Calibre

13

"Whoo-ee, sorry I took so long to get back to you. Killing people is so time-consuming. Man, I wouldn’t like to have to do it for a living, wouldn’t that be a pisser? I’m glad it’s purely recreational. I mentioned my girl earlier, so let me introduce her. Odd, I write that and in my head, the opening line of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ begins to uncurl. Jagger said when they do that track, strange shit happens, like Hell’s Angels stomping a guy to death at Altamont.

He’s sixty now!

Fuck, how’d that happen? And still touring.

Might take my own show on the road, soon as I get my commitments squared away. I’ve been thinking of America. Get me a pick-up, rifle on the rack, dog in the front seat, a coonhound of course, Hank Williams on the speakers.

Americans appreciate a decent killer.

A whole industry devoted to murder. Grab me some of that. Chat with Larry King. I was watching CNN and an FBI profiler (yeah, them again) said they estimate that at any given time, there are four or five serials out there trawling the highways. In England, we’re still caught up in the Ten Rillington Place, Nielsen, Brighton Rock drabness. Those guys convey:

Depression

Greyness

Rain

Dampness.

I mean face it, they’re so fucking boring, the very worst of the UK. We need to, in the words of the BBC:

… Sex it up.

You’re on to me, right? Asking:

‘What’s with the girl? Why aren’t we hearing about her?’

So I’m stalling, so shoot me. Thing is I’m a little bashful, cross my heart and hope to die. Cos, okay… okay, alright already, she’s a working girl… yeah, what you call a hooker. Her name is Mandy, and no mention of the horrendous Barry Manilow tune. We’ve been an item for three years. And yes, she still plies her trade, sees clients a few times a week.

I met her in a pub, thought I’d clicked till she mentioned the freight. Paid her and like most men, one way or another, I’ve been paying ever since. She was having a hassle where she lived so I let her stay with me. Then later, got her a small place of her own, and she services the johns there. I don’t ever go there, it’s her work zone, right? But I can see her, the place is right across the road. You’re thinking:

‘What, all he could get was a hooker?’

I like her, simple as that. If she gets lippy and they all do, I flash the green, shuts her right down. Like marriage really. She wants a fridge, I get a blow job. Just barter, capitalism in action. Lately though, her manners are slipping.

AND YOU KNOW WHERE I AM ON THAT.

Started slow. We’d be in a pub and she’d give the staff an earful. I’d ask:

‘What’s with that?’

She seemed truly perplexed, her elfin face creased in confusion, went:

‘What’s with what?’

‘Giving the staff grief’

A huge smile and she has great teeth. I know as I paid for them. She answered:

‘Because I can.’

I still have all my hair. See the young studs losing it. What they do is, they shave it all off, like they’ve a choice. I want to shout:

‘Who you kidding, you’re fucking bald, get over it.’

I take real good care of mine. Palmolive, they have a conditioner, red in colour that gives a fine sheen. Reason I mention it is, it looks like dessert mousse, same colour, texture, even got them little bubbles.

Mandy has a passion for mousse, eats it by the bucketful, doesn’t seem to gain any weight. I guess full-time sex burns off them calories. So when she’s running at the mouth, I prepare a bowl of her favourite, lash in the mousse, strawberry of course, then deep-six the conditioner, stir to a frenzy. She puts it away in jig-time.

Who knows, might be even keeping her teeth white, it’s a guaranteed cleanser. What it does is lay her fucking flat, stops that nagging pronto. But lately, her moods are getting meaner, I said:

‘Jeez, you’re becoming evil.’

Got the look then:

‘It’s those morons, in shops, in pubs, doesn’t anyone take pride in their work?’

Rich, eh? From a hooker.

We were in a bistro at Waterloo and she sent back the zucchini three bloody times, gave the poor slob of a waiter a plate of verbals. I said:

‘You need to watch it, you know.’

Her mouth full of bread roll, she went:

‘Duh?’

‘There’s a guy out there killing people for exactly the type of behaviour, you’re exhibiting.’

She knocked back the chianti as if it was the house plonk, sneered:

‘That loser, he comes at me, I’m ready’

I was intrigued, asked:

‘Yeah, how’s that?’

Rooted in her Burberry bag, cost me a bundle in Self-ridges, produced a small canister, said:

‘Pepper spray.’

I smiled, said:

‘That’ll do it.’

The waiter was approaching, hoping to hell she’d like this effort. I thought:

Worst case, she can zap the help.