ attitude.

It took me all the morning to clean up the mess. I worked fast, as I didn’t want Jenny to know what had happened. Fortunately, this was her visiting day and she wouldn’t be in until 17.00. I got a can of gasoline and cleaned the tar off the floor. I walked the ruined reports and the cards down to the trash bin.

Every now and then, old women would come, and I told them I was too busy to talk to them. They gaped at the mess I was cleaning up and went away. One of them, a fat woman, pushing seventy, paused in the doorway and watched while I scrubbed the floor.

‘I’ll do that, Mister Larry,’ she said. ‘I’m more used to it than you.’

Maybe the viciousness in my eyes as I looked at her scared her. She went away.

By 16.00 I had cleaned it all up. I had ignored the telephone bell. I then sat down and began again on the card index.

Jenny came bustling in around 17.15. She looked tired as she dropped into the straight-backed chair, facing my desk.

‘Everything under control?’ She sniffed. ‘Gasoline? Something happen?’

‘A tiny accident... nothing,’ I said. ‘How did you get on?’

‘All right... the usual. People are beginning to talk about you, Larry. The oldies are getting to like you.’

‘That’s a step in the right direction.’ I leaned back in the desk chair. ‘Tell me about Spooky. Have we a card on him?’

She stiffened, staring at me.

‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘Have we anything on him? Where he lives?’

She continued to stare at me.

‘Why do you want to know where he lives?’

I forced a casual grin.

‘I’ve been wondering about him. I wondered, if I could contact him, if I might sell myself to him... I mean get friendly with him. What do you think?’

Jenny shook her head.

‘No... absolutely no! No one could ever get friendly with Spooky. This is wrong thinking, Larry.’ Then she paused and her eyes searched my face. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Happened?’ I smiled at her. ‘I was just wondering if I could do a rescue act... I mean if I talked to him... but I’ll go along with what you say... you must know... I don’t.’

‘Something has happened! I know Spooky! Please tell me!’

‘Nothing has happened. The trouble with you, Jenny, is you get dramatic at times.’ Again I smiled at her. Then I had a sudden inspiration. ‘If you haven’t anything better to do, will you have dinner with me tonight?’

Her eyes widened.

‘Dinner? I’d love to.’

It struck me from her expression this was probably her first invitation to dinner she had had since she had arrived in this godforsaken town.

‘There must be someplace where we can eat a decent meal. Luigi’s didn’t make a hit with me. Where can we go — expense no object.’

She clapped her hands.

‘You really mean that — expense no object?’

‘That’s what I mean. I’ve spent nothing since I’ve been here and I’m loaded.’

‘Then the Plaza... it’s five miles out of town. I’ve never been there, but I’ve been told about it.’ She waved her hands and looked as excited as a kid.

‘Okay. I’ll fix it.’

She looked at her watch, then jumped to her feet.

‘I must go. I have a date in five minutes.’

‘Tonight then... eight o’clock. Come to the hotel. I have a car... okay?’

She nodded, smiled and was gone.

For some moments I sat thinking, then I dialled the cop house and asked to be connected with the Desk Sergeant. After a delay, his husky voice came over the line.

‘This is Carr... remember me?’ I said.

I listened to his heavy breathing.

‘Carr? Fifteen hundred bucks... right?’

‘That’s it. Can you tell me where Spooky Jinx hangs out... his pad?’

A long pause, then he said, ‘What’s the idea?’

‘I want to contact him. He and I are due for a talk.’

‘You looking for trouble, buster?’

‘I’m a welfare officer — remember?’ I said. ‘I’m asking for information.’

Again a long pause. I could imagine him rolling his pencil backwards and forwards while he thought.

Finally, he said, ‘Yeah — a welfare officer — yeah.’ Another pause, then, ‘His pad is 245 Lexington. The gang’s meeting place is Sam’s Cafe on 10th Street.’ Another pause and more heavy breathing, then he said, ‘Don’t look for trouble, buster. We have to clean up trouble in this town, and we don’t like work.’

‘That I can understand,’ I said and hung up.

I got the Plaza restaurant’s telephone number from the book and made a reservation for eight-forty.

But Spooky was a jump ahead of me.

Jenny arrived at the hotel at 20.00. I scarcely recognised her. Her hair was in a plait and wound tightly around her beautifully shaped head. She had on a black and white dress that turned her from a frump into a desirable woman. She was obviously pleased and proud of herself as she smiled expectantly at me.

‘Will I do?’

I had put on one of my better suits.

She was the first woman, since I had lost Judy, who I had taken out.

‘You look wonderful,’ I said and meant it.

We walked to where I had parked the Buick.

All the tyres were flat and the driving seat razor slashed. Across the windshield in big white letters was painted:

The evening wasn’t a brilliant success. How could it have been? Jenny was upset about the car, although I played it cool, damping down my blazing hatred of Spooky Jinx. I took her back to the hotel, sat her in one of the sagging bamboo chairs while I telephoned Hertz Rent-a-Car. In fifteen minutes a car was delivered. While we waited, I tried to soothe Jenny down.

‘Look, this doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the car fixed... that’s no problem. Forget it as I’m forgetting it.’

‘But, Larry, don’t you see this dreadful boy won’t leave you alone until you have gone? You must go! He could hurt you! Please... I know him. He’s vicious! He won’t stop at anything. He...’

‘Jenny!’ The snap in my voice stopped her short. ‘You and I are having dinner together. Let’s skip Spooky. Let’s talk about each other. You look marvellous. Why do you always wear that awful grey dress?’

She stared at me, then shrugged helplessly.

‘Oh, that? Look at the people in this town. It’s my disguise. That’s why I asked you to wear a sweat shirt and jeans. You have to dress the part here.’

‘Yes.’ I saw her point, then I went on, ‘I have only been here eight days, but I’m getting the photo. Do you really think you can help these people? No, wait a minute... I tell you I’m getting the photo. These people are scroungers. They try all the time to con. They take. Is it such a hot idea to work at the pressure you work? Aren’t you rushing up a moving staircase that is going the wrong way?’

She thought about this, then said quietly, ‘Someone has to do it. One out of fifty really needs help. If I can help that one, then I’m doing a job.’

The Hertz car arrived. I signed the form and we drove out of the town.

The Plaza restaurant, on the side of a hill with a view of the lights of Luceville, was plush and expensive. The food was good. There was a band that played soft swing. It was crowded with bulky elderly men and fat, bulging women: all who talked at the top of their voices: the kind of scene Paradise City specialises in.

We ate, made conversation, but it wasn’t a success because we were both thinking of the ruined car, Spooky and the drab, sordid life that was the background of Luceville, but we kept these thoughts to ourselves.

I drove Jenny back to her apartment. By this time it was 23.00.

She thanked me for a lovely evening. The expression in her eyes told me how worried she was.

‘Larry... please be sensible. Please go back to your own home.’

‘I’ll think about it. Let’s do this again.’ I touched her hand. ‘Next time we will have real fun,’ and I left her and drove back to the hotel.

I changed into the sweat shirt and jeans, then I went down to the lobby and asked the sad coloured boy where I could find 10th Street. He looked at me as if I were crazy. Then when I asked him again, he said it was a good half-hour’s walk. He began to give directions, but I told him to skip it.

I went out into the hot, cement-dusty night and got a taxi. I arrived at the top of 10th Street at 23.35. I paid off the taxi and started down the dimly lit street, which was lined with trash bins that smelt as if each one of them contained a rotting corpse.

People milled around: most of them were old drunks, old women... people without a roof. Further down the street, the scene changed. Neon lights made harsh white pools on the filthy sidewalk. I now moved in the shadows. There were the usual Honky Tonk parlours, the striptease clubs, blue movie shows, the bars and the cafés. This part of the street was inhabited by the young. Boys with long hair, girls with hot pants and see-through, milled aimlessly around and created noise. Most of them carried transistors which exploded into ear-shattering noise of pop.

Further down the street I saw a flashing sign that spelt out:

Still keeping in the shadows, I walked past the café.

Outside, in an orderly rank were eight Honda motorcycles: flashy, powerful with crash helmets hanging from the handlebars. The café was crowded. I had a glimpse of young people wearing the usual uniform young people dig for, and the noise erupting from the café was deafening.

I walked to the end of the street, turned and walked back. I found a dark, smelly doorway and I stepped into darkness. From there I could see the café. I leaned against the wall and waited. My smouldering rage against Spooky was now like a forest fire inside me. I thought of the cards, ruined by tar, and my car.

Around midnight, there was an exodus from the café. Kids spilled out, shouting and screaming and went running off down the street. Then eight thin youths came swaggering out: leading them was Spooky. All of them were wearing the same uniform: yellow shirts and cat’s fur pants and a wide nail-studded belt. They got astride their Hondas, slapped on their helmets, and then the air was split with the fiendish sound of powerful engines revving and revving. Then they shot off. The noise they made sounded as if the third world war had begun.

I memorised the number of Spooky’s bike, then I walked to the end of the street, picked up a taxi after a wait and returned to the hotel. I stretched out on the uncomfortable bed and waited. While I waited, I smoked innumerable cigarettes and let the forest fire of my hate rage, then around 03.00, I got off the bed and went silently down the stairs to the hotel lobby.

The nightman was fast asleep. I let myself out into the hot cement-dusty street and went in search of a taxi. Eventually, I found one on a rank in Main Street, the driver dozing.

I told him to take me to Lexington. It was a ten-minute drive. Luceville was asleep. There were no cars to stop a fast run.

The driver pulled up at the top of the street.

‘Stick around,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back.’

It was the kind of street where vermin must breed. Either side, tenement blocks with old-fashioned iron fire escapes blotted out the sky. Stinking trash bins, newspapers scattering the sidewalk, used contraceptives and used sanitary towels lay in the gutters.

I walked down the deserted, silent street until I came to the tenement block that had a plaque: No. 245: Spooky’s pad. I paused, seeing the glittering Honda motorcycle at the kerb. I checked the number plate.

Here was Spooky’s pride and joy.

I looked up and down the deserted street, making sure there would be no witness. The only witness was a lean, mangy cat that darted from the shadows into an alley.

I turned the Honda on its side, then I unscrewed the gas cap. When the gasoline had made a big puddle around the bike, I struck a match, stepped back and tossed the burning match into the puddle.