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Morag had almost reached the end of the alley when a silhouette turned in from the street. She squinted her eyes as the African sun, still rising on its daily pilgrimage, created a halo around its head. All she could see at first was a long white dress.
“Ye know Ah don’t like it when ye smoke, darlin’. That stuff’ll kill ye.”
The long white dress became a hospital gown, connected to a pair of Docs by way of two scrawny hairy shins. But it was Mick’s head that drew her attention, wrapped in brilliant white bandages still shimmering in the morning haze.
“What do ye think? Will it catch on?” Mick turned in a slow circle, revealing the open back of his gown and his absent underwear.
Morag dropped her cigarette and crushed it without thinking. “When did you get out?”
Mick smiled. He had moved out of the sun’s glare, so she could see the blackened teeth that had replaced his once-charming grin. He still swaggered with his old devil-may-care attitude, but she doubted whether even the devil really cared anymore.
“Doesn’t sound like ye’re overflowing with joy at mah resurrection, darlin’. Didn’t ye miss me just a wee bit?”
“Of course. Welcome back. It’s, yeah, really good to see you again.”
Mick stepped closer. “That’s more like it. Now let’s see how much ye missed me.”
Morag kept her knife in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She knew that Mick knew that. There was no way she could reach it before he reached her. Unless she ran. Was he armed under that ridiculous white gown?
Then it was too late and his arms were around her shoulders. “Ah, that feels good. Ye’ve no idea how long it’s been.”
She hugged him back.
“Ah had to get out, ye know? Ah couldn’t lie there another day, with mah broken brain bleedin’ bit by bit out mah nose. And things need to get done, don’t they?”
He had maneuvered her back against the wall, with a line of plastic dustbins to her right. Without the bitter reek of cigarette smoke, she had no way to block out the stench that rose ripe and steaming into the morning air.
“Still, they don’t need to get done right this minute, do they?”
Mick pressed his body against her, reaching down below her jacket.
“No, Mick. Don’t.”
He laughed. “What’s that? Come on, love. Ah’ve never heard those words from yer sweet lips before.”
She pushed against his shoulders. “That doesn’t mean...”
He slapped her. Not hard. Not as hard as he used to. But it still snapped her head around and made stars dance against the grimy brickwork.
“Now look, Ah’m in a bit of a rush, darlin’. Alright?”
She slapped him back, nails catching the flesh on his cheek and gouging three parallel lines through the stubble.
She knew there would be consequences. Her hand went for the inside pocket, but he was too fast. Laughing, he pulled her jacket down over her shoulders, trapping her arms and cutting off access to the pockets and their contents. He spun her around, pushing her upper body down onto the lid of the nearest dustbin.
“Ye always were a wild one. But what am Ah to think? Ah come out of hospital and find ye lurking in the alley behind mah flat. Knowing there’s nobody there to guard mah stash. Who were ye waiting for, love, if it wasn’t me?”
Her bare shoulder rubbed against the rough bricks of Mick’s apartment building, soft pale skin scratched open by uncaring masonry. Would she pick up an infection from the green damp oozing from a pipe high above? Or would it be the rotting cabbage and reeking cat food that burned through the lining of her lungs first? She spat out the bitter taste of humiliation.
“I was waiting for a real man.”
Mick lifted her short skirt and his long gown at the same time.
“Oh, aye? Let’s see about that, then.”
*
NODDY WAS WEARING A clean Motorhead shirt under his sleeveless denim jacket. And clean underwear. But the same pair of jeans. Because he only owned one pair of jeans. That kind of rock star extravagance was beyond him.
He found Morag sitting on the front steps of a block of flats, head resting on her folded arms. He moved in beside her.
“Howzit.”
She didn’t look up. “Fuck off.”
He leaned back against the steps and took a deep breath. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day. Even here, under the smog and pollution and dirt.”
She looked up this time. “What the hell got into you?”
Noddy smiled. “We had a long chat last night. Me and Janine. It’s all going to work out. She’s going to talk to Mick. Then she’ll get her bonus from the shop, and we’ll move down to the coast, like we planned. This kid could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. A new perspective. A fresh start, somewhere clean. A little house on the beach. A job.” He laughed. “Can you imagine that? Me, working at the coast, with a family.”
Morag stood up, wincing as she brushed her skirt back into place. She turned to face him, and he saw the darkening bruise under one eye.
“Are you okay?” Noddy was on his feet, grabbing her shoulders.
She jerked away from him, face twisting. A tiny drop of blood ran from one side of her nose. “Peachy.”
“What happened?”
She reached inside her jacket and shook a cigarette from the battered box. She lit it carefully, hands still shaking, head twisting in frustration. After a long drag, held forever and released as a mournful sigh - “Mick’s out.”
Noddy felt sick. “And he did this? Because of that guy in the club?”
She laughed, dragging nicotine deep into her lungs. “Oh, he did this. But I don’t think he knows about the guy in the club yet. That conversation is still to come.”
Noddy sat down, elbows on knees, hands holding his head.
“So you can forget all these plans for a white picket fence at the end of the rainbow. He’s not going to let that happen. Unless we move now, before he finds his feet again. You still got the gun?”
Noddy looked up. “What gun?”
“Come on. Since when do you care about unconscious dealers in clubs? You snatched that gun from the floor when Dirk grabbed me.”
He nodded, opened his jacket to show the red grip protruding from his inside pocket.
“And you still have Dirk’s spare keys, right?” Noddy remembered that he did. “I bet one of them fits Mick’s door. But we have to do it now.”
“You want to steal from Irish Mick? He’ll kill us.”
Morag dropped to her knees in front of him, hiding the pain this time. “Look. We need money to get away. Now. Today. All of us. Me. You. Janine. The baby. Mick will never know it was us. The place is empty. Trust me. I’ve been watching it.” She held up her hands, pleading. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s going to kill us anyway. To make a statement. That’s how he thinks. It’s what he does. If we don’t leave right now, before the end of the day we’ll be dancing in Valhalla. And I’m not talking about the fucking nightclub.”