The Rampage
Maybe it’s the sudden bright light or the loud guitar solo that did it, either way Berry’s awake now on the deck where he blacked out.
There’s a jab between his temples, as if someone just stabbed him through the brain with a sharp stick.
‘Ah, fuckinhell man.’
The North Sea is now a stage, cooking under bright electric lobster lights, heavy metal music blaring out from the ship’s PA system.
Her engines die and Kirrin stops cutting her way through the waves, she rocks from side to side in a heavy swell.
Berry pushes himself to his feet.
Wipes his mouth.
‘Water.’
The North Sea is rocking now, no longer asleep. The wind scuffs over the deck.
He grips the rail, heads alongside the bridge and takes the steps down and enters the trawler’s living quarters.
A thin wood panelled corridor.
The smell of fish is intense, an almost physical force.
‘Mingin!’
A nose, throat and mouth doctor would take an hour to scrape him clean. He puts his nose into the crux of his arm and pushes a door. Bile is rising, stopping for a temporary rest somewhere halfway up the tube.
He pushes open a door.
First time lucky.
There’s a toilet. Suprisingly clean, Talbot runs a tight ship.
Blurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
‘Man, oh . . .’
Blurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-rurr-rurrr!
And again.
Blurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Once more.
‘Fuckin,’ he heaves. ‘Hell, man.’
Brief respite.
Another wave comes.
Blurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr burrr b’buh huh.
‘Fuck . .’ he breathes. ‘ . . me.’
Grrrr-aaaagh.
He yacks into the toilet, dragging up only bile.
Tears in his eyes.
He rests his soaked forehead against the cold bowl.
The ship rocks, out of time, to shit Euro-heavy metal.
‘Same fuckin solo!’
He keeps his head against the pissed on porcelain.
‘Fuckin pervert.’
He turns and sits on the floor, looking straight ahead through the open toilet door, hoping somehow his eyes can balance the boat.
‘Water.’
There’s no tap in the toilet.
There’s a closed wooden door with a porthole across the thin wooden corridor.
He steadies himself then rises.
Wiping his lips.
He steps across the corridor and pushes the door, staggering to one side as he goes.
He opens the door, stumbles in with a roll of the boat.
‘Uuuuaaagh! Fuck!’
Something fat and hot peeps its head out from Ted Berry’s anus.
‘Aagh!’
The turtle retreats before birth.
And the guitar solo reverberates on through the boat.
‘Aaaagh! Aaaaagh! Aaaaagh!’
And there it is, the monster that came down from the mountain and ate a baby.
Wade Talbot.
‘Aaaagh! Agh!’
Lying on the bunk.
Naked.
An unsavoury Popeye, tattooed forearms blistered and badly burnt.
But not by the sun.
‘Aaagh!’
Berry can smell the singed hair of his head and moustache, even over the rancid fish.
Two empty bottles of Jamesons whiskey are on the bedside table, a third bottle within easy reach of PIES and MASH – were they not bound together with green washing line.
The hands in turn joined by a line to his feet. His hairy naked arse faces the door, like somebody had positioned him just so for reasons only known to those in the know. There’s a tub of Vaseline on the floor.
‘Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!’
And his nose has been burst.
Kristiaan Style.
‘Fuckinhell!
‘Fuckinhell!
‘Fuckinhell’
Berry turns to the door.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’
He falls backwards into the room, slap bang onto the bones of his arse.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’
He scoots backwards until he hits the hull.
‘FUCK ME!!’
There, on a wooden chair, is the scorched remains of a man. Sitting by the door like a prison guard.
His face has totally gone.
Replaced by soot and bone.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’
The sockets of both eyes are empty and the tendons that once moved his jaw are exposed like blackened straw.
Berry closes his eyes.
‘It’s not real! It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s not real! It’s NOT fuckin real!’
He opens his eyes.
‘Aaaaaaaagh!’
Berry’s guts begin to move.
There’s no time to reach the toilet.
Ruuuuagh!
He dry wretches.
Then has another go.
Uaaagh!
There must have been some puke spare, for special occasions like.
It splashes on the floor.
He turns his head.
Talbot’s awake.
‘Billy?’ he says. ‘What? Billy? I’ll get water, Billy.’
Berry grips his eyes shut and sits on the lids.
‘Not real, not real,’ he mutters like a mantra. ‘It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. Calm down. It’s not real.’
‘Y’alright son? Y’alright?’ Talbot slurs. ‘You’re a good lad Billy, a good lad. I always liked y’Billy Brown. Y’like my own little boy. I never let any other lads near Kathleen, nobody got through me door. You’re a good lad Billy. A good lad. Special. Special. Aye. Special.’
Berry opens his eyes.
Talbot is looking straight at him.
‘Billy?’ Talbot grunts. ‘What? The? Fuck?’
He tries to sit up but falls off the bed and flat onto his busted face, next to the corpse’s melted Converse All Stars.
Talbot lies face down on the floor – his wrists joined to his ankles by the green nylon rope.
‘AAAAGH!’ Berry screams.
Talbot’s nose pumps blood and he spits some from his mouth.
They look at each other, the side of Talbot’s scorched face stuck to the floor, looking up.
He tries to rise.
But crunches hard into the slats.
He tries to pull his fists apart behind his back, just like the Incredible Hulk.
‘Nyeeeeagh!’
At the same time, he tries to straighten his legs so hard his chest raises off the floor in a brand new yoga position.
The plastic rope holds firm and cuts deep, blood trickles down his wrists and ankles.
He breathes heavily.
Sighs.
Relaxes.
Defeated.
He looks up at Berry.
‘Kidda, why y’doin this to me?’
‘Me?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Ber? The? Ted Berry sir.’
‘Sir?’ Talbot spits blood onto the floor. ‘What y’doin on me boat?’
He again tries the Hulk trick on the washing line.
‘Nyeeeagh!’
He ends up in the same yoga pose.
He lies his head back on the floor.
Sighs.
Breathes, heavily.
‘Ted Berry?’
‘I’m Wedge’s mate.’
‘Wedge?’
‘He’s upstairs,’ Berry nods at the roof. ‘Jay. Jason. Jason Wujkowski.’
‘Wujkowski?’
Talbot’s face says he’s searching his mental databank.
‘Trudi’s boy?’
‘Aye. That’s him.’
‘Wedge?’ Talbot smiles, there’s blood on his teeth. ‘Good name. Suits him.’
‘He’s upstairs.’
‘Why did you hit me Ted? What
I ever do to you?’
‘Eh? Why would I hit you?’
‘You tied me up.’
Talbot again strains hard against his chains as if to make the point.
‘Nyeeeeagh!’
‘It must have been Kristiaan.’
He collapses back on the floor.
‘Who?’
‘Kristiaan must have done it, he’s upstairs?’
‘Who’s Kristiaan?’
‘Kristiaan? With two As. Didn’t y’let him borrow y’boat?’
Talbot’s face ignites.
‘Has he got a stupid accent?’
Berry nods.
‘He’s from Holland. A fireman.’
Talbot stares hard at Berry.
‘Stupid hair? Thinks he’s Keith fuckin Richards?’
‘Who?’
‘A rock star.’
‘That’s him!’
Talbot closes his eyes.
‘Jesus fuckin Christ, kidda,’ he opens his eyes. ‘How the fuck did y’end up wi that cunt?’
‘Ehm? He’s a mate? Well?’
He looks out the door.
‘I don’t know!’
‘A fuckin ‘mate’? You off y’fuckin head kidda?’
Talbot rolls onto his side, facing Berry. He sharpens his focus.
Berry tries really hard not to look at his balls and oversized penis, like an old rope with a knot in the end.
‘Man, you are – aren’t ya? Your eyes are all over the fuckin shop.’
Talbot lays his head back on the floor.
‘Jesus fuckin Christ. What’s he done to you kidda?’
The little boy stands stunned.
Then starts to cry, like he’s just fallen off his bike.
‘Listen Ted, listen to me. Where we goin? Eh? He’s not a fuckin fireman son. And he’s not from Holland either – he’s South African. A fuckin Boer. A fuck jew Boer, at that.’
Tears stream down Berry’s face.
‘He’s a bore?’ he sniffles. ‘What?’
‘A Boer – b o e r. A fuckin jew boer. Don’t y’do history at school? South Africa, apartheid and all that? They were originally from Holland.’
Talbot spits some blood to the floor.
‘We kicked their fuckin arses a hundred years ago, the Boer War?’
‘Y’know him?’ Berry asks.
‘Aye. And his name’s not Kristiaan with two fuckin ‘As’ either, that’s the fuckin fish and chip shop on the fish quay man.’
He shakes his head, closes his eyes.
‘Jesus Fuckin Christ.’
‘Oh?’ Berry says, remembering the queue of people they’d passed hours and hours ago on the fish quay outside ‘Kristiaan’s’ with two ‘As’ - the fish and chip shop.
‘His name’s Steyn. Mordechai Steyn.’
‘Why’d? Why’d he tie you up then? If you’re his mate?’
‘He’s not me mate. I deal with his mother.’
‘His mother?’
‘Aye. Ma Steyn. She’s in charge. Mordechai’s just a fuckin smack head pervert.’
Talbot stares at the corpse on corner.
‘Jesus! What am I gonna tell Kathleen? She’s gonna be a mammy soon. Me first grandkid.’
Talbot strains against his bindings, kicks his feet.
‘Billy!’
‘Billy? No, it’s Berry.’
Talbot gathers himself. Grits his teeth under his flattened nose in determination.
He strains against his bindings.
‘Nyeeeeeeagh!’
Collapses.
He lays his head back and sighs.
‘That’s me son-in-law,’ Talbot says, raising his head. ‘Jesus, Billy. I’m so fuckin sorry.’
Berry turns to look, for only the second time, at the roasted man.
‘It’s Hash?’ he shouts. ‘Hash Brown! Aaagh!’
‘Berry? Ted?’
‘Aaaaaaaaaaagh!’
‘BERRY!’ Talbot commands. ‘BERRY!’
It’s loud, it quells the panic.
The relentless heavy rock music continues overhead.
‘Listen. Listen to me. That bloke’s a psycho! A PROPER psycho!’
‘But? But?’ Berry points. ‘YOU’RE THE PSYCHO!’
Talbot sighs, weighed down by his reputation.
‘I’m not a psycho. They’re just stories son. I’m just a fisherman.’
‘But?’
‘Why do y’think he wants two kids alone on a boat? Eh? Think about it. He’s a fuckin pervert, he likes teenage boys. He’s the bloke y’mother always warned you about.’
‘He says you’ve got his drugs.’
‘I HAVE got his fuckin drugs. They’re in the hold. They’re MY fuckin drugs now. He can fuck off.’
‘And. . And. . And. It’s in the paper,’ Berry reaches out – like he’s got a copy handy. ‘That boat burnt. I saw you goin down the stairs with a petrol can.’
They both look at Billy the Corpse.
Talbots eyes close.
‘Billy.’
The myth implodes.
And the Hulk starts to cry.
Big and heavy.
Mansized sobs, dripping onto the floor.
The axe dropping through him.
Chop.
Chop.
Chop.
Heavy it falls.
Again and again and again.
Splitting him at the place where he begins and ends.
‘Please don’t cry,’ Berry reaches out.
‘I didn’t know he was on the fuckin boat! DID I!’
‘And Foggy,’ Berry whispers.
Talbot’s sob catches in his throat.
‘What? Foggy? Mark was there too? Oh Jesus fuckin Christ, I know the boy’s mother. I’m so fuckin sorry!’
‘You killed them.’
‘How the fuck would I know they were on the boat? I was tryin to get rid of the fuckin thing before that copper found it.’
‘Copper?’
‘Stupid cunt-of-a-kid in a suit. Southern ponce, thought he was Elvis.’
‘Southern ponce? Oh, the reporter.’
‘Eh?’
‘He was a reporter? Sounds like a bloke we spoke to today.’
A flash of a head hitting a windscreen.
‘Kristiaan ran him over . . .’ Berry whispers, shakes his head. ‘. . . I think.’
‘Ran him over?’
Talbot wriggles hard against his bindings.
‘Ruuuaaagh!’
The yoga position.
His head falls hard to the floor.
Talbot pants. Closes his eyes.
‘Berry?’
‘Aye?’
‘You’ve got to untie me kidda. That sicko cunt will hurt you.’
Berry can feel the tingle of Kristiaan’s hands up his arms, the breath on his neck.
‘Untie?’
The erection against his leg.
‘Berry, you’ve got to untie me. I won’t hurt you.’
‘But?’
‘I promise.’
Soft metal music punctuates the silence, plodding rock. A couple of staccato guitar riffs. Then some bloke whistling. A pretentious ballad.
Kristiaan’s loosening up - for something.
Talbot really makes an effort this time, straining hard against the washing line.
It gives, a little.
But not enough.
‘Ted. My daughter is having my first . . .’
A blow from the axe all but rips him in two.
‘. . . grandkid.’
They look at the cooked father.
Talbot sobs.
‘I killed the bairn’s fuckin dad! It’s that cunt’s fault, I’ll pull his fuckin head off!’
He strains again.
This time almost snapping his spine.
But not the nylone washing line.
That stuff is built to last, clothes can hang in peace forever.
Talbot collapses into the slats.
He sobs, quietly.
&
nbsp; Tears dilute the pool of blood on the floor.
‘I wanna hold me grandkid,’ he whispers. ‘I’ll make things right. I’ll make things right.’
Talbot’s eyes, in that cliff of a face, are blue like a new sky.
Pleading.
Gentle.
Berry looks to the stairs.
There’s a clump overhead.
Wedge shouts.
‘Bez? What the fuck y’doin?’
‘Comin,’ Berry shouts.
‘Please kidda, please help me.’
‘And you’ll turn us round and go back?’
‘Course, where the fuck else we gonna go?’
‘Fuck it!’
Berry reaches for the plastic knots at Talbot’s feet.
They can’t be untied.
‘Fuck?’ he looks at the big man, for an answer.
There’s more noise upstairs.
‘Mr Berry?’
Activity.
Berry looks around.
‘Hurry up son.’
‘Fuck?’
‘The bottle!’
Berry grabs the nearest bottle of whiskey. It’s full.
‘Not that one,’ Talbot says. ‘One of the fuckin empty ones – on the table.’
‘Oh, right.’
He grabs it.
‘Smash it.’
Berry whacks it against the side of the steel framed bed cot.
It bounces off and spins through the air – cracks Talbot across the side of his head then hits the floor.
Intact.
‘Jesus fuckin Christ son.’
‘Fuck’s sakes!’
He grabs the other empty one, stands up and whacks it as hard as he can against the metal headboard.
It ricochets off, across the room – and smashes into a mirror.
The bottle lands, again intact, by the door.
‘BERRY! Grab a bit of the fuckin mirror!’
Berry saws at the nylon joining Talbot’s hands to his feet.
It’s easy.
They click free.
‘Quick!’
Talbot stretches his legs, spins round and holds out his wrists over the pearly white, hairy cheeks of his arse.
‘Man, oh man!’
Berry saws through the nylon as Talbot strains against the rope.
It snaps.
Berry falls backwards.
Talbot leaps to his feet like a freed slave.
‘Fuckin CUNT!’ he shouts. ‘Fuckin cunt! BASTARD!’
Naked.
Heavy sagging balls, hanging either side of a long wrinkled piece of old rope.
Berry cowers into the doorway next to Billy The Corpse.
Talbot’s hands are two heavy blocks of meat and bone.
‘Aaaagh! Don’t mister! DON’T! I’m sorry!’
Berry pulls his hands over his head in pointless resistance to the incoming blows.
Talbot’s MASH hand is in the air next to Berry’s face and then – in his hair.
Gentle and soothing.
Fatherly.
Talbot gently pulls Berry’s arms down from his face.
‘Don’t be daft son. I’d never hurt ya. I’m gonna get y’home. Come on. Help me.’
Foot falls come down the corridor.
‘Mr Berry? Where are you?’ Kristiaan says as he comes through the door. ‘Are you coming for a swim?’
He’s stark bollock naked. Skinny and ashen skinned, like the dead man in the doorway in the anti-heroin adverts.
A sprig of hair in the centre of his almost blue chest.
The sun seems to have looked the other way.
He has the pipe in his hand.
Talbot is fast for a big old man, he’s already back on the bed, hands behind his back.
‘I?’ Berry says.
Kristiaan laughs.
‘Hoo hoo hoo! Ah, you’ve found our little fisher man friend I see? Hoo hoo hoo. Mr Talbot, you’re awake at last? I tried to, well, rouse you. Hoo hoo hoo. How are you? I have taken your boat. I hope you don’t mind.’
Kristiaan smiles at Berry, hands him the pipe.
‘You will smoke some more.’
It’s an order.
Berry looks forlornly down at Talbot on the bed.
Kristiaan hits him on the back.
‘Now,’ he commands.
He sucks on the glass tube as Kristiaan holds the naked woman lighter over the bowl.
‘AGAIN!’
He sucks.
‘HARDER.’
Berry starts to cough.
‘Hoo hoo hoo. Good boy.’
Kristiaan sucks on the pipe.
Wedge comes down the stairs.
‘Bez, y’comin for a . . ?’
He’s dressed only in yellow y-fronts.
‘Hullo Wuj,’ Talbot says.
‘Wedge,’ Berry corrects him.
‘Aaaagh!’ Wedge says to Berry, then looks at Kristiaan.
‘Aaaagh?’
‘This is turning into a nice little party hoo hoo hoo,’ Kristiaan says, clapping his hands together. ‘Hoo hoo hoo.’
‘You’re off y’fuckin face too,’ Talbot says. ‘What y’doin with these kids, you pervy fuckin CUNT?’
‘These children are my friends. Isn’t that right Mr Veg?’
Wedge points at Talbot, struck dumb.
Kristiaan puts his arm around Wedge’s naked shoulders and pulls him close.
Wedge has almost the same emptyness in his eye sockets as the corpse in the corner.
Much too much, much too young.
‘Jesus Fuck Wedge,’ Berry says. ‘Y’alright?’
Wedge tries to smile.
‘Kristiaan’s gonna give us jobs Bez, reckons we can earn a hundred quid a day! A fuckin day!’
‘Tsk, language.’
Berry’s sinking fast, the fresh chemical wave pulling at his toes.
‘Man, I’m fuckin spangled.’
He sits down next to the corpse behind the door.
‘Shift over,’ he says.
‘Aaaagh!’
Wedge spots Billy ‘Hash’ Brown and his new, permanent, tan.
‘What the? Who the fuck’s that?’
‘Wedge, Billy,’ Berry does the introductions. ‘Billy, Wedge . . .’
He looks at Wedge.
‘Oh, hang on. You’ve already met. Ha heh heh.’
‘What?’ Wedge says.
‘It’s the twat-in-the-hat off the boat,’ Berry turns to the body. ‘Isn’t that right mate? Ha heh heh.’
‘Hash?’
‘Aye.’
‘Fuck! He’s dead?’
‘Nah, he’s just pretendin. Aren’t y’Billy? Ha heh heh.’
Wedge steps back in further awe at the legend that is Wade Talbot.
Pure fear.
‘You killed him! FUCK ME!’
He hides behind his naked protector.
‘So,’ Talbot says. ‘Y’run a fuckin fish and chip shop now then Mordechai eh?’
‘Mr Talbot. Mr Talbot. I didn’t credit you with such intelligence.’
They stare at each other like two bull terriers being lined up to fight in a pit.
Not a fair fight.
One prowling, the other tied to a post.
‘I have not introduced myself properly, have I?’ Kristiaan says. He holds his hand out to offer a mock shake.
A performance for his boys.
‘I am Mordechai Steyn, I think you must have heard of me, no? You met my stupid brother. My mother is very worried about him Mr Talbot. Where is he? Where is Fredrik?’
Talbot sits up, feet clutched tight together.
Hands clasped behind his back.
He should have been an actor.
‘Who?’
Blood drips off the end of his moustache and falls slowly to the ground.
Berry sits smiling, like a kid in front of the TV.
‘Sorry about the nose,’ Steyn says. ‘We had fun while you were ‘sleeping’, well, I did - you drink too much
whiskey.’
He turns to smile at Wedge, hand still outstretched in a fake handshake.
‘It was probably unnecessary. Too much whiskey, I think. Isn’t that right Mr Ta . . .’
Talbot grabs the hand.
He pulls himself up and beyond, using the South African’s body as a counterweight. His bull head cracks Steyn on the bridge of his nose.
Bosh.
‘Fuckinhell!’
He drops like a cow hit by the slaughterman’s bolt.
Talbot is vertical, unsteady.
‘Fuckinhell, Billy,’ Berry nudges the corpse, ‘Did y’see that? Ha heh heh.’
But Steyn is younger, lithe and dirty – his foot jabs up hard and bats Talbot’s naked testicles twice like a boxing bag.
He falls back towards the door.
‘Uugh!’
Steyn attacks.
Just as Berry kicks Hash’s dead leg into his path.
‘Billy!’ he tutts. ‘Keep out of it man!’
Steyn trips perfectly – for Talbot to knee him full in the face.
‘Aaagh!’ Wedge screams.
He’s holding the final whiskey bottle, the full one.
‘Jason,’ Steyn yelps. ‘Help me.’
‘Aaaa . . .’
Wedge cracks Talbot on the top of the skull with the blunt end of the bottle.
‘. . . aaaah!’
It doesn’t smash.
But Talbot does, he drops to the floor.
Steyn attacks like a demon ape, pummelling and pounding.
Pummelling and pounding.
Kirrin chop chops from side to side in the infinite blackness, her deck ablaze with artificial light. Heavy metal blasting out into the Cleaver Bank night, for the fishies.
And Ted Berry can’t help but laugh his dirty laugh.
‘Ha heh heh.’
His mental pebble skims the water – and flies off far into the dark.
Talbot is in the air, hanging over the deck in a fishing net, his son-in-law at his side, empty eye sockets staring between the squares of thin orange nylon.
‘Ha heh heh.’
Steyn is still naked, blood splattered across his otherwise dead torso. He has a bright yellow box in his hand attached to a cable that reaches up to the sky – it’s the controls for the winch and fishing nets.
He turns to Berry.
Heavy metal grinds, thuds and roars out over the deck.
It’s harder than before.
A fresh tape.
A different, darker band.
‘CARNAGE!’ Steyn rocks his head. ‘CARNAGE! Hoo hoo hoo.’
He presses a button and the winch jerks out towards the blackness.
‘Here Wedge?’ Berry points. ‘Wedge man! Looker!’
Berry turns to make sure he is, indeed, looking.
‘There’s a bloke in the net thing there, man. It’s y’neighbour. Talbot. What the fuck you doin up there man? Ha heh heh.’
Talbot wriggles, his tattooed fingers reaching through the gaps.
The old fisherman, trapped and naked.
Wedge stands beside Steyn, in his Y-fronts
Utterly wasted.
Fucked out of his head.
Berry checks his own reflection in the wheelhouse window.
‘Fuckinhell?’
And finds he’s naked too – and fucked out of his head, just the same.
It’s just the slap across the face he needed.
He covers his balls.
‘Eh? What the?’
Sense starts to re-assemble – EMERGENCY! - tearing at the net the pervert has thrown over his brain.
Talbot bites at the orange nylon as the winch jerks out further into the void.
‘Ah Mr Talbot, now you know how all those little fishies felt, it is a lesson no? A good way for you to go, I think – ah fosure. We will watch you drown slowly, in the cold sea. It is Karma, no?’
Billy the Corpse isn’t watching the show, his head has tilted down in disinterest, something oozes from his dead mouth, over the crusty black flesh where his lips should be.
‘Y’fuckin SICK BENT CUNT!’ Talbot shouts. ‘Don’t touch them kids y’fuckin pervert.’
He scrabbles around in the net, the orange nylon leaving red welts in white flesh.
‘Are you my friend Veg?’ Steyn says.
Wedge looks like he’s been kicked in the head by a horse.
He says nothing.
‘Fuckin CUNT!’ Talbot wriggles, a bread white arse cheek sliced into five equal squares.
Steyn moves them out over the water.
He passes the control to Wedge.
‘Press the red button,’ he says.
Wedge awakens.
He steps back.
‘Ah no, Kris. I don’t want to.’
‘Press the fucking button!’ Steyn commands. ‘NOW!’
‘Nonce cunt!’ Talbot spits out a good one from his net.
It lands on Steyn’s chest and crawls south, reddening as it goes.
Steyn watches it slip down and, it seems, quite likes the way it feels.
‘Hoo hoo hoo!’
‘Listen, y’fuckin cunt,’ Talbot says, blood bubbles hanging from his steel moustache. ‘Listen, I killed y’fuckin brother. I blew his fuckin head apart, then I drowned his mate. Ha ha ha.’
Berry looks at Talbot – and knows he’s telling the truth.
‘Man, oh man.’
‘I know this,’ Steyn says. ‘He was only my stepbrother.’
Talbot looks down at the water, then up.
He spits again.
This time hitting Steyn on the cheek.
‘Press the button,’ Steyn says.
Tears are at Wedge’s eyes.
‘I don’t want to.’
Steyn has his back to Berry.
‘Press the button. If you don’t press the button, I will make you suck my cock and put you in the net with him. Hoo hoo hoo.’
Talbot’s voice softens.
‘Don’t worry son, it’s not you fault.’
‘Press the button and I won’t make you play with me again. Mr Berry can do it instead. Hoo hoo hoo. You can watch.’
Cogs turn.
Fast.
The net falls into the abyss
The winch whirrs.
One.
And.
Two.
And.
Kerrsploosh.
‘Hoo hoo hoo. Well done Mr Veg. That was fun, no?’
Steyn turns to look over the side.
Wedge stumbles over to the pile of clothes on the floor, he bends down.
Arse in the air.
A dangerously exposed position, with Steyn around.
‘Hoo hoo hoo!’
The cogs still whirr.
Steyn waves at the black sea.
‘With the fishies little fisher man. With the fishies. Hoo hoo hoo.’
Steyn turns.
‘I lied about you not sucking my cock Mr Veg, where’s the fun in that? Hoo hoo hoo.’
‘Bastard!’
Wedge is in close, his big head cracks into Steyn’s rib cage and he falls back towards the edge of the boat.
Not enough.
‘Hoo hoo hoo.’
Steyn’s hands are up in the air, like an impression of an attacking bear.
With a big fat hard on.
‘Rrrrraaaaar! I am coming to get you! Rrrrrrraaaaar! Hoo hoo hoo.’
He walks forward pretending he’s Frankenstein. His cock rock hard. It sticks up from his waist like a baby’s arm holding an apple.
He bounces it up and down like a sick wand.
‘Rrrrraaaarr! Hoo hoo hoo. Bite me, little doggy. Hoo hoo hoo.’
Wedge’s hand is behind his back.
The blade of Crosby’s Bowie knife catches the shiplights.
‘Nyaaaagh!’
Wedge arcs his fist round in a ninja circle, spinning round and back onto himself. He falls to the deck, the knife still in his hand.
He lies on the deck
, sobbing.
Berry slaps himself up the side of the head.
‘He fuckin MISSED!’
Steyn’s hands are still in the air.
‘Woof woof little doggy. Woof. Woof. Grrr. Hoo hoo hoo.’
Wedge had missed the pervert’s cock, but sliced his naked belly.
‘Hoo hoo hoo!’
It’s zipped open like an over stuffed cushion.
Blood spills over the long lip of it and down into his pubes.
It’s pink-ish white in there.
Steyn’s face curtains fall and he looks down at the damage.
‘Ik zal u, u weinig doden!’
He looks up, then down again at his wound – numbed by the drugs he’s taken.
‘Bastaard!’
He kicks Wedge in his ample head.
‘Aaaagh!’ Berry screams. ‘Leave him, y’sick cunt!’
Steyn aims another kick at Wedge’s head.
This time to kill.
He rolls out of its way - and falls into the hole in the deck where the nets and ropes are stowed.
‘U zult weinig hond sterven!’
Steyn flips the coffin lid closed with a foot.
‘Wedge!’ Berry screams. ‘Wedge! Y’alright?’
Steyn is standing, naked, on top of the lid.
Blood oozing down from his belly and into the hair of his thighs.
‘Bez! Bez! I can’t fuckin breathe.’
The winch is still whirring, heading for the bottom of the sea.
‘I think the little doggy wants out of his kennel, no?’
Wedge bangs on the inside of the coffin lid.
‘Get off y’cunt!’ Berry screams.
‘Language. I will have to wash your mouth out with soap, or something,’ Steyn smiles. ‘Ah fosure. Later.’
Steyn’s jowls hang down towards his neck as he inspects his wound. He opens it like a curious kid dismantling a teddy bear.
Anaesthetised by hard drugs.
He looks up at Berry.
‘Did you know that David Bowie took his name from the man who invented this knife? Bowie’s real name is much less interesting, it is David Jones.’
He’s not losing pressure, his cock remains engorged.
‘Ik kan geloven niet weinig shit me kreeg. Hoo hoo hoo.’
Wedge is kicking and punching the lid.
‘It is like a vagina Mr Berry. No?’ he shows his new orifice to Berry. ‘Hoo hoo hoo. Don’t worry. It is a flesh wound. It will sew very easily.’
He smiles at Berry, then shakes his hair like he thinks he’s a sexy young girl.
‘U bent mooie M. Berry. Misschien zal ik u voor een tijdje houden. Als de moeder niet het weet.’
‘I can’t breathe, Bez. Bez. I can’t fuckin breathe! I can’t b-breathe Bez! Ted. Me inhaler, Ted. I’ve not got a fuckin inhaler.’
Steyn laughs, shoulders vibrating up and down.
‘What is this word ‘inhaler’?’
He looks down.
‘Bark little doggy. Woof woof. Little doggy. Woof. Hoo hoo hoo.’
The music is interrupted.
By a bell ringing in the bridge.
Kirrin has all the best gadgets.
Someone is calling Kirrin over the radio.
Steyn turns his head, distracted.
‘Moeder?’
Ted Berry ignites.
‘Y’fuckin!’
Attacks.
Steyn clouts his head hard with the side of his fist.
‘Hoo hoo hoo. What took you so long?’
Berry feels something big damp and warm against his naked shoulder.
The wet tip of the pervert’s erect penis.
‘Ah, fuckinhell! Fuckinell!’
He slaps away at the slimey wet mark it left behind.
‘Ah, this little doggy bites. Bite me little doggy. Bite me. Hoo hoo hoo.’
He wobbles his cock up and down like a porn star.
‘Bez,’ Wedge’s voice sounds strangled and weak like a long balloon fading after Christmas. ‘Bez.’
Berry is on the deck, rubbing what feels like spit off his skin.
‘Y’fuckin cunt. He’ll die! Let him go. Let him go. I’ll do what you want.’
The cock moves up and down like a weighlifter’s arm.
‘Anything?’
He looks out across the deck, in search of a witness.
‘But Mr Berry, you are already doing – everything – that I want.’
The bell keeps ringing in the bridge.
‘Come on little doggy. Bark little doggy. Save your friend. Woof woof. Woof.’
Berry gets up on his feet and flies at him, screaming – heading for his only weakness, the slice Wedge made across his belly.
‘CUNT!’
Steyn effortlessly whacks him hard against the side of his head. He flies off up against the wheelhouse stairs.
And onto his side.
Wedge has stopped calling out.
Berry starts to sob.
‘Fuck, Wedge. Jay. I’m so fuckin sorry. BASTARD, let him go, y’fuckin BASTARD!’
Berry sobs.
He rolls his arms around his head.
Slaps a hand against the deck.
‘Play fair mister!’ he whispers. ‘Play fair.’
He lifts his head and shouts at Steyn.
‘PLAY FAIR!’
‘Ah don’t worry little doggy. Stop crying little doggy. Woof woof.’
He steps off the lid and walks away to the bridge to answer the radio’s demands.
‘Moeder.’
The ship’s mighty engines fire into life, and all those horses head East through the night.
Full throttle.
Berry’s inside the net store with his best friend.
‘Wedge! Wake up!’ Berry grabs hold of his listless head. ‘Jay. Come on mate, please. Please wake up.’
Wedge’s eyes are open.
His lips are grey.
‘Jay. Come on mate. Y’can stop playin now. It’s alright. He’s gone. I’ll look after you.’
Berry smoothes Wedge’s hair away from his eyes.
‘Come on Jay,’ he whispers. ‘Come on mate.’
The engine’s rumble to a halt, then idle.
Kirrin lists in the now turbulent water, a brand new skipper at the wheel.
Berry looks up
Steyn steps out of the doorway and into the light blasting down from the bridge.
The music has stopped.
Mummy has taken control.
His cock has gone soft.
‘I think he is dead, no?’
His hands reach down, he yanks Berry up from the shallow hold.
‘Never mind.’
Steyn grabs the control for the winch.
‘I am sorry Mr Berry, there is news from the radio, the police are looking for this boat,’ he says. ‘We can’t have any more fun. Business now. It is time to go.’
The blood has stopped oozing from his belly, but the wound remains open.
It’s not as big as Berry had hoped.
‘Fuckin CUNT!’
Berry explodes at him anyway, heading for the wound.
Steyn grabs him briefly around the neck and throws him to the deck.
‘Stop this now. Enough.’
Berry kicks up at him.
‘Fuckin cunt!
He palm heals Berry in the face.
Crack.
He falls to the side by the winch mechanism that dropped Talbot and Hash to the void.
‘Shut up little boy. You and your friend are going for a swim.’
Steyn is hauling the net.
Ting ting.
Ting ting.
Ting ting.
The mechanism pulls the rope up from the water with the orange tangle of nylon attached.
No fish.
The catch of the day is human.
Tattoos on washed out white skin. Salt water runs out of Billy ‘Hash’ Brown’s eye sockets.
‘Oh, I forgot about
you two,’ Steyn says, he turns. ‘Mr Berry, you and your friend will have company. Hoo hoo hoo.’
He releases the winch and the net with the bodies falls to the deck.
‘I am a funny man, no?’
He turns to Berry.
He unclips the net, it drops to the deck with its catch.
And the winch’s released claw swings in front of Steyn’s open guts.
‘Fuck?’
Berry spots it.
He has one go left.
Just the one.
Or they’re fucked.
This time with his brain fully engaged for survival.
He accelerates towards Steyn’s belly like a human cannonball - with a letter to post.
Instead of grabbing the paedophile, he grabs the hook on his way and rams it forward – ‘Y’fuckin CUNT!’ - as hard as he can.
The hook embeds into Steyn’s zipped guts.
‘Ugh!’
The pervert falls back with the hook pushed deep inside his abdomen.
A metre of entrails exits the wound as he goes.
‘AAAAAAGH!’
Like Surtees the butcher’s Special Sausages.
Steyn grabs them like an organic rope, trying to stop any more leaving his torso.
The yellow winch control swings out of his hand on its long wire and into Ted Berry’s open hand.
Like a gift.
He looks over at Steyn.
‘Fuckin pervert,’ he says.
And presses the green button.
The winch jerks up to the black sky.
Steyn is lifted in the air hanging onto his guts from the hook like a man on an unholy trapeze.
His feet leave the ground and he swings fast towards Berry just as the control had done.
Bang.
He volleys Berry in the chin before the winch throws him to the back of the deck as the machinery settles in its locked state.
Berry leaves the ground and flies up towards the bow.
Starry starry night.
And it’s over.