A White Arrest

He who laughs last usually didn’t get the joke

Inside, Brant returned to his evening. He’d busted enough raves to get the gist. You stripped to your shorts, took the E and bopped till you dropped. What Brant had felt was, they didn’t feel. No one hurting at all.

And that’s what he wanted. Because of the dehydration factor, he’d a line of Evians along the wall, and for lubrication, a bottle of Tequila.

New to drugs, he had the booze as insurance. The E he’d bounced from a dealer in Kennington Tube Station.

Letting back his head he howled: ‘Had us a time, Meyer.’

Towards the close of the night’s festivities, the sergeant, way down on the other side of the ecstasy moon, began to munch the doggie treats, intended as a surprise for Meyer, whispering: ‘Bit salty, but not bad, no.’

Albert was miming before the mirror: ‘I’m a believer… and occasionally he’d give what he believed to be an impish grin like Davy Jones. Till a shadow fell across him.

Kevin.

‘What the fuck are you doing? And turn off that shit.’

He aimed a kick at the hi-fi and the Monkees screeched to a halt. Albert rushed across to rescue the album. Sure enough, it was deeply scratched. He wailed: ‘Whatcha want to do that for?’

Kevin gave a nasty laugh. ‘Don’t be so bleedin’ wet. It can only improve those wankers, give ’em that unplugged feel. Now pay attention, I want to show you somefin’.’

He bent down and pulled out a long box from under the couch. He flipped the lid off and took out a rifle, said: ‘Feast yer eyes on this, isn’t it a beauty?’

‘Is it real?’

‘Real? You friggin’ moron. It’s a Winchester 460 Magnum. See that scope? Pick the hair outta yer nose from a rooftop.’

He pulled the bolt all the way back. A cartridge in the chamber slid home and he swung the barrel round into Albert’s face, said: ‘Grab some sky, pilgrim.’

‘What?’

‘Put yer bleedin’ hands up.’

Albert slowly did so and Kev leaned closer, whispering: ‘Make yer peace, Mister.’

‘Kev!’

The gun went up an inch above Albert’s head, then the trigger was pulled. The impact slammed the stock into his shoulder and knocked him back. The bullet tore into the wall, decanting a plastic duck. Albert stood in open-mouthed shock, and Kev, on his ass, on the floor, exclaimed: ‘Fuck me, now that’s fire power. What a rush.’