The phone ringing.
Daisy picked it up: ‘Hello?… Oh, Mr Malik…’ She looked at Jazir, who was praying on his hands and knees. ‘It’s very late… No, that’s OK. I was working… What? Jazir…No, not here… I am certain. Has he gone missing?… Yes, maybe a nightclub… Yes, much too young… Yes, he is in trouble. Let you know… Yes… No trouble… Good night.’ Phone down. ‘You can get up now…’
Jazir doesn’t get up.
‘Jaz. You’re safe. Stop messing about.’
‘Daisy…’ Jazir rolled onto the floor, covering his head with his hands.
‘Jaz! What’s wrong? What’s happening?’
‘Something… something… Whalley Range…’
‘Dopejack’s house?’
‘Yes… Dopejack… and… something… someone… little blurbfly flying, flying, flying… window… can’t get…can’t get focused… Arhhhhh!’
Jazir shot up to a sitting position, his face creased with fear.
‘Jaz!’ Daisy knelt down to comfort him, as best…’What’s wrong?’
‘They got him.’
‘Who? Dopejack? Who’s got Dopejack?’
‘Don’t know. His house… pain… blood… biting…’
‘How do you know?’
‘Blurbfly. Street. Watching. Attacked. Another blurb, attacking mine… killing mine… evil fly… must…do…’
‘I don’t like it, Jaz. Stop it…’
‘Must do… something… Not know. Not know…’
Rocking him, rocking him slowly, back down to now, back down to earth, to bed, to kisses, to bed, to sleep… anything…
Jazir’s naked body so wet, like sweat, more like rain, drops of rain.
Play to lose
Benny. Sweet Benny Fenton, driving back towards the Hackle household. Feeling good, no guilt, no pain, just the desire to get the job done. Must do it better than Dopejack. No mess, that was the key, no blood, no tears. Keep it clean.
Idly tapping at the puncture on his neck, it had gone quite well, he thought. Always room for improvement, of course, but he hadn’t panicked, not gone mad, not like Dopejack. The actual act had taken place under his own control, brisk and without excess wastage. Then he had cleaned up as best he could. Mustn’t get bestial, that was the key. Control was the essence, treat it as an experiment in genetic mutation. He had the equations inside him now, how could he fail…
With his whole body steeped in new knowledge. Everything the Joker knew, everything the Zuze knew, everything the Dopejack knew, everything Benny knew: inside him now, growing, breeding, reproducing, making babies. Baby data! Sweetjokerzuzedope, his new name. The roads of Manchester were a maze to be driven through, towards the centre, where the treasure is. The centre was the House of Chances. That’s where his mother and father lay waiting, alongside Mister Million. Waiting to welcome him home. But first, the simple job of dealing bad hands to the Dark Fractals.
The world will succumb, finally.
Into numbers. One down, two down…
Who’s next?
Play to win
All of England was watching. The Saturday papers, landing on a nation’s drenched early morning doorsteps, delivered by the Whoomphy boys. Glorious headlines, free with every burger, singing the praises of the Joker Bone. How that double- blanker was such a useful member of society. A humorous escape valve. The winner had even volunteered to have his photograph printed on every front page. Full publicity value, nothing to be ashamed of. His name was Desmond Targett, and there he grinned over Jazir and Daisy’s breakfast, holding proudly aloft a golden loo-brush for being ‘such a sporting loser’! The prize in question? The dreaded fear-inducing mysterious wouldn’t- wish-it-on-my-worst-enemy prize for winning the nasty double-zero? To spend a week cleaning out every public convenience in Manchester!
No mention of any murders from the night before, Jazir checked to the last page, bottom column. With a slew of editorials saying that the jealousy killings were maybe on the way out, ‘unfashionable’ was the word on the street. With ADTV praising the bone, every hour on the hour and good old Frank Scenario rush-releasing a new single in celebration…
Cream my numbers, cream my genes,
Eat my chances the double-zero.
Bone me, enthrone me, spin the memes,
Embrace the Joker, play the hero!
A massive fluttering of blurbflies, buzzing out the new message. Losing is good for the soul! Make a wish on the future! Questions would be asked, first government session, Monday morning (because surely they were expecting a more discouraging booby prize?) Until then… Play to joke! Joke to play!