Zodiac's toy by John Jones (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

him to sink to the side on the couch where consciousness faded away into sleep. However, just before he closed his eyes, he could hear the sound of hooves walking on the floor, and dripping water.

 

Nine hours later he emerged from sleep, still slightly aching, sober, with memories of everything. Lee bursting through the door and beating him up. Gary threatening him. The goat on the television.

...and the man who looked like him.

Obviously there had been some misunderstanding, because the other man must have done something to cause Lee and Gary to react that way.

What did he do though? If he lives in this high-rise, then maybe it wouldn't be too difficult to find him and explain the situation, but Gary had locked him in, so he must have done something serious.

Shane would vouch for me, he thought, but Lee was enraged, and Gary threatened me with torture.

What the fuck did that man do?

Apprehension and fear surged through him. Not so much of Lee, but Gary and his network of psychopaths who he can call on to do his dirty work.

He noticed that throughout the flat there was drops of water, and some in the shape of what looked like hoof prints. There was more water on the floor around the television. He didn't know what to think, but told himself there was always a rational explanation.

He tried to open the flat door, but it was jammed tight. He sighed and went to make a cup of tea, noticing the pile of face-down cards on the counter. Who put them there? he thought, staring at them for a few seconds. He spread them out, looking at all the zodiac symbols with trepidation. No, he thought. No..! picking them up and taking them into the living room and opening the window.

He threw them out and they fluttered down into the car-park where there was another man standing looking at him.

It wasn't his doppelganger, but looked like a normal working man on his way to the office. Long raincoat and plastic-bag with some shopping. He dropped the bag and spread his arms out, palms up. His right arm went down, his left up. Left arm down, right up, as though he was showing some unimpressed children an aeroplane. He balanced straight, then said loudly:

"The scales of justice are not balanced in your favour". He then picked up his bag, and Ray could see even from this distance he looked confused, then carried on walking.

He stood at the window for a while, as there wasn't much else to do when trapped.

There's always a rational explanation, he reminded himself, because astrology wasn't real. He told himself this over and over again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 33

 

Fuck this, Shane thought as he staggered his way back from the pub towards the high-rise. He was intoxicated, and had had enough.

Perhaps it was because of Ray locked in his flat. Lee had told him he wasn't to speak to anyone so don't even try and talk to him through the door. The day went on as normal, but Gary was apprehensive when loan customers came around in-case Ray banged on the door shouting for help. He thought if that should happen he would tell the customer he would deal with it. He's always locking himself in. I've had to rescue him countless times, always losing his keys, don't worry about it he'll be fine...

Or worst-case-scenario: If you tell anyone I'll have you and your family shot.

However, there was silence from Ray's flat.

The weapons-dealer had good business as well, enough to put beside the safe because that was full of notes.

Poor Ray, he thought, looking up at the windows, and seeing only darkness. What had he done to piss Gary off? Gary was not the sort of person you crossed. Not that I would cross anyone, he thought. I wouldn't cross my own father, and he was a fuckwit.

So he had spent most of the day on a kind of pub crawl, meeting his other regular friends until they all went their separate ways and he decided not to get a drink from the off-licence on the way back, but get a portion of chips which he ate half of, dumping the packet in somebody's front garden.

With heavy feet, he staggered up the stairs, fumbled with his keys and fell into his flat. He slapped on the hall light and went into the living room and slapped on that light as well, tripping and staggering over some of the guns.

"What the fuck!" said Nugget, "Don't kick the guns".

"Nugget. What you doin' here?"

"I'm sleeping here what the fuck does it look like?" He lay on the couch in a sleeping bag. Strange how alcohol can lower inhibitions and make people speak their true feelings. Shane said:

"Can't you go? Can't you just take your guns and go? This is my flat. I never asked you to move in. You and Gary can just leave," he gave a little kick to a knife. Nugget got up quickly. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a vest.

"Don't kick the fuckin.!" he shoved Shane who fell against the wall. Shane then stood on some of the knives purposefully.

"Fuckin' get off them!" Nugget shouted, shoving him away harder, and Shane saw red and lashed out, punching Nugget above an ear.

Nugget saw red also, and they grappled like schoolboys in a play-ground. Flailing punches, head-locks, kicks, shoving, falling around the room slamming into walls. Crashing down, getting to their feet.

"...kin' bastard.!"

"Get out my flat..!"

"...just get out..take...weapons..!". A punch to Shane's face caused him to crash near the shotguns, and Nugget grabbed his throat and picked up a nearby knife and pressed it against his left temple.

"If I wanna stay here, I'll stay here. Just let me go about my business selling the weapons. Stay out of my way. I'll stay out of yours. Got it?" Shane tried to nod.

"Now fuck off and don't wake me again," he stood up and sat on the sofa, keeping hold of the knife and waited for Shane to meekly make his way to the bedroom, turning off the lights.

 

He woke early, and as he usually did of a morning, reach for a bottle of whisky and have one sip as a little pick-me-up, and remembered he had to tread on eggshells around Nugget. Maybe, he wondered, he would just go out all day and spend time in the pubs again.

Nugget was fast asleep, snoring. Even if one of the grenades exploded it would perhaps not wake him, and Shane stood there for a few moments, and braved picking up a Smith and Wesson .40 handgun and pointed it at his head.

So tempting, he thought. Pull the trigger. One dead Nugget.

Or grab one of the knives and slit his throat. At least then he would know he was dying.

He carefully placed the gun back and went to make breakfast. He heard somebody outside knocking on Lee's door, then voices, then a banging on his door.

Shane answered and found it to be Gary and Blotto.

"Come here a minute I need to tell you something. Go and get Nugget. He told me he had moved in".

After a few minutes, they were stood in the living room in Lee's flat, looking at Gary expectantly.

"I won't fuck about. I'll say it straight. I've made a decision on Ray. I can't trust him not to call the police and grass us all up. So I want him shot. Blotto, or you Nugget, do the honours. Blotto you can dump the body like last time, alright?" Gary’s underdog nodded, then him and Gary walked back out into the corridor.

Nugget laughed at Shane, then walked back out.

Lee just shrugged, but didn't look happy.

"Got to be done Shane. He threatened to bring the police here for Gary and Nugget, and it could have meant me going back to jail as well, so he brought it on himself”. Lee walked into the kitchen, leaving Shane to stand there, his emotions welling up, but not enough to bring forth into the open.

He slowly made his way outside and saw Blotto scrolling through his phone outside Ray's flat.

"Can I see him one more time?" he asked, but Blotto just shook his head and went back to the phone.

Walking back inside his own place he found Nugget standing looking at the weapons.

"Think I'll ask to do it," he said, "What gun d'you think I should use to blow your mates head off?"

"Fuck off!" Shane spat.

"Don't tell me to fuck off. What gun do you think I should use? Maybe a shotgun. That'll do the business". Shane walked into the kitchen and stood leaning against the counter, breathing heavily. Nugget came up behind him.

"I asked you a question, and you just walk away, and you tell me to fuck off, cheeky cunt".

Shane turned and walked back out. Nugget followed and laughed.

"Your poor mate’s gonna get blown away, oh well". Shane just went to the window and looked out. Nugget came behind him.

"Fuck off," Shane said, and walked back into the kitchen. Nugget followed.

"Tell me to fuck off one more time and your head will be getting blown off as well. And if I ask you a question next time, don't fucking ignore me okay? I will gladly. Gladly! put a bullet in your mates head," he then walked out, and Shane sat at the kitchen table.

 

The atmosphere in the flat was thick. He stayed there a while, flicking through an old community free magazine that had never been thrown out, barely concentrating on any of it. Nugget came back in at one point to make himself breakfast but completely ignored Shane.

When he had left, Shane made himself some toasted potato cakes, but could barely stomach them.

Fuck it, he thought. This was one of those points in life where you had two options. Either of them meant the rest of your life was totally different.

Do you chat the girl up at the bar? End up married with children living in another country.

Or not chat her up, and she leaves the bar and you never see her again sending your life along another path.

Shane's brain was demanding alcohol. Demanding whisky, but as he had been telling himself for years, I'll give up soon, I'll give up soon. He overrode the desire for drink, telling himself he would go cold-turkey. That he's had his last drink. Time to shape up and ship out.

Perhaps Nugget and Gary did him a favour. Perhaps Lee had as well. It seemed he had new friends now, and didn't associate as much with me and Ray anymore, he thought.

He came to the conclusion. He didn't care about Lee.

So much so, he scrabbled together a piece of paper and a pen and began writing a note.

A customer knocked, and soon he was hearing voices in the living room.

"...got bad grades. My tutor did it on purpose, so I just need something to end his career..."

"...yes...take your pick..maybe a dagger as well..."

 

Half an hour later, Shane was stood in the hallway ready to go out, bag and coat, money, keys. He had deliberately switched his phone off and left it in the kitchen drawer.

He left the flat quietly, and saw the corridor was empty. He wondered if he could risk knocking on Ray's, but saw that Gary's flat door was ajar and could hear talking but not make out what was being said.

If he tried to speak to Ray, Blotto would probably come out and stop him.

That would be no way to say farewell, so he slipped the note beneath the door, and left the building.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 34

 

Ray was dozing in the foetus position on the sofa. Unkempt, unshaven. A man who seemed intoxicated, even though he was sober.

Throughout the previous day whenever he had been stood at the window, other people had looked up at him and had straightened out