"LET ME COLLECT DUST" (Part 2 of 2)

“LET ME COLLECT DUST”

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jR1XxIvY54c

 

[P]

 

I eased myself out of bed carefully, keeping my pelvic floor muscles and thighs clamped tight. Even so, a trickle of cold, viscous liquid ran down the inside of my legs. Not wanting to leave a snail trail of spunk in the hallway to the shared bathroom, I hobbled into my kitchenette and cleaned myself up the best I could, using the small sink and some tissues.

      My clothes were scattered here and there around the room. I used the sniff test to find the cleanest and dressed as presentably as possible.

      He remained asleep, sprawling with his dick drooping like a late spring crocus. The spread of hair across his torso resembled the dark fuzz of damp growing beneath the windowsill.

 

My cheeks still warm with the burn of his beard, it was a short but pleasant walk to school in the early morning sunshine, with birds singing and the occasional glimpse of a fox, even here.

      Surprisingly, the ID on my lanyard got me through the security doors. I thought I might have needed to tailgate another student. The next obstacle was the janitor, serving as a hall monitor. I smiled sweetly and he didn’t challenge me at all. Didn’t even ask to search my backpack. Just handed me a paper mask embossed with the school’s crest. Shit, this was easy.

      My teacher was on his hands and knees, sticking lengths of tape onto the classroom floor. He was dressed down in dungarees. I admired his arse through the tight denim.

      He noticed my presence and straightened up, crouching on his haunches. Regarded me over the thick black rims of his glasses, then pushed them further back on his nose, to see more clearly. Looked me up and down, before focusing on my eyes.

      ‘Well. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

      ‘My social worker said I should be here,’ I replied innocently, with the benefit of telling the truth. ‘She reckons I’m vulnerable and at risk.’

      The way his lips twitched, I could tell my teacher almost laughed. ‘At risk? With you here, it’s the other kids I’m concerned about.’ Holding on to a desk for support, he stood up and tried to look intimidating.

      ‘What class are they in, sir? I’m eager to rejoin my peer group.’

      What choice did he have? With a sigh, he told me the room number and warned me he’d be along shortly to check we were behaving.

      Stupid sod. By the time he got there, I was long gone, having made my first sales of the day.

 

The Arcade boasted that it was open 24/7, but with its opaque windows you could never tell. I pushed the front door in passing. It was locked.

      The alley round the back of the shops was a wildlife reserve for commercial waste bins and cat piss. I counted the doors until I came to one with its metal shutter lifted to reveal flaking green paint and an entry buzzer.

      I leaned on the button until I heard the rattle of bolts being drawn and a lock being turned.

      ‘What?’ Half a square face glared at me, one-eyed, over a taut steel security chain.

      ‘Can I come in and play?’ I held a silver game token up for scrutiny.

      Square Face grunted and allowed me to enter, quickly slamming and bolting the door closed again behind me.

      ‘Mask,’ he growled.

      I still had the one from school round my neck, so I lifted it in place, then followed him along a short, narrow, poorly lit corridor, towards the sound of ringing bells and synthetic music.

      The slot machines were all active, though only a couple of hardcore losers were playing them. The remaining handful of punters seemed immune to the lure of flashing, multi-coloured lights. They stood stiffly with their complimentary paper cups of coffee, their white shirt fronts glowing beneath the fluorescents.

      They looked me up and down as brazenly as my teacher had earlier, except their gazes eventually fixed on different parts of my body.

      ‘You letting jailbait in here now?’ one of them called to someone out of sight.

      The Manager emerged from his kiosk, rolling down his cuffs as he lumbered towards me. He took his time adjusting his tie: one of those fake ones held in place with elastic, so that no-one could grab it and strangle him.

      ‘You selling something?’ he asked, once he judged he’d made enough of an impression on me.

      ‘I brought sweeties.’ Winking at the dirty-minded punter behind him, I unslung my backpack and opened the zip.

      ‘Don’t show me. I ain’t seen nothing.’ He turned his back on me and gestured at the punters. ‘The kid’s OK. But go easy. That mad fucker from the NPG takes an interest.’

 

Feeling lucky, I decided to have a gamble on my favourite machine before I left. Halloween Jack swallowed my token but gave nothing in return. The flickering image of a blue-suited ghoul grimaced at me. I punched his cartoon face and cracked the screen. Swore at the pain in my knuckles. Gave a kung fu scream and attempted a roundhouse kick.

      Square Face grabbed me from behind and dragged me, both of us cursing, to the front door. The Manager released the lock. My feet left the floor and I flew into the street. Landed face down on the pavement.

      The Manager rummaged in my backpack and removed a fistful of cash, which he brandished under my nose.

      ‘Damages,’ he spat. ‘Think yourself lucky I’m letting you keep the rest. Now fuck off back to your boyfriend.’

      Fuck them. I started to cross the road without looking and was nearly knocked down by a hybrid Ford. One of those stealth bastards that don’t make a sound. Fortunately, it was slowing down as it approached the traffic lights. I was able to vault onto the bonnet and slide across it on my bum. Landed in the next lane of traffic and managed to keep my balance. Dodged sideways into the gap between two sets of bumpers.

      A surge of adrenaline hit me like a Panic flashback. I clambered onto the back of a vintage estate car. Bounced from the boot onto its roof.

      As the driver yelled at me, I was already leaping onto the roof of a vehicle coming the other way. Whooped and kicked my heels. Then leapt again onto the next roof.

      From there, with a drunkard’s bravado, I swung like a monkey from a parking sign, then swirled in an unsexy pole dance down to the pavement. Accepted a chorus of car horns as applause.

 

[P]

 

The confiscated money was soon replaced and more besides. Backpack brimming with cash, I wended my way back to the hostel, using back alleys and side roads. It was the wrong time of day for school kids to be abroad alone, so I couldn’t strut as boldly as I had in the morning. Though no-one was about, apart from the odd urban jogger.

      The hostel’s doors were unlocked, one askew in its frame, its glass cracked. The reception desk was unstaffed and graffiti had begun to appear on the walls. Gradually, over the weeks, the number of care workers and volunteers had diminished. And now it appeared there was none.

      The door to my room stood ajar. Not a good sign. I couldn’t hear any movement. Nudged it open gently with my toe. Still nothing.

      Warily, I crossed the threshold. The air in the room was hazy and had an odd smoky smell. I thought it was one of his cigars, but he didn’t have one lit.

      He was sitting at my little bistro table; body hunched forwards, head resting on his arms, as if he were sleeping. I called his name and touched his shoulder. No response.

      His gun also lay on the table, near his open hand. I could feel heat emanating from its barrel.

      Though it had obviously been fired in the last few minutes, there were no spent bullet cases in the room. No bullet holes. No blood.

      More tellingly, none of the other residents had come to investigate the noise of gun shots.

      I squeezed past his body to open the window and let the fug out, but couldn’t shift it. Painted shut. My forehead struck the pane and attempted to soothe itself against the cool glass.

      The sky was as empty of clouds as my head was of thoughts. No aeroplanes. A solitary white contrail disintegrating against the blue.

 

[P]

 

It didn’t take long to check the room. Nothing was missing. His own wad of cash and drugs seemed intact and untouched. I merged it with mine and distributed it equally between my backpack and the two Tesco bags, discarding the mouldy groceries.

      I had so few personal possessions, I could easily pack them in the remaining space.

      His beret was hanging on a coat hook on the back of the door. For a moment, I considered taking it as a memento. Then I noticed his NPG badge was no longer pinned in place. It seemed a peculiar thing to have taken.

      As I placed the beret back on his head, I caught sight of a scrap of white card partly hidden under his hand. A final note in blotchy blue biro. Even though there wasn’t a pen to be found in the room.

      Four last words, which I took to heart, then shredded.

      I disassembled our mobile phones and removed their batteries. Snapped the chip from mine in half. Kept the chip from his and tucked it in my sock. Might have some useful contacts. Smashed both phones beneath my heel into as many small fragments as possible.

      When I left, I would distribute the pieces in random bins in other neighbourhoods. If I got that far.

      With a Panic melting on my tongue, I stepped out into the corridor.

 

[P]