Deadfolk by Charlie Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

Cunts.’ When I started climbing the stairs to Legsy’s flat, I tried to get out of that mood. I always wiped me boots on entering a feller’s house and the same stood for the shite in my head. I rang the bell.
    I stood on the doorstep scratching my bollocks and thinking how thirsty I were. Kitchen light were on again, along with the telly, flickering shades of green into the hall. He shambled up to the door again, same as he always done.
    ‘All right, Blake.’
    ‘All right, Legs.’
    I got meself a cold un and plonked my arse down in the usual spot. I looked over at Legs, who were crashed out on his beloved sofa, punching buttons on the remote like I weren’t there. It were always the same with him. I reckoned if I just sat there and kept mum he’d happily watch telly in silence, then get up and head for his pit, turning all the lights off on his way. He kept flicking to and fro between channels, which were getting irritating being as he gave us just enough time to get interested in each one before switching to another. One were showing nothing but adverts for things I couldn’t afford and they didn’t sell in Mangel anyhow. One were showing a bird dancing and swinging her tits on a misty stage. The other one had news on, and that’s what he plumped for.
    The war were on as usual. Some talk were going on in the background, but I couldn’t hear it proper. Forty or so deadfolk was lined up on the floor on their backs, most of em covered up with sheets, leaving a foot or hand sticking out here and there. Soldiers was standing all around, guns at the ready. But there were nothing to shoot at. They was looking at the cameraman and down at the deadfolk and then up at the cameraman again. I wondered if they was weighing him up for a dead man himself. They could take his gear and flog it for a few quid, like as not. But I knew it weren’t likely. If they shot the cameraman they wouldn’t get on telly.
    ‘Much else on?’ I says.
    Legs flicked again and found a film. It were on a street corner at night. A feller were waiting in the shadows on the one side, flick knife out and glinting. Up the other way were coming a bird with big tits and blonde hair, swinging her handbag and singing to herself. It were the same bird who’d been stripping just now.
    I didn’t want to interrupt him. Looked like he were having a good time watching his telly, though he were pale and frowning. But if I kept quiet it made no sense me being there. ‘Legs,’ I says. ‘We was talkin’ just last night on a certain matter.’ I lit one up and took three or four deep pulls on it. ‘I’m on about the Muntons, the problem I got with em.’
    ‘Oh aye,’ says Legs, tearing his eyes away from the bird on the screen who were just now getting raped. ‘What of it?’
    ‘Moved on a bit, you might say.’
    ‘Better or worser?’ He got a fag out and lit it, which were a good sign. Legsy always sparked up when he were concentrating.
    ‘Worser.’ The bird were trying to scream, but the feller had his hand across her mouth while he pumped into her. I were seeing all this but not really paying no mind. ‘Gettin’ so as I can’t do me job. Know what happened just now?’
    ‘Oh aye? What?’
    I thought about it for a bit, then says: ‘Ah, more of the same really. Nuthin’ new.’
    ‘No.’
    The next scene were in a police station. Legs flicked over and found a western. I watched it for a bit to see if Clint Eastwood were in it. Legsy must have been doing same, being as he flicked back to the news when it became clear there were no Clint.
    He seemed happy just to let our conversation hang in the air, so I pressed on. ‘I were thinkin’ on what you said last night.’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘About the Muntons.’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘Said you’d help us out, right?’
    Legs flicked the telly off, stubbed his fag, then sat upright and rubbed his hands together. ‘Now then. I’m glad you came to us with this. Done a bit of thinkin’ on it meself, I