Nymphomation(78)

Play to win


A midnight fugue. The Dark Fractals, in their various beds. Joe Crocus alone, for instance. He had got back to the room. His keys gone from the desk and, looking out of the window, his car gone with them. Now, in bed alone, thinking of where Benny was, and what was troubling him. Maybe he knew about Hackle. Joe could explain, he could use his charm, if he wanted to. Did he want to? This thing with Hackle, where had it come from? The whole house had turned sexy, vicious even since they’d started on this AnnoDomino assignment. Joe was losing his famed control over the disciples. First Dopejack running off, now Benny. Was it worth it, the struggle? With the genetic calculus inside his body running down towards infinity, what was he struggling for? What could he possibly win? He would need to talk to Hackle. Was this the right time to visit his bed, with Benny away? No.

In their separate beds, elsewhere in the house: Max Hackle, Jimmy Love, Little Celia. Only Little Celia fast asleep at this point, dreaming of Eddie and her winning the ultimate prize. Hackle, unable to rest so easy, knowing the Joker Bone was out there somewhere, searching the city for its victim. Was it all his fault? And what could he do about it? And knowing that he had lied to Daisy. Sure, mostly the truth about that day, but one particular fact that could not be mentioned. Not yet. It wasn’t his job, was it? Not his job. Jimmy’s job. This Jimmy Love that was lying awake in the next bedroom, wondering just how much Hackle had told his daughter. Imagining how she must be feeling now, knowing her father had been involved in a murder. Hating him, no doubt. Which would be nothing, that hate, when he told her the real truth. It was his job, wasn’t it? His fault…

Another house, another bed, DJ Dopejack. Drifting into and out of sleep, excited by his findings about the dominoes, laughing at Hackle’s imagined reaction upon reading his message. So close now, he was sure of it. Tomorrow, more work, unravel the connections…

Above a restaurant in Rusholme Village, Daisy Love in her bed. How could she sleep? So much to think about. Well, she would wait until Jazir knocked gently on her door at half-past. She would tell him everything. Jazir would know what to do. Jazir down below, working quickly to tidy up, to get upstairs to Daisy, no idea what was happening.

Not in his bed, Sweet Benny Fenton was still driving around Manchester in Joe’s car. Where had he been? He couldn’t remember. Around in circles, wondering whether he should go back home. But what for? With Joe and Hackle… Christ! Working on his rage. Maybe it was a time to jump ship. Become single again, live a little. Yeah, Joe could go fuck himself! When he’d finished fucking Hackle, that is. Forget about them…

Another car, heading back into Manchester. This one driven by the winner of the baddest prize. We still don’t know his name, not yet. Yeah, he’d stopped to pick up that hitch-hiker, out there on the moors. He’d expected pain, and there was, but only a tiny amount, a mere biteful. Then it was his turn. He never expected the prize, no matter how bad, would involve him dispensing the pain. But now he felt good, the winner. Fucking good! Suffused with knowledge. Before, he would have classed himself an expert only on rugby tactics and medical procedures, with maybe a touch of advanced beer and curry consumption thrown in.

But now, he was full of a new knowledge. All the inner workings of the game, for instance, were his to peruse. He even knew who Mister Million really was, and wasn’t that a surprise? He never would have guessed. Winning the double-blank wasn’t losing, winning was winning. The best prize of all. And he was hungry, so much to do, so much he didn’t yet know. So much knowledge out there in the maze of Manchester, just waiting for his gift. With a new blurbfly all his own, named Horny George, to give directions.

So many he could chose from; all the losers of the city. Watch them. Watch them sleeping, or dancing still and celebrating at having lost the Joker Bone. And all those people holding half-blank bones, so scared of dreaming that night, having heard so many rumours of skeletal nightmares? Rest easy, innocents; the prize is claimed. The bone is travelling in another man’s body, in a stolen car, with a nasty, horny blurb, on the rain-washed streets, in the gambling capital of England, the UK, Planet Earth.

As Jazir came to Daisy’s bed. ‘Make love to me,’ she said.

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ he answered.

‘Make love to me. Proper.’

‘Proper? This is proper, isn’t it?’

‘Properly. All night long.’

‘All night? What about my…’

‘Forget your father. Stay with me.’

To which urgent instructions he tried his best shot, with the liberal application of trusty Vaz! And afterwards they talked of maybe running away together. ‘You want out?’ asked Jazir, exhausted.