Monkey Wrench by Liza Cody Page B

Crystal.
    â€˜Friend of Eva’s,’ Crystal said, before she was asked. She’s clever that way, is Crystal. She’ll
seem
all open and honest but she won’t even tell her own name.
    â€˜Haven’t I seen you round here?’ The Enemy said.
    â€˜Prob’ly.’ Crystal grinned her monkey grin. ‘I’m local.’
    â€˜The market,’ The Enemy said. ‘You’ve got a stall, right?’
    That’s double-dyed polizei, that is. Everything slotted in place.
    â€˜That Queenie don’t look too clever,’ I said, to put her off.
    She sighed. ‘The kid’s none too well either.’ She nudged me aside and said in a whisper, ‘He
says
his name’s Justin Ventura. Yeah, I know. He says he’s from Hampshire. He says he came to London to get a job and stay with friends.’
    â€˜Oh yeah?’
    â€˜Mmm. And he says he’ll be going home when his dog’s better. He only looks about fifteen, but he says he’s eighteen.’
    I said bugger-all to that.
    Of
course
he said he was eighteen.
    Everyone says they’re eighteen. Especially to strangers. I said I was eighteen ever since my thirteenth birthday. I said it so long I couldn’t remember how old I really was. Even now I have trouble remembering my age. You’ve got to be eighteen or you’ll have social workers swarming all over you.
    I looked at so-called Justin Ventura. He was thin and he looked like he didn’t have any blood in his veins. He had fair curly hair, quite long, and a cold sore on his bottom lip. He was pretty.
    The Enemy was probably right – he didn’t look as if he’d shaved more then twice in his life, but it was too dark to see properly.
    Queenie didn’t seem to have the strength to get up and drink, so Justin held the bowl in one hand and helped support her head with the other. She lapped up about half the bowl and then flopped down exhausted. Her tail flapped once against the concrete floor, and she never took her eyes off of Justin’s face.
    â€˜Poor thing,’ Crystal said. She knelt down next to Justin, but he said, ‘Please don’t come too close. I don’t mean to be rude, but she might get upset if she doesn’t know you.’
    Crystal moved away. She doesn’t know sweet FA about dogs.
    Justin said, ‘May I finish her tea? She won’t drink any more now, and I’ll make her some fresh when she’s ready.’
    He couldn’t be all bad, could he? I don’t know many blokes who’d give their dogs first slurp at the tea.
    â€˜Frigging Ada,’ The Enemy said. ‘He’s not going to drink from the same bowl, is he?’
    But he did. He didn’t seem to have a cup for himself.
    Then something happened. Well, no, it didn’t happen. Nothing happens, but everything changes. Suddenly things look long ago and far away. As if you’re stuck to the ceiling like a fly, and you look down on something you saw at the movies ages ago. Does that happen to you? It’s creepy. I hate it.
    Crystal got weepy. That’s what started it. Bloody monkey face. What’s she got to snivel about? So, there was Crystal, and The Enemy, and the kid drinking tea out of Queenie’s bowl, and Queenie panting on the floor, never taking her eyes off of the kid’s face. And they all sort of glided away like Harsh on the escalator, going down. Going down. Until that corner of the Premises was small enough to put on a telly screen, all black and white from the torchlight in the dark.
    And you know the creepiest thing of all? I wasn’t there. I couldn’t see me at all. Me. The biggest, strongest one there. Because I
am
big and strong. I’m so big and strong that when I’m there I’m really there. I
am
.
    But when this creepy thing, which happens but doesn’t happen, happens, I’m not there. Well, I’m there but I’m not there.
    And I fucking loathe it. I