Blood Crazy Read Free

bunches hands. ‘You think you’re better than me, eh? Want to make something of it?’
    Kid knows what’s coming now. Frightened, he sees those tattooed fists coming up with their biting snakes and hand-picked letters across the fingers spelling out HATE and KILL.
    He doesn’t have to try hard to imagine himself lying on the ground spitting out broken teeth while this ugly ape kicks the living shit out of him.
    Slatter: ‘You don’t just walk through town, you know, just staring people out.’
    The kid guesses the safest way out. He goes for it. Show this tattooed gorilla he’s undisputed boss.
    â€˜I’m sorry … Look … I really am. I didn’t mean to.’
    â€˜Don’t look at me like that again. All right?’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’ (The kids stops short of calling Slatter SIR – just.) I was only walking down … I … I mean I—’
    â€˜All right. But don’t do it again. I don’t like it.’
    Respect – induced through terror – is meat and drink to Tug Slatter.
    Kicking stones, we turned into my home street.
    â€˜Tomorrow night,’ I told Steve. ‘We want to pick the right time.’
    â€˜What we going to do to him?’
    â€˜After what he did – something that really hurts the bastard.’
    â€˜But what? He’s armour-plated.’
    I grinned. ‘Give me time.’
    Lawn Avenue reeked of normality. A road of Victorian town houses lined with lime trees that look terrific in the Spring. Kids riding bikes, and the sound of someone playing a piano floating through an open window.
    I’d lived in Lawn Avenue all my life. It seemed nothing special to me, but Steve thought it posh. ‘You know, I’ve never ever seen dog crap on the pavement round here,’ he’d say.
    â€˜That’s because all our dogs have their backsides sewn up at birth. You know, you can lay in bed at night and hear them in their kennels just bursting like balloons.’
    As we walked up the driveway Steve asked, ‘Still clean?’
    â€˜It better be.’
    I checked my pick-up. It wasn’t one of Ford’s most freshly minted vehicles but it was mine, it was paid for. I’d resprayed it myself a flame red then stencilled in white above the radiator grille its name – THE DOG’S BOLLOCKS.
    That would have made Jack Aten laugh. Sometimes I’m sure I do half-crazy things to amuse his ghost.
    â€˜Clean as a whistle.’ I patted the wing.
    â€˜Anyway, you don’t think he’d be stupid enough to do the same again.’
    â€˜I don’t see why not, Steve. He’s got as much imagination as that worm there. Once he’s learnt a good trick he’ll repeat it ad nauseam.’
    â€˜Ad what?’
    â€˜Until we’re sick of it, Steve, until we’re sick of it.’
    â€˜It looks alright now.’ Steve ran his fingers across the paint work.
    â€˜No scratches.’
    â€˜You should have seen it yesterday. Tyres flat – and he’d smeared shit all over it. Paint work, glass, lights.’
    â€˜Bastard.’
    â€˜It had set like concrete. And I’ll tell you another thing.’
    Steve raised his eyebrows.
    â€˜It wasn’t dog shit.’
    â€˜You mean …
    â€˜I mean it was pure Slatter. I couldn’t shift that stink out of my head all day.’
    â€˜What now?’
    â€˜Now we go inside and decide how we are going to hit back.’
    â€˜Hi, Steve. How’s your dad keeping?’
    My dad pulled himself to a sitting position on the sofa and brushed cake crumbs off his sweatshirt.
    â€˜Fine, thanks,’ said Steve. ‘He’s taking a load of stone down south this weekend.’
    â€˜So I thought I’d baby-sit for him,’ I said. ‘And make sure Stevie doesn’t get frightened all alone in that big, dark house.’
    The three of us laughed