Lee Weeks - Kiss and Die

‘I won’t lie, Nina. He’s not doing too well. He has a broken arm. He said he can’t write to you, he’s sorry. He will phone when they let him.’

Nina’s eyes fixed in a panic onto Shrimp’s.

‘He is still not telling us what happened. He will be put on trial and convicted if he doesn’t tell us soon. All the evidence points to him. I’m sorry, Nina. I will keep trying to help him but he’s not helping himself.’

Nina bowed her head and started to cry. She buried her face in her hands and turned away from Shrimp so that he wouldn’t see. He couldn’t help reaching out for her. He put his arm around her shoulder and she shifted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt the soft fabric of her sari fold in his hands. He felt the nearness of her body beneath. He kissed her forehead. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t even known he was going to do it. He drew back instantly.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.’

‘Don’t be sorry, Shrimp. I have felt it since the first time I saw you. You and I have met before in some other life. We are soul mates. We are meant to be together.’

Shrimp was startled for a moment and then he looked into her eyes, still wet from tears, and saw that she was right. In some wonderful weird way she was right. He kissed her softly on the lips for so long that he lost track of time. By the time he left her he knew he couldn’t live without her.

David called a meeting with the other Africans. More than thirty of them crowded into the bar next to his shop. The place was in sombre mood. David sat at the back of the room and addressed the men.

‘We have to act for ourselves. The Mansions has its own rules, its own government. Each race has its own country in here. Africa is a big country. We should have a say in here. We should have respect. We are allowing these stairwells to run with African blood. We are allowing a bunch of kids to hunt us down. We can’t allow it any more. We know who some of them are in here. We take out a few of the ringleaders and the rest will back off.’

‘What if they don’t?’

‘We have nothing to lose. They will pick us off one by one.’

David stood. ‘I know where to start.’

Three of the men followed him down to wait at the ground-floor entrance. They sat on the steps as they always did, but not just to pass the time, they were looking for one boy, Hafiz.

Hafiz looked across at David as he passed them and moved through the ground-floor money changers and guesthouse touts. He had a smile on his face and a swagger in his walk. He had money in his pocket, a gold necklace and an expensive watch. Since Victoria Chan had befriended him he earned more money from servicing the needs of her wealthy friends than he ever did with Michelle. He looked disdainfully at the Africans. He would have liked to have bent over for David. He wouldn’t charge. But he knew that it wasn’t allowed. The Africans were out of bounds. Hafiz had a new respect amongst the Outcasts. He had stamped on the African’s head. He had shown that even though he might be gay he could be as nasty as the rest of them, nastier even. Hafiz only had to whistle and the whole of the Mansions came alive. He was someone now, in his own right. He didn’t need to work in the restaurant if he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t need to go to school. He had all he needed. Rich men showered him with gifts; he was going to be somebody.

He stood for a second and stared back at David. Hafiz felt triumphant. David could look all he wanted. Hafiz just had to get his whistle out and that would be another African dead down the maintenance shaft. But today was different. Today David stared back at Hafiz with a look that frightened Hafiz. It seemed to look right inside him. It seemed to know all his secrets. Had David seen Hafiz stamp on the African’s head when he was lying on the ground? Had the African lived long enough to tell him? Hafiz doubted it, anyway what did he care? He was the prince of the Mansions.

Hafiz walked on and glanced back over his shoulder. David had stood and was walking his way. He walked quickly through the crammed corridor, on his way to the stairs. He turned to see not only David but three others following. Hafiz broke into a fast walk and then a run. He had a choice now, as the Mansions thinned out he could run to the back, along the back wall and try and escape that way, but there were fewer stalls that way and more Africans. Instead he chose the stairs and took them two at a time. His hand was shaking as he tried to squeeze it into his jeans pocket and bring out the whistle. There wasn’t time to stop; he could hear them coming. Their deep voices boomed up the stairwell. Hafiz was making small whimpering noises, talking to himself, trying to reassure himself. He was running scared. He dodged along and onto the inside landing of the seventh floor and he ducked down into a doorway and took out his whistle. He was shaking so much, so breathless he fumbled, got it to his mouth, tried to blow and screamed as David’s big foot stamped on his chest, trapping his arm where it was. David took the whistle from him and threw it over the balcony. He dragged Hafiz up by his arm.

‘Please…’ Hafiz was crying like a baby. ‘I’ll do anything. Don’t hurt me please.’

‘I know you’ll do anything. You killed a decent man. My brothers here are going to teach you a lesson. You like cock, Hafiz? You like black cock? You like expensive things, watches, jewellery? We have a necklace that will fit you.’ David grinned at him as he threw him towards the others. ‘This is your lucky day.’

Peter Thorne had had enough of the cocktail bar in Vacation Villas. He was in the Western instead. He had had a long day. The jet lag was getting to him, it was early evening. He was sat at one of the tables for two on the lower level of the bar, which was long and straight and had more than its share of dead animals and antique spurs on the wall. It was a sawdust and spit sort of place that played country music with a touch of hard rock.

He closed his phone and left it by the beer mat. His wife had hung up on him. He had been curt, cruel maybe and he hadn’t said the words he should have. He hadn’t said he loved her, he missed her. Instead he had berated her about the fact he was working and she was at home. Her life went on as always: the kids got taken to karate, to ballet, she went to the gym, and she met her friends for lunch. Her life was encapsulated into a tiny box world whilst he was working on the other side of the world. Tonight she had tried to talk to him about money. They needed this, that, the other. She saw him as a cash cow. She saw him as someone who was happy to be on his own for six months of the year. It was true, he had been once. He had thought he was someone then. He had been the bright boy in the company. He had been promoted over those who had served many more years than him but it had meant more travelling. Now, seven years later. His family enjoyed the house with the pool. His kids went to private school. His wife didn’t need to work. But he had lost himself. His pleasures came down to anything money could buy.

He had started having the affairs to bring back some excitement into his life. Buying a woman for the night was like buying dinner. In the beginning he thought it enriched his marriage. He went home feeling like it wasn’t all work, work, work. He could have a few secrets; a life of his own. He could hang on to the single status whilst still enjoying the married one. He thought his wife would never find out. Why should she? He was on the other side of the world paying for sex with a stranger in a hotel room. But now, he looked into his wife’s eyes and he recognized that he had ruined something precious. He realized that they were slipping irrevocably apart.