I woke up, inside of a dream. There was wool all around me, a total comfort fix. I was slow-drifting through the heavy layers of murmurs and soft touch, with five lovely angels singing to me, lullabies. And it felt nice.
Like a dream.
Five angels stroking me with azure blue feathers.
One of the angels had blonde hair and a dragon tattoo on her left upper arm. Her name was Desdemona. Another had black hair and black eyes rimmed with black liner and falling eyelids, with smoke rising from her body. Her name was Bridget. The third had six arms, all the better to stroke me with. His name was the Thing. The fourth had teeth like jewels, soft paws, and a long wet tongue of bliss. Her name was Karli Dog. The last of the angels was fat, but wearing it well, with two sets of eyes, one set red, the other white. Its name was the Van.
All five had feathers in their hands, and each a different technique of stroking. Their soft flutterings played all over my skin. I was naked. Unashamed, mind. Not like me at all. But I was just loving the feelings; the voices of the angels, the warm clutch of the dream.
Was this just a dream?
I reached out for the first angel. Desdemona. Blood had started to dribble from tiny punctures in her skin. She had my fingers in her mouth and she was licking at them. Then she bit down on one of them, hard, so that the skin broke, and she was licking at the blood. "You ever gonna find me, Scribble?" she said. I had no good answers to give my sister except to reach out to embrace her. We fell into a kiss - "Scribble! Get that fucking feather out of there!"
That was the Beetle's voice, coming into the dream. And somebody forcing my mouth open.
"You know I don't allow that. No one goes in alone!"
My eyes opened. Forced open. Beetle's eyes staring down at me, from close range. His hands messing about inside my mouth, like a fucking dentist. "Stop biting on it!" he said. Biting on what? He reached deep inside my mouth, pulling on something soft and fluttering that had lodged there. "Gotcha!" announced the Beetle, pulling a blue feather from deep down inside of my throat. He held it aloft like a treasure, whilst I retched and convulsed, gasping for new breath.
"Sorry," I gasped out "I was dreaming… dreaming…"
"You weren't dreaming, saddo!" said the Beetle. "You were going in alone. Nobody does that."
"Sorry, Bee… I…"
"Fuck off. Fuck off and die if you want to. Just don't do it on the premises."
I looked at the blue feather he'd pulled out of my mouth. "What was I doing?"
"Blue Lullaby. You know that's only for babies."
I breathed.
I breathed again.
BLUE LULLABY is for when life gets bad. When life deals a stupid hand. If you should ever find your give-a-fuck factor has gone down to zero, this is the feather for you. Blue Lullaby will wrap you up in blankets and cuddles, making the bad things seem, well you know, kind of good all of a sudden. It's sweet. But a little warning from the Cat. It works up to a point, and it's not much of a point. It can cure the tiny troubles; it fucks out on the big troubles, just makes them worse. For those who need something stronger may I recommend TAPEWORMER. Except that the Cat doesn't like these let's-make-everything-sweet feathers. Life is to be lived, not to be dreamt about. But when life needs a gentle hand, Lullaby could be the one. It's a cradlesong. The Cat says - use the Lullaby, don't abuse the Lullaby. It could turn nasty on you.
Status: a lovely sky-blue legal, with warnings.
I was shaking from the journey, rivered with sweat, tears just adding to the body's liquid content. I didn't know which was sweat, which was tears. That bad. The Beetle was holding my hand. It felt so good. It felt so good, that soft hand, amidst all the wanderings. Karli the robodog was lying at my feet.
"You okay, Scribb?" the Beetle asked, voice all quiet and yearning, like spring flowers, that kind of thing. Most unusual. "You shouldn't go in alone, Scribb. How many times have I told you? You need the Beetle in there. Isn't that the truth?"
"I was just trying…"
"What's that, Scribb?"
"I was just trying…" I said, exhuming the words. "I was just trying… I was just trying to find some comfort…"
Beetle holding me tight against his frock-coat, and I could feel his collection of biker badges biting into my wet cheek. "You poor fucker!" he said to me. "Brid's gone. Van's gone. Des has gone." He was waving the now creamed-up feather in front of my face. "And you think this is gonna bring them back? Huh?"
His voice was hard again, but still with that trace of sadness. Never heard that before. Rain was falling, Manchester rain; we listened to its soft drumbeats against the window. Beetle's eyes were full of the rain, and some drops of it fell down his cheeks, like tears. Except that all the windows were closed, so how could the rain get in? Even the window that never closed was stuffed with an old T-shirt, so how come the rain was rolling down his cheeks like that? Maybe it was tears? Maybe it was tears! Maybe the Beetle had found tears? And that felt good. It felt so good.
Bring me my van of burning desire. How I missed that chariot. And all who ride in her. The Beetle had stolen a cheap car, just to get us home, but it was a pale substitute. The van was a good friend. Now gone. The robodog was licking at my trainers. "What's the dog doing here?" I asked.
"Suze gave the dog to you. Don't you remember?"
"Where's Mandy?" I asked, suddenly missing her.
"She went out. I think we had an argument."
I reached into my shirt pocket for a Napalm fag. And pulled out a pasteboard card. This is your card, said Suze. How did it get there? Suze must have done a sly pass, whilst I was herb-sleeping. I took a long look at the picture. A young man heading for a drop, hounded by a dog. Real-life model. Collector's item. "Do you forgive me, Beetle?" I asked, quiet-like, whilst looking at the card.
The flower clock shed a petal; it floated in a zigzag pattern, driven by sighs, down to the carpet.
"I do."
That voice.
That voice of the Beetle.
Saying that.
Saying I do. I do forgive you. That meant so much. That meant everything. I forgive you for the weakness. I forgive you for the transgression. For doing Blue Lullaby. For going in alone. For trying to find the things that we've lost.
Never heard such words before, not from the Beetle.
"Where are the Thing and Brid?" I asked.
"I don't know. It's getting bad."
The Beetle, saying that, with such an ache to his voice. I was getting a new picture of the main guy. He was a man without dreams. He dreamt other people's dreams, through the feathers. That was the Beetle's obsession; he had nothing else. I realised that my eyes had closed.
When I opened them, Beetle was close. He took my body in his hands, wrapping me in his black frock-coat. It felt so good. Like a family, I guess.
I brought the card up close to my face. The young man was walking towards an abyss, a rucksack on his shoulder, the yapping dog pestering his heels. Along the top edge the number zero. Along the bottom the words The Fool. What did Suze mean by this? Karli Dog snuffling around at my feet.
"What now, Beetle?" I asked, not knowing where to go.
"I don't know, Scribble. I just don't know."
The flat door opened with a soft breath, and Mandy stepped into the room. Her face was flushed with pleasure.
"Where have you been?" asked the Beetle.
"I've found Icarus Wing," she said.
I was coming in the lips of Venus. She had green hair all around her milky white face, eyes so bright I was nearly blinded, and it was like shooting stars into the mouth of a goddess. And where the semen landed, against the cloth of night, the planets and the stars were formed there. I was making planets with my cock, coming on like God on heat. Took six nights to come the whole universe. On the seventh night I rested. With a giant spliff, some wine, and a Screaming Headache album. And a packet of biscuits. Arrowroot biscuits.
Felt like sitting inside somebody's head.
Which it was.
The final credits rolled. YOU HAVE BEEN DREAMING GODHEAD. STARRING CINDERS O'JUNIPER AND TOM JASMINE.
Over this they were playing the national anthem. This is the land that I love, and here I'll stay.
BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE CHIMERA CORPORATION. DIRECTED BY MAEVE BLUNT. PRODUCED BY HERCULES SMITH.
Me and the Beetle, Mandy between us, were sitting on the back row, surrounded by snogging couples, triples, multiples. A splattering of loners, in love with fingers. Karli the robobitch was lying on the floor between my legs.
People were getting up to leave the shimmy, pulling the pink feathers out of their mouths, dropping them on the parquet. Some were furtive in the leaving, others were full of boisterous laughter. Some were kissing.
"Mandy, I love you!" shouted the Beetle. He was hugging her to his chest. Her hands were playing over his lap. I loved her too.
Felt like my cock was on fire.
Mandy had found Icarus. She'd gone back to Seb's flat. Found him in. Forced the knowledge out of him. Don't ask how. The use of hands and mouth. Something like that. No matter. The game was on.
THANK YOU FOR DREAMING WITH CHIMERA. SPONSORED BY VAZINTERNATIONAL THE UNIVERSAL LUBRICANT. FOR LIFE'S STICKY MOMENTS. NOT TO BE USED FOR ILLEGAL PURPOSES.
Try telling that to the Beetle.
This intense desire for love was in me, fired by the shimmy. I pulled the feather from my lips, watching it go cream in my fingers.
I too wanted to fuck the universe. If not that, then a woman would do. Any woman. Christ! Even a dog would do. That's a good shimmy for you. Makes you into a god. A god of love. Even me.
"Oh Christ!" breathed Mandy, full of want. "I'm soaking."
"And I've got a snake in my dick!" said the Beetle. "Let's get out of here."
Icarus didn't talk much. Hardly any. He was fat like a pig and he could hardly squeeze into that darkroom with the rest of us tight-packed in there as well. He poured shimmy mist through a viewer, eyes open for good bits.
"You got some good stuff for us?" the Beetle said to him. I could feel the Beetle's arousal, through the talk, and my own, matching him. And Mandy's.
The small room was dripping, lit by a red light. Sex was everywhere.
No response from the shimmyographer. He just kept blowing that spool. His studio was right back of the auditorium, and through the projection ducts I could see the last stragglers leaving their seats. Karli was whining from behind the door, where I'd tied her up to a Grecian pillar. "That was a hot shimmy, Icarus. It sure got me going." We left Beetle to do the talking. Mandy was glued to the way that Icarus was mixing the rushes. Speed-driven thrills, yards of dream flesh blurring into orgasm. Ribbons of sex. Wet dreams. Visions of loveliness. Ultra-come.
Like sitting inside somebody's head. Whilst they were masturbating.
Me, I had my eye on the glass tank above the mixing desk. A violet and green shape lay curling there, rolling out its tongue like an offering.
Keep that tongue to yourself, snakebreath.
The Beetle was speaking; "Seb told us you'd got some English Voodoo. That right?"
Icarus pushed the feather further into the deck.
My left ankle started to ache and throb, like it had a hard-on, remembering the twin bite of the fangs.
"Don't know any Seb," Icarus said.
"That's funny, because he knows you."
"Must have been mistaken."
"That's a nice specimen you got there," said the Beetle, nodding towards the tank. "You see this?" He was stroking the snakehead pinned in his lapel. Icarus didn't even look up from the smoke. "Caught that fucker myself," Beetle continued. Trapped him in a door. Cut his head off." He paused for effect, but the editor was busy with the roller; looked like he'd found something. The Beetle turned to me. "You see that snake in the tank, Scribb?" he asked.
I nodded, not taking my eyes off the slithering bitch.
"That's one big fucker, yeah, Scribb?"
Just watching the tank, my eyes caught on the violet and the green, and the slow undulating body. Must have been all of twelve foot long.
Beetle turned back to Icarus. "You wouldn't want that big fucker to get loose."
Icarus looked up at him, just for a second. "That's my best snake," he said, and then lowered his face back to the dream mist.
"What you got?" asked Mandy.
Icarus looked over at Mandy. "Come see," he said.
Mandy bent low, putting her eyes to the viewer. She looked in there, close up, for maybe a full minute. During that time the dreamsnake did a complete reef-knot of movement. Each slither brought another bead of sweat to my flesh. My left leg was stinging.
"Nothing," said Mandy, finally. "Can't see nothing."
"You need to look close, real close," Icarus said.
"It's just smoke."
"You ain't got the juice, girl. Not like me." And something real bad came to me then. Icarus was telling us that he had some Vurt in him. Christ knows, must have been a tiny amount; you wouldn't guess it to look at him, but maybe that's how he did this job. But the bad thing was this - maybe I could steal this fat guy and force him into a swapback. Maybe I didn't need the Thing after all, but then he waddled over to the snake cage and I saw just how useless that guy was. He was worthless. No use. Way below Desdemona. Way below Hobart's Constant.
"It's just smoke!" Mandy was saying. "There's nothing there."
"I'm turning mist into Vurt. That's my job. Not even that, this time. I'm just cutting bits out. Chopping out the bad bits, making it suitable. I'm making it legal. That's my job. It's not much of a job is it?"
No answer to that. None at all. We all just waited, in the silence, whilst the shimmyographer focused in on the errant scene.
"That is one big snake," announced the Beetle. "You really wouldn't want that snake to get loose. Would you?" He made it sound like a threat. A bad threat. The Beetle was good at that. Icarus wasn't fazed. He reached up and clicked one catch on the tank, then the other. The lid raised up slow and sexy, like a breath exhaling. The dreamsnake unwrapped itself eagerly. I stepped back slightly, just slightly, trying to control myself. My leg hurt was stinging.
"Is there something wrong with the boy?" asked Icarus.
"Ignore him," said Mandy. Tell us what you see."
The shimmyographer jerked the mist to a frozen standstill. "There she is!" he announced. "Offending article. You see, Chimera send these Vurts out to the provinces, but we're just getting the bad cuts. There's stuff still in there. Non legal. I gotta check every second. It's a fucker's job, and I'm doing it. This looks like mist to you. To me it's a dream, somebody's dream, and you can't show everything. It spoils it. People want love. This bit here, the hero's stabbing his father with a kebab skewer. Through the eye. You just can't show that. Not in a Pornovurt. It's a passion killer. Cut that fucker!"
Icarus reached inside of the tank and grabbed the dreamsnake by the neck. It writhed around like a whiplash crack, but he had it between his fingers, and with the other hand he reached for a small ball hammer. He pushed it into a jar of paste, coating the hammer head with sap.
This was the squeezed-out flowers of the snakeweed, the only known cure for dreamsnake bite. It grew on the plains of Utanka, an obscure high-level Vurt, available only to the cognoscenti. Icarus gently tapped the ball of the hammer on the top of the snake's head. The head proceeded to droop, as the slit eyes glazed over.
We watched as that snake took a vicious bite out of the dream. He lifted it away from the mist, and the two streams of smoke coalesced into a new state, a clean state. "That's better," Icarus said. "Feels clean now." He stepped closer to me. There were tiny yellow flecks in his eyes, which seemed to glow brighter as he held the snake up to my face. I stumbled back, knocking against a feather bank. Streams of mist were pouring out of it, choking the room.
"What's wrong, young man?" Icarus asked. "Don't you like snakes?"
"Get it off me!" I screamed.
Icarus waved the snake in front of my nose. "I'm in control," he said. "I'm the boss of snakes."
"Scribble had an unfortunate incident," the Beetle told Icarus. "Some years ago now. Just can't get over it."
"He was bit by one?"
"Yes."
"I knew it. You've got the Vurt inside you, boy."
"Not me -"
"They always deny it at first."
"I'm pure! Tell him I'm pure, Bee!"
"Better had be," answered the Beetle. "Can't stand hybrids."
Icarus was holding me with a bright stare. "Pure is poor, featherboy," he said, and I swear that I saw the glints of flights in his eyes. "You've got some juice inside, kid."
Icarus said that, and I was drawn back. Back through the years, the months, like time was streaked with Vaz.
Something was stirring…
I was seventeen years old. There was a red sun that day, I remember, and the trees were full of starlings. I was lying in the grass of Platt Fields, with a girl named Desdemona. She was my sister, fifteen years old, but I loved her a lot. Too much. More than is good. More than is legal. She was stretched out and hot, and my right hand was stroking her leg, way up, and she was smiling. She moved her head slightly and her lips were touching mine. I had a hard-on. Hard-on for a sister. Five seconds later she was touching the hard-on through my pants, then was up on top of me, her hair a blonde halo against the scarlet sun, and I was caressing the dragon tattoo on her upper arm.
"If father should find us…" she said.
Imagine, she said that. She actually said that. Not Vurt or robo; real words from a real mouth. Her twin lips like the two halves of a dream, slightly parted.
Her cunt was pressed against my cock and the world was pretty.
"Don't let's talk about dad," I answered.
"He scares me, Scribble."
"I will always look out for you."
The two of us laughing then, I remember that, before those lips descended to mine, and we were sealed.
Some things you just can't destroy, and this memory is one of them.
She kissed me. A raging full-on contact. The sun was blocked out. My eyes were shut. Her hair fell against my cheeks and lights danced in my eyes. I was in honey. "I'll love you forever," the voice whispered, and I can't remember if it was mine, or hers. I felt the pleasure build all the way through me, even down to the ankles, my left ankle especially, for some reason. The pleasure just there was intense, like I'd never felt before. Next thing, Desdemona was screaming, and the pleasure turned into pain. She jumped off me, turning to see the colours flashing. I jerked up, pulled by the fire in my leg, and saw the dreamsnake feeding there, twin fangs clamped shut, around my ankle, and the sun was a blister in my vision.
I opened my eyes to the barking of a robodog. Mandy had Karli by a taut lead, the bitch's muzzle inches from the dreamsnake in Icarus's hand.
"You deliver the goods, Icarus…" the Beetle was saying. "English Voodoo. Or the snake gets it…"
Every morning the Game Cat opens his big sack. Oh my kittlings! All those letters! It's lucky the Cat has such a large brain, good drugs, and all the time in the universe to spend on helpful hints. Oh all your problems! How on earth do you live down there? Real life seems so physical these days; so very meaty. And the one subject that transfixes you, more than any other? How can I get higher? How can I get out of this hole? How can I get to live like the Cat? In other words; let me get my hands on some KNOWLEDGE FEATHERS. Where can I buy some English Voodoo, some Talking Bush, some MegaHead? Or any of the other Knowledge Feathers that may, or may not exist? The Cat has said it a thousand times; you don't buy knowledge, you earn knowledge. Still the letters flood in. So let it be said, once and for all: Knowledge Vurt is for the few, not the herd. They are multicoloured steps on a ladder of dreams. They are made by the heavenly for their own enjoyment. They are dangerous to the innocent. That's you, little kittling. Comprendez? They can't be bought. If someone offers to sell you one, believe me, it's a fake, it's a pirate copy. Pirates don't give knowledge, they just steal your money. And bring you grief. Because invariably these cheapo mixes are infested with Vipers. And if you don't know what Vipers are, you shouldn't be within a thousand miles of Knowledge Vurt.
This is your final warning.
Beetle poured his Vaz into another lock, and we drove a cheap bust-up Ford back to base. We were feeling pretty high, what with the afterglow of the sex shimmy, and the Voodoo feather held tight in my fingers. There was laughter and craziness in the car, and every streetlamp brought a dazzle to the Knowledge Feather; it was black, pink, and gold in my hands, and the gold was the most beautiful. We rode into the Rusholme Gardens like warriors. Twinkle was waiting for us. She'd got into the flat somehow, through the tight security, and Beetle wanted to know how.
"I don't know, Bee," I said.
"You give her a key?"
"Me?"
Twinkle was sitting on the couch, supercool, chewing on a Choc-U-Fat.
"Scribble, get that baby out of here."
I tried, but failed miserably. The kid wasn't budging. "She's not moving, Bee," I said, pulling on her arms. It was like someone had smeared her arse with anti-Vaz.
"I'm in the gang now," Twinkle said. "I've swapped with Bridget."
"Has the kid gone yet?" asked Beetle.
"Not yet. No."
"What you doing, giving keys away?"
"She's lonely, Bee. Got a terrible homelife -"
Mandy started to laugh. "Let's do it, Bee!" she said. And then the Beetle was moving to the table, stroking Vaz into the flights of the Voodoo feather. I could see the yellow glints shining and they were opening doors in my mind, onto a yellow haze where my sister was waiting for me. Beetle was popping some Jammers, like he was expecting a hard trip and tickling Mandy's face with the feather, the same time. "Try this for size," he said, and he stroked it into Mandy's mouth. "Oh god, I'm melting," she said, taking it like a robopro. Then the Beetle moved over towards Twinkle.
"Beetle! It's too high for her!"
"She wants in, Scribble, she gets in."
"She's underage, Bee -"
"We're all underage," he replied, and Twinkle's mouth was open, ready to accept the gift. Beetle stroked the young girl. I could see him getting off on it. I'll bet he was getting hard on it, still charged up from the Pink shimmy.
"You ever done this before?" asked Mandy, from the slow depths of Vurt.
"Course I have. Loads of times!" Twinkle answered.
"Well swallow this then," said The Beetle.
"Go easy, Beetle," I said. "Mandy, help me…"
But Mandy was gone, riding the feather.
And then the Twinkle was gone, the same trip.
Just me and the Bee left.
"Beetle?"
"What?"
"I think we're doing this badly. Let's slow it down some."
"Yeah? For why?"
"Voodoo's dangerous. You don't know, Bee. I've been there. It's -"
"Suck on this, baby! We lost Brid and the Thing, just to please you. Now fucking well take it! Let's go find the sister."
My lips were parted to speak in protest, except that he pushed the feather between them, and I was riding it as well, riding good, down to the wet source, and I could feel the credits rolling, just like all that time ago, with Desdemona at my side, and then I was gone…
WELCOME TO ENGLISH VOODOO. EXPECT TO FEEL PLEASURE. KNOWLEDGE IS SEXY. EXPECT TO FEEL PAIN. KNOWLEDGE IS TORTURE.
…falling towards the garden.
The garden was serene and beautiful, quintessentially English, just like I remembered, with burbling fountains and a mass of flowers growing wild, overflowing their beds. It was enclosed by a circular wall, but that was miles away, and I wasn't interested in what lay out there. I wanted the garden; its heady perfume was caressing my senses, and a burst of pleasure was choking me, like every drop of blood in my veins had taken a sap-ride to my cock. Felt like exploding some, into the goddess of earth, the witch of dirt. I felt like digging a hole in the soil and just doing it, but something was keeping me back; knowledge of the mission. I was inside the Vurt, and I knew that I was, but I wasn't getting the Haunting! I felt control flood through me, like I'd been seeded with something, some new knowledge. I was in the garden of English Voodoo, looking for the Curious Yellow feather, where Desdemona lay waiting, living in pain. The Beetle and Mandy were walking hand in hand through the flowers, the way that young lovers do. Twinkle was breaking off a flower head, bringing it to her nostrils. She was smiling, feeling the perfume stroking her. Karli Dog was chasing butterflies through the briar patches, getting covered in petals. Shit! Beetle had stroked the robodog too, a feather inside a dog's mouth. No matter. We were all there, having a good time. Knowledge was seeping from the flowers, like the breath of pollen. The Beetle raised his hand, waved at me, lazy-like, and I answered him the same. The world was blissful. I was falling into a haze of peace and it took all that I had just to keep from drifting away. I was looking for the gardeners. The ones Desdemona and I had joined the last time. Or the bird in the trees. But the garden was empty. Just us Stash Riders in there, wandering amongst the flowers.
The garden was empty.
It didn't feel right.
"Beetle!" I called. He turned his slow face to me, smiling. "There's something wrong," I said to him. Beetle just smiled.
"Everything's dandy, Scribb," he answered, with a soft voice. He clutched Mandy closer to him, revelling in her feel. It didn't feel right, somehow.
A movement in the grass, down at my feet. Maybe it was the yellow bird, searching for food. I looked down.
A violet and green slithering there, amongst the grasses and the stalks.
Dreamsnake!
Even in the garden of bliss, those slimy creatures find a way through.
Stepping back…
"Beetle!"
Too late.
The snake rising up from the grass, filling the garden with his whiplash body. Snake-eyes staring at me.
Oh shit!
How did that get in here?
"Beetle!" I shouted. There's a Viper in here! Feather's not real. It's a pirate!"
Beetle was too far gone to care. And the snake was laughing at me.
THERE'S SOME VIPER IN YOUR SYSTEM, LITTLE ONE.
"What's happening?" I asked.
Viper was Viral Implant; germs in the Vurt system; ways to make you suffer.
YOU'RE INSIDE A THEATRE. IT'S CALLED ENGLISH VOODOO. IT'S A PIRATE KNOWLEDGE VURT. TOTALLY ILLEGAL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL
"What?"
"It's worse than real. You're under arrest, kid. That real enough for you?"
I pulled away from that vicious face, looking for the Beetle and Mandy, and Twinkle and Karli. All I saw were four wavering shapes, as they jerked out together, and then I was following them, jerking back, and the garden fading to a patch of weed blackness…
The shecop Murdoch was smiling down at me. Her dumbfuck partner was standing two feet off, near the bathroom door, obscuring my Madonna poster. A shadowcop was writhing around the room-space, straight out of the garden, a violet and green undulation. The partner was broadcasting the shadow from a portable unit and the snake was beaming onto us. Never seen one like this before. It was the snake from the garden; he had followed us through into the real world. Snake must have some Vurt in him - robo, shadow, Vurt - all mixed up in a five-foot length of thick smoke, eyes of orange flashing inpho all over us, and a voice of yellow slitherings:
WE HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THAT THIS IS AN ILLEGAL GAMEPLAY.
"No. I… it's… it's just…"
I was back in my favorite armchair, struggling with the words. I just couldn't find the right ones.
I couldn't explain. Couldn't move. Couldn't raise a finger in battle.
"I… I can't."
My lips were the only moving parts, and then only just I was mumbling excuses, weak excuses.
Mandy and the Beetle were lying on the settee together, all wrapped up from the garden still. I could see their bodies were still jerking from the dream, but they weren't showing their faces. The young girl, Twinkle, was standing by the fire, her eyes full of life. She had Murdoch in her sights. Don't try it, kid. She'll just beat you to a pulp. Karli the robodog was by Twinkle's side, the plastic bones shaking under her fur.
Twinkle started to move forwards, towards the shecop.
ALSO SUSPECTED PURCHASE AND USE OF VARIOUS OTHER ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES, AS FOLLOWS…
"That's enough, Shaka," said Murdoch.
These things had names!? These smoky wraiths? I never knew that.
"Of course they are," replied Murdoch. "It's just that I'm taking over."
Twinkle was two feet away from Murdoch. Beetle and Mandy were still in a close embrace, still shivering but coming down, slowly, ever so slowly.
ALSO SUSPECTED HARBOURING OF A VURT ALIEN. A LIVE DRUG. DECREE FIFTEEN QUITE PLAINLY STATES - "Okay!" shouted Murdoch. "This is my score. I'm bringing you down for this. Harbouring, possession, bootlegging. The whole shit. You're getting it." She pulled a flame gun from her waist band.
The chair was clutching at me, and I could still feel the garden's touch on my fingers.
"Game over. Partner, cuff them."
The fleshcop started to move, wallowing side to side under his fat middle. Mandy had awoken now, and was rolling over towards the action. Her eyes were fear-shot. The Beetle wasn't moving. Not yet. He was all folded up on the settee, shaking from the jerkout and Vurtlag.
"Out of the way, girl," said Murdoch, not even looking at Mandy as she said it. Mandy got up off the settee, cool and deadly. Murdoch had the gun pointed straight at the Beetle's head. "Okay, boss man, this is your alarm call."
Beetle didn't move.
Me neither. Felt like time was slowing down, and I was just a caught fly in its embrace, wings in honey.
THIS IS NOT THE STANDARD PROCEDURE said the shadowcop.
"You want to file a complaint, Shaka?"
NO, MA'AM. I DO NOT.
Karli and Twinkle made a move towards Murdoch. The dog's paws were scratching at the carpet.
"Call them off, little boy. You know it's the end."
I tried to, but my lips were parched and stuck, and my tongue was dead.
Twinkle and the dog were inches away from the cop.
"Call the fuckers off." Murdoch screamed, the gun locked between her fingers, aimed with a raging full-on, dead set on the back of Beetle's head.
This is where he is, the hero, when you need him the most. Fast asleep on an old worm-hive settee, bought for a fiver down a Junk-U-Don't-Want.
"I got one cuffed, Murdoch." It was the partner speaking, his words flabby with heavy breaths. My eyes made a quick glance. There was Mandy, all cuffed up to one of the fatso cop's wrists. He was looking pretty pleased with himself. Most probably he'd never met a girl like Mandy before.
Guy was gonna find out.
The shadowcop was firing inphos all over the room, looking for clues. I'M GETTING SOMETHING, he said.
"What is it?" asked Murdoch.
INSUFFICIENT INPHO AS OF YET.
"Thanks for the inpho, Shaka, but I think you're getting on my nerves, just a little bit."
UNDERSTOOD. Shaka's eyes were flaring with bright orange, like he was working up to a flame beam.
"Let's keep this under control, people." Murdoch was putting on a good show, but I could see the sweat on her face. "That includes you, Shaka! Keep those beams cool. No one gets hurt." And the shadowsnake's eyes went from hot to cold. You could see the disappointment all the way through his swirling body.
Twinkle and the dog were close to the moment now, except they didn't know what to do, how to handle it. Twinkle was reaching out with one hand, almost as if she was going to say, "Please don't hurt my friends, Mrs Shecop," and I wouldn't put it past her. The dog was making a low growl.
"Back off, Twinkle," I said. My tongue felt like a slug nested in my throat. And she did, the youngster, this being my sad little power over her. Her hand dropped slowly to her dirty dress, where it fiddled and twirled in the folds.
"Back off, Karli." My voice again. And the dog obeyed, so maybe there was more to Suze than I thought. She'd given me the power over the dog, passed it on, all in secret. Karli moved back slightly but her eyes were still clenched and full of damage.
"Okay. Everybody's happy," breathed Murdoch, the gun still on a straight run to Beetle's brain. "Cuff the other one," she added, nodding her head towards me. The partner came towards my chair, dragging Mandy behind. In his free hand he held a new set of cuffs.
"I'm running out of hands, Murdoch," he said.
"Just fucking do it!" was her reply. "To the chair!" So the fat cop made a move towards me, fumbling with the key and the cuffs. This guy was a loser, I know that now, but he still had a few seconds of dominance left in him. He waved the cuffs in front of my slow eyes.
"Take it easy, young man," he said to me.
I couldn't move my body, but I could move my mouth, having already proved that. "Take a running fuck, fatso." I said, not even knowing I had those words within me.
"It's all over, big guy," Murdoch said to the Beetle's sleeping shape. He moved slightly then, stirring from his deep pit.
"I know it," he said, his voice full of thick juice from the game. "I know when I'm beaten."
That's not like you, Beetle. Where's the fire?
The fat partner had one of my wrists in his free hand, and he was trying gamely to cuff me to the chair. I was struggling against him but the Vurtlag was still heavy in my brain, and I was a slow dream, waiting for the dawn. The cuffs were clunking in a half-bite, missing the hole in the sweat and the fear. The cop was dropping beads of sweat on to my trousers. "Come on," he said. "Do it!" More to the cuffs than to me, I think.
"I thought I told you already," I told him. "Go and take a running one."
He looked at me like I was a bad dream he couldn't wake up from. Oh good. I'm glad.
"Come up slowly, Beetle man," said Murdoch.
"I'm coming up like a slow train," said the Beetle, turning around on the settee. "You win, Murdoch. Game over."
Fat cop had forgotten all about Mandy in his struggles. Shadowcop hadn't though: I DO BELIEVE, SIR, THAT'S SHE'S GOING TO - Did no good.
Mandy had twisted around behind the cop, and now she had her free arm around his neck, pulling back, until he started to cry out. I felt my mind zooming to focus as the last of the Vurt peeled away, and then my hands were moving fast, faster than snakes, until they reached his free hand, which he was using to prise away Mandy's fingers. My fingers clamped around his knuckles.
"I said leave off, pigshit."
Murdoch could see the trouble going down so she had moved her gun away from the Beetle slightly, trying to get a new fix. The Beetle rolled over, and then up, until he was sitting on the edge of the couch, and his hand was already inside of his coat.
MURDOCH! I'M GETTING SOMETHING!
But Murdoch had already seen what was happening. She was turning back to the Beetle, but too late, way too late, the Beetle had pulled his hand out again, into the open, and a gun was clenched tight in his fingers. The Beetle's gun. In use at last.
"It's that time of day, Murdoch," he said.
"Shaka!" Murdoch's call sent the shadowsnake into action. His beams swung in from every corner until they pulled in a tight focus on the Beetle's gun.
The partner cop was struggling between Mandy and me but we had him tight yet. "Wooh!" shouted Mandy. "We're happening!"
"Don't go silly on me," Murdoch said to Beetle.
"Kill, Karli!" I shouted. "Destroy!"
Young dog went for it.
Murdoch's gun roared and flashed, but the dog was there first, knocking her off her feet. The shecop was on the floor, Karli on top of her, biting at her face. The bullet lodged in the wall, knocking petals off the clock, and Shaka was beaming everywhere, panic-struck. Twinkle was coming towards me and the fat partner, her tiny fingers bunched into fists. The gun in Beetle's hand waved in the air, and there was a look of pure Jam in his eyes.
The fleshcop made a big push with his bulbous gut, shoving me back into the chair. Then he took off towards the Beetle, pulling Mandy along behind him, still cuffed. She was beating on his back and shouting at him, calling him all the names of the famous fuckers, but he was reaching down to the floor anyway, to where Murdoch's gun lay waiting.
Sometimes we just go too far, partner.
Beetle shot him.
Beetle shot him! And all these miles and days away, I'm still listening to that shot of flame.
Murdoch was screaming under the dog Karli, holding those jaws back with fists of pain. Dog was eating at her fingers. And the fleshcop's blood splattered all over the walls and the floor. It made a beautiful mess, like a garden of scarlet wounds, and I was gladdened by the sight of it. My life was just a few seconds adrift in those moments.
"Shaka!" screamed Murdoch, her face bloody from the dog's teeth. "Shaka, call up! Call up!"
Petals were falling all over, drifting down in waves from the severed clock-face, and Shaka was calling up the station, beaming through the petals. Except that the beams were hot! Petals bursting into flames as the snakehead came whipping around the small room, aiming for a total burn-out. A line of fire along the back of the settee, heading towards Beetle. So Beetle shot the snake. Of course nobody can shoot a Shadow. The Beetle had put a hole in the shadowcop's aerial box. Shaka was a wounded ghost then. And then just a wraith, a thin wraith, fighting for life. His beams went dark. His face was a silent cry and holes were opening up in the body of smoke. He was fading to black, the deep emptiness, which is Shadow-death.
Beetle was glued to the seat, the gun in his hands, both hands clenched, and his eyes wide from the action. Murdoch screaming from under the dog.
"Get the pig off me!" shouted Mandy, her face smeared with the thick blood of the fleshcop. "Can somebody please undo these cuffs, please."
I could move then, and I stood up, out of the clutching chair, away from the fear. I moved over to the dead cop. I found the keys on the floor, and set Mandy free. "Cheers, Scribb," she said. The cuffs fell to the lino, one ring still around the cop's wrist. Beside his body I saw Murdoch's gun, just lying there. I slipped it into my pocket. "Karli, that's enough." The dog moved back slightly.
Beetle had risen up, and he had the flame pistol pressed against Murdoch's temple. Her face was a pleasure to behold, all cracked with fear and blood. Her shecop eyes were clenched tight shut against the moment. I saw a feather down on the floor, next to Murdoch's head. I picked it up. Cheap fake Knowledge Feather, going cream in my hands.
"That's enough, Beetle" I said. "Job is done."
We're all just out there, somewhere, waiting to happen.