Christmas in Howard's hometown of Exfield was
a time of drunkenness and logistical difficulties
involving relatives. Granny Grail invited herself
around for Christmas Day. By an uncanny coincidence,
Howard's father's fishing trip in Scotland was
unexpectedly extended over the whole of Christmas.
His father explained that his unfortunate absence
was unavoidable: his Allegro had broken down
and it wasn't easy to find a mechanic in the
Scottish Highlands, especially at that time
of the year. Howard managed to secure the hospitality
of a friend and took refuge there until Granny
Grail was safely departed. His mother's anger
was reassuringly safe compared to a single day
at the mercy of his sinister grandparent.
The New Year arrived in boozy style and the
eighties drew closer to extinction. As the fresh
calendar year dawned Howard lamented how time
was blazing and had
still failed to get
a single girl into bed. This situation has not
changed a fortnight later when, back in Redater,
the new University term was underway. The January
morning of the first day of lectures was icy
even for that desolate month. Wisps of snow
gave visual form to foul tempered wind. Howard
clenched his eyes against the bitter weather
and, along with a flood of similarly red-faced
students, headed for the University. Once safely
inside the sanctuary of the physics building
he noticed a busy crowd huddled around the main
notice board. Upon inspection it held the results
of the mock exams. Prominent amongst the throng
was Steve identified from the rear by his baseball
cap. When he turned and saw Howard he started.
A look bleaker than the January climate savaged
his face. His lips curled, baring his jagged
teeth. Then he held his head high and stormed
into the lecture theatre.
The print out of the exam results went far in
explaining the disgust marked in Steve's countenance.
The minimum pass was forty percent. Firstly
Howard searched for Steve's name on the printout.
Steve had a poor mark: thirty-one percent. Howard
found his own name just above Steve's. He had
scored thirty-three percent. He had hoped for
better. He had failed the mock exams. But he
had beaten Steve. He performed a little dance.
He had
won!
Towards the top of the list Jacintha's name
jumped out at him. She had the fifth highest
score with seventy-two percent. Howard suspected
that she would be a shade disappointed not to
have scored even higher.
The students streamed into the lecture theatre.
Within he saw Jacintha looking forlorn in the
front row. He walked past her but she did not
acknowledge him. She glanced downwards at the
meticulous notes in front of her. Disappointed
and angry that she had shirked him once again
he reacted by staring mockingly at Steve. Steve
reddened like a violated octopus, rose from
his seat and marched from the room. Feeling
tense, Howard found a space in the back row
and sketched devils and satyrs.
***
*****
***
The pubs had expelled their staggering patrons
onto drizzled pavements to the echo of "
Time
Gentlemen Please!" Howard, Greg, Gallie
and Karen joined an impatient queue down the
side of a dark city street. Ahead of then shone
a hefty column of Egyptian-style neon letters
that spelled
CLEOPATRA'S. The 'c' looked
newer and brighter than it's lower siblings.
Biting the apex of the character was the motif
of an asp whose coils wrapped the lower curve.
The sign resembled a stream of blood in the
black puddles. Ahead of them Howard was aghast
to see Drijk enter the nightclub. Drijk had
an expensive and exclusive-looking blonde bombshell
latched to his side like a catwalk barnacle.
The mere sight of Drijk made Howard panic. He
told his housemates he was leaving. Gallie agreed
he was wise to do so. But Greg wouldn't hear
of it.
'Bleeding Hell Howard! With a chick like that
in tow, he won't give a flying rat's shit about
a punk like you! What are ya? Man or mouse?'
'But Greg, you told me yourself the man's insane,
a psycho! That was
before he nearly fucking
killed me!'
'Ah, you pussy! You want to pull the chicks?
Then pull yourself together man, for
Beelzebub's
frigging sake!'
The weighty mix of intoxication, Greg's derisive
persuasion and his will to appear recklessly
courageous in front of Gallie convinced Howard
to brave Cleopatra's. He felt his heart pound.
He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings,
of the cold and of the musical, babbling sound
of Karen's gossip.
Finally the housemates were ushered into the
nightclub by the reluctant wave of a bored bouncer.
They shuffled into the lobby to queue for tickets.
Howard froze. Drijk and his gorgeous female
companion were handing in their coats. Drijk
looked formidable with his ice-white hair cruelly
swept back. His bearing seemed foreboding as
if he were permanently poised to hunt. Both
he and his girl were clad in black; his only
concession to colour was a blood-red, whip-thin
tie. She wore her makeup heavily, with more
than a hint of punkette fashion. Her black
dress matched her stilettos, leggings, handbag,
nail varnish and lipstick. The stones of her
lavishly trashy jewellery were jet. Her mascara
was menacing yet sexy. Her rebellious fashion
did not dissent to the point that her natural
beauty was blacked out. The fearsome couple
slowly walked through a black corridor encrusted
with red, flashing LED's and out of sight.
'Ha! I saw you ogling Drijk's girlfriend!' teased
Gallie nervously.
'Not really. When once is faced with a vengeful
fucking predator, even gorgeous babes don't
matter much,' sighed Howard.
'That bloke might be a nutta,' chimed in Greg,
'but I'll give him his dues, that girl just
demands undivided attention. He's holding the
numbers of some supernatural chicks. I'd sell
my granny to the Ripper to get my mitts on his
bit on the side.'
'Me too,' said Howard. 'But you should meet
my granny. She's pure evil. It would be the
Ripper who would be in trouble.'
Gallie placed a Howard's collar. Her brow furrowed
with concern.
'Ahhhh. Howie, Drijk will want his revenge,
I think you should not go in here. If you want
to go home, I'll come with you.'
'Don't worry about me, I can handle this Drijk,'
said Howard. He felt ennobled by his resort
to false valour.
'Well, Howie, please don't go and get fighting
him again. You were lucky last time,' said Gallie
with a deep sigh.
'Frankly, Gallie, who like actually
cares
if he gets beaten to a pathetic pulp?' shrugged
Karen. She rolled her eyes and placed her hands
on her hips.
'Hey, Howie,' taunted Greg, 'if Drijk slays
you in cold blood, can I have your mug with
the topless chick on it?'
Their coats having been entrusted to the cloakroom
attendants at cost, the housemates passed through
the corridor of red lights into the heaving
nucleus of Cleopatra's nightclub.
'
I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky!'
belted Kylie Minogue. The crowd bounced up and
down like puppets strung to a shuddering hand.
Howard's eyes scanned for Drijk in the huge,
bustling den of crowded noise, whizzing disco
lights and occasional ultraviolet strobes.
Greg didn't return with the drinks he set out
for. Howard eventually tracked him down to find
him chatting away to a redhead. He returned
to Gallie and Karen only to find that they were
dancing. Ever vigilant for Drijk, he invested
the next ten minutes stressfully waiting in
wide and deep queues to get served at a chrome-pumped
black-plastic bar. Then he sat on a barstool,
leaned on a sill overlooking the dance floor
and stared into the middle distance, swigging
his two pints of nightclub-issue watered down
lager and a vodka chaser.
'Rick Astley there, check it out! Wicked! You're
way cool tonight, just tooooo sexy!!! Yeah!
Check this: Cleo's is THE place to be right
now, and now lets get down to the beat, here
comes Alexander O'Neil! We're raising the temperature
a notch or two in here right now. Check it out!
Brilliant! Feel the HEAT! Get down to the beat!'
evangelised the DJ with cheery insanity.
After a quick second visit to the bar, Howard
chucked down his chaser and circled the dance
floor, surveying the talent and assessing it
on a drunken scale of intimidating to probably
unthreatening. Having scoured the landscape
he bought a beer with a double chaser.
'Check it out! Sorted! Cool! And now check out
the wickedest ever Jive Bunny remix!' bawled
the DJ.
Howard's oblivion didn't quite overcome his
revulsion of Jive Bunny tracks, but it came
close to being that absolute.
An hour later he felt that it was time to make
his move. He identified a target. And so, which
a pause for the endeavour of courage plucking,
he sauntered over to a girl he thought a suitable
target. She was sitting on a barstool near a
darkened wall. He sat next to her.
'I love you darlin'!' she blurted out.
Howard was taken aback by this revelation. He
took a greedy gulp of beer as if to quench the
shock.
'Women usually do,' he said, smiling clumsily.
'What a thing to say!' said the girl. She seemed
to be half laughing, half outraged. 'Does it
not occur to you that you might just appear,
um, conceited?'
Howard felt invincible. Now his eyes had adjusted
to the murky light he realised his quarry was
not unattractive, at least through the booze-addled
mist that shrouded his eyes. He could vaguely
make out the blonde hair and the generous embonpoint
wrapped in a black dress but little more.
'Look,' he retorted, 'you are replaceable you
know!' He shot her what he hoped was a casual
and hypnotic gaze.
'OK,' said the girl. 'It's your lucky day. I
go for arrogant fellas. Mine's a
Psychotic
Bloodbath.'
'A
Psychotic Bloodbath?'
'Yeah, you know, the cocktail.'
'Oh, OK,' said Howard, his hands surreptitiously
rummaging his pockets for residue cash. He was
down to his last twenty. Christ, was that all?
He had already blown thirty! But with a girl
like this on his hands, his overdraft became
a problem that freefell down his list of priorities.
His eyes focussed more steadily upon the blonde.
He swayed uneasily on his feet.
'Have I seen you somewhere before,' he asked
staring at the black-stoned rings that crusted
her fingers.
The blonde smiled, softening the oppressive
tone of her makeup. She didn't reply.
'I'll get your drink. Don't go away!'
Howard manoeuvred hastily to the nearest bar.
The queues had died down over the course of
the evening and he was able to get served at
once.
'Pint of lager and a
Bloodbath please.'
'A
Bloodbath, Mate?'
'Yes, a
Psychotic Bloodbath.'
'Yes I know what a
Bloodbath is. Are
you sure you want one.'
'Yes,
of course I'm sure,' said Howie
in impatient tones of slurred insistence.
Raising an eyebrow the barman poured the lager
and then spent a few minutes mucking about with
various bottles and fiddly paraphernalia. Howard
looked around him. He couldn't see his housemates
anywhere. The barman waggled a small metallic
shaker. Howard smiled to himself. He couldn't
wait to tell them about this classy blonde he
was pulling.
The barman placed a pint of beer and a triangular
glass of crimson hued liquid on the bar top.
The drink seethed and fumed under its cascade
of umbrellas and pieces of fruit impaled on
cocktail sticks.
'That'll be Twenty-seven pounds, fifty, mate.'
'
What?'
'Twenty-five pounds eighty pence, two-fifty
for the lager and twenty-five for the
Bloodbath.
Twenty-seven pounds, fifty, mate.'
Howard emptied his pockets and counted twenty-two
pounds thirty-nine. He stared blankly at the
scrunched up five pound notes and random coins
in his palm. The barman urged him for payment.
Howard protested but to no avail. Finally, in
frustration, he slapped his inadequate sum of
cash on the bar top, grabbed the drinks and
hurriedly away through the surging crowds towards
the awaiting blonde.
'You OK?' asked the blonde, whose disinterested
voice contradicted the concern of the message.
Howard shrugged. He felt the dampness under
his arms and hoped his shirt would miraculously
seal in any resulting body odour. He sat on
the barstool before her and pressed the damagingly
expensive tipple into her long fingered hand:
an elegant hand adorned with grungy black jewellery
and nail varnish.
'You're the sexiest!' she said, again in an
unassuming tone that ill matched its words.
Howard watched hopefully as she took a cheerless
sip of the bright liquid. Then after a pause
she her blackened lips formed a wicked smile.
That smile was affecting. Howard did not grudge
her the lavish treat she held to her lips. This
girl was the crack cocaine of the female kind.
He could hardly bring himself to imagine foreplay
with this girl, let alone full-blown sex. He
suspected that after-play would entail a feast
with himself comprising the tasty snack. He
pictured her messily chewing through his neck...
'You
sure are sexy.' she said.
'For you I'll give up anything!'
'Even your life?'
She nodded in indication. Howard turned to look.
Out of the crowd and the dry ice smoke appeared
a man in black. Howard started. The man's white
hair was swept back from a forehead misshapen
with wrath. His jaw was set in a position that
hinted very bad things were about to happen.
Through the treacle hindrance of his drunken
state Howard tried to move. A hand latched to
his face. He felt as if a striking asp was stinging
him him.
'Did you buy this?' came a voice that instilled
terror that augmented his existing state of
shock. Through a gap in Drijk's face-hugging
fingers Howard watched in attentive horror as
Drijk, with is spare hand, snatched the Psychotic
Bloodbath from the blonde and thrust it towards
Howard's eyes.
'Hey! Drijk, honey, that's
my drink!'
cried the girl in a now-childlike voice. Her
protestations were unheeded.
'Hmmm. I know
you! This gets better and
better,' said Drijk with increasingly sinister
overtones.
Howard tried to say something very apologetic
but ended up gurgling.
'Shut up!'
The hand tightened on Howard's face. He hastily
indicated acquiescence with what tiny nods he
could manage.
'And now you try it on with my
babe.
I'll make you pray for Satan!'
Howard tried to contain his panic. Drijk's fingers
were like claws. They were sharp. Howard grimaced.
His cries were lost in the music.
'Drijk Honey, must you fight
again!'
said the blonde lustfully.
'Quiet you stupid bitch!' Drijk focussed fully
on his captive again. 'You tried to steal my
tart? That's quite some fancy pop you got her.
A fucking
Bloodbath!
No one gives
my bitch a
Bloodbath!'
In one hand Drijk grasped the cocktail and with
the other he constricted his grip on Howard's
face. Howard felt the vertebrae in his neck
compress. Behind him he heard a deep, authoritative
voice.
'Sir, that drink you are holding has not been
paid for. We must ask you to pay for it.'
Drijk tightened his grip on Howard's face. He
fell to his knees. The pain was excruciating.
'What did you say?' snapped Drijk fractiously.
'Sir, please come with us.'
Just as Howard was starting to pass out his
head was released from Drijk's grip. He fell
backwards into a barstool. Looking up, he saw
two bouncers - steroid-pumped hulks of men -
approach Drijk. Each took one of Drijk's arms.
Drijk's face twisted with fury. With whiplash
velocity he broke loose. Blocking a blow, he
seized one of the bouncer's wrists and twisted
it horribly. Executing a flurry of movements,
like a manic dance, Drijk struck both bouncers
several times about the head and with a side
kick to the chest he sent the first hurtling
through the air. Drijk smiled menacingly and
pummelled the second bouncer to the ground as
more bouncers and a mob of disturbed rugby types
charged him, forming a madly thrashing scrum.
A few feet from where Howard lay on the floor
a body crashed heavily onto a table. He backed
away towards the wall. Another victim plunged
to the ground where he had been. A steady stream
of would-be warriors joined in the upheaval
and fought each other. Others tried to stop
them. Women screamed hysterically. Yet more
drunks marched into the commotion, fists clenched.
Howard looked on in shock as the mass brawl
spread. He couldn't believe he had ignited it.
'
Sodom and Gomorrah!'
Howard looked up to see Greg's grinning face.
A reveller slapping his fist into the palm of
his other hand approached Greg from behind.
Howard wanted to warn Greg, but all he could
do was stare wide-eyed. With speed that belied
his hefty build, Greg ducked and turned in one
movement. His assailant took a swing but his
fist flailed harmlessly over Greg's head. Greg
wagged his finger at his opponent and then with
his other hand he punched him in the belly.
Howard winced. The reveller dropped to the ground,
spewing an arc of fluidic vomit over Howard.
With his sleeve Howard frantically wiped at
the warm mucous-like stomach contents on his
face. The stench was foul. He writhed in sheer
disgust. Greg laughed joyfully at him. Then
his face became sober.
'Listen mate, Drijk will kick his way out of
that bunch of clowns any moment now. If I were
you I'd leg it.'
Greg waded into the affray and began hitting
people. Howard watched in awe. Then, like a
demonic vision, Drijk emerged from the threshing
rabble. His face and hair were smeared in blood.
Howard panicked, limped to a nearby emergency
exit, pushed the bar and crept out into the
city streets. Police sirens and blue flashing
lights were ubiquitous. He put his hand to his
face. He was bleeding. He had no money for a
taxi. The air was icy but he didn't dare risk
returning to Cleopatra's for his coat. And he
was drenched in vomit. As he hobbled as fast
as he could from Cleopatra's and began the interminable
journey back to the house in Napoleon Terrace,
he wondered what heinous crimes he had committed
against Nature, Men, Beasts or Gods to qualify
him for the torment and disaster that encapsulated
his being.
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