“You’re beautiful,” cooed Terry, resting his elbows on the kitchen table and staring deep into her soft brown eyes, before bending his head to do another line.
“So are you.”
“I know.”
“Why do guys always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Err I know,” said Maxwell, affecting a deep male voice
“Because we’re great, that’s why. Anyway, why do girls always do that?”
“Do what, pray?”
“Try to knock down a man with a bit of swagger.”
“It gives our life purpose. So I’m a girl then?”
“If that’s what you want me to say,” said Terry, wiping some powder from his nose.
“I do. But you won’t fuck me.”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“Suppose you didn’t?”
“Probably not.”
“But I’m a girl, you said so.”
“With a cock.”
“It’s only small.”
“Still a cock.”
“But I’m a woman.”
“Well, strictly speaking Maxwell, you’re a Trans woman.”
“Cheek. But you thought I was a woman.”
“I did.”
“So I’m a woman then?”
“And you are Trans.”
“Suppose I had surgery, and got a plastic pussy.”
“I dunno.”
“You want a real one?”
“Is that so wrong?”
“It’s a tad transphobic.”
“Is it fuck, Maxwell. I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me for not wanting to shag you?! Look, like most Vampires, I’m sex attracted.”
“So Sex is biological then?”
“Of course. XX Chromosomes for women and XY for men.”
“Not always.”
“What? Intersex? That’s less than one percent or something,” said Terry with a grin, who after recently listening to a Pod-cast about Vampire De-Transitioners had subsequently done extensive research on the subject.
“It’s more than that.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a tiny, tiny percentage and anyway the exception doesn’t make the rule, does it? Some people are born with six fingers, but we generally say humans have five, yeah? Same here. We are a Dimorphic Species, simple as.”
“That’s a little disputed, I think darling. The science is not settled.”
“Yes, it is. If you’re male you’ve got small Gametes, ie sperm, and if you’re female, you’ve got larger Gametes, eggs. There’s sooooo much evidence Maxwell. It’s like in every cell of your body, for fuck’s sake, even Vamps,” said Terry, laughing and shaking his head.
“Yes, okay, smarty-pants but other cultures, like India and the Samoans had Trans for centuries, didn’t they?”
“The Hijra and the Fa’afafine?” said Terry with a grin.
“That’s them.”
“But they were, never, ever considered to be actual women. Their cultures just recognized that they were men, who wanted to live as women. There’s a big difference, Maxwell.”
“Well, okay what about the Native Indians of America? They had a Two Spirit sex, which is the same as Trans.”
“C’mon, everyone knows that was only invented in the Nineties in Canada, by some fucking idiot who’d done too many mushrooms.”
“Okay maybe you’re right about all that. But all I m saying is, I feel like a woman” said Maxwell, plainly.
“Good for you.”
“So I’m a woman then?”
“I feel therefore I am?”
“Ooh little twist on Descartes? Very clever,” said Maxwell, laughing and clapping her hands together.
“Not really, stole it off a Nathaniel Noyce Podcast. Point is, just because you believe something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it doesn’t. That’s such Post Modern bullshit. You can’t turn Tuesday into Wednesday, just because you fancy it. There’s such a thing as objective truth, you know,” said Terry, lighting a cigarette.
“Well my truth is I am a woman.”
“And my truth is, I think you’re Trans.”
“Trans rights are human rights.”
“Of course.”
“And Trans women are women.”
“No. Trans women are Trans women.”
“Can’t I just be a woman?”
“You can be whatever the fuck you want, Maxwell, just as long as you don’t force me to say what I don’t want to say. You know, it’s funny, but years ago, no-one gave a toss about all this, did they? I remember talking to loads of Trans people down at Madam JoJo’s in the Eighties and Nineties.”
“I loved Jo Jo’s,” said Maxwell, starting to chop out another line.
“Yeah it was a great club wasn’t it?, and back then no-one gave a fuck, did they? Trans was just Trans, and no -one said a dicky bird about all this crap. They just got on with it. But now it’s gone completely nuts. In fact, do you know, who I was talking to the other day? Sammy Stagg.”
“Ooh I remember him, the old Indie guy.”
“That’s him. I used to be his roadie, nice bloke, still is, as far as I can see, but now he’s gone completely mental. Not sure, if it’s for his career or if he wants to keep in with the kids or something, but when I knew him in the late Eighties, he was all about Class and Unions yeah? The very last thing he was into, was anything to do with Identity. Even had a song on his first album called Identity Politics Is No Politics At All, it was great. But then I ran into him in a pub in Soho the other night, and all he kept banging on about was how Julie Moore and Hilary Bundle are…”
“TERFs.”
“Yeah, Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists. I had to look it up. And the way he was going on, it was like they were witches or something. I mean, I know those women, really well. Used to be around them all the time at gigs and marches and all that. They were proper Lefties, spent years in Greenham Common.”
“Walking around all day in dungarees and yellow wellies from what I recall. Never a good look. But Terry, my sweet, you don’t understand. It’s all different now, believe me. It’s just like Clause 28 back in the day,” said Maxwell, leaning forward to touch his arm.
“That’s what Sammy Stagg said! But it’s not, I looked into it. In fact, it’s nothing like Clause 28. I mean Gays weren’t forcing people to use pronouns back then, were they? Or issuing death and rape threats if you disagreed with them or canceling people and getting them fired, if you had an opinion they disagreed with? All they wanted was to be accepted like everyone else, and from what I can see, these TERFs or whatever you call them, aren’t saying Trans people can’t lead normal lives. If anything they’re pro Trans.”
“But Trans people do live in fear, Terry.”
“Where? Not in the UK, they’re not. You know, I hear this all the time about a “Trans Genocide”, but the figures just don’t back it up. You know how many Trans people were killed here between 2008 and 2017? Nine. And most of them were domestic disputes and had nothing to do with, if they were Trans or not. Most of the figures they use for the “Genocide argument” are from Brazil, where there’s a lot of Trans prostitutes, and that’s a dangerous profession anyway. Look Maxwell, I just don’t buy it, love. Course it’s hard being Trans, everyone knows that, but, as far as I can see, no-one is targeting you, certainly nothing like what gay people got back in the Seventies, and if anything, right now, you’re probably the most protected group on the planet, cos if anyone says anything about you, they get canceled, don’t they? And you know what makes all this bullshit even funnier? Guess who started the campaign back in the late Eighties against the Tories and Clause 28, in the first place? Julie and Hilary that’s who. Actually I mentioned this to Sammy and he just shook his head and still said they were Fascists. I couldn’t stop laughing. I mean this is the bloke who had a top ten hit with “A Man Cries Out For His Mother.”
“Oh, I remember that one.”
“Yeah, the anti war song. What would it be titled now? “A Man Cries Out For His Birthing Person?” It’s a joke.”
“Actually, thinking about it now, you do have a point. All this anti-TERF behaviour is getting a bit too much, isn’t it? I supose they’re not really saying anything about hating anyone Trans are they? I mean, to be honest I don’t feel that threatened,” said Maxwell, taking a pull of her cigarette.
“Thank you! At last some bloody sense!”
“I like to please a man,” said the Trans Vampire leaning forward with a cheeky grin.
“I’m not shagging you, Maxwell,” said Terry, firmly.
“Don’t be so hasty. So you fucked the one who turned you, yes?”
“Jesus this is harassment.”
“Answer the question.”
“No. Hector, only bit me; that was always friendship.”
“All the boys say that. And what about Oscar, then?”
“Jesus, can you stop reading my mind!”
“Sorry cupcake. Force of habit.”
“Unbelievable! No Maxwell, I didn’t shag Oscar either. We were close, very close, but nothing physical.”
“You sure? Oscar is notoriously bi-sexual.”
“Well, not me. Not that I have any problem with gay sex, before you start all that crap, but like I said, I’m sex attracted.”
“So the only cock you want to touch is your own.”
“Precisely.”
“Poor you.”
“Anyway, if you really wanted me to fuck you, all you would have to do was make me.”
“Yes I could. Second Tier Vamps like me, can hypnotize little boys like you in a heart-beat.”
“Maybe you have, and I didn’t know. Was I any good?” said Terry with a grin.
“Incredible. But it’s not my thing, I’m afraid. I have a hard on for Free Will. So one more try, Lover. I look like a woman, I smell like a woman, I almost always act like a woman and you fancy me, yes?”
“Of course.”
“So why don’t you want to fuck me?”
“Because you’ve got a cock.”
“Any circumstances where you might re-consider?”
“Maybe if I was in prison, doing a ten stretch.”
“Okay, let’s rob a bank then.”
“No,” replied Terry in mock defiance, and then turning away from Maxwell, he lowered his head to snort another huge line of cocaine mixed with fentanyl, before leaning back on his chair and falling into an opiated bliss.
*
It was just past 3 pm, when the Vampire came around again, to find Maxwell had gone, together with all the cigarettes. Typical, thought Terry, smiling to himself, and so after a general clear up of the debris from the previous evening, he made himself a cup of tea, before shuffling off to his cell to try and sleep off his hangover. However, the drugs in his system insisted that he stay awake, and so sitting up in his pallet with the heart-rate of a small hamster, he proceeded to watch various vacuous You Tube videos about “How Clever Crows Are” or “Why Tears for Fears Split Up” until completely bored, he finally decided to get up and seek out an early breakfast.
“Any chance of getting some brown bread now and again, Kev?” said Terry taking a reluctant bite out of his slice of white processed toast before looking across the table at his flat-mate.
“Don’t like it.”
“It’s healthier.”
“Precisely,” said Kevin now opening his mouth, to show Terry, the coco pops inside, before returning to read a back issue of Loaded magazine from 1996.
“Classy.”
“That’s me,” grinned the younger Vampire, and Terry continued to chew in outraged silence until a ping from his phone interrupted his fibre free breakfast.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re making me cry xxx.”
Now his blackened heart skipped a beat.
It was Lauryn again.
Only a few days earlier, Sophie, who was the only Vamp from London, he still kept in touch with, had texted him to say that she’d heard through a friend, who was a Temple Guard, that Oscar knew he was with Bane now and that he was also monitoring his old girlfriend, “Just in case she proved a security risk”. Of course, Terry knew what that meant. Oscar was keeping the pressure on. Join Vulpine and his gang and this is what you get. Maybe your girlfriend might fall off a tower block or be crushed under the wheels of a high-speed train, who knows, so easy to arrange, old chum? Vampire Politics was a very dirty business, especially with regards to mortals, who were seen as collateral damage at the best of times, and therefore, despite his feelings of almost constant and desperate longing, for the moment at least, Terry had decided to keep his distance. So, deciding not to answer her text again, he finished his breakfast, and dolefully plodded back to his cell to sleep some more, until the sound of Kevin and his mates playing the Verve’s Urban Hymns at full volume in the front room, rudely brought him out of his slumber. He rubbed his eyes as Richard Ashcroft wailed The Drugs Don’t Work through the walls, before instinctively reaching across to the table at the side of his pallet to check his phone.
A missed call from Lauryn.
Now his heart beat a little faster, as it always did at the sight of her name and quickly pressing 5 on the keypad, he placed a bud in his ear.
“Err hi Terry, it’s only me. I suppose you’re helping your brother again, so didn’t want to disturb you, but thing is, I haven’t seen Jordan for a few days and I’m getting really worried now. He hasn’t been home for the last two nights or been at work. I rang Harry at Fortune’s Bar and he’s been really helpful actually, and says he’s missed a shift and will ring me if he hears anything, but I just don’t know what to do now? I know, he hasn’t been himself recently, something’s definitely on his mind, I can feel it. I think he might be in some kind of trouble. A few boys on the estate have been asking for him, and someone told me, he was with a guy called Blake, who’s a bad lot, apparently. Look it’s probably nothing, but is there any chance you could call me back? I am really worried and he seems to listen to you, err, sorry about this. I love you, please ring me back.”
Now, the muscles in the Vampire’s neck tightened, as he remembered the well built man staring at him from across the street with pure malice in his eyes, while he glanced over at the Vamp clock on the wall of his cell.
12.07, with a second clock showing that sunrise was at 7.06.
He could make it.
Vampire technology was almost in a golden age and so after quickly getting dressed, and grabbing some keys from a drunken Kevin, within minutes of hearing the phone message, he was astride an 8500 cc Ducati Vamp and heading for London. In fifty minutes, he had already reached Brent Cross, and after roaring down the North Circular, and successfully avoiding any speed cameras, with a specialized cloaking mechanism that made his bike virtually invisible, he soon found himself a few streets away from Lauryn’s tower block on the Waverley Estate. No doubt, Oscar would have his spies out, thought the Vampire and so he made his way carefully along the side of the Estate, checking for any signs of his own kind. However his senses picked up nothing, and so taking a chance that, as it was the weekend, and therefore everyone was probably having a night off, Terry quickly sprang up the side of the block, before finding himself on the gangway outside his girlfriend’s flat.
“Oh thank God you’re here Terry, I’ve been out of my mind with worry. He’s gone, he’s gone, I’ve looked everywhere,” cried Lauryn, opening the door and throwing herself against the Vampire’s chest, before he quickly closed the door behind him and carried her through the darkness of the flat. Now, as they sat on the sofa and the Vampire gently stroked her hair, he listened intently, as she explained that she hadn’t set eyes on Jordan in two days, how she had asked around the Estate and that the last time anyone had seen him was a few days ago by a newsagents on the main road, talking to a man called Blake. Instinctively, he leaned down to kiss her, while the pain of his unwilling absence from her soft lips, departed his mind for a few happy moments, until realizing that he had more pressing matters than his own desire to think about, he looked deep into his girlfriend’s eyes, to quell the terror of her frantic thoughts. Now, in the silence of the flat, she slept, while the Vampire rubbed his face and decided what to do next. There was no doubt, Jordan was in real danger and he’d always known that paying off the debt to Blake, would be, at best, a temporary solution. Living in a place like the Waverley Estate, wasn’t easy, especially for a young black man, and so, it was only a matter of time before the natural forces of the streets, would extend its gnarled fingers around his fragile shoulders and start to pull his head under the surface. It was an all too familiar tale, and one played out in every major town and city in the UK, however, for the moment, Terry couldn’t concern himself with these abstractions His only mission now was to find Jordan; and so marching out of the door of the flat, he was down the walls of the tower block in no time and heading South on his bike. A few months earlier, he had made it his business to scope out “Blake’s centre of operations”, just in case anything silly happened, and so now perched in a tree on a quiet street in Kennington, he stared into a top floor window, and saw Blake and his Gang, together with Jordan, smoking a spliff, and looking completely unconcerned.
“Little prick”, but at least he was safe, thought the Vampire, shuffling further along a branch, before giving his watch a quick glance. 1.45 am. Plenty of time, and eventually the boss man would need a piss he reasoned, and so springing from the tree to a better position, he sat crouched on a ledge by the bathroom window, while he watched a succession of teenage boys spend a ridiculous amount of time checking themselves out in the mirror, until twenty minutes later, sure enough, his quarry entered the scene.
“Fuck, bro’, what the…” gasped Blake, as Terry was now inside the toilet and an inch off the Gang Leader’s nose.
“Hey Pal, remember me?” said Terry placing his hand over the man’s mouth and staring into his terrified eyes.
“Yes you do, don’t you? I was the guy who got Jordan the job, paid off your dirty debt, and generally fucked up your plans to destroy his life. I wonder why you wanted to do that? What was the motivation? Lets see, shall we?” continued the Vampire looking deep into Blake’s mind and reading all his thoughts.
“Usual stuff. Jealously, bitterness, ego. Didn’t want Jordan getting out of the swamp, sets a bad example to the other young ‘uns, doesn’t it? Plus it pisses you off, as well, yeah? Why should he be different? Why should he have talent as a Rapper, when all you can manage is slapping faces and selling drugs. It’s not fair Blake or is it Andrew, Andrew Stone. Ooh your dad was a bastard wasn’t he? Beat your mother terrible, left when you were young, must have been hard. The abused, abuse, I get it. My sympathies, but still, it’s no excuse, is it? So what’s your plan for Jordan, then? Get him to stab someone tonight. Someone at a party later. Someone you don’t like. Someone who took your girl. Lame excuse Blake, my son. Not nearly good enough. Your soul is rotten, pal. Everywhere I look in this cesspit of a mind, all I see is rage, envy, violence, no coming back. Oh dear Blake, I thought I might be able to talk you out of this, but you will never change, will you? The system has destroyed your soul, and you’ll keeping hurting until someone stops you. So it’ll have to be me, then” whispered Terry, before he brought out a knife from inside his black leather jacket and plunged it 3 times into the gangster’s chest, instantly stopping his heart. Slowly the big man’s head fell back, and as the light disappeared from his eyes, a patch of red, began to appear on the white T-shirt, he was wearing. It looked glorious and turning his head for a second, the Vampire tried to resist, but the urge was now too great; and so placing his mouth over the puncture, he began to gorge on the fresh blood. It tasted like paradise. Like the best food he had ever tasted, the most exquisite drug, the sweetest sin and Terry was just about to lower his head again for another taste of the forbidden ambrosia, when the door swung open and, of all people, Jordan was standing in front of him.
“Shit, I thought, I locked it,” cried Terry, immediately pulling the young man inside and slamming the door shut.
“Terry! what are you doing here…”
“Don’t say a word. Don’t even make a sound. You saw nothing here. Run out and tell everyone Blake has been stabbed and then call the ambulance. Don’t think, just do it now, do it now” whispered Terry, as he quickly moved around the young man’s mind, to erase the memory of his mother’s boyfriend being a homicidal Bloodsucker, before quickly opening the bathroom door and pushing him back into the party again. For a few seconds, Terry remained perched on the window ledge to make sure his silhouette was seen by at least one other person, so Jordan wouldn’t get the blame, and then quickly crawling down the side of the house, he disappeared into the night, as the screams and shouts of the party followed in his wake.
He had broken his own “No People of Colour and No Jews” rule, which had lasted for over eighty years now, but, surprisingly, he didn’t feel guilt or shame, but rather satisfaction for a job well done; Of course, he knew, like every other Vamp, that there was no such thing as evil, that it had to be cultivated in the petri-dish of an unfair society, but he also knew that once it had been nurtured in an innocent host, it never lost it’s grip. A virus like Blake could be particularly harsh, preying on it’s immediate surroundings to ensure it’s own survival. Only the poor can truly oppress the poor, as they don’t have the confidence to punch up. That’s why, when there’s a riot, the downtrodden burn down their own areas, loot their own shops, kill their own people. The system programmes them for self harm, so instead of marching on Mayfair and Knightsbridge, where their real enemies lay, they prefer to watch as their own lives go up in smoke. Of course there would be another Blake to fill the vacuum, the ghetto had a production line of willing sociopaths waiting in the wings, but for the present, Jordan and boys like him would be safe, thought Terry, climbing to the top of a near-by Tower Block to get a better view of proceedings before reaching into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. For a few minutes, he stood and drew the nicotine into his lungs, as he watched people run out into the street and the flashing lights of the police cars arrive until satisfied that he had avoided any chance of being spotted or recognized, he was just about to make his exit down the wall of the block, when “You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” suddenly made him turn his head.
“Err Errol, what you doing here?”
“Following you.”
“How? I checked,” said Terry, stepping towards his old house-mate.
“New Tech geezer. Blocks out our scent. Oscar reckoned you’d be back.”
“Look, you don’t understand, the kid was in trouble.”
“So you thought you would do your White Savior thing,” said Errol, putting his hands on his hips.
“What the fuck has color, got to do with it? He would have been forced to kill someone tonight. I read the guy’s mind. It was lucky that I got there when I did,” snapped Terry, shaking his head.
“Wasn’t your call. We don’t get involved with mortals.”
“Oh really? Like you don’t spend all day helping black kids from joining gangs?”
“I’m black” said Errol, firmly.
“So if I see a black kid drowning, I should wait around for the next black life guard to turn up, should I?”
“Bullshit response.”
“Bloody hell Errol! Your mind’s been infected mate. You were never like this.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“No, you weren’t!”
“Maybe I’ve woken up, then.”
“So not friends, just allies then, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Really? You fucking twat,” replied Terry, now finally losing his temper, before delivering a punch to the side of Errol’s head. However his old house-mate managed to duck the jab and driving his shoulder into Terry’s chest he drove him back across the roof top, where for the next thirty seconds or so, the two Vampires fought bitterly, giving no quarter, as they landed blow after blow on each other’s bodies until Oscar suddenly appeared out of the darkness to stop the fight.
“Okay, step away Errol. Terry, this is the second occasion you have struck a fellow Brother in Blood, and this time, it cannot be ignored. Bind him and take him into custody, we will convene a meeting of the Disciplinary Council immediately, and they can decide what to do with him then” instructed Oscar, waving his hand towards the three Vampire Guards, who now appeared out from the shadows to grab Terry by the arms.
“Oh cheers mate, you fucking traitor,” barked Terry, spitting some of his own blood in the direction of Errol, before he was swiftly dragged from the roof, to a van waiting in the street below.
“What the hell you doing here?!” snapped Errol, storming up to Oscar with his fists clenched.
“Now don’t be silly old chum,” replied Oscar, folding his arms.
“You said just follow him, that’s all,” cried Errol, taking a step back, as he realized, the older Vampire could snap him in two, if he fancied.
“He broke a rule.”
“We break rules all the time.”
“He assaulted you and he killed a black mortal, which is against the new directive.”
“What? How did you know that?”
“We had back up. We’ve videoed everything. Standard procedure,” said Oscar, looking up towards the night sky.
“Standard what? Look I don’t get it Oscar. We’re interfering with mortals all the time. I mean I hypnotize kids on a regular basis to try and stop them stabbing each other, you know use their fists instead, have a bit of honor, for a change. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”
“But you never killed one.”
“Haven’t I? How do you know? Sometimes they have to die. Like the one Terry done tonight. I’ve heard of Blake. He’s all bad and I might be black but I ain’t gonna be crying any tears, when a scumbag like that gets what he deserves.”
“Terry’s methods are wrong and his thinking is wrong, you know that. He’s out of control Errol and for security reasons we can’t have him running all over town, killing who he wants, just because he’s got the hots for some mortal. We need to be progressive fella. That’s the most important thing right now. Remember, the future is ours. We will thrive,” said the older Vampire with a knowing wink, before walking away across the roof.
Fucking white people. They hated each other, way more than anyone who was black or brown, thought Errol, now watching Oscar, saunter cockily towards the edge of the building. It was like, he enjoyed it. Got a big kick out of sticking it to his poorer white relation. No-where was the class system as toxic as it was in the UK, as even his old man used to say immigrants like him, had stepped into a war that had been going on for a thousand years.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t my fucking war,” muttered the Vampire to himself and then marching purposely across the roof, he quickly raced off into the darkness of the night.
*
“Come on, there’s this place I know,” said Errol as they staggered out of the Churchill Arms and Terry felt his eyes water from the chill of the night air.
“Ahh, mate! It’s not another Jazz Funk night, down that karzhi in Ken High Street, is it? You know I hate all that shit” replied Terry, now taking a petulant step back from his friend, while Errol started to laugh and shake his head. Ever since they had known each other, music and their differing tastes had always been a bone of contention, between the two Vampires. Terry, since he’d shaken off the ghosts of his youth, now generally favored songs with loud guitars and angry lyrics, as in the sound of the new British Punk bands like the Ruts and the Clash, while his fellow Vampire favored something more mellow, preferring soul bands like Frankie Beverley and Maze and Shalamar. It was a classic impasse of young working class black and white men at the time, and other than One Nation Under a Groove by Funkadelic and 20th Century Boy by T Rex, which they could both agree were classics, everything else was a bit of an issue. Well, everything that is, except for Reggae, of course, and in particular, Dub Reggae. Here the two young Vampires found complete synergy, and as a consequence nodded their heads in blissful harmony for hours on end to the heavy bass-lines of King Tubby and Scientist, whilst usually under the influence of some very good weed.
Therefore when Errol suddenly declared “Nah, it’s down the Grove, innit?” and started to walk away from the pub, towards Notting Hill Gate, Terry had a sudden change of heart. He loved the Grove, or Ladbroke Grove, as it was officially called, not only, because it was the home of the Portobello Road, his favorite street in the whole wide world, where even now, in the mid 1980’s, this cultural artery still maintained that beautiful collision between the possessed and the dispossessed, but also, as it was the spiritual home of Dub Reggae in London. “Perfect” slurred Terry, as the two friends soon got into a good stride, and in no time at all passed the Lonsdale Arms and Finches, until a sharp right, brought them onto Lancaster Road.
“Where the fook, we going?” said Terry, now sounding much more Northern, after 10 pints and 4 double whiskeys.
“You’ll see lad” replied Errol, with a wink and then walking to the end of the street, they took another sharp left, before they finally found themselves in front of a large Victorian house. Drunken knocks were then visited on the paint splattered door, until about five minutes later, a thin black man with a sour look on his face, came into view, who after reading their minds to ensure they were not mortals, and then enquiring, “Why the fuck hadn’t they used the bell?” gave them a dirty look before letting them in.
“Is this a party?” said Terry, enthusiastically as he walked behind his friend down a narrow corridor, to enter a large room with a short bar at the end and packed with people either seated at tables or dancing.
“It’s a Shebeen” declared Errol over his shoulder, while Terry’s initial eagerness now gradually started to evaporate as he started to take in his new surroundings.
Everyone was black.
Everyone.
In fact he had never felt so white in his extended life and as he exchanged glances with some of the patrons and produced the first of one of many needy smiles, he was instantly reminded of scenes in films like Animal House and Live and Let Die, where the white boy wanders into an openly hostile black bar and gets a good hiding.
“So what do you want?” asked Errol, interrupting his anxious thoughts.
“Err, what?” said Terry, still distracted by his mild panic.
“Drink? What drink, do you want?”
“Err, just beer, thanks” replied Terry nervously.
“What beer?”
“I dunno, err, whatever you’re having.”
“Two Red Stripes” Errol said to the barman, before looking sideways at his friend again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, course. Erm, are all the Vamps in here, older than us?” asked Terry looking furtively around the bar once more.
“Yeah, ancient. Some of them been here since Norman times.”
“Wow, that’s old? They must be really strong?”
“Very… and they’re black,” laughed Errol, as if he was reading his friend’s mind, before handing him a can of red stripe. Terry returned a nervous smile, and sipping on his beer, he tried to nod his head in time with the bass line of the song playing in the background, as he had done, quite expertly, many times before, but, due to his present state of self imposed anxiety, he now found that he was losing his place in the rhythm, and, at one point, looked as if he was on the verge of having a fit. Therefore, to avoid any further embarrassment, he resolved to keep his head very still for the moment, and continued to grin like a village idiot at anyone who caught his eye, until, inadvertently, his attention found it’s way over to a skinny Vamp seated at the end of bar.
“I don’t think that bloke likes me,” whispered Terry to Errol, after being stared at for thirty seconds straight before his friend turned his head to take a casual look over at the Bloodsucker in question.
“Yeah, he’s a bit mad that one. Think he’s a crackhead or something.”
“Oh well that’s a comfort, then. I mean, if I get stabbed or glassed, at least there’ll be a reason,” said Terry, a little alarmed.
“What you going on about?”
“He looks dangerous mate. He’s making me feel on edge.”
“Well now you know how I feel then,” replied Errol with a grin before looking away, which only increased Terry’s sense of unease, as he took another nervous sip of his beer and looked around the room once more.
Is this payback?
Has my so called friend been storing up all the slings and arrows of outrageous racism, he has suffered over the years, and now I’m gonna get battered to settle the account? Maybe they’re all in on it and it’s a secret society of discontented Caribbeans? Terry’s irrational thoughts now yelled back to him, as he sipped on his beer again and tried to control his increasing feelings of dread.
“Okay fair enough, Errol. You’ve made your point. White Vamp boozers are rubbish and racist, I get it, but can we now fuck off before someone stabs me through the heart with a chair-leg,” hissed Terry, breaking the silence between the two friends again and nearly hyperventilating from all the tension.
“Relax, you idiot. They’re not allowed to kill a fellow Vamp, are they? Even a cracker.”
“Yes but they could fuck me up.”
“Very true. They could fuck you up.”
“Jesus” whimpered Terry.
“Oh give it a rest and stop being a pussy, will ya? I like it here, so we’re staying. Anyway, I’m off for a piss” said Errol shaking his head and walking away.
“Well I’m coming too then” shot back Terry, almost childishly, and after placing his beer on the counter of the bar, he quickly followed after his friend into the rest-room.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” snapped Errol as he unbuttoned his 501’s and started to relieve himself.
“Actually I wanted a piss,” replied Terry, defiantly, as he looked down at the bottom of the urinals and tried to think of running taps and waterfalls.
“Yeah looks like you were bursting. You know what Terry, I have to put up with every white prick in the universe calling me Chalky, or saying play the white man or bumping into me in the pub and then checking his pockets, and I just keep cool, smile and move on. But, as soon as you’re the only white face in a gaff full of black guys, you shit yourself.”
“Well, that ain’t my fault.”
“I’m not saying its your fault. All I’m saying is, that’s what I have to put up with.”
“ Okay, I get it,” said Terry, straining to urinate.
“And another thing. Notice how you got in here no problem, yeah? Not like all those fucking clubs in the West End, with their quotas for black men. “Not tonight geezer, we’re full”, just as twenty pissed up, badly dressed white blokes walk in. Didn’t hear that tonight did ya?”
“No, you’re right, I get it.”
“I get it. I get it. You’re always fucking saying that, ain’t ya?”
“I know.”
“Pathetic,” said Errol again, and now buttoning up his jeans, he headed towards the exit of the toilets, while Terry quickly did the same and hurried after his friend.
“Anyway mate, you can hardly talk. How many white birds, you shagged? You’re always shagging white girls, ain’t ya? I reckon you wanna be white,” shouted Terry at the top of his voice, a few paces behind Errol, as he desperately tried to claw back some credibility before there was a sudden break in the music.
Now everyone in the Shebeen turned around to stare at them, before a symphony of 40 Vampires sucking their teeth filled the air, and the music quickly started again.
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that!” hissed Errol, in his friend’s ear. now looking extremely embarrassed, while Terry mumbled “Sorry mate” and another needy smile returned to his face once more.