Cherry Smack

by wonggeorge320

Life is short. Jimmy's life may prove shorter. His gang mates have grown up and shipped out, and the nine to five is grinding Jimmy into a person he no longer recognizes. There has to be more to existence than waking up every Saturday with a half-eaten kebab and empty wallet. The wide blue skies of America sing a siren's song, and Jimmy decides he's ready to give life a do-over—eve

CHERRY SMACK

By MEI

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by MEI

Contents

Chapter 1: Buffalo Weavers

Chapter 2: Opportunity and Cost

Chapter 3: A Slackers Ball

Chapter 4: 'Wall to Wall Floors'

Chapter 5: Kayla

Chapter 6: Tinsel town

Chapter 7: Kelly (Part I)

Chapter 8: Kelly (Part II)

Chapter 9: Making the Band

Chapter 10: Throwing Sevens

Chapter 11: Affirmation

Chapter 12:Ammit and the Law of Matt

Chapter 1 Buffalo Weavers

They use to call Simon 'TV' on account of his square face. Simon countered calling Jimmy 'Heinz' citing reference to his 57 Varieties of ethnicity. Jimmy laughed it off, it was playful inoffensive jibe seen more as a rite of passage to the brotherhood. Jimmy was from Guyana, a place which induces blank looks from some and confusion in others who dismiss it as Ghana for convenience. Rather than correct the Geography, Jimmy would readily accept hismisplaced African roots in an attempt to Black it up. Simon was a Welsh lad, ginger with freckles, made honorary black in deference to his minority status. Prakesh (Pra) was Jimmy's wingman, a Kenyan born Indian. His parents left in 1967 fearing increased discrimination and violence from their own government. Having witnessed the torching of their shop and hacking to death of a friend and neighbour, he felt the consequences of his actions were an abstract concept that did not apply to him, a renegade lucky to be alive.

The All Saint's gang went their own way. Jimmy stayed in touch with Simon and Pra but lost contact with Kael and Marvin. Fate, however has an uncanny way of thrusting people together. Marvin sprang on Jimmy on the streets of Enfield, North London; stuck in the '70's, sporting a perfectly spherical Afro and light brown flared pin stripe suit. He had a spring in his step and walked with purpose. They chatted briefly as he had to dash. He was different, a mature rounded person with a solid job selling insurance. Jimmy was delighted to see the transformation, it offered him hope. They reminisced churning over the good times avoiding the one question he was dying to ask. As Marvin turned to leave Jimmy made the leap and called over;

"You still seeing Kelly?"

"Nah, we split up."

"Oh that's a shame, why?"

"Her Dad caught us together and threatened to kill me."

"Good reason." Marvin made for a hasty exit but Jimmy reeled him back. "How did he catch you?"

"He burst into the bedroom with the lights off. When we heard the door she pulled her top back down and we knelt on the floor, staring at the wall."

"In the dark?"

"Pitch black." The image fixed, Jimmy lost his step struggling to contain his laughter. "I mean it was obvious what we were up to, who sits there in the dark staring at the fucking wall?" Jimmy could not shake the image, bent over he choked in fits, gasping for air. "Pitch black, sat there like a couple of mongs, I ask ya?" Pleasure contorted to pain as Jimmy's throat grew sore.

Marvin grinned. "Yeah lap it you wanker! It wasn't funny at the time I can tell ya. Anyway he went on a rant said he didn't like her with my sort."

Jimmy caught his breath. "That's rough." Secretly he gloated as he was convinced Marvin cheated Kelly from grasp and should rightfully be with him.

"I only date black girls now, much less trouble."

Kelly was the unattainable dream, a pretty white girl on the other side of the tracks. If pushed Jimmy would say she looked like Natalie Wood veering more toward Gypsy Rose Lee than Maria; a rebel in an enigmatic class of her own. Marvin ran off late for a client. "Take care Jimmy, see you around," He didn't even throw him a card, pretty rich considering his vocation. Jimmy felt irrelevant. Everyone had moved on at startling speed and left him behind.

Simon landed a job in the City, Pra went off to Manchester to study Computing and Kael bumped into Jimmy outside Wood Green tube in the summer of '84. Kael was the king of cool, positively Shaft in the making. He sauntered up free and easy, stood like a boxer, hopping anxiously awaiting ding of bell as Jimmy glossed over his miserable existence. "So what are you up to mate?" asked Jimmy.

He boasted about Chuck T and how he was the go-to for a band called Nation X on the UK leg of their European tour. "They're blowing up in the US, It's crazy, I got to find security, digs in Hammersmith."

Jimmy had no idea who Nation X was. He glazed over, scrambling for a response. "Are you going to the States?"

"Yeah defo, just got to wrap up Hammersmith, "He suggested they meet up,

tossed Jimmy a card and rushed off as he also had to dash. Jimmy was happy to see him riding high. Kael Stewart, Top Dog, hustler, gangster without a gun; poised back on top and relishing the onslaught. Although he felt happy for him it only served to highlight his own grim situation.

Jimmy Bramble scraped a C in English and an A in History, the only subject he was remotely interested in. He left school and was now officially an unemployed bum; marking time, constantly checking his lap for a gift horse. He was deliberately stalling, afraid of the unknown. His Mum couldn't understand his reticence to find work.

She cracked a bottle of Mezan rum. "You found a job yet?" she poured a quart, neat. "I gave this up for you. It's called sacrifice, something you wouldn't know about,"

"Not again. I'm doing my best. I know I can't live off you. I know I have to find

a job."

"What's the problem? All your friends are doing something."

He snapped "I'm not qualified for anything, okay. This is it, third rate for life."

"Is that what you think?" She cut him some slack relieved he had finally

swallowed his pride and told the truth. She sat him down on the couch. "What do you want to do with your life? Pretend you didn't have to work."

Jimmy's ears pricked up, he saw a gap and made a run for it. "I want to travel," She nodded. "I want to see the places I studied in history. I know when I start work I won't get a chance."

"But you got to work Jimmy, we all have to."

"Give me three months to try, please Mum? No rent, I'll get a part timer and

save up."

She thought about it, hesitated and switched. She wanted to motivate him but

knew he had to find his own way.

"I'll give you two months, then you either book a flight or pay rent."

The news came as a breath of fresh air. He impulsively called Pra

for support, extending invitation. Pra needed little persuading. It was more a gap month than year; but it was a gap month with Jimmy, without whom life wasn't half the thrill.

Jimmy figured, with spending money, he would need £1,500. He scoured magazines and local papers for work that paid well but with a light CV it was proving difficult. The only experience he had was in the family grocers shop, serving customers and helping Dad write up the books. He moved onto the job center and happened across a shelf card 'JD Witherspoon's –Stock clerk required for expanding Pub Chain' It was a full-time position, not ideal but Jimmy figured he'd play along for the money then ditch it when the time came. He got in early and charmed his way into the job just in-time for the weekend.

Finally, he had cause for celebration. They hit the clubs most Saturday's in search of a quick escape but tonight was special, a one off event deserving of pre-match build-up. He began; a 1 hour soak, polished brogues, preselected ironed Farah's, slicked his skin faded pomp and set out on the 78 bus to Simon's. He sat feeling smug; against the odds he managed to land a job in the middle of Maggie's recession. The dream was becoming reality, his sights now firmly fixed on the Big Trip.

Simon had a one bed in Enfield Chase. They met up with Pra before setting out to Dukes, a nightclub in Essex. He slammed on Wham's –'Young Guns,' ruffled his shag mullet and came out of the kitchen clutching a bottle.

"What's that?"

"Ouzo, I gave it to my Dad for Christmas."

"He liked it that much ay?"

"Sorry, it's all I got."

"Well we got to get tanked before we go, I'm brassic," said Pra.

"Looks lethal," chirped Jimmy.

"Give us it here, you wimp." Pra grabbed the bottle and necked it.

"You're gonna regret that later."

He swigged a glass and a half to impress. "It's nothing. Tastes like liquorice."

"Man, you are really gonna regret that. I think you're supposed to dilute it," cried Simon.

A car horn blew; they checked the mirror, popped breath mints and clambered into the cab. The driver was full of it but claims about loose girls at Dukes, got them in the mood. They pulled up directly opposite, hopped out, breezed past the bouncers and made straight for the top bar.

The club was full but the dancefloor fashionably empty; no-one dare be first. That honour fell to the misfits, asylum Bunkie's out on a weekend pass. Circle man, a thirty year old greaser in Travolta suit, fresh off the boat from Greece. His signature move was to pivot with toe, round in a circle gradually working his way to 360. Occasionally he would change direction to offer variation. They'd sit there trolleyed trying to guess when he would switch, 'He's the shit, fucking genius.' Then another popped up 'Snake'. Snake was Italian, wore a black pin-stripe and fedora. With arms pinned to his sides he would zig and zig in tandem; the right arm down, left up, fingers pointing straight to the floor, a flawless slivering reptilian. They lapped up the spectacle, thinking it complete but were in for a treat. 'Johnny Sommers aka Johnny Boy," appeared to complete the set. Johnny Sommers was a camp, pint-sized pop artist. Johnny Boy was his Dukes double. He would bunny hop into a Max Wall strut all with deadpan expression.

Simon lost the bet on Circle Man so proceeded to the bar to buy a forfeit round. At the far end, a chunky girl with less than flattering appeal glanced across at Simon.

"Isn't that Lucy Garrard from school?" said Jimmy.

"Yeah, I heard she's easy."

"I'm not surprised, look at her. Standards mate?"

"Fuck it, I'm hungry." He straightened his tie and prepared to head over.

Jimmy looked round. "Wait a minute have you seen Pra?"

"M.I.A. You coming?"

"Nah I'll wait for Pra."

Simon smirked dismissive. "You sure, look who she's with?" Jimmy choked on his lager. It was Kelly sporting a short bob, atop a petite silver sequined Charleston, hanging perfectly straight. Jimmy dare not speak to her at school, too risky, now he had a clear shot with no fear of public humiliation. Simon grabbed Jimmy and frog marched him barking instructions.

"Marvin's gone, now's your chance."

"Alright, alright I need a line, quick what do I say?"

"I don't know, just pay her a compliment or something; say you like her shoes." It was rammed pack they were toe to toe. Simon got in first and pushed up against Lucy. He shoved Jimmy forward opposite Kelly. "You're on."

Jimmy smiled "Nice shoes."

"Thanks," she smiled politely and looked down at the floor seemingly bored. Jimmy had nothing, he dried up. Normally he had plenty to say but he was so in awe he could not find the words. Fortunately, without fanfare Kelly intervened.

"Have you seen Marvin?" It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear but at least it broke the silence.

"Actually, I bumped into him in Enfield."

"Oh yeah, how is he?"

"He's good - -,"

Jimmy had that sinking feeling, Marvin, was obviously more serious a proposition than first assumed. It seemed Jimmy's chiselled jawline was no match for musclebound Marvin. It was all going wrong, paranoia set in, perhaps he wasn't cheated; perhaps he simply wasn't her type. He was filled with regret, happier with the delusion before he came over. He grew jealous and fought back.

"- - he was with a girl."

"Girl really. Who is she?"

"I don't know."

"I bet she's black isn't she?"

"Yeah she was. He seemed happy," He coated the truth with a big fat lie, a small price to pay to put an end to it, maybe now he could ease in?

Kelly unexpectedly perked up and grabbed Jimmy "Do you wanna dance?"

He was confused, it seemed too easy. He went with the flow, took the lead and led her down to the floor. They danced; she smiled, fixed on his gaze. Intoxicated by her gardenia white lily scent, he began to relax, feeling confident. Finally things were looking up. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned round.

"How ya doing man? Surprise!" It was Marvin.

His little white lieregurgitated, choking the air. Panicked, his eyes screamed helpless looking for the exit. He had visions of terror; a scrap followed by ejection head first from the club. Then as if by magic; a dark skinned beauty passed a drink across to Marvin. "This is Yvonne," he smiled, gloating. "She's from Brazil." Having exhausted the emotional spectrum in a blink Jimmy exhaled.

"Is that her?" Kelly fumed, Jimmy nodded. Kelly pulled him away and danced with her arms locked around his neck, to get her own back. Having dodged the bullet, Jimmy settled for second place, happy to leave impression on the periphery.

Simon ran up to Jimmy mid-swing. "You better come." Jimmy cut it short leaving her to her own devices. Simon led him to the Men's toilet. Clustered around a locked cubicle stood two bouncers and a crowd of clubbers. 'Come out or we're gonna have to kick the door in.'

"I think it's Pra," said Simon. All they could hear was retching on the other side. One of the doormen stood on a chair and peered in.

"Ok everyone out."

They cleared the area then kicked the door in. Pra was sat passed out with a pool of ouzo sick at his feet. Jimmy stepped in, hoisted him to his feet and slapped him conscious.

Pra slurred. "Don't say, I told you so."

The night was cut short; the lads made their exit and caught a taxi home. Jimmy didn't have time to say goodbye. He was haunted by the image of leaving Kelly stranded but the brotherhood came first. He clutched at straws hoping Simon could glean the fallout from Lucy later.

Monday came, his first day at Witherspoons. The headquarters was above an old Victorian pub, The Charlotte Despard, just down from "Suicide Bridge" in Archway. The landlord living quarters had been converted into makeshift offices; four rooms with desks and filing cabinets shoved in place of beds and living room furniture. It was a small chain with only twelve pubs in and around North London. He worked in the office next to Tim Mosley the founder. Tim stood like Aslan, a statuesque figure with thick blond shoulder length hair, a friendly man with a warm smile. He introduced himself and said he was impressed with Jimmy's experience, keeping shop for the Family Grocers.

"I'm all about what you can do. Experience is far more relevant than grades on a physics paper. We are very pleased to have you on board Jimmy." Jimmy felt guilty about his secret plans to jump ship and switched the subject.

"Where did you get the name from, who's JD Witherspoon?"

Tim's eyes lit up relishing the prospect of response.

"Very astute Jimmy. I took the surname from a teacher at school who had told me I would never amount to anything and the initials taken from J.D. 'Boss' Hogg in The Dukes of Hazzard."

Jimmy immediately drew a parallel with his own school teacher and felt a shared connection.

Tim handled chain expansion and would occasionally pop in to announce his latest acquisition. Jimmy was surprised at the rapid rate of growth. He asked how he managed to buy so many pubs freehold. Tim said it was quiet easy then went on to describe a complicated process that sounded anything but. "Never buy leasehold Jimmy, the smart money is on the Freehold" he'd declare in his booming Derry lilt. Jimmy was told afterwards not to pry by his peers as it was above his pay grade but they'd have their little chats in the hallway regardless. Tim took a shine to Jimmy, maybe he saw a bit of himself in him, he felt responsible and Jimmy was responsive.

He did the rounds every morning, ringing the pubs to pick up the takings. He got chastised for being a little too chatty with the staff. They preached demarcation, white collar etiquette and he didn't like it. Jimmy spent his school days trying to find harmony and wasn't about to get sucked in. As luck would have it, the Area Manager, Clive was looking for bar staff and asked if he ' fancied pulling a few shifts down The Tufnell Tavern at the weekends.' He smirked defiantly at his colleagues and agreed.

The bar was a gastro-pub, his job was to serve diners. He was in his element, working the floor for tips, flirting with the waitresses; none of whom were interested, until they found he worked for Clive and the owner Tim. John, the pub landlord ran a tight ship, everyone shaped up when he was around. Jimmy was the exception. He dropped a trifle into a punters lap whilst trying to scoop it out the bowl.

"Don't worry Jimmy, shit happens." John laughed making the others cringe.

Becky, a perky precocious young slip, cosied up to him on a mission of her own.

"You are jammy Jimmy. If that were me I'd be out the door."

Becky was perfectly gorgeous, a doll-face strawberry blond with rainbow plaits. Her accent was slightly upper crust but there she was slumming it; possibly a public school girl topping up daddy's allowance. She was attracted to Jimmy's boy band looks but also saw a way to grab easier shifts and perhaps a rate rise before time. She pounced on him, seizing opportunity.

"I know this is short notice but I got a party tonight Jimmy Jam. Why don't you come?"

Jimmy couldn't believe his luck, was it really this easy? He viewed the invitation with suspicion but attended just in case his luck held.

The party was held in a huge seven bedroom detached house in Highgate. Jimmy arrived in the dead of night. He walked through a beaded door, wind chimes softly rang overhead. He entered the hallway, soft lit with candles and paper lanterns. Ravi Shankar played in the background as the host, a smiling blue eyed girl placed a garland of flowers round his neck.

"Welcome, I'm Blossom. Would you like some banana bread?"

Strawberry Blossom was a 60's child, a rich kid turned hippy. She wore a short tie-dye purple dress with fringed cowgirl boots. "There's some flax seeds on the side, they go well,"

Jimmy went through, the unmistakeable odour of pot mingled with nag champa incense. He entered the front lounge; protest posters and tapestry with the words Peace and Happiness embroidered the walls. The floor heaved with stoners, bubbling smoke filled bongs, crawling wasted across floor cushions in search of a clear spot.

It was another world, curious, intimate and distinctly communal. As soon as he entered the kitchen Becky made a b-line for him.

"Hi Jimmy Jam, so glad you could make it." She leant over and pecked him on the cheek. "Listen grab yourself a drink, I'll be right back, don't move."

He followed instruction until it became clear she was not coming back anytime soon. He felt lost so went on the hunt for the only person he knew and stopped in his tracks. He saw her pre-occupied, pressed up against the wall in the utility room with hands hitching her chequered skirt above striped stocking tops.

"Ah Jimmy, sorry I got side tracked." Before he had time to swallow dejection she moved aside "Have you met Blossom?"

He flipped, his mind thrown. Becky immediately sipped Jimmy's glass and kissed him full on the lips, giggling sweet and silly. Blossom shot a suggestive glance at Becky and swopped in hot and seductive, nipping his lower lip on exit. He froze, senses tingled savouring every bewitching moment.

"This is the guy I told you about," whispered Becky.

"He is nice, you were right."

"Shall we take him up?"

"I don't know, Jimmy you don't mind do you?"

He smiled with eager enthusiasm. They led him upstairs and toyed with invitation; tempting and teasing. They smiled as he watched, drawing him in closer granting favour.

Day broke. Pandora's lid flew off to Kansas and lodged in his brain. He sat in a café sipping hot tea dazed, letting it wash over till reality descended once more. He gliding home on auto and immediately rang Pra, muttering incoherent. Jimmy laid it out in detail.

Pra choked up. "Promise me one thing?"

"What?"

"Never, I mean never mention that to me again… I hope this doesn't change

anything. You haven't gone cold on the trip have you?"

"Ya mad? Wish I could leave now."

"Cool, where are we going again, you never said?"

His time at JD's was fading fast. In two months he had saved £1200. He gave

up the bar work and handed his notice to Tim. He felt indebted and a bit sad. His foray into work was not as bad as he expected. He no longer had fear of the unknown, fear of failure.

Jimmy had never flown before, the sight of the slick concourse with its designer shops and expensive boutiques made him feel important, as if something special was about to happen. Mum hugged and said goodbye.

"Well done, enjoy your trip and be careful. Have you got condoms?" she asked in very matter a fact way.

"No," Jimmy confessed feeling uncomfortably flattered. "It's ok, I can look after myself."

"Sorry, we better go Jimmy," said Pra, charging to the rescue.

"Oh I nearly forgot." She planted an envelope in his hand. "There's £400 in there."

Jimmy was ecstatic, not only for the money but for giving their stamp of approval. He was now more determined to prove their trust in him was not misplaced. They stepped through the gates cutting the tethers, marking their independence. For the next six weeks they were free to do whatever they pleased.

They sought the nearest pub, hyper and sat perched at the bar. They slammed Kamikaze shots, supped amber flutes of Oranjeboom as time flew by unchecked.

Jimmy lifted his head off the counter and looked up.

"What does Gates Closing mean?"

"Shit, move it."

Extreme panic knocked them into sobriety. He could picture his folks wagging their fingers in disgust. The PA sounded 'Last call for Mister Bramble.' He quickly downed his pint and sprinted, bolting pass startled passengers. They set eyes on their gate and slowed up; skulking pass scowling attendants, panting hard, pulling straight faces, trying to hide their inebriation.

"Sorry, sorry we got lost."

The hostess flinched at the reek of alcohol. "You're lucky the flight's running late, you better hurry."

They ran tumbling over themselves, falling through the hatch, relieved to have avoided an humiliating U-turn.

They fell into their seats bubbling with enthusiasm, it was all so glamorous. Pretty hostesses glided elegantly up and down the aisle closing overhead lockers, checking straps. Jimmy lit the call light by accident. An ample blond teased as she leant over to kill the switch.

"Give it a rest Jimmy we haven't left the ground yet."

Chapter 2 Opportunity and Cost

They landed in Rio de Janeiro and wasted no time acclimatising. Caipirinhas in hand they basted their bodies on rooftop recliners taking in the panoramic view. Jimmy dived into the pool. As he surfaced he glimpsed Christ the Redeemer atop Sugarloaf, blessing him, arms outstretched. They lay back like accomplished Rock Stars, sipping ice cold mojitos from sugar rimmed highballs;

"Did you ever think it could be like this? Ninety in the shade, brown eyed girls

twisting samba."

"Born to do it."

By some quirk of fate Pra found out Yvonne, Marvin's latest squeeze was indeed from Brazil, Salvador. This was their chance, no text book tours but a chance to join a Bloco and party non-stop in the mother of all carnivals, The Cachoeira. He took the initiative and discretely arranged a meet, without letting Jimmy know.

"Marvin's here in Brazil, fuck off." shrieked Jimmy.

"Straight up."

"Did he mention me?"

"He mentioned you alright!" Jimmy winced "Don't worry he's with Yvonne now."

"What about Kelly?

"I'm telling ya man he's loved up. I think he's going all the way."

"What, getting married?"

"Apparently, she's the one."

They checked out for an internal flight to meet Marvin and Yvonne in Pelourinho; an old style town lined with colourful Baroque houses and narrow cobbled streets. Marvin and Yvonne emerged hand in hand into perfect light cast from the Basilica. He wore a skin tight white vest, khaki shorts and she a white linen dress with floral print. They met like it was yesterday.

"You still a veggie Pra?" asked Marvin.

"Nah."

"But you're Hindu aren't you?"

"Hindu Atheist now. Love my cow man."

"Does your Mum know?"

"Very funny. Your Dad know you're a spliff head?"

"Okay keep your hair on. Anyway I was hoping you'd say that. Not much fun munching breadsticks all night."

They made a pre-planned detour to Mam Bahia, a meat brasserie run by friends of Yvonne. They were warmly welcomed and seated in a small private room in the back. Jugs of red wine Sangria and bottles of Cachaça were placed on a huge oak table. They were treated to the local dish Feijoada; a black bean stew crammed with succulent beef and pork. They left mid-afternoon and strolled into the main square. Yvonne highlighted posters citing black history and a government initiative to bridge divisions from the favelas. She was charming and showed genuine kindness and concern. They walked toward a line of waiting yellow cabs. Pra accompanied Yvonne engaging gentle discourse, diverting Marvin to Jimmy in the hope he could wrap up unfinished business.

"I know you had the hots for Kelly, don't deny it," Gleamed Marvin.

"Don't be stupid."

"It's cool, go for it, I don't mind. Be warned mate it's no picnic, she's a nightmare?"

"How do you mean?"

"Blowing hot and cold, totally, mixed up you never know where you are. It's not till you meet someone like Yvonne, you realise what a mess she is. She maybe pretty but… well just beware."

"Femme fatale?"

He nodded, chewing it over, "I guess, yeah. After we split I got so twisted trying to figure her out, I thought she dated me just to get back at her Dad. Major head-fuck."

Jimmy felt relieved but wary, he had been given permission to date a psychopath but felt where Marvin had failed he could succeed.

He double checked, shoring up position. "Yvonne is cool."

"Yeah nothing's a problem."

"How did you meet?"

"I sold her a policy."

"Who made the first move?"

He grinned "You make me laugh; you always want the detail."

"What? Did you cosy up over some charts?"

"Actually she didn't buy a policy at first, said she wanted to think it over. By the third visit I was getting a bit suspicious. I walked in on her just as they were about to have dinner."

"They?"

"Yeah she lived with her Mum and Dad. So I need to sell this policy right? I'm thinking the more the merrier. Maybe I get the folks on board too. I reach for my briefcase and she invites me to sit down to dinner, can you believe it? It was all a bit weird."

"Did you cotton on?"

"I had no idea, too busy rubbing my hands together. We sit down then out of nowhere she starts playing footsie."

"You're having a laugh."

"No, straight up. She puts her toe in between my legs, I had a Lou Ferrigno in the pants."

Jimmy stopped, bent over double. "Don't do it, please."

"She wouldn't stop it was getting difficult."

Marvin continued intent on bringing him down to make him pay for asking. "I

had to go to the boys' room, waddling like a penguin. Her mum asked me if I was alright. It wouldn't go down so I came back, hands crossed, head bowed like a freaking priest, I couldn't look at them."

Jimmy was in full swing, rolling around gasping for air. Pra and Yvonne looked back wondering what was going on, he caught his breath before she came over. "You got a wild one there."

"Yeah, then I realised she had another side. She had it together, so I ran with it."

"The full package, nice. I heard you're tying the knot?"

"Yeah she's the one, anyway it's too good here I can't go back to selling insurance."

"You gonna stay?"

"Already am, I'm a Personal Trainer, Yvonne hooked me up. They're loaded and super vain," he said flexing his pecs. "Can you believe it, getting paid for training?"

Jimmy was green with envy but all he could do was look on as his old school friend, lived the dream.

"Just put yourself out there mate," he preached. "Something will happen, trust me."

They went back to their flat, a posh duplex on a gated community. Marvin had hit the jackpot; Yvonne's dad came to London in the 60's to study, stayed then returned to Brazil a Neurosurgeon. He gifted them the pad, flat-sitting, whilst he jetted back and forth from London, giving lectures on paediatric epilepsy.
Yvonne came out the kitchen, asking about dinner."Você vai comer agora ?"

"Não temos que ficar pronto," replied Marvin.

"Fuck off, you speak Portuguese?" said Jimmy frozen in disbelief.

"Yeah, I know, it's easy."

"Easy when you have a good teacher," said Yvonne leaning in for a kiss. She looked at Jimmy. "Does he know?"

"Know what?" asked Jimmy.
"There's a tradition for Cachoeira," explained Yvonne.

Marvin produced two Nun Habits, It was amiss of Pra not to mention the Sisterhood but he was soon captivated and in no time became a willing and most fetching participant. Moments later they were in costume shuffling to the cavalcade of drums. They shimmied and shuffled their way down from the hilltop over-looking the main drag. In the near distance custom made floats made ground, crawling, stopping for crowds to behold the spectacle. Magnificent artics bustling with bikini beaded samba troupes. Surdo Rockbands trailed choreographed burlesque feather showgirls, a truly vibrant display of music and dance.

A steel band played, Jimmy was desperate to zone in but was hindered. He dug out his panties "My stockings are chaffing bad."

"Why are you wearing tights, your robe is 10ft long?" asked Pra.

"Marvin said…I had to," the penny dropped. Pra screamed with laughter, Marvin ran and Jimmy gave chase "Marvin you bastard!"

They made their way down the hilltop to join the main parade. In the melee and several beers to the bad, heated passions burst. Nun set upon nun, with Police in hot pursuit, a surrealist haze Dali himself would struggle to conceive. As the expulsions swelled the Sisterhood dwindled but nothing could dampen their spirits, the hysteria only adding to the excitement. The law stepped it up, eager to quell the unrest, jaws cracked bloody and bruised. They ducked out before they too fell victim to the vagaries of the night. They decamped in a secluded, quiet café to unwind.

Marvin ordered "Três cafés pretos por favour."

"Can you stop doing that, it's freaking me out," said Pra.

"How did you learn so fast anyway?" asked Jimmy.

Marvin held Jimmy's hand and gazed into his eyes tenderly. "You can do anything if you really, truly believe…"

"Yeah right, then click your heels three times?"

"You sound bitter and twisted mate."

Jimmy smiled "Can I have my hand back."

Marvin leaned in "I was shit at school. Remember Frenchy, Miss Platt? Couldn't remember a word, but if you need it, it makes it easy. You really can do anything. Look at that girl over there Jimmy?"

"What about her?"

"She been looking over since you sat down. Go over and talk to her?"

Jimmy enunciated hard "I am dressed as a Nun."

"Excuses ay Pra?"

"Yeah he's never going over."

The gauntlet had been thrown Jimmy had no choice but to accept or never hear the last of it. He bought two vanilla cones, calmly walked over, she looked up coyly and giggled. A self-projection flashed his cerebrum, he removed the coif headdress. She scooched across and after a while were alive with laughter, nestled in close, kissing. Jimmy got up to save unwanted attention. "Don't forget to click your heels," yelled Marvin. He opened the door and left arm in arm.

They sat on the sea wall staring into the darkness, listening to the waves break on the shore. Morning broke, Jimmy reached across to find an empty space, still warm. There was a simple note scribbled on a napkin and left on the dresser, 'Obrigado Ana X'. The girl was Ana, a samba dancer from Eros, a Nightclub in the center of town. She did not need complications and he did not argue. The perfect relationship played out in one night. He smiled no longer a spectator, not bitter, not twisted but happy to have listened and taken a chance.

Marvin met Pra and Jimmy at a beach bar for a farewell lunch. After being comprehensively beaten by a gargantuan bowl of Vatapa, Marvin pulled out a holdall packed with herb, necked vials of O and stepped to, clambering to the beach before the H kicked in. Palm trees bordered the white sandy shore and beyond turquoise ocean teaming with bronzed gym fit bodies. Slumped in beach chairs, Pra rolled a long necked blunt.

"Class A man, Yvonne know you smoke?"

"Where do you think I got it?"

"Mother-dick, that's one hell of a bubble."

Heads pasty, they started to drift, munching Sequilhos and carrot sticks. A group of topless girls played volleyball in plain view, it fell quite, "I must be dreaming." They were off sky-high, two hours passed in a blink. A cabana boy hauling cold cans emerged, the gentle clink aroused interest. Marvin beckoned; ice cold refreshments delivered comatose relief, scintillating breeze gently coaxed sensation back to paralysed limbs. They watched the sun set and reminisced, cracking up over misadventures and the folly of conquest. The trip had been all the more fulfilling for Marvin and Jimmy knew it. They hugged a heartfelt goodbye leaving an indelible image of the All Saints boy who walked magnificent into the setting sun; the bar had been set stupidly high.

Jimmy and Pra rounded off the evening at a Rodízio, a carnivore's all-you-can-eat brasserie. Waiters served at beckoned call with endless barbequed meat skewers sliced straight onto their plates. The shear array of bowl licking desserts was mindboggling. Jimmy literally cried in pain as he was pig full and could only gaze longingly at the achingly delicious treats. Pra stayed on to chase a waitress he was sweet on;

"Meet you back at the hotel."

"Yeah Pra. Remember, click your heels."

Jimmy rushed into the midnight air combing the streets for a taxi, a cool zephyr refreshed his flushed face. Two boys selling cigarettes and sweets approached him. He felt one of them brush against his pocket. There was an almighty furore. Jimmy looked round to face a grim shadowy man pointing a double barrelled shotgun straight at him. The two boys were spotters checking for his wallet. The noise was a crowd trying to dissuade him from pulling the trigger. It all happened so quickly he didn't have time to react. He looked Jimmy in the eye. I don't know if it was the locals screaming or Jimmy's doe-eyed look of innocence that changed his mind but thankfully he lowered his weapon. Jimmy turned his back and calmly walked away. His mind flashed back to the pool baptism his head bobbing between shock and euphoria. He drifted to a diner and placed a trembled expresso to his lips. Brazil was a crazy place full of fun and excitement. That night Jimmy got more than he bargained for, he had fallen prey but was spared. Nothing could kill his spirit; his brave crowd of saviours knew it and now a desperate man from the favelas knew it too.

Jimmy met Pra where he left him, on the steps of the hotel still clutching a bottle of Asti Spumante. Pra was unmoved by Jimmy's near miss; they were young and could dodge bullets so what. All that mattered was the future, what lie ahead.

They hailed a taxi and crashed at Galeão, International good-looking vagrants catching ZZZ's on industrial bench seats. The trip was over and the mental torture to follow unbearable. Reality bit hard, reality was a bitch, colder than the steel that lay beneath their skin. They made small talk diverting attention from prevailing gloom.

"I heard Si's dating Lucy," said Pra.

"Na-h, he told me. He goes round there when he gets high and regrets it after ..but he keeps going back."

"Did you hear why she transferred to our school?"

"Compromised by an Alsatian? All bollocks mate, urban myth, just like Peter Scott who fell off the Iron Bridge sniffing glue."

"Actually, that's true."

"Well he must be the Second Coming, 'cause I saw him delivering fruit veg to the Grocers on his bike."

"Really? I'm surprised."

"What about, the bridge?"

"Nah, the job."

Jimmy tittered shaking his head "There's no hope. You're a class A act you know that."

As the grey London skyline ascended they realised the truth of it all, this was home, this was their lives. The ride back on the coach hammered it home, cold wet and uninviting. For respite, Jimmy thought of Marvin and his miracle escape.

"Has Yvonne got a sister?"

"Already thought of it, you're slow. Anyway what about Kelly?"

"She's not from Brazil."

"Yeah I know mate, I fucking hate this country."

It was the '80's, boom time. Punk heralded an explosive new wave; Virgin made its' inaugural flight and Band Aid raised money for famine relief. Pra left for University leaving Jimmy at a loss. He spent his days pretending to look for work and commiserating over Brazil. He sought diversion, bought an F-hole guitar, a battered valve amp and strenuously lugged it home on the 88 bus. An audacious brother boarded dressed in a ruffled shirt and leopard print spandex blasting Prince's – 'Darling Nikki' from a boom box; the traffic blurred. He slid back, recounting his own flamboyant journey into music.

Jimmy had an epiphany, it grabbed him; a calling of faith consuming every inch. It all began in '78. Jimmy bunked college round Kael's. They cleared the pantry of Martini and entered a music room, Mum's shrine to his Dad, a prolific jazz pianist in the 60's. Kael sat behind a Rhodes Keyboard.

"This was my Dad's. He had a meltdown on tour, left without a trace."

He swigged Martini straight from the bottle. "Mum had to bring us up alone, Anyway.."

He put on some Thelonious Monk. "I wore this track out, must have played it a thousand times."

He cranked it up and then to Jimmy's astonishment started to play along and play very well. Jimmy sat, jaw sagging, transfixed.

"Christ, are you serious?"

Kael pointed with his head, inviting him to grab an orange SG Guitar conveniently on display in the cupboard. "Are you in….?" Jimmy looked bemused. " I said are you in?" He nodded along, his thoughts expanding his mind beyond the confines of his circumstance. He smiled as he reached out, seizing prospect.

A week later Pra got in on the act and Black & Fantasy Tan was born.

They had their first gig at the Bricklayers Arms opening with Stevie Wonder's – Signed Sealed Delivered. Simon played roadie, Marvin offered support with Kelly in tow.

They walked on, Jimmy positioned the mic centre stage, Kael behind sporting fringed leathers and Pra on Bass to the side. Jimmy began supremely smooth and soulful. "Like a fool , I stayed too long…" The crowd erupted, girls went loco, clapping in time.

They came off to a volley of wolf whistles and cheers. Jimmy saw an opportunity to strike as Marvin wandered off to score weed, but he held back for morality's sake. Bolstered by Kael he waited for his moment and shuffled across holding a pint pretending to walk-on by.

"Alight Jimmy," said Kelly "Great set. You got a cracking voice."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah, I liked it a lot."

"Can you sing?"

"Yeah, I can."

"Maybe we should get together?" Kelly smiled receptive. Jimmy was cut short by Marvin's return.

Raucous guitar and synth swells died as Darling Nikki' faded, the Bus buzzer snapped Jimmy to his feet. He alighted and dragged the gear home, hooked up the Vox and got started. Band Aid was live on TV, he played along, improvising is if he were there; mimicking screwed face expressions, bowing for applause.

Jimmy had lofty dreams, rock star aspirations, to him this was work but his Mum saw it as an excuse. She nagged him to find a job but did nothing more than feed his discontent. Jimmy flicked through 45's and put on James Brown –' Try Me.' Mum had reached her limit, about to blow a fuse. As she looked at Jimmy picking through her collection she saw him in a new sympathetic light. She sighed, resigned to the love she felt for her son.

"You know that was his first hit, 1958, he was with the Famous Flames back then."

"You know a lot?"

"I wasn't always your Mum. Do you remember Harold?"
"Yeah, blond guy in the old black and whites."

"He was our lodger too. He wrote for the NME, knew everything. 'James Brown was a shoe shiner, Elvis a truck driver, Mick Jagger a hospital porter, he was full of titbits. Point is Jimmy no one is born successful it's something you got to work at."

Spurred by Marvin, he had searched for a quick fix but knew deep down he'd have to slug it out. She struck a chord; he began to itch, the reverberation gnawing at his psyche. He had put it off for long enough, daylight peeped. Immediately a conversation with Simon Randall sprang to mind. Months ago he said he had a vacancy in the DP department at Shatkin, a firm of city stockbrokers he worked for. He rang him to see if there was an opening. Simon gave him an update.

"The position was taken but he was a proper loon. He lasted a few months 'cause he was good on the keyboard. They were about to re-advertise but I'll see if I can get you in."

Simon vouched for him and got him an interview, exaggerating his non-existent keyboard skills. Mum was over the moon and dragged out her old Corona Typewriter to get him up to speed. Laurie, his bird brain brother, chipped in and lent him his Commodore 64. In the end he landed the job without trial for the simple fact he was not a loon. In two weeks he was off probation and made a permanent employee working in back office, deciphering trading slips, entering chits from the exchange floor.

He worked at International House, a stylish rectangular office block on the approach to Tower Bridge. The main concourse oozed prestige; smartly dressed receptionists stood with contrived smiles greeting the elite mob on arrival. The clicking and clunking of stilettoes and leather heels reverberated off the cold marble floors and high ceiling like a cavalcade of hoofs at Queen's Parade; a ritual prelude to a frenetic day. The rear floor-to-ceiling glass wall afforded a cinematic view of St Katherine's Dock, a marina filled with playboy yachts and sailing boats.

Jimmy's desk was literally facing the Tower of London. He'd gaze at the 13th Century walls, it's medieval history and resplendent views induced vacant day dreaming. On his first day he was abruptly interrupted by a toff in a razor sharp pinstripe who, unbeknown to him, was the Managing Director.

"Hi you must be Jimmy, I'm Bob, How are you finding it so far?"

He had a suave laidback attitude and made a point of meeting all new starters. This boded well as the M.D. usually sets the tone for the company. Unfortunately he was an exception as Jimmy's immediate boss, John Jones was an egregious bully. He caught him in the corridor, barking.

"What's the answer?

"To what?

"The fucking question, come on."

That was John freakin' Jones, so frantic he'd start a question at the end. There was a time when he would start in the middle, giving you half a chance to respond but now he skipped the chase expecting everyone to follow and if you didn't you were out. Jimmy survived, on Simon's say so, by playing the good boy. He dressed everyone down on a regular basis, moaned constantly, they were all afraid of him.

"Have you worked him out yet?" whispered Simon collecting a morning coffee for him.

"There is nothing to work out, he leads a miserable existence because he is a miserable fuck who likes to bring us all down, I know his type."

Like it or not Jimmy was an unwilling inhabitant of the rat maze, collecting monthly deposit from the reward tray. He wore a suit, carried a briefcase and every morning stood squeezed next to faceless commuters on the sardinerun. At Tower Hill, he would splinter from the tourists, skirt along a little known underpass and converge with his fellow city workers, all desperately rushing trying to avoid the walk of shame. Every day dragged, he became John's new punching bag, made to feel small.

"Jimmy what's this?"

"The deposits."

"I thought I told you to dummy receipts for the reds."

"I was told not to."

"Just do what I tell you, ok stupid?"

He clipped him across the back of his head. Jimmy hated every minute but tolerated it because he liked having money and Shatkin was the only way he could earn it. He convened with Simon.

"I will kill that Gestapo git, I fucking swear."

"No you won't, you're gonna lube up and take it, like we all do."

"I'm serious, he needs a slap."

"So what you gonna do?"

"I don't know yet."

Jimmy lived for the evenings shredding guitar and smoking weed in the garden shed, imagining every possible way of ending Jones. The one which afforded most satisfaction was a double tap to the head, just enough time for him to feel the terror before meeting a deserved end. Wood chipper, acid baths simply lacked punch. Every time he saw him he felt he was back at Primary School being bullied, only this time he could not fight back. He needed the job, the money, a future. Picturing the double tap bought temporary relief but he longed for a more permanent fix.

Simon was in the firing line next day. John tore up his report in front of the entire back office and threw it in his face. "You imbecile, can't you get anything right."

Simon vented in the Kitchen. "I take it back, you're right. I can't bear it."

They were at their wits end desperate to put a stop to Jones. They chatted over a ploughman's at the Coach House.

Simon shot straight off the bat. "Let's cut the brakes on his motor."

"Fuck, steady on."

"It was your idea."

"Yeah to fuck him up a bit, not throw him off a bridge. Believe you me if he slipped and broke his neck I'd be the first to throw a party." said Jimmy alarmed at the extent of Simon's rage.

"I need more than slashed tyres."

"Well I ain't greasing no floor. We want him shot from Shatkin, remember?"

Simon recoiled, still reeling from Jone's sting, "It's not enough."

"Ok I get it."

"I met a guy in The Punch & Judy, for £300 he'd do him over with a pipe."

He nodded. "Ok let's meet him, see what he can do."

They swung by the chemist on the way back to slip Colon blow laxative into his coffee; just a little something to keep them going till the meet.

Before Simon set down the brew, John made an unexpected announcement. "You'll all be pleased to know I'm moving back to Middlesbrough. I was thinking about it for a while. The wife finally said yes, so I'm off." The team quietly contained their excitement as Simon placed the steaming instant down, smug with a grin.

There was a send-off party that Friday. Jimmy was flanked by John and his new boss Alan, a friendly breath of fresh air. John chugged a few glasses of Chablis, drunk he slurred tipping over.

"You're glad I'm leaving aren't you? You hate me don't you?"

Jimmy smirked. "No, not at all." He turned to Simon "The lucky fuck, he has

no idea."

Jimmy kept his distance, he hung with Simon but shunned yuppie traders until he met Mark Stevens that is. Mark was your typical barrow boy made good, sharp and cocky.He was a floor runner on the Options market at the LSE.They collided at Bank Station jostling for door position on the platform during rush hour. Jimmy had seen Mark before but didn't know who he was. As the train approached it blew a column of air into their faces. Mark joshed "Can you feel it Connor Macleod?" Re- enacting the shore scene from the movie Highlander. Jimmy screamed with laughter. His Connery was impeccable and got him in stitches. They had an instant connection and soon became inseparable. Mark was part of the Mod scene; a strict and fussy dresser. Trademark Sta-Prest trousers and Fred Perry shirts was the order of the day. Being a Mod was all about the hair and Mark had none, rather than retire gracefully he sported a badly maintained buffoon wig. He was of Jewish extraction; no oil painting, had a big hook nose and tiny stained teeth but his charisma more than compensated.

Mark introduced Jimmy to the boozy after works scene. From that day on he never bought a drink, there was always a tab running. Tankards of Wallop and bottles of Grolsch would magically appear at the Piano bar, a popular haunt in the bowels of the Trade Center. Post work tipples spilled over into parties held by leisure class traders.

Mark invited Jimmy back to Ewan's pad, a Biffex dealer who netted £30k a week in intro-commission alone. His apartment was a penthouse in the Barbican overlooking the Thames. Jimmy walked through the door into a three story atrium. A 15ft high Jean Basquiat graffiti hung from cables against the rear wall. The interior was designed by his bikini model girlfriend, Guri who boasted connections with Warhol. It oozed neo-classical chic, an architect's post-modern dream.

Mark called Jimmy into the bathroom and scooped blow from a glass bowl. He placed it on the granite top and began chopping, spreading it thin, working it fine with his Amex. He grabbed a razor from the cupboard and split the mass into four equal lines. "It's all about surface area, the finer the dust the further it goes." Jimmy rolled a fifty, pressed his nostril and snorted. Almost immediately the night sky began to glow, the room fell in slightly concave, duvet cosy. He felt a trickle of liquid down the back of his throat. The lights grew softer, his senses accentuated, heightened, he felt really, really good. The very ordinary girls who Jimmy paid no attention to before were suddenly amazingly beautiful with alluring smiles and pert breasts.

Everyone was high, trashed on coke and Krug. Jimmy strolled over to a couple of the ladies, Mary and Kath. He put one arm round each and kissed them in turn. They sat down one on either knee. Mary, a fiery redhead wore a short black chiffon dress. Kath, a short brunette, wore a leather skirt and red ruffle shirt unbuttoned down to her see through half cup. He turned Mary's hands up and studied the lines in her palm.

"Can you read?" she asked.

He grabbed her left then right hand. "Passive, active. Mmm your dominant is different from the passive. You've changed your inherent traits seeking independence, you're quiet rebellious."

"Oh my god you can!"

"You see this long curvy heart line. Means you are picky in love. You've had many lovers, you're not into serious relationships."

"You little vixen," ribbed Kath.

"It's not a bad thing, just means you express your emotions freely,"

"Oh, do me," pleaded Kath.

"Which hand do you write with?" She held out her right. "That's your dominant" He followed the lines with a feather like touch " - for years you wore skirts below the knee - -"

"That'll be school, St Aquinas Catholic," she interjected.

"- - and now," She slipped his hands down her skirt. "Christ, are you wearing undies?" She smirked shaking her head.

Mark tapped him on the shoulder. Jimmy excused himself much to their disappointment. He beckoned him upstairs to the Jacuzzi for a private chat. They changed off and sunk into the hot bubbling water.

"Where did you learn that stuff?" asked Mark.

"Cosmo mag at the Dentist."

"Handy."

They sipped Krug from stem flutes parked on the edge. "That blow is seriously good."

"Finest Columbian, sounds corny but all the best shit's from there."

"You must be loaded, day job at the LSE, dealing coke?" asked Jimmy.

"It's easy at the mo. You can sell 20, 40 wraps all day long but the real money's in moving bulk, wholesale. I sold a kilo for £30k, a kilo is 2.2 pounds right?"

"Yeah."

"Wrong it's closer to 2.4, made me an extra £2G's for nothing. Easy money, you sound interested?"

"Curious."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe a little interested."

Jimmy looked at the surroundings. "Cool pad isn't it? He's got a flat in Manhattan too, I got the keys. I use it when he's not in town."

"Are you shitting me?"

"Totally not shitting you. It's in Central Park, there's a balcony, housekeeping,"

Jimmy polished his teeth with some blow and swilled Krug in his mouth before swallowing. "How did you meet?"

"We started on the floor same time but he was always gonna move on. His Dad's a Lord. Literally three months after he started he set himself up and took off fast."

"So what are you to him?"

"I fix things up for him, anything, you name it." Mark emptied the Krug. "I'm telling ya it's who you know." He grabbed a towel and stepped out to relieve himself "Well if you ever want to top up your pay, let me know. I could use a guy like you." He stopped at the door. "Do you fancy a doob?"

Jimmy went down for the pouch. Kathy made a B-line for him.

"Hi Jimmy, where did you go?"

"Upstairs."

"You need to finish us off."

"I'm just getting something."

She brushed his leg. "Please?"

Mark's errand suddenly slipped priority. They got comfortable on the sofa. He caressed Kathy's palm then Mary's. "That's interesting, very rare and you both have it. It's called the fate line.,"

"That's interesting," said Kathy brushing the hair on his arm. "What does that mean?"

"Many changes will happen to you bought on by external forces."
He cringed as the words fell out his mouth but it didn't seem to matter. The signs were overwhelming. He led them to the bathroom to reload, they smiled in recognition. He grabbed the pouch, bypassed Mark and led them straight to the roof. The girls kicked off their shoes and joined him in the outdoor pool.

He puffed on a blunt as Mary submerged her hands between his legs joining Kathy who'd already been hard at work, she kissed him hard. He checked round for prying eyes and clasped their hands in a desperate attempt to slow things down, but they were keenly energetic. He closed his eyes and let go.

Mark released Jimmy from the mundane. He was leading a double life, one minute a working class lad down the local and the next rubbing shoulders with the stupidly rich at the Yacht Club. Everything was cranked to excess, designer suits, loaded expense accounts a veritable fat cat playground with no culpability. They'd rinse the Arbitrage by night, breakfast at the Waldorf then grab a shirt from Moss Bros and get a pat on the back for coming in early. He'd walk pass the trading desks every morning, park his briefcase and watch the frenetic activity unfold as millions of dollars' worth of trades were bought and sold. They were making the rich, filthy rich and getting plump in the process. No matter if their client made or lost money they'd earn their commission. All they had to do is inspire volume, something the adept desk ops were extremely good at. It seemed all too easy and ever so slightly obscene but no one cared about ethics, profit was the only concern. It was an all-consuming time; they dived in and devoured the spoils till their bloated bellies popped.

Jimmy became addicted to the lifestyle. He received a 300% bonus and blew it on a TVR sports car, bespoke Zegna suits and renting a flat in affluent Notting Hill. Jimmy embraced his new material lifestyle. The old proletariat was buried and in its place a changing man with middle class values.

He moved in new circles but remained rooted; his friends were never far from mind. Prakesh came down from Manchester University for spring break and marvelled at his new found wealth, the flat, the amazing car in the underground carpark.

"I thought you said it was all shallow and material?"

"That's something you say when you got fuck all."

"I am wasting my time at college."

"I got lucky. Come to lunch tomorrow, my treat."

They arranged to meet at The Yacht Club a bar in the Marina behind International House. Jimmy dashed to the dock. He spotted Prakesh soaking in the rays, knocking back a crisp lager and lime.

"Listen Jimmy before you order, I got a little surprise for you."

"Oh yeah? You got me worried now, the last time you said that I wound up joining a freaking pyramid scheme selling Amway."

"Oh yeah, how many of those did you sell anyway?"

"Put it this way you could count it on my—" he stopped in his tracks "—Johnson."

Kelly stepped out from the bar doors, god-like, holding a Mud Slide cocktail. Her hair was up in a scrunchy. She dressed in acid wash ripped CK's, air brushed Stussy top and neon LA Gear sneakers.

"Hi Jimmy."

"I said, I had a surprise," voiced Pra. She looked achingly beautiful, a young lady all grown up holding an Esprit Tote bag. "Kelly is at the same Uni. I bumped into her on campus, huge coincidence."

Kelly interjected. "Sorry Jimmy I asked to come. Look at you in your suit, very dapper."

He lost his cool, fumbled around for words but had nothing.

"So how is it, college I mean. How's college?"

"Well if you like brown rice and pinto beans it's a blast."

"What? With the Bank of Mum and Dad, you two are swimming in it?"

"Yeah, if you're a Jesuit Priest."

"So what you're' saying is you got no money for ciggies and booze."

"No, we got no money for food, 'cause we spend it all on ciggies and booze."

They laughed and joked, smoked cigarettes and racked up booze on a trader's tab; Mai Tai, B52s, Fruit Daiquiris the mood ran hot.

Kelly popped a skewered cherry in her mouth. "There's a girl I know 'Working her way through Uni.' She started doing life poses for art classes then one thing led to another. Well now she's into it proper."

"What you mean porn?" asked Pra.

"Adult entertainment." replied Kelly.

"Fuck, you do mean porn."

"Once she learned how much she could earn she gave up Uni altogether.

Last I heard she was turning tricks for Crack,"

"A rocky road those life classes," added Pra.

"I hope you are behaving yourself?" asked Jimmy.

"Of course. I'm on the acting tract."

They chatted around the edges saying a lot without saying anything at all.

Jimmy returned back to work and left them to chat.

Later that night Prakesh called with an update.

"After you left she wouldn't stop talking about you. Flash job in the city, your own flat, Sorry, I told her about your flat."

"Material girl?"

"So what? Women like that it."

"Marvin had nothing."

"What do you care. Man wantie, wantie,"

"Can't gettie, I know."

"This ain't a fairy-tale, Princess Di, life ain't like that. My brother's dating a Littlewoods model, looks like Goldie Hawn, All she sees is keys to the penthouse. You take what you can get. Does it matter why she's into you?"

"Yes it does, all those things she likes, is not me. I can lose it all then what? Anyway you said she had a bloke,"

"He's nothing trust me. Look, it's obvious she likes you, your job got you in that's all. She's going back to Uni tomorrow and to be honest I am surprised she came down. Why don't you give her a bell?"

This was big. He only had one shot to blast the opposition so hatched a plan. He made some calls, pulled some favours and reached for the phone. He decided to play it safe and make out he was a friend. He made small talk, building slow and deliberate to the punch.

"Let's go see Bowie."

"You wish, tickets sold out first day."

He knocked back a large measure of Bushmills. "I got front row seats."

"That's impossible."

"Not if you know the right people."

"Oh my god you have got them." She grew suspicious then pulled back. "Are you even into him?"

"He's ok." As he uttered the words he grimaced realising he had broken cover. It began to unravel.

"I don't know Jimmy. You know I'm seeing someone?"

It was all going wrong, he panicked. "Pra told me he's a bit of a knob."

"Well Pra should keep his nose out. If you really want to know he proposed."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm not discussing it with you, we're just Friends."

Jimmy slammed the phone down. It was a horrible mistake, he was over confident and she was unexpectedly defensive. He felt mortally wounded, his pride in tatters. Years of point building destroyed in a car crash instant. She had let him know in her own inimitable way not to bother.

He lost himself, destroyed fed up of being bested. He drowned his sorrows over lunch with Mark and Pra the next day in the Jamaica Tavern, determined to erase her from memory.

"She used the F-word?" said Mark.

"Yeah, can you believe it?"

"That's the ultimate smack down. Sounds to me, you touched a raw nerve with the boyfriend thing. Do you know him Pra?"

"Not really," Pra hurriedly diverted the subject. "Kelly is a hot head, unpredictable. Remember Keith White Jimmy?"

"Keith..oh you mean Otter face?"

Pra choked on his beer. "Man that's dry."

"Otter face?" asked Mark.

"White dude; fuck he was ugly. He was dating Kelly at school. Tell him what happened Jimmy?"

Jimmy sniffed the length of a freshly peeled Panatela. "Keith White and his girlfriend Kelly were blocking the inside of the staircase. I tried to squeeze pass but Keith pushed back told me to 'walk round . I told him it was down on the left. Then he started giving it some, 'Oi , can you smell curry? Fucking wog, coon that sort of thing."

"So you spanked him?" said Mark.

"Nah, there was a crowd building so I put on a show. 'Do us a favour,' I said, 'Next time, you speak pop a breath mint, your breath stinks,'

"Brutal."

"The truth hurts. He lunged at me so I tripped him down the stairs."

"Nice."

"Tell him the rest," said Pra.

"Nah that's enough."

"He's too much of a gent Mark. Afterwards Kelly was so humiliated she walked off and Marvin swooped in for the kill."

"Who's Marvin?" asked Mark.

"Jimmy's best mate."

"So you did the spade work and your mate cashed in. No wonder you're pissed."

"I told you he's a Saint, never said a word."

Whiskey and sympathy bought temporary relief but soon wore off. Pra left to catch the train back to Manchester and Mark returned to the LSE. "You better get back too." advised Mark.

Jimmy ignored him, had a procession of shots and tried to catch the snooker on the overhead TV. He glazed over, passed out slumped over the bar and failed to return to work.

The next morning he knew he was in trouble. Simon left a massage to warn him.

"Man you are for the high jump. You better think of something they are waiting for you."

He was summoned to see his boss, facing certain dismissal. Vanessa, an uppity bitch from HR sat their smug, raising the guillotine. If he apologised at the time he might have stood a chance but he had left it too late, it was curtains, a mere formality. He entered the office, a lamb to the slaughter, head bowed shoulders slouched. Ten minutes later he emerged cheerful, smiling. His boss, Alan shook his hand and apologised for the mistake adding 'if he needed any help to let him know.'

Simon was in deep shock. "What did you say?"

"Take a look." He handed him a white slip of paper.

"What's this?"

"A prescription for a heart condition."

"You ain't got no condition."

"It's my Mum's."

He chuckled "I don't believe it. You are fucking Houdini I swear."

"I need my job."

Jimmy said he did not want to make a fuss, felt poorly so went home. Not only did he keep his job they felt sympathy and told him to use the company cab account 'whenever he felt the need' They felt the need that evening and used it to take them back to the ale house later.

Chapter 3 A Slackers Ball

It was Monday, October 19th; the day was an unprecedented disaster. The room was grim, filled with the panicked faces of the fallen. As positions went bad the bad disappeared. This was Black Monday, a truly seismic event which heralded a 60% fall in the stock market. Companies folded, employees sacked, careers shattered. It was all going wrong. The city became a ghost town, bars were empty, the Yuppies fled and stiff corporates moved in. The F.S.A was breathing heavily down their neck as compliance and segregated accounts were introduced in a vain attempt to make them respectable. Shatkin was under new management. Mechanical bankers moved in, performing a charisma by-pass, draining all that was left of a fading scene. His boss, Alan was prejudicially sacked and Jimmy, the habitual offender, knew he was next.

Barely a week had passed when a meeting was convened to discuss Jimmy's misconduct. Simon carried the ever watchful eye;

"They'll have something on you, probably the day you bunked last week."

"Isn't it three strikes then out?"

"Nah summary dismissal for serious offences and you were caught on TV mate, so you can't play the sick card."

"Yeah that spot on the 6 o'clock news was bad luck, caught in the back at The Arbitrage what are the odds?"

"One way or another you're out the door mate."

"Fuck, corporate wankers."

"I know Jimmy, I'm so mad, everyone hates them. They're gunning for us one by one but what can you do?"

Ever since his boss, Alan left the writing was on the wall. He realised it was over and was ready to go but not without a fight. He was called into the boardroom and remained standing as the jury of eight sat, ready to condemn. He knew the game was up so spoke without reserve.

"I know what's going on, pay me my severance and I'll go, no fuss,"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, your contract clearly states," said Vanessa, gloating, thumbing the pages to read the clause.

"I don't care about the contract. Don't try me."

"What did you say?" said Andrew, the Finance Director.

"Let's not play games, Andrew,"

"You got something to say?"

"Ok, I warned ya. Actually, Vanessa you may want to leave the room. What I'm about to say is highly incriminating." She remained seated "Fine, up to you."

Andrew coughed. "Now hold on, hold on, we're just talking."

"It's too late for that. You see Vanessa I covered up reports on their say so. Bet you didn't know that did you? Now I could call the FSA about non-segregated client funds, false accounting, shall I go on?"

"Is that a threat?" asked Andrew.

"I don't know, why don't you try me? You gone quiet Vanessa. You know you are obliged to report this? My offer's starting to look pretty good now, isn't it?"

"It's just your word," said Andrew.

Jimmy lent forward with his hands on the table staring them down. "Come off it. John left because of you, not his wife, everyone knows 'dummy the reds.' remember?"

"That's just your word."
"No, I got snapshot reports at home. Client borrowings in the red, over exposed positions, overdrawn house accounts. It's very naughty stuff, a real mess, seriously you should look into it?" He mocked.

"Suppose what you're saying is true, you'll be in trouble too."

He headed toward the door and looked back quietly optimistic. "Don't try me. Now I'm leaving and you're going to pay me double to keep my mouth shut."

A day later they panicked and paid him off. Simon was crossed off the expulsion list along with three others. Despite receiving a nice pay out he was fateful and offloaded on Pra.

"I figure after severance I got till next month before the Landlord kicks me out."

"Next month?"

He put his head in his hands, swept back his hair. "Yeah I fell a bit behind. My credit cards are maxed. I blew my advance on the car so the rents gone."

"You got experience now. Can't you switch to another firm?"

"What firm, have you seen the news, there all gone. Rothschild, Morgan they're all gone. I'm screwed, it's over."

A week had passed. Jimmy sat in Aladin, a curry house on Brick Lane. It was a grey miserable morning. He shuddered as drizzle ran down the pane. Mark burst in energetic and full of bluster.

"Not exactly short sleeve weather ay Jimmy? "He took off his Burberry mac, hung it on the back of the chair and sat down; "You ordered yet?"

After studying the menu at length they plumped for the usual; Rogan Gosh for Jimmy and Chicken Korma for Mark. Mark raised his glass.

"God bless Shatkin and all who sink in her right?"

"Did they pay you off?"

"You kidding, involuntary redundancy. No worries, I sold the client list to Chase." Jimmy was both impressed and shocked. "It's compensation, anyway I need some seed money."

"Seed money, for what?"

The waiter set down two tall beer glasses. "I've been thinking about ramping up my operation, expanding into Tower Hamlets and now's as good a time as any. Trouble is, it's too much work for me- -" He popped a Grolsch swing cap and began to pour for Jimmy, "- - I need a lieutenant?" The dishes arrived and were spooned sizzling hot onto plates. They heaped a mouthful. "I know what you're thinking, a bit rough, violent? All bollocks, no-one's going to shove a gun in your face and march you off to a chop house in Medellin."

"Medellin?"

"It's in Columbia." He wet his appetite and replaced the flute. "Coke, Speed, Mary Jane, we don't need to push. The demand is sky high, the money good. We play it big, make a bunch and get out."

A couple of stiffs in suits entered and sat opposite. "Aren't you tired of it all, being told what to do being a slave to the man?" Jimmy looked over at the suits. "What you think they're legit, honest? Let me tell you those fuckers are the biggest crooks of all. How do you think Ewan made it? It's from who he knew. Polite conversation in pretentious wine bars, insider dealing that's how. Tips from rich pricks like them. The market's fucked, interest rates at 15%, my Mum's lost her house and it's their fault, so forget what you think. You want justice, you want to get even? Get with the program."

"Huh, so what are you now, Robin Hood?"

"No but I don't feel guilty. Al Capone, Tommy guns on Valentine's Day over what? Prohibition in 1930's USA, that's what; all over that stuff you're drinking right now. It's all arbitrary bullshit."

Mark passed Jimmy a teen of coke under the table "Look here's a little something."

"Shit, thanks."

"Thought that would cheer you up, that'll do ya for a while."

Jimmy went to the Men's to make himself happy. Reality sank in, Mark made a lot of sense. He knew he couldn't go back to Mum's, he needed the money. When he came back the rain had stopped. A shaft of sunlight cracked on the table. Jimmy felt in control again, tore off some Naan bread and took the last swig of Grolsch.

"Ok, I'm in but I want half."

Jimmy suggested he expand the operation and deal dope. Pra had been dealing on campus for a while. He never held much just enough to top up the loan. The intention was for Mark to supply Pra's contact and supersize the deal.

Mark lived in a high rise in Napier Court, Hackney. Everyone knew him as the Pharmacist, but no one, not even Jimmy knew he lived on a council estate with his ex, Sophia, a single mum he knew from childhood. She was the only one who would put up with him. He'd come crawling back after caught red handed with other girls. Girls who used him, milked him for what he had, what he could offer. Jimmy grew paranoid, wondering who Mark really was and if he could trust him.

The lifts were all broken, graffiti riddled the walls. They climbed the cold concrete stairs, piss-stink and stained. A small boy ran out, Mark's adopted son, Johnny.

"Where's Mum?"

"She's gone to the shops."

"I got you something." He pulled out the latest Batman comic. "You go and

play in your room ok." Johnny ran off excited.

"You look after him?

"I'm pretty much his dad."

"Where's his real dad?"

"Left before he was born, poor git, never seen him." Jimmy began to relax.

"Does he know you're not his real Dad?"

"No, Sophia says he's not old enough. Probably best for now."

There was a knock at the door. Mark had lined up some business in anticipation.

"Pra's contact better be as good as he says, Do you know him?"

"No, but Pra's no fool,"

"Students," groaned Mark. "Ok, it's your funeral,"

Marcel, a tall well-spoken Nigerian in a tan cashmere coat entered. Mark grabbed some ice cold Sols. Marcel pulled out a leather case and some electronic scales, the red LED's flashed on.

"Nice kit," said Mark.

"Yeah saves dicking about with weights. It's the ones the labs use; accurate to a 1000th of a gram."

He chopped up two lines to sample. Mark scored.

"Ok we're good." Marcel scooped up the goods and weighed out exactly half a kilo. He reached into his bag and pulled out a shiny caramel coloured brick.

"Jimmy, do you know what this is?"

"Soap?"

"Very good. It's Moroccan hash, not pure resin. Here try some."

He cut off a bit from the underside. Jimmy rolled a spliff and sparked up.

"It takes five to kick in."

Jimmy took it down deep "…..Shit!"

"Five seconds that is," They laughed. "Good shit huh? I'll give you two bars and we'll see how you get on. You got a week to shift it, then I start charging interest, £500 for every week you're late. You still in?"

"Yeah totally."

They shook hands and Marcel left. Mark read him the riot act.

"Right here's the deal. I'll move the coke and you move the hash up North.

Remember, you can have fun, just don't flaunt it. There are plenty of sharks out there that will cut themselves in, take half of your shit or shop you. Keep it under the radar,"

"Cool, I get it."

"Number one and only rule, don't get caught. Only deal with trusted contacts, no-one new." He tapped his temple to drive the message home "Use your loaf, nothing last forever Jimmy. Now's your time so be careful and don't fuck it up."

Mark stood outside Napier Court and matched a cigarette. It was a clear and brilliant day. Bird song gave way to green grocers hauling carts down a cobbled track toward the street Market. Mark looked back to catch Johnny knocking from the fifth floor, peering out the window. Sophia suddenly pulled him away. His heart dipped, she didn't want him to know what daddy was up to. The clock was ticking, he knew he had to do better. This was the last big push. After this they would get away, skip to the countryside or it was over.

Mark felt twitchy, for the first time matters were out of his hands. He felt totally unprepared, venturing into unfamiliar territory; dealing with a complete stranger. It defied all logic and broke every one of his self-proclaimed rules. He was relying on good intelligence from Pra and a dose of beginners luck from his new partner Jimmy. Mark heard a familiar rumble. He raced round to the main street. Jimmy sat there in his metallic red TVR with the top down, music pumping.

"What did I say about flaunting it?"

"I only got a month before it goes back."

Mark got in. "Next time park round the back and don't blow your horn, it's 6 in the morning for Christ's sake."

They raced up the A1 to Didsbury, Manchester.

Nowhere was the stagnation of Britain more evident. The Japanese Pavilion stood defiantly, it's ornate red brick spires looking down, mocking the new. 70s edifices falling foul, un-pretty graffiti stained boxes, poking tongues, spoiling the beauty. The Arndale centre cold and destitute sat opposite crumbling train arches, paint peeled, stain glass stolen to turn a quick buck. They watched as the Punks picnicked in Hulme park; the great unwashed squatting on the lawn, harbouring malice at the abandonment of a once prosperous town.

"Be on your best behaviour when we meet Pra's guy. Show respect remember this is an introduction after this you are on your own."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"No not yet. From what I hear he's a dick but he sleeps with a Glock under his pillow so I wouldn't fuck with him. We're not making the exchange till Sunday so just relax and enjoy the night."

Jimmy dropped off Mark at the Hotel and picked up Pra to go for a drink. A Nissan Skyline flashed them up, hot to trot. A boy racer had pulled alongside eager to impress his girlfriend. He weaved beside, then behind with his lights flashing, goading them into a duel. Jimmy refused to entertain, the last thing he needed was the Bill on his back. No sooner had he lost them, an EVO pulled up, at the next set of lights revved his engine and burned him on green.

"What is it with this place?" He pulled up alongside at the next set, out of curiosity. The passenger leaned forward looked across and waved "Oh my god," shrieked Jimmy.

"What?" Pra looked across it was Kelly.

Jimmy was furious eager to attack. "Right he's dust! "

"Don't race him."

Jimmy was not listening. "Hold onto your hats."

"Don't do it - -"

The lights turned green and Jimmy floored it, heads threw back, backs pinned, they screamed exhilarated. Within seconds the EVO was shrinking in the rear view mirror.

"- -What are you doing? Slow down, let him take you." shrieked Pra.

"What is wrong with you?"

"He's Roger, our contact, our buyer. I'm serious, that's how I met him through

Kelly. Now slow the fuck down."

Jimmy immediately backed off and let Roger beat him to the lights. "Alright, alright be cool." Roger overtook and cut him up to rub his nose in it, stealing the inside lane, Jimmy switched to the outside. They stopped at the junction. Just as the lights were about to change they heard an almighty thwack. Roger's EVO had been shunted from behind by the Skyline from earlier, they couldn't believe their eyes,

The EVO was totalled, the back completely caved to the rear pillar. It rolled across the junction to the far set of lights before hitting a barrier. Bits of fibre and smashed glass littered the carriageway.

Jimmy ran up to Kelly and opened the door. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm ok, thanks Jimmy?" he grabbed her hand and led her out of harm's

way.

Roger intimidated to her. "You know him?" he looked murderous.

Pra went across to Roger. "You ok mate?"

"Prakesh, you with him?"

"Yeah, you ok Roger?"

"You better go."

Pra winced. "Everything cool for tomorrow?"

"I said you better go."

Jimmy and Pra turned and walked away, looking back as patrol Police

approached plodding around, marshalling traffic.

"You should have told me." said Jimmy.

"I didn't see the point."

"Do you see the point now?"

"Excuse me, I wasn't expecting a fucking face off in the street."

"Does, it matter?" Pra stared him down hard. "Yeah alright, I guess it's a bit awkward."
"A bit awkward? It's a fucking disaster."

"What do you want me to do?"

"It's out of our hands now. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. Birds,

they fuck up everything."

Day broke, they picked up Mark and made their way to Moss Side, a notoriously troubled inner city suburb. The building was a crumbling block of flats. None of the lads were particularly thrilled about the choice of venue. The neighbourhood was by-passed by Police, it was lawless, a safe haven for gangs and drug cartels. They parked up in a side alley next to Roger's EVO, a presumed safe zone.

Jimmy nudged Pra as he passed the crumpled wreck. Mark bought up the rear concealing the merchandise under his coat.

"You alright lads, you look a bit nervous?"

"Nah were cool," said Jimmy heading for the stairs.

"We're taking the lift, less you wanna get jacked."

At the top of the hallway were couple of Roger's boys holding back two

ferocious Bull Terriers, barking, snapping forward. Pra went first, a lookout opened the door.

The walls were lined with wood panelling, mouldy and dank. They were led into the lounge. A shaft of light spilled through a split in the curtains onto a blood stained goat skin rug. Roger, a blue eyed poster boy for Hitler Youth, stood with his back to them baiting a caged Python with live mice. Mark entered first, he turned and caught Jimmy entering last.

"You're kidding Pra right?" said Roger.

"Is everything ok?" asked Mark. He went across and squared up to Jimmy.

"I'm not the superstitious type but your friend is fucking jinx, so if you don't mind."

"What do you mean?" Roger recapped the prior night's events, a distorted and somewhat biased account. He knew why Jimmy was there and relished the chance to hit him where it hurt.

"I'm sorry Roger I had no idea. Jimmy can be a bit of a prick sometimes. My apologies."

"Thank you Mark. I'm glad someone round here's got some manners."

"I'm sorry about your car, really. How about we give you a little discount to

ease the pain?"

"That's very good of you Mark, take a seat." He stared at Jimmy. "Goodbye."

Mark gave the nod. Jimmy made his way out. "Oh, Jimmy, that is your name

right? One last thing - -" The body guard winded him in the gut. "- -you ever talk to my girl again and you're a dead man."

The guard flashed his pistol to drive the point home. Jimmy went back down to the car. He had gone from zero to sixty and back again. He sat slumped in his seat, frustrated, slowly coming to terms with the situation. He braced himself for the fallout.

Pra stepped into the back, Mark slammed the car door. "Let's get out of here."

"What happened?"

"What do you think? I'm telling you Jimmy, you fucked up."

"Did Pra tell you what happened?" said Jimmy concocting a defence.

"Yeah, you got your arse handed to you. Look it don't matter now, you're out."
"What?"

"You fucked up and now you're out. This isn't a game, these guys are serious,

did you see the fucking gun?"

"Yeah, but Mark."

"But nothing. What were you thinking? I know you're new to the game but did

you not think, wrecking his car and fucking his girl might be bad for business?"
"Yeah but that's not what happened."

"All that matters is what psycho-boy thinks, Anyway spilt milk, it's over."

Jimmy conceded, even though it was all wrong he felt he had little choice.

"Now, after I've had a minor heart attack I reckon we go back to Pra's and get shit faced - -" He looked at the boys opened his bag full of notes and screamed "- - it's payday!"

Pra had a bedsit, a converted lounge on the ground floor of an eight bedroom Victorian house. Garish flock wallpaper adorned the walls. A writing desk and chair were shoved against a bay window. In the center was a black lacquered coffee table opposite a green chesterfield settee.

Pra pulled out a drawer and unrolled a plastic bag of pills and weed. When it came to building blunts Pra was the Chief Architect. He was meticulous, a real craftsman. It would take him an age to construct but no-one complained as he could make an eighth last all night. He got busy crafting roaches, splicing papers. Short or stumpy twin sisters, XXL monsters were delivered with consummate ease.

Pra sparked a Joker and slipped on a video he made for stoning to. Johnny Cash was imitating Elvis on a slapstick version of 'Heartbreak Hotel.'

"You know he's a pretty good actor."

"Johnny Cash?"

"Yeah, I caught him on Columbo. He's flying a plane with his wife's next to him unconscious. He puts on a parachute and jumps out."

"That's dark."

"Mate he was totally baddass."
"Did they catch him?"

"You're kidding right? Have you seen Columbo?"

Pra sped forward and stopped. 'Hold on, Fat Busters, I love this show," said

Mark.

The Boot Camp Commandant put the participants through their paces. Mark hit the blunt hard, taking it deep, holding it till his head was fuzzy and light.

"What the fuck does he know about losing weight? Cheeky fuck, never had cream cake in his life? The cheek, 'look I can run it backwards, shouting abuse.' Why doesn't he try it with a fucking Elephant on his back, that'll make it even, hahahh!"

They were freefalling to the tea party complete with March Hare and Hatter.

Jimmy sucked hard on the Joker, swigging cans of Special Brew, zoning in and out of the room.

"You know you're fat when your socks start feeling tight,"

"You know the best way to lose weight?" Mark pulled out a bag of dust and

shook it.

"Actually Skag is much better," said Pra cooking up a batch.

"What sort of student are you, cooking H. Where's the Jenga where's The Morrissey?"

"Nah, fuck that shit, try this." Pra tossed him some Molly, a pink ecstasy pill stamped with an anarchy symbol. They popped tabs like breath mints, inhaled doobs. Elvis came on the video in a Gold Lame suit singing Hound Dog, he cranked the volume.

"Ah this is it," Said Pra. "You know who's in the audience?" Pra pointed. "Jimmy Hendrix, that's him at his first gig, said it got him into music,"

"What Hound Dog?"

"Nah the suit you nonse, said it was the coolest thing he'd ever seen."

"Now that is the sort of shit only students know."

Pra followed through "In 1960, Gore Vidal turned down Ronald Regan for the

role as President in 'The Best Man,' said there was no way he would make a convincing President."

"I take it back. You are one hell of a student."

Mark was on his back, eyes darting round following speckled light flicker off

the ceiling disco ball. The other students from the bedsit came down to investigate the racket and stayed. A lad perched on the edge of the settee, swigging a bottle a White Lightening fresh from fancy dress, togged in a cowboy suit. Mark hung out the window to get some fresh air and fell out on his arse into a rose bush, snoring oblivious.

Two girls entered Vicky, a petite girl from the valleys. She had a Marilyn Monroe look, bleach blond hair, 50s skirt and red heels. They'd come straight from a rave and were looking to score. Pra was still upright, pressed up against her friend, Jane Whitmore, a girl who had designs on him the very first day she moved in. She was rumoured to have an STD. Pra sloped off regardless thinking he might get away it if he played around the edges. Vicky was cast adrift. Jimmy, quick to spot an opportunity swooped in for a kiss, she ducked.

"Who are you?"

He was disadvantaged "I'm Jimmy, Pra's mate," He scrambled to make ground. Your name is, don't tell me?" he looked at her, she reminded him of Vicky Wilks of the film Mrs Parks. "Vicky."

"Fuck no way, did Jane tell ya? That's impossible, how did you know seriously?"

"I just pick up on things sometimes." Truth was he lucked out by mere coincidence, his life was plagued with them but never understood why. Vicky was deeply spiritual, had her aurora regularly photographed, believed in Alien possession so instantly wrapped herself in the illusion. They wound up in heap beneath some discarded curtains, fumbling, surrounded by other invitees who stepped over oblivious in search of residue and discarded cigarette butts.

The party goers left in the small hours. Pra came down for some more skag, entered the room slowly and kicked Jimmy awake. It looked like a bric-a-brac shop had exploded its contents on the floor. Pra was about to curse him out but Jimmy shook his head and mouthed 'not now' pointing down with his eyes. There was motion under the covers. Pra nodded in approval and sloped off back to his den.

The stragglers left one by one. The boys were wiped out and slept through the entire day. Jimmy woke the next morning confused and thought it a classic case of missing time abduction. Pra snapped him back to reality and glossed over the weekend desperately searching for an upside. They chatted over a burnt steak and half a glass of bourbon.

"Let's face it, I got to get back to London and find a job."

"I got an uncle who runs an Estate agents in Camden. He said he was looking

for some help, maybe I can give him a call?"

"No offence mate but your contacts suck."

Pra grabbed the cold stiff steak and tore off a strip. "Yeah, well anyway have a think."

He agreed, all the while, eager to put distance between himself and the weekend. Mark joined him, keen to avoid broken promise with Johnny. They raced back to London and stopped off at a Little Chef. Mark woofed down a Full English slurping milky tea.

"I know I said it, but you understand I had to knock you down to keep the deal alive? Here- " He passed him an envelope "- there's £2k in there, your share."
"Are you sure?"

"Of course, it weren't your fault. Roger's a Class A prick. I can't believe he's with your girl; that would burn me too."

"She's not my girl."

Mark smiled nodding. "Yes she is."

"You still need help shifting the coke?"

"Sorry Jimmy but I'm hooking up with Marcel and he don't want you on board."

"You said it yourself, Roger's a dick."

"You're a hothead Jimmy you got to keep your cool. Duelling down the high street over a girl; is not cool. Anyway Marcel knows; I had to tell him. If things change, maybe I can use you but that's it for now."

Chapter 4 'Wall to Wall Floors'

He couldn't bear the thought of moving back to his parents but with no job, his choices were limited. £2k would not go far but could buy him some time. He holed up in a hostel and called his Mum to explore a more palatable option.

Mum's extended family immigrated to the USA before the McCarran embargo in '52. Jimmy's folks left it too late so got lumbered with the UK. Jimmy's Mum grabbed her little green book and called Lena, her half Sister. For Jimmy it was a chance to live rent free; for his Mum it was an opportunity to reconnect. It was agreed Jimmy was going to stay with Lena & Kris Persaud in New York.

He touched down at JFK, stole a medallion taxi and headed across the Queensboro Bridge. The reveal of the skyline blew him away, captivated, shrank small, flying to Cloud city. Buildings a hundred stories high pierced the sky, congested sidewalks with people shuffling eager to cross the line before their up-time. This was fast and loud Manhattan. He lowered the cab window. The scent of exhaust fumes from cars and taxis fused with sizzling franks from hotdog stands. Alluring puffs of photogenic vapour rose mysteriously from vents, mesmeric like every movie he'd ever seen.

In the first week alone he got drenched at Action Park, gamed in Atlantic City and watched sailboats drift down the Hudson. He felt he had lived the dream but his odyssey was just beginning. The Persauds planned to pass him round from Uncle to Cousin, Cousin to Uncle just as Mum prescribed. Jimmy made alternate plans to meet up with Mark who was flying out at Ewan's behest. First he had to meet his cousin Lennox.

They pulled up at a chocolate box house with picket fence frame. A huge shadowy silhouette emerged from the sun's glare. Jimmy stepped out and the Persauds drove off.

"Hi Jimmy," Lennox boomed crushing his hand in true Alpha male fashion. "You know you should have stayed with us Jimmy. They are good but we're your family."

Jimmy was impressed by his candour it certainly broke the ice; familiarity acquired in two seconds rather than two long British years. Jimmy apologised, Lennox patted him on the back.

"Anyway you must stay with us longer."

Jimmy said he would try but he knew it was unlikely as he had a long line of feverish relatives to visit.

Lennox was older and reminded him of his brother Chris, the first born; a leader. He was a grafter, working as a mechanic by day and a baggage handler at La Guardia by night. Jimmy was filled with pride when he saw what he had accomplished. He came to America with nothing and now was the very epitome of the American Dream; a family man with a showcase home in Long Island and a muscle car Camaro in the front yard. In fact all his cousins were doing well.

"Roydon, you'll meet him later. He's a Doctor and Fredrick an Architect."

They sat on the porch sipping Caribbean mauby from frosted tumblers.

"What do you do Jimmy?"

"I'm in between jobs at the moment. Thought I'd take a break, come and see the family."

"Unemployed ay?" Jimmy laughed at Lennox's no-nonsense approach. "Don't worry about it. I was too. We've all been there."

"You without a job, how comes?"

"Roydon and Fredrick got the smarts. When you are coloured the choices are limited unless you are qualified."

"It's the same in England."

"It's a struggle you got to try twice as hard. I was lucky, someone gave me a break and I ran with it."

As they were first generation immigrants they had a point to prove. Already they had forged early retirement plans. The day job would be used to fund mini ventures from road construction to rice milling back home. Maybe they were older and further into the game but they had it all worked out. They planned to retire at fifty. It seemed like an impossible goal but nonetheless encouraged Jimmy to raise his game.

Jimmy had no contact with relatives in England. His folks never disclosed much about his heritage. No traditions were purposefully passed down; no cultural roots imbued, the past seemed irrelevant. His time with Lennox shifted purpose, up until then he was a lodger sponging off his kin. He emerged immersed in new fascinating light; a kindred spirit whispering revelation, drawing unexpected parallels.

Lennox left with his kids to visit Roydon. He quickly surfed the access channels, settling on the Breakfast Club imagining he was the cool fop-haired one rather than Emilio the stiff athlete. On realising Emilio was making a play for his girl he switched. It was a scathing reminder, even his fictional on screen romances failed. He abandoned The Club, flicked across to MTV wacked up MJs - Off The Wall and danced around.

Jimmy adjourned invigorated. Famished, he checked the industrial sized pots on the cooker and sneaked a peak at the Guyanese dish they cooked for later; Gilbaka stew, a catfish with fatty skin. It looked nasty; where was the T-bone steak, the Pancakes with Maple Syrup? He spooned a tip of the gelatinous goup and stared as it hung in mid-air waiting approval. He sniffed it but wasn't brave enough so put it back. He was starving and couldn't eat their food. What was he supposed to do at dinner hold his nose and swallow? Jimmy jumped ship, made excuses and invited himself over to Mark's for the day.

Everything was true to form. Ewan did have a condo opposite Central Park. Jimmy's was astonished upon entering. The flat was huge minimalist with clean lines. Mark was mid-flow, glued to a beige IBM screen the size of Kentucky. He sat in a Polo top, faded 501's and burgundy tassel loafers scratching his wig cap trawling S&M chatrooms for Ewan. He logged off fetched ice cold Buds to welcome Jimmy. They fell back into Eames recliners.

"You're so jammy, look at this place. Plasma TV, cocktail bar,"

Mark pointed a remote "Check this out." The blinds drew back revealing a stunning view of Central Park. Jimmy stepped onto the balcony and looked across the way. Break dancers entertained tourist onlookers, horse drawn buggies trotted past a makeshift band jamming to Mile's- 'Tutu.'

"Let's get out there."

They caught the subway to Penn Station. Within minutes they were in Times Square. Bright lights from story-tall neon's surrounded them; a white hot

Tron-esque reality pounding ads from every angle. They traversed the seedy streets in all its rude glory. Peep show purveyors and two-bit hustlers peppered side alleys and shop doorways.

They went to a clip-joint and sat at a table waiting for service. A waitress approached in opaque trouser socks and gloss heels. Mark knew something was up when he ordered a Sprite and got pocket change from a twenty. She walked off and returned fresh from failed solicitation with a Pan Am smile.

"You know if you're interested I'll put on a free show?" Mark was tempted by her charms but preferred a more subtle approach. Jimmy looked around. The place was bare, bar a few hoodlums guarding the door. "Let's find somewhere else."

They got up and made their way to the exit. A skinny runt chewing a bent

tooth-pick blocked their way.

"Minimum charge is $500."

"You sure?" argued Jimmy.

"You talk to my girl, now you got to pay?"

"We're not interested in your bitch," said Mark. Jimmy thought Mark had lost his mind but stood fast and clenched his fists ready for action. The doorman signalled to his boss.

"Don't bother," said Mark walking over to the Manager, a shady Brother perched on a stool. He dipped his shades as Mark flashed his wallet.

"Do you know what we call you?" said Mark. "An 803 and your girl a dwarf. Let me see. Your girl says the dance is free then charges $250 per drink? She sees my ring, credit cards blackmails me for $1000/$2000? Is that it?"

"What do you want?"

"Your gonna give back my money and we're gonna help ourselves to the bar."

"Or what?"

"Try me, go on just fucking try me please."

"Ok, ok take it easy."

Jimmy grabbed a bottle of Bacardi Rum and a pack a panatelas. They pushed pass the doorman. Jimmy swept suspicion aside till clear.

"Fake badge? I can't believe it worked. "

"It's not fake." He flicked the badge open. "O' Reilly been dead for two years.

Ewan's a freak, I keep this on me when he's in town, just in case."

"That was intense."

"Mate, the circles I move in now, trust me, it ain't nothing,"

They strolled toward Madison on the corner of 7th & 34th outside Papaya Dogs, a hip diner. "You got to try these, they're insane." They sat on the top floor tucking into fully loaded foot longs.

"How's Sophia?" asked Jimmy.

"Not too good. I'm glad I'm over. She caught me with the home help. A friend of hers comes round to do the cleaning. We give her a bit to help her out. She started coming on to me and with my track record, I didn't stand a chance. I'm in the doghouse."

"You got a problem mate."

"I know. Still it'll be alright. She kept hinting at a £5k diamond. That and fridge wash ought to fix things."

"Fridge wash?"
"Yeah, my dad taught me, you'll see when you got ankle chains. If you fuck up big, do something big around the house. It brings them off kill mode. I will clean every nook and cranny, plant the stone in the ice tray and bingo, I'm back indoors,"

Mark squeezed fresh papaya sauce on his frank. "How's your holiday going?"

"What holiday, it's over, the £2k is gone. I promised Mum I'd meet everyone," He sneered "Looks like I'll have to now. It's all a bit much."

"I might be able to help with the cash," Mark explained, he was in town on business, setting up deals.

"You sure, what about Marcel?"

"What he don't know can't hurt him. The way you kept your cool back then, trust me, you're good, but you need to rough up." Mark looked him over "What's with the hat and scarf. You look like a Duran Duran extra," Jimmy laughed. "You get back to the relatives, keep Mum happy and I'll let you know when I need you for the run."

Jimmy went back to Lennox; as soon as he returned there was a knock at the

door. Rawl had come to the rescue and whisked him away to his next stop, Harlem on the corner of 125th and Malcolm X Blvd.

Rawl was Jimmy's second cousin, young, slick with bags of confidence. He acted as if he owned the streets, posing in his Atlantic blue Trans Am. He'd block traffic and casually sweet talk female acquaintances through the open top. He lived above a Roti House with his Dad and progressive sister Sherri. The flat had typical West Indian décor, Sherri made a point of removing the chintzy crochet and protective plastic covering the leather settee to make a good impression. Jimmy shared a bedroom with Rawl and was shown the top bunk before heading down for a bite to eat from the Roti shop.

Trinidadians, Bajan and Guyanese all mixed, lining up at the counter for service exchanging gossip.It was strange. He witnessed a real sense of community, something missing from England. Back home, there were traditions his folks kept but in amongst his white peers Jimmy never paid them attention. His mouth watered at the surrounding sights and smells, bake, pepper pot. The 'Buss up shut' wasto die for,a death row meal so heavenly it would absolve all who ate. Rawl broke him from trance. "Come on we got to go," He polished his plate clean as it was ripped from grasp and placed on the gingham table cloth.

They stopped off to the butcher's shop where Rawl's half-brother, Snook worked. Snook would slip him free meat out back when the boss was not looking. They went out the back. Introductions were made and misogynist banter followed as they eyed up the custom awarding marks out of ten. Snook slipped him parcel of beef steak and gave him the heads up. An old flame was approaching on the war path. They sneaked out via the back to the car.

Rawl panted trying to divert attention "Do you like Coasters?"

"Coasters? Yeah, they're all right?"

He started the car, his eyes fixated on rear view mirrors. "There's a park,

Coney Island- -" he looked back over his shoulder "- -it's an old amusement park. Let's go we can meet up with Snook later, ok?" Jimmy glanced back and saw her indignantly strutting around. He pulled out. "Actually, I think I left something back in the shop,"

"What!"

"Psych, I'm kidding don't panic."

"British humour, Christ!" Jimmy was crying inside, it was nice to see him

break a sweat.

It was a hot day. They cranked the music up and drove with the top down to

Brooklyn. Having cleared danger he was now in the mood to let off some steam. They pulled up, walked along the creaky boardwalk, pass the Wonder Wheel to board The Cyclone, an old fashioned wood rollercoaster.

The seating was a mining cart with worn slated seats and loose fitting lap belts. Unlike a modern day coaster you felt more petrified than exhilarated as there was a very real chance of falling to your death. They could feel every pot and rivet as they squeaked and trundled along. Rawl deliberately rocked the cart at the top, stimulating a terrifying battle of nerves. Three people had died on this ride and Jimmy was going to make it fourif he didn't stop. Rawl laughed, the ride ended and he playfully shoved him around afterwards. He teased Jimmy into another ride straight away provoking him into a duel. He was trying desperately to hold up the British end but as soon as it kicked off felt he'd been shoved out a plane at thirty thousand feet without a parachute. He crawled out; with his head dazed and spinning, struggling to stand up right.

"What do you think?" quizzed Rawl.

"Slightly terrifying…but cool," he grinned.

"Brit humour, I love it. Come on, one more then, ha ha." He raced to the next,

the Tilt-A-Whirl desperately trying to break him but they were too late it was closing time. Jimmy faked disappointment but was secretly over the moon as he knew the ride; back in England it was called the Waltzer, a ride so violent it was marginally preferable to decapitation. He was relieved the trial was over and could leave, hopelessly nauseated but with his British pride intact.

They visited Snook as planned; a hard to the core Rasta, the epitome of cool. He lived in a rundown tenement off Hunt's Point in the Bronx. His flat was on the first floor. Prostitute and dealers hung in the stairwell seeking game. Incense burned above Snook's door marking a free zone. In the hall hung a framed oil of Haile Selassie, Jah; the incarnation of Christ. On the side stood hydroponic Aloe Vera prune pots, sprouting stems with purpose.

"What do you use them for?" He cut one revealing a clear gel like inner.

"Try it," Jimmy took a bite.

"That's vile."

"It's a bit harsh at first, raw. You can use it on skin, hair I usually mix it with, pineapple and honey and drink it." Snook led him down the corridor to the back room and opened a bulky white fire door. He was immediately hit by the familiar woody tones of skunk. Eyes fell on a clinic clean hi-tec lab, rows of marijuana plants 4ft high, bristled under dedicated HSP lamps, sectioned by PVC curtains. Silent overhead steel extractors pumped scent through to window vents.

"You sell this stuff?"

He nodded. "I got some clients waiting, come." They went back to the lounge. His neighbour, Eli an orthodox Jew sat there, side curls hanging beneath his Hasidic hat, smiling politely, waiting for the main event. A large porcelain bowl was bought in by Snook and placed on an ornate glass coffee table. Mohammed, a regular, dressed in a white thwab, placed a green bong filled with water alongside. He stood wrapping his Gutra head scarf round his head and afterward poured hot mint tea into shot glasses. Eli cracked a bottle of vintage Johnny Walker and glugged four lowball glasses, Mohammed began stuffing the bong with grass.

"You're Muslim?"

"What are you?"

"I was baptised went to Sunday school."

He pointed to his head and heart. "Being a man of faith is in here and here,"

"I got the badge and threw it back."

"You'll find it again one day, we all do, Shukran," he said bowing his head.

Snook reached into a clear plastic bag and piled mounds of grass into the bowl. He ground the herb finely crushing all the lumps and seeds onto long rice paper skins. He swilled whiskey in his left hand and with his right rolled a tight spliff about the size of a slim cigar.

"Don't you roll J's you know tobacco mixed with a tiny bit of grass?"

He laughed "Nah, Ital, solid," In the background Al Jeel, repetitive whaling Arab music played through tinny radio speakers. Somewhere in between inhaling the bong, knocking back whiskey Jimmy, head numb, eyes heavy took off soaring into bright empty space. Snook lit the blunt and passed it round.

Jimmy had a tug and coughed. "Yeah, yeah it's potent."

The air was thick with swirling pungent smoke. These guys were heavy weights and chained smoked spliffs like cigarettes. The small talk was over. They sat there saying nothing, phasing in and out of reality, blowing thick chemical fumes into swirling sunlight. The absurd suddenly made sense. Sat in the middle of a hydroponic garden, sharing weed with men of faith, seemed completely natural. He was oblivious, higher than an interstellar kite, indeed if they pulled off masks to reveal Alien faces he would not have bat an eye lid. He had left the surreal behind long ago and was now gleefully drifting into the ether. Rawl prodded Jimmy.

"Time to go, I got plans for my British friend." They bid a silent farewell, clambered into a cab and set off for Soho. Jimmy sat checking his numb face for state of anaesthesia. They stopped at the lights, a parade of hot sisters crossed, traffic stopping jelly on springs, packed in leotards and toe pumps.

"Mmm hmm, I'm getting out," ventured Jimmy. Rawl spotted their pimp

in the shadows. The lights changed. "You see that, amber, a warning,"

"Well amber's the new fucking green," he mumbled getting up to leave.

Rawl pulled him back. "Easy my friend." He fell into his seat, passed out and woke up 30 minutes later in the Square, Soho; a neon sin bin full of bars pushing fake alcohol and cheap thrills.

"You ever been with an Asian Latino?"

"Asian Latino? Is that even possible?"

He led him to a place exclusively reserved for locals in-the-know, 'Equus' a VIP club off the main drag. On stage was a DJ blasting techno to slick videos projected up onto a vast white brick wall. They shuffled pass the crowds up the stairs to a private suite overlooking the atrium. Jimmy peered down; the floor was crammed with girls, hustling, trying their best to tease custom. Business men in suits looked on, sat at tables dotted round the perimeter, smoking cigars surrounded by an army of waiters poised to cater to every whim.

"What sort of place is this?" asked Jimmy.

"Why don't you like it?"

"Yeah it's cool but it looks pricey."

"Don't worry it's on me, relax VIP all the way."

Jimmy sneaked suspicion, Rawl had no job yet there he was holding free reign. They were led upstairs to a cosy leather lined room with suede seating. He hastily buried doubts, eager to cash in. A large bowl of fruit fogged on dry ice was placed on a milk glass table. An assortment of ice cold imported lagers, and miniature shorts were delivered on a platter and coasters positioned by a slinky waitress.

"Eat," insisted Rawl.

Jimmy bit into a black grape, sweet with impeccable snap. Rawl lapped up chin juice from a perfectly ripened pear. "I invited some friends down, hope you don't mind." Two stunningly attractive young ladies entered in traditional cheongsam satin dress; "This is Lei and Jai," They smiled as they squeezed onto the sofa. Lei popped fruit into Jimmy's mouth. As soon as he took out a smoke she lit it up, Jai followed suit. This was next level opulence he could not refuse. He continued to indulge fast and loose. Rawl's hands wandered up Jai's skirt, kissing her on the neck. Lei stroked Jimmy's leg, creeping up slowly, brushing lightly at the seam. The hour wore Jai pulled Lei onto the floor and unzipped her dress sucking them into a lewd vortex.

Jimmy got the call from Mark. He borrowed Rawl's lime green Eldorado, and told him he would be back in a couple of days. He pulled up opposite the park and Mark hopped in.

"Take the M5, we are going to Connecticut."

"What's the gig?"

"Picking up a shipment, simple." Mark opened his bag and took a loaded 38.

"Fuck, what's that for?"

"Calm down, we are in America mate, it's just for show. These are serious dudes. They will search us, if we're not carrying they'll think we're soft and jack us. Trust me we need to pack."

"I think my face is numb."

They drove to Hartford on the edge of town and pulled up into a sketchy Motel. The surrounding houses were derelict, shops closed windows boarded.

"Just be cool, look mean, say nothing."

They knocked on a shabby blue door, room 25b. A hefty Latino peeped through the window blinds. They were frisked and the 38 placed on the table. A shabby fat man grinned at Jimmy shovelling tortilla chips as he spoke.

"Look, it's Boy George ! " They laughed.

"Have you got the gear?" said Mark abruptly.

He licked his fingers clean. "Marco load him up," Marco bought out two large boxes and took one can out.

"What's that dog food?" said Mark. They laughed. Jimmy boldly walked over grabbed the can, flicked a switchblade from his ankle, stabbed it open and snorted dust off the tip.

"We're good." said Jimmy with a stony face.

"Boy George grown some balls," said the elder. "100% Columbian. They use local fisher vessels, load up in international waters. No-one suspects."

They stashed the cans in the boot and left. Jimmy exhaled jittering. "It's tinned goat meat, coke in goat meat."

Mark laughed "You were un-fucking-believable, proper fucking gangster. How did you know, Cosmo?"

"Miami Vice, Crockett and Tubbs," Jimmy pulled over. "I feel sick," he quickly stepped out barfed the tarmac and got back in the car.

"Which one's Crockett again?"

"I don't fucking know, I just want to get out of here," He twisted the key, the car turned over but wouldn't start. "Oh that's just dandy," He tried again.

"Don't pump the accelerator you'll flood it," said Mark. Jimmy grew frustrated, he repeatedly turned the key draining the battery till dead.

"Where did you get this piece of junk?"

"Rawl, my cousin…. Can we walk to the station?"

Mark scratched his forehead. "With two cases of coke and a 38; what do think!? It's no use we'll have to get a jump." He slammed his fist on the dashboard. "Shit!"

There was a car parked opposite. Jimmy approached and knocked on the window. A beefcake blond with a moustache wound down the tinted window. He was quite obliging and offered to help. As he stepped out Mark grew faint, Jimmy choked panicked. Their saviour was sporting blues, an Officer's uniform; Jimmy had approached an unmarked car. He switched gear, racking his brains to think of a way to abort without raising suspicion but it was too late. The officer drove over Jimmy popped the hood, hooked up the battery and cranked it but it wouldn't start. Mark intervened. "It's ok Officer, we'll get it towed,"

"No need sir. Just leave it for a while, then try again it will start."

"Really it's no trouble, we'll get a tow."

The officer glanced at the out of State plates. "You got somewhere to be?"

Jimmy jumped in pre-emptive. "I'm a cook, got to cater for a surprise party." Mark forced a lop-sided smile whilst supressing a stage-one coronary.

The officer went round the back. "Can you pop the trunk please Sir?" and there they stood, peering down on 48 cans of jailbait. He took out a can and inspected it.

"What's your name?"

"Jimmy."

"Where do you work?"

"The Roti House 127th and Lennox in Harlem." He went back to his patrol car for a radio check. In the meantime the car started.

The officer came back. "Ok, you can go. Good luck with the party."

They pulled away gently then quickly sped into the distance. "Phew..Ha-ha, man I thought we'd had it, where did you come up with that shit?" asked Mark.

"It's where I'm staying, The Roti House."

"They do curry goat?"

"It's my favourite."

"No shit, me too."

Mark was leading him off again into a double life, only this time the stakes were higher. The money was easy until your luck failed. Jimmy grew wary, he took their near miss as a warning shot and reflected. Lennox revealed a slower but risk free alternative, he proved it could be done. Jimmy took a break, dropped off Mark and retired back to the slow lane, reflective with a fat wad of notes.

Rawl invited him to a wedding reception on the day. They cruised around and stopped off for stone baked pizza before collecting Marlon, a relative of the Bride who had flown across especially. As he devoured the gooey triangle they spun the infectious track 'Gimme Punani.' It had an insanely catchy hook. Marlon hopped in and they all sang along,

"You know what they're singing?" asked Rawl.

"No." replied Jimmy

"Shit, nah coolie in England?"

"I was one of three blacks in school."

"Man that's something else. You're a proper white Brit," said Rawl.

"Compared to you I'm fucking royalty."

They went shopping for outfits in the Bronx. As soon as they stepped out the car Marlon got jacked for his gold neck chain. Rawl stepped in and like magic they came across shook Marlon's hand and apologised for the mix up.

"They friends of yours?" asked Jimmy.

"Not really. I just knew what to say."

Jimmy knew Rawl was slick but suspected this was a stretch even for him. They got dressed back at the flat. Sherri snapped a Polaroid for Jimmy.

She scribbled on the back and passed it across. "Keepsake?"

He flipped it, inscribed were the words 'Islander, Brit Gent and G-Man. Sherri XX.' Sherri's light hearted observation cut straight to the heart of it; they were three boys from the same origin with totally different lives. The islander naive and trusting, The Brit born and bred and Rawl, a possible slip, or unwitting admission?

The wedding was an informal free for all. Speeches were made by anyone with half a mind. Everyone mixed and mingled. As a Brit from the UK, Jimmy was deemed VIP and took pride of place next to Marlon seated feet away from a towering Black Cake. He helped Marlon serve.

"Hi, you having a good time?" He uttered politely, sliding a slice onto paper plates. The girls giggled coy. He whispered to Marlon. "Did I say something funny?"

"It's your accent."

The girls stopped. "Are you British… say something else?"

"What do you want me to say?"
"Oh my god did you hear that?"

"Man, I wish I had a British accent." ribbed Marlon.

He felt like royalty at first, elevated but the novelty soon wore off. Word spread and a line of parents assembled with their daughters in tow trying to fix him up. He felt caged, a freak show oddity, prodded and poked. Sherri sensed tension and whisked him away to safety. Jimmy grinned;

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

"In England I'd have to wait all night, down half a bottle of Teachers and square up to the competition to get a sniff."

"This is not England."

"What is it then, Guyana?"

"Nah it's women. You're different Jimmy and girls like that."

"Really?"

"No-one says really but you, you're quite a catch."

They took to the dancefloor. She placed her hands round his hips wining to Soca. "It's a shame we're related."

"You sure we are?" teased Jimmy.

She laughed and walked away "Only just, Mr. Bramble."

Mark rang Jimmy to make another run. He said he needed a break, time to think it over and suggest an alternative. After Marlon's brush in the Bronx, Rawl finally confessed he was in the game, a gangbanging soldier for VIK, a fierce crew with a tough reputation. Jimmy set up a meeting with Mark at an Ale house in South Sea Port overlooking Brooklyn Bridge.

They sat sipping frothy beer tops from pewter tankers. Rawl tapped a cigarette on the table. "You know when you dread a day? This day wasn't one of them but it fucking well should have been. Waking up in a hospital bed, my balls the size of golf balls, pissing green," He offered the pack round. "I was a guinea pig on a safety trial for Virax, supposed to cure impotence, it didn't. I figured there has to be a better way to earn, so joined VIK. I'm just a grunt, move a few bags a day nothing major."

"This should be a piece of cake for you then. It's good money, no risk."

"You don't know VIK. They'd drop my ass, head first from a twelve story if they found out."

"It's A-grade powder straight from Medellin. Unless you tell someone there is no way they'll know."

"Just a drop you say? Where?"

"Vegas." Rawl's eyes lit up. He gambled professionally in between selling crack. Poker was his game and the chance to play Vegas was too tempting to resist.

"Sounds right up my street. Why don't you come hang with me and Jimmy tonight, I know a place I think you'll like?"

"Believe you me I would love to but Ewan's entertaining the Japs. Need a Hoochie Mama with a flat arse, some kind of Asian fetish. More chance of rocking horse winning the National in my opinion." He got up to leave. "Call me midday tomorrow if you're still on for it and I'll fill you in on the detail."

Chapter 5 Kayla

They pulled up at the Blue Note, an after hour's bar in Upper West, Harlem. G-funk rapsters and Hispanics bounced lowriders. A VIK doorman welcomed Rawl and Snook with A-frame hugs. With a snap of the throttle a Harley bumped onto the sidewalk, pipes roaring, a man dismounted with a Sax slung round his back.

"Is there a band?" asked Jimmy.

"Jam session. You play don't you?"

"I use to, not anymore."

"We'll see about that!"

The bar was small and intimate. Blue and pink neons broke dry ice licking up the stage walls. A DJ on the mezzanine dropped mash-ups in between jams. They grabbed some drinks at the bar and moved toward the stage. There was a jam in play.

"Get up there man," goaded Rawl. Jimmy shook his head. "I wish I could play.

Do you know how many girls you can get?"

"Nah, I'm just going to kick back and enjoy the show. You got a smoke?"

Snook slipped him a pack of Gitanes. He turned round for a light and was faced with a young lady sparking a Zippo. "Thank you." said Jimmy.

He looked up and was in awe. "Jimmy this is Kayla," said Rawl.

Kayla was mixed race, French with Malagasy ancestry; not unlike Noemie Lenoir. "Are you going up?" she asked immediately prompting a change of heart.

The Jam came to an end. Jimmy motioned to borrow the guitar and climbed up to play. The drums counted in and kicked off hard and fast. The bassist dropped in solid and tight. Jimmy comped, swapping lines with the keyboardist. The Sax player added a simple melody, a head they could all center around. Jimmy ran with it and after sixty-four bars the Sax broke into a solo hogging the limelight. After the longest while, Jimmy shot glances willing the Sax player to let him blow. As much as Sax would love to have taken the top spot when people think solo they think guitar solo, so all eyes were fixed on Jimmy. Soon as the Sax got out the way, Jimmy inched the volume till it cracked distorted and crept in. Improvisation was the ultimate test of nerves, to create something spontaneous on the fly was a rush, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't but that night he felt the spirits and soared to new heights. To the undying sound of cheers and whistles he went to hand his guitar back but was asked to stay up as he was bringing it, he passed; his energy spent. He retired back to an enthusiastic welcome from the instigators.

"Nice playing," said Kayla still applauding as he came off.

"Kayla's a singer," declared Rawl.

"Excuse me mate," she said in a faux cockney accent "I'm up." Her hot breath caught his neck. Her hair gently brushed his face. She climbed up on stage as the intro played, grabbed the mic and instantly lifted the room with a soulful rendition of U2's classic 'I still haven't found what I'm looking for.' He felt solitary, mesmerised, her words prophetic, reaching out, reading his mind. Rawl passed him a blunt.

"You sure it's ok?"

"Cool man."

The buzz came on deep, instantly pulling him down. The boys were determined to show him a good time and took aim. They downed straight shots, swayed this way and that supping cocktails, running jokes, spilling out in disarray onto the street past closing.

Jimmy woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, groggy and dazed. He tried to recollect the night to the point before he blacked out, but could not.

"I got an appointment downtown later so I'm going to have to ask you to leave,

sorry." It was Kayla, clean without make up, looking divine. For once he was unnervingly comfortable with the situation. It felt strange. Normally he would panic, make excuses and dart out the door, but not this time.

"Yeah, I should let Rawl know where I am."

"You don't remember much do you? He dropped you off."

"Was I that bad?"

"No you were fine, the perfect gent… Sorry but I got to go."

"If you're not doing anything later maybe we can meet up?"

"Sorry Jimmy last night was fun but it's time to go."

"Okay." He was dismayed but left it. He kissed her on the hand and caught her scent. "Anais Anais." He uttered, it was the same fragrance Kelly used, so distinct he knew it anywhere. She smiled quietly impressed. "Good bye, Kayla."

Jimmy felt as if he was missing out on something, something great. He left and tried to walk it off. He stopped at a bourgeois cafe, grabbed a macchiato and sat on a window stool smoking one of Snook's Gitanes. Kayla felt bad about turfing him out. Nagging doubts persisted. One simple fact remained, he remembered her name. Despite blanking out and remembering nothing, he remembered her name. She made her way to the station deliberately taking a longer alternate route and by chance strolled by the coffee house where Jimmy sat. Their eyes met, she did not believe in coincidences; someone was trying to tell her something so went in to find out more. She pulled up a stool and looked at him squinting distrust.

"You know what I think Jimmy?"

"No?"

"I think you're a sweet bwoy, strictly hit and run."

He hated the presumption. True, it was a new facet but he thought himself clever enough to conceal. He fell back defiant.

"I'm worse than that."

"What's worse than hit and run?"

"A man who stays. You get over a Sweet bwoy overnight but a man who stays, that's risky, that takes a bit longer."

Interest piqued, she laughed "Why would I miss a man that stays?"

"What makes you think I would leave?"

She liked his wit, his attitude "You wanna know me?" Jimmy nodded.

"My ex, Leon dealt blow. At first we were ordinary, like any other couple, managing, just getting by but happy. Then he lost his job and it all changed. He just sold a little at first but got greedy, he wanted more. I told him to give it up, trouble is he didn't know when to cross the bridge and when to burn it." She paused getting emotional. "I told him to quit or leave,"

"What happened?"

"He left. A day later I get a call from the hospital; he'd been shot, by the time

I got there he was gone."

"I'm sorry. "

"No I'm sorry, a bit intense right? You're nice Jimmy, one of the good guys but

as you can see I'm not altogether there."

"It's cool. I'm still here. We're just two people having a coffee." He closed his

eyes, inhaling the heady rich aroma from his cup, sipped and paused, drawing parallels with Manchester. "I bet Leon was a good man? Deep down you know he was a good man doing a bad thing, that's all?" Jimmy ordered another coffee lit a cigarette and pulled things back to normal; two ordinary people having a coffee, exchanging star signs.

Kayla scraped a living waiting tables at the Blue Note. On her nights off she would go down and jam. Music was in her blood. Occasionally she got session work laying down backing vocals but secretly dreamt of launching her own career.

They parted without plans to meet up. Kayla met her appointment and Jimmy played it cool, content to leave matters open and let fate work its magic. All through the day she tried to shake him out of mind but with little success. She felt compelled and eventually rang him round Rawl's, extending invitation to a family do.

He picked up Kayla in the El Dorado still on loan. The party was thrown for her Vietnamese grandma, a step relative who re-settled in America after the war in '75. "My dad was French his second wife Vietnamese. He worked for the French consulate in Vietnam. When the War came he was shot dead in a fire fight, I don't know much about him,"

"When did he pass?"

"I was about 4 when they told me. My real Mum used to do drugs, top of the

shop tar. They wouldn't say but her boyfriend was her pimp from what I could make out. So they took me away and bought me up here in New Jersey, they're my real family."

They walked in round the back. A pair of stone guardian lions led onto the garden, a pagoda style temple set in a garden with ornate fountains and marble Buddha sculptures. There was an outdoor kitchen with a large fridge, cooker and a brick barbeque with spits of mackerel and honey glazed pigs.

The host was the grandson; a short stocky Vietnamese and Police Detective for the NYPD. He paced around in the backyard, shooting hoops, ignoring Jimmy and the other guests, over compensating for the fact he was not a full blown Irish American. The more extrovert he became the dumber he looked. He made a free throw "Look at this?" he missed. Jimmy smiled and nodded out of politeness. He completely ignored him. Jimmy turned to Kayla "No offence but he's a bit of a cock."

"Yeah, don't worry you're right to notice. No one really likes him. You see that guy over there?" She pointed to a man sitting by the open fire. "That's, Toan his cousin, he shopped him for dealing, spent five years in the local pen. Said it was for his own good, two months after conviction he was promoted to Lieutenant."

"What's he doing here, I mean it's not ideal?"

"They're ok now, said he did him a favour, helped him get straight. He even gave him money to set up business." Intrigued, Jimmy edged his way over with Kayla for an introduction. They cracked a beer and sat round the crackling fire shelling Logan buds. Jimmy noticed his tattoos.

"Are they prison tats?"

"What Cobwebs and Teardrops? No not my thing. Got these last month, South Vine best ink in NJ." He raised his t-shirt to reveal cuts. "I got these on the inside. I did some bad things, I had to atone."

"You did that to yourself?"

"Shia Muslims lash themselves with metal blades during Muharram."

"Are you a Muslim?"

"No." He pointed to the ink on his arm.

"This one at the top is some scriptures I read. This is The Madonna." He twisted his arm back. "The Crucifixion, Christ my saviour. I'm a Christian. Seven Day Adventist. I found Christ and I'm good now, the past is the past."

"What are you doing now?"

"Setting up Bam Bikes in Vietnam. They're bikes made from Bamboo,

Germans love them, pay upwards of $500 apiece. The best part is I can help my people, they got nothing. I've be given a second chance; I want to do good pass it on, you know."

Toan was an inspiration, a perfectly imperfect prospect, he made anything seem possible. Everything was beginning to make sense, coming to America, meeting Kayla he could see a new path emerging, something better, something good. Kayla led Jimmy to the back of the garden and sat him under the Pagoda.

"The appointment I had that day was with my shrink?"

"You have a shrink?"

"Yeah it's not a big deal over here, everyone has them. I have a condition,

Hepatitis B. I caught it from my Ex. That's why I pushed you away."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes and no, It's mild but I am a carrier, I get tired easily. Stupid really, you can

be immunised as a child but I wasn't. Huh, crap way to find out." She looked down at the floor bashful. "You should know, you can catch it from unprotected sex but don't worry, like I said you were the perfect gent. If you want to do a 180 I understand." Jimmy sat unfazed, more impressed by how mature she was about revealing it. He could not let go, fascinated by her life, her choices; he wanted to find out more. He made proposition, an idea he had brewing since inception.

Rawl met Mark in the underground carpark and buried the merchandise in the car. He stopped off at the Roti House for Jimmy and Kayla en route. Jimmy was flying on instinct living for the moment. For Kayla it was a voyage of discovery with no discernible plot. Reality was they were making the drop to Vegas, driving two thousand miles cross country with twenty four kilos of cocaine under the rear seats. They gassed up at K-Mart before they hit the open highway. Kayla jumped out, shopping for shades. Jimmy looked across at her sporting rose tinted Cazals. "She doesn't know."

"Don't sweat it. I'll make the drop alone, this is all on me." Jimmy forgot about the cargo and eased into the trip.

"Why did you tell Mark you're just a grunt?"

"Any higher and he would have passed,"

"So what are you?"

"You don't need to know, trust me it's better that way."

"The whole double life thing, the Coaster, wedding and now this; you can handle that?"

"You can't?"

"It's not in me."

"It's in you. It's in all of us. I didn't ask for this, now it's all I know."

Rawl cued up Grandmaster's - White Lines on the 8-Track, drawing bold and pertinent parallels. He drove all day and through the night popping Prozac, speeding interstate across the desert along the I-15 to the strip. They rolled into town, Las Vegas Boulevard. Dre blasted out the windows as they puffed 1/4" Cohibas, the Eldorado casting mirrored reflection in the Riviera.

They checked in at the Bourbon Club, a speakeasy tavern with casino tables and rooms upstairs. Rawl sloped off to play the tables. Jimmy and Kayla took a stroll and stumbled across Lip-sync impersonators on the concourse. They performed on a red carpet rostra placed innocuously in the middle of some crap tables. They were largely ignored by punters on a walkthrough to the strip but they intrigued Kayla. They stopped and hunkered down chugging on a supersize pitcher as shoppers rushed past obscuring the view. In between performances they served as croupier's behind the tables. Little Richard was a frail old man approaching 70; Sting and Tina Turner had seen better days.

"God bless them all." remarked Kayla. "That's America, two extremes and everything in between."

They may have lacked the poise of Sammy Davis but they brought something all of their own, honesty.

"After Leon, I hit the bottle hard, a bit like them. I hated him for that… Don't worry I'm over it now."

Jimmy was not about to judge. He had revealed little about himself and found his similarity to Leon unnerving. It was almost as if she was talking about him, warning him not to go the same way.

He marched her out and drove to a club on Freemont Street determined to lift the mood and help her forget the past. They cruised along till eyes set upon Starlight, a glitzy nightclub off the main drag. He tossed the keys to the valet and led Kayla straight to the dance floor.

Run DMC 'It's Tricky' played, there was whooping and clapping. A crowd formed a circle round a contender, body locking insane. He broke off and finished with Jackhammers. Kayla volunteered Jimmy, shoving him forward, headlong into a dance off. He fell back hesitant to a chorus of hiss and boos.

"You gonna take that, man-up," dared Kayla.

Whodini -'The Freaks Come Out At Night' featured next. It was a test, his pride was at stake; fortunately he spent many a depraved night with the All Saints trading moves. He paced round the circle throwing up his arms, revving the crowd and flew into a Stanky Legg then African Wu Tang, his chest pumping pneumatic. The crowd cheered his comeback. He dipped out as the challenger stepped back in with some fierce Tru Bop. It was brutal, the crowd grew wild upping the ante, jeering Jimmy to respond. He had to do something sublime to top it or face defeat. He wobbled his confidence shaken, he dug deep but was at a loss. Then the DJ gifted Mr Browns – 'Sex Machine'. Funk was part of Jimmy's DNA, he relished the chance to step and scathed defiantly, like it was nothing. He dropped thecamel walk straight into the mash potato then killed it with a crip walk, well and truly incinerating the opposition. The crowd hoisted him up on their shoulders for a victory lap. Kayla cheered on as Jimmy took the crown.

Rawl buzzed Jimmy first thing as a matter of urgency.

"Sorry man, I need your help, I screwed up."

Jimmy left Kayla asleep and met Rawl over coffee in a hotel foyer.

"Did you make the drop?"

"Yeah it went fine; if you call being hauled blindfolded into the desert, fine."

"Blindfolded?"

"Yeah, I mean I didn't know where the fuck we were anyway. I think they did it to rattle me. lt was cool, nothing I couldn't handle. They got a bit cute; I showed them my VIK credentials and they backed off."

"Did you get paid?"

"Of course I got paid."

"So what's up?" Desmond Dekker's - 'You Can Get it if You Really Want' played ironically in the background. He shook his head staring into empty space.

"I fucked up, I should have left it." He focused on Jimmy "I went back to the Hotel and played the tables. I have a rule, set a target and leave. I was up $2G's so I left." He rubbed his eyes. "I met a Chinese man in the lift; asked him about his night. He said he lost $30k. I said 'so you're calling it a night?' You know what he said? 'Nah, I'm going back to get more cash,' Then he says his game is poker, Texas Hold 'Em. Well that's my game. I couldn't believe my luck, a bad player with money to burn,"

Jimmy had a bad foreboding. "He didn't lose $30k did he?"

"Shit no, $30k mi backside, rass. He suckered me in, by the time I realised what was going on, they wiped me out, clean. "Jimmy felt faint. "Don't worry, I stashed Mark's cut, thank god I didn't go back to my room. I lost everything, my winnings, my cut."

Jimmy composed himself. "Who were they, Pros?"

"Triad I think. I mean Double Ace, bullets on every hand, they played me like a fucking fiddle."

"Don't beat yourself up man. I fuck up all the time."

He poured some coffee and took a sip. "You know Jimmy when we played Ring and Run as a kid I always went up. Once we stopped at Mike Huck's house; a bigtime Ball Player but I didn't run. They wanted me to but I just stood there waiting, something told me not to run. He invited us in, showed us his trophies, it turned out well. Always listen to your gut, I'm so pissed," Rawl took out a smoke.

"There's more isn't there?"

"If I don't get back to VIK tonight I'm toast."

"Ok we drive back today, no problem."

He took a puff. "Nah, the El Dorado? I used it as stake. Sorry man I thought I could beat them. I had two kings, I couldn't lose."

Jimmy gave him enough for a one way to NYC and was told to deliver the car to a Chinese man named Chung or they'd come looking. Rawl got up to leave. "Be cool and take care of my gal."

Jimmy and Kayla were alone on a mission to San Francisco with nothing but a few bucks and a chewed up six string Rawl won in a raffle. They cruised up California's Highway 1 through the dramatic ninety miles of coastal road that is the Big Sur. Twisting roads curved around the steep cliff faces and spectacular vista over the vast Pacific Ocean, across the Gate to the City by the Bay.

"Why is Rawl giving away his Caddy?"

"Call, in a poker game."

"Rawl always doing crazy stuff."

"How do you know him anyway?"

"Rawl? We went to the same school. We dated for a while. Did he tell you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I promise no more surprises."

"It's ok, go on."

"He was a one with the ladies. We were friends for a long time then one

day we crossed over."

"Why did it end?"

"He introduced me to Leon. I fell for him straight away. Rawl was cool about it. Leon even asked permission. We were drifting, it was over long before. Some people are just meant to be friends."

They reached The Gate. Jimmy called Chung who gave implicit instructions on where to park and leave the keys, Pier 33 besides the promenade. They parked up Jimmy looked across the bay. "Is that Alcatraz?" Kayla nodded and smiled suggestively.

They caught the ferry from Fisherman's Wharf. On disembarking they entered a Napoleonic type fortress. They climbed up gentle inclines. The small island was surprisingly pleasant. Ordinarily, a sunny costal back drop would place you in an exclusive resort off the Côte d'Azur, but in this case served as a deceptive prelude to the grey cement processing hall, the last thing inmates would see before incarceration.

Jimmy set eyes on a cell so small you could lie down and touch both walls with your hands. He retraced the infamous escape route; bowled over by the ingenuity used to plan the escape. The grim reality of living under such oppression and fear made him appreciate why men would risk their lives to escape. They sat in the hole, the walls closed. It was pitch black, fusty, he felt disorientated.

"You ok?" He felt a chill, even though the door was wide open he felt trapped.

He left heading toward a daylight exit. They descended the stairs and sat in the middle of the prison yard cross-legged on the ground. Their eyes trailed the barbed wire walls back up toward the prison. Kayla placed his head on her lap messaging his temple.

"Feel better now."

"Yeah I don't know what happened."

"Look up, what do you see?"

"The sky."

"Look closer." She pointed out shapes in the clouds.

He shook his head, his mouth downturned "Dunno, chopper with a rope ladder?"

"I'm being serious, try again."

He cleared his mind." A kite, my brother Josh use to fly them. He'd let me take it sometimes. Once I caught it on the overhead train wires and he went to get it for me. Dad nearly killed him when he found out."

"He's gone?... l'm sorry. Your memories, the ones you keep, tells me a lot about you. They tell me who you are."

He squeezed her hand. "That's why I like you. You see it when I don't."

"So you like me do you?" She squeezed his hands "Is that all?"

"No there's more." she squeezed tighter, he chuckled.

"How much more?"

"Plenty."

She cracked a smile. "You found me Jimmy now what you gonna do stay or go?"

"I want to stay."

"Sweet bwoy!" She laughed.

"That's not fair."

"I'm teasing," Jimmy was silent "London calling? Ok,"

Eerie mugshots of inmates on the walls lingered as they motored back, the prison shrinking in the distance. He smiled as a couple of hard core fans debated Frank's escape.

"Do you think he made it Jimmy?"

"It doesn't matter if he survived. The point is he escaped; he beat the system."

"He escaped prison, he didn't start a counterrevolution."

"I think he did?"

"Are you saying a jail break is a noble cause?"

"I'm saying sometimes the system is wrong and you got to fight back, play it."

"Play it ay?"

"Yeah just a little."

"Just a little, ok Jimmy we can do that."

That night they checked. into a Hojo, Kayla set the bath while Jimmy tuned the guitar Rawl gifted. He chopped chords.

"Play that again," she repeated. "Ok just the bass." Jimmy obliged. She set down her Walkman and recorded as she sang over the top.

"What would you give if you had nothing? What would you give if you had nothing? Let me tell ya..Love..oh yeahh." In the next ten minutes they built a track, 'Plenty Love', chemistry spun off the cuff.

"We make a good team."

"You should keep that."

"I will." The trip ended, he did not want to leave but knew it was time to face his life in England. "It's not the end."

"I know."

"We'll work something out." They hugged, squeezing each other tight.

"Just go."

Chapter 6 Tinsel town

Jimmy had grown tall, ready to take on the world despite his lack of circumstance. He trawled his contacts, an extensive list of two, searching for leads. Simon left Shatkin soon after Jimmy to escape the rising tide of abuse and got entangled with a mobile phone company, selling Vodafone bricks. He offered to get Jimmy in but sales commission was barely enough to pay the rent. With an offer of a bed from a disused flat and some money, he took up an offer from Pra's uncle, Kalpesh.

Kalpesh ran an Estate Agent with his wife, Blu. Blu Kapoor was the Company Secretary, or as her staff put it a pompous power tripping bitch. She would routinely sack receptionists for bringing the wrong herbal tea, which had a name so pretentious you'd think it was a prescription for the psychotic drug she was on. Kalpesh was from Liverpool, a skinny short scally with blotchy face and slick back hair. They had a swanky office in Water lane over-looking Camden Lock they could ill afford and acted as if they were King and Queen of a business empire, when in fact they were a sly, under-handed couple in charge of a has-been dying concern. Jimmy knew something was up on his first day when The Sheriff, complete with tin star, moseyed on through the door demanding back rent. Blu would switch off the lights when she saw the bailiffs coming. They didn't give a damn. The other Director was smart and skipped to the Swiss Alps before it got sticky. Jimmy discovered after his first week the staff was owed two months back pay. Debts were mounting; he grew anxious. They made a killing on a sale in The Barbican, but instead of paying everyone off blew it on a brand new Mercedes M class and family holiday to Disney. It was a real smack in the face. Jimmy reached out for some answers.

"Pra, did you know what they were like? I'm doing the rounds, collecting rent, calling maintenance. Tons of work, no money."

Pra winced. "Ah sorry, he told me that was over."

"Well it's not over. The job center said I should take them to the Tribunal."

"Waste of time. He'll wind up the company and re-open. He's had six name

changes since I've known him."

"And you didn't think to mention that?"

"I thought he had changed."

"Well he hasn't."

"Don't sweat it, I got an idea."

They owed a huge sum of money to a printing company Pra knew, a firm run by two notorious East End Brothers. These were not the sort of men you messed about. Pra contacted them. They began calling incessantly asking for Kalpesh, chasing their debt knowing full well he would not pay. They made threats and one day stopped with the promise to pay him a visit. It was not long before they were leering up at the CCTV cameras; two huge men carrying a black holdall. Kalpesh told Jimmy to get rid of them.

"Just say I'm out whilst I slip out the back. Buy us some time? There's a good boy."

"Nah, can't do that. Pay me first or I'll let them in."

"You'll get paid next week."

"What like the others?" The intercom rang again. "You see that bag they're

holding? I don't suppose it's a presentational gift set from Boots do you?"

"Are you blackmailing us?" said Blu."Kalpesh do something."

"Shut up ! You don't get it do you, the helicopters not coming." bawled Kalpesh.

He looked straight at Jimmy. "Alright, alright follow me."

Jimmy stood behind clocking the numbers as he opened a large bolted safe and handed the money over.

"That's it, after this you're done."

Jimmy couldn't believe his nerve. "Are you for real?"

Jimmy went down to meet them. They made their threats for the cameras,

hands pointing to the holdall and left. After Blu and Kalpesh disappeared Jimmy let the Brothers in via the side entrance and they got to work, making it look like a crack.

Jimmy checked in with Pra later. "We hit the jackpot, £50k, can you believe the gall? I got paid, everyone got paid. Thanks man, you came through bigtime."

"You should thank Kelly. It's her Dad's printing company. Soon as she heard it was you, she twisted his arm."

Jimmy brushed confusion aside and embraced the gesture. "I'm flattered, did she say why?"

"No, she crazy you know that. Who knows, I ain't second guessing this time, you work it out." Jimmy was intrigued but not enough to call.

He heard a week later, Kalpesh put in an insurance claim for more than double. He felt sore. Even though he got paid Kalpesh played the system and won. It didn't seem right; he felt cheated yet again.

Jimmy moved into a flat in Wood Green, North London. His digs were above a shop at the top end of Market Parade. On the side was an insignificant blue plague. It had an aluminium front and yellow on blue facia. The rooms had wooden sash windows three floors up displaying late night brawls from the Rose and Crown. His bedroom backed onto a huge building construction yard busy with cranes positioning clay brick palates and bags of shingle. Jimmy lived it large till the money ran out then crawled back like a washed up z-lister to the one option left.

Simon was doing the double, signing on for benefit and selling Vodafone bricks on the quiet. He had moved out of his house and was living with the proprietors of the business. Jimmy never saw much of him, got the odd phone call. He called it Jonestown, a cult commune with a maniacal leader, Consar. As well as being Simon's boss, he was an ex boxing champion with an ABH prison record. One day Simon rang him, panicked. Jimmy grew concerned. Consar was in a rage over the other business partner who had made off with all the company funds. He was quizzing Simon as to his whereabouts. Consar was getting more frustrated and with every passing minute believed Simon to be a co-conspirator. Jimmy heard things getting heated over the phone so told Simon to give him the address.

He screeched into a parking space and sped up the path to confront the situation. Consar answered the door. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and looked a mess.

"Hi is, Simon there? Can I come in?"

"Simon is busy." He slammed the door in his face. He knocked again. "I said he's busy, he's not coming out."

He went back to his car and tapped the roof, trying to plot his next move. All the while he could hear the commotion building. Consar was known for his temper. He knew he had to calm the situation down and get Simon out of there quick. He went back and knocked again.

"I just want to chat to Simon about his Mum, somethings happened. Can he come out I will only be five minutes, I promise." he held his breath.

"Ok, you got five minutes then bring him back."

His ruse worked and Simon was released. They calmly walked up the path and edged towards the car whilst Consar gazed through the curtains.

"Si, get in the car now or you're dog meat." Simon looked at Consar, thought about it and hopped in sharp.

They took off fast up Palmers Green High Street, skidding to a halt at the traffic lights. Just as he thought they were in the clear Simon glanced his mirror.

"He's behind us."

A ferocious super-charged beast pulled out from three cars behind; crossing into oncoming traffic. He screeched, blocking them in, got out of the car and came towards them. Jimmy calmly lowered the window. Consar asked him to pull over just for a chat and Jimmy agreed. As he went back to his car Jimmy quickly reversed and took a left down a side street, driving the brakes off it, speeding to eighty. Just as he thought he was clear, yet again there he was; a snorting bull in the rear view mirror. They were afraid for their lives, the car tilted, one slip and they were gone. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he backed off.

They went back to Jimmy's and called for a Police escort so he could get his stuff. Incredibly Simon reconsidered and later when things calmed down made peace. Jimmy listened as Consar spoke, Simon instantly relayed.

"He says he's sorry and wants to know if we can go out for a drink?" Jimmy shook his head furiously then astoundingly Simon put him on the phone. Jimmy grimaced but held back for Simon's sake.

"Thanks for the invite. Yeah, maybe when things calm down we can meet up, I'll let you know."

He put the phone down and screamed at Simon. "Man you must be out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to have a drink with that nutter. He's bad news. Have a drink? What we going talk about, the time he tried to kill us? You need to get out of there."

Simon raced to his defence. "I know it's twisted but he backed off, we could be dead now if it weren't for him, it's true."

"Man he's really got you hasn't he?"

Simon took a moment and apologised once the fog cleared. They went to the off license for a pack of Special Brew. "I feel like we're going backwards, remember Shatkin, that's where we should be." said Jimmy.

"You should have seen after you left. I would gladly have welcomed John fucking Jones back."

"It was a career, a prospect. Now look at us, rats in a sewer living off scraps."

"I know, I miss the good times too but it's over. I know I'm clutching at straws, I know that, but we are in the middle of a recession, I got to do it for now."

"You go back and I don't want to know you anymore." Simon agreed to stay round Jimmy's that night and moved out permanently the next day.

Consar was calm and insisted he take a couple of phones to keep things going. Despite the bad blood, Simon tried again to hook Jimmy. He caught him that morning, evading the landlord chasing back rent. His cupboard was empty and the flat a mess. Jimmy was running out of time and he knew it.

"I got a client that's interested in buying. Why don't you handle it? Take the sale for rent. Maybe we can keep it going?"

"With Consar?"

"Jonestown is over, he knows that but yeah it's still with Consar. It's money Jimmy. I know he's bad news but you need help."

"I hate it."

"If you got an alternative I'm all ears." Simon took the phone and slapped it in his hand. "Just try it, saying yes always leads on, you never know you might find Shatkin Mk II."

"Did Jim Jones tell you that?"

"No, it's me 'TV' ok?" Their bond was strong, even now, he trusted his opinion, so took the gift, made the appointment and went down to make the sale.

The offices were situated in Knightsbridge. A haughty blond in a blue pinstripe called him over.

"Mr. Bramble?"

He was shown to an office overlooking leafy Park lane. Fiona, a brassy late forty something sat behind a desk. Her thick chavette accent placed her somewhere between Southend and Rayleigh, Essex. She worked for SaTA a new age satellite company, a relatively unknown technology at the time. Jimmy had no idea what it was. She greeted him, flicking through the SaTA Channels.

"We make this show, Gardeners World people love it." He watched with disbelieving eyes. She detected scepticism.

"We have over thirty thousand subscribers."

Jimmy smiled back incredulously. It all seemed a bit sci-fi; everyone knew there were only four Channels? She continued flicking through with accidental purpose.

"Whoops, that's the adult channel," She smirked " – sorry about that." It knocked him off kilter. He pulled himself together and took out the phone for a demonstration.

He ran through the spiel Simon made him memorise to sound pro.

"This is DynaTAC 6000XL it has the world's first vacuum fluorescent displays. The battery allows for a call of up to sixty minutes, it comes with a spare battery with a ten hour trickle charge."

"Wow that's amazing," she said.

"Yes, as the leading tied agents, it comes with a two year no quibble guarantee. If you change your mind for any reason we will refund you in full, no questions asked."

He went on to make sure, breaking out performance stats and a list of celebrity endorsements.

"Ok, I'll take it."

"Great, l'll just right up the sales slip and it's yours."

"Oh, I thought I was getting a new one?"

"This is new."

"I want it fresh, out of the box or no deal." She was adamant, at her insistence he agreed to drop a boxed model to her home later that day.

Fiona had a semi in Buckhurst hill, a middle class leafy suburb in Essex. She welcomed him with a broad smile on arrival and showed him through to the lounge. The smell of potpourri wafted across, warm and inviting. He took out the boxed phone, presented it to her and began writing up the paperwork.

Her tone shifted, she looked at him intently and began to scheme.

"How much do you earn from this Jimmy, is the pay good?"

Jimmy unpacked the phone to insert the SIM. "I do alright."

"l was a secretary before I started. I was doing alright too, if you call getting by doing alright."

Jimmy feigned interest. "How did you get into line of business?"

"Someone got me in. It's always who you know?" She looked him up and down.

"You seem pretty clued up, maybe I can help you out?" His ears pricked up, but felt deeply suspicious.

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm feeling charitable." He knew he was onto something and was keen to learn more. Emboldened, he crossed the line, safe in the knowledge he'd made the sale.

"What's the catch?"

"Don't be so negative, why would there be a catch?"

"I just met you and now you're offering me a job?"

"Straight up, just so happens we are looking for a floor runner for a private concern of mine. I think you got the right qualities," She looked him over again. "You know potential."

Jimmy was astonished. He could not decide if this was TV glam or a siren making a play. He followed through out of shear curiosity. "What's my chances?"

She whispered in his ear. "Well, as I own the company I would say pretty damn

good!" She took his hand, led him to the kitchen and poured two glasses of Chardonnay. He was keen to uncover the truth. If this was a real prospect he had to push now for something solid.

"Where are you from Jimmy?"

"I was born here. My parents are from Guyana,"

"Very exotic. So what are you?"

"You mean race?" She nodded. "Black, a bit of Indian."

"That's funny," she smirked looking away coy, "I fancy an Indian right now."

He felt center stage in a Carry On movie but despite the absurdity held fast, closed lipped, not wanting to compromise his position by saying the wrong thing. She turned round and ran her nails through his hair, he seized opportunity.

"You'll definitely get me a position?"

"Guaranteed," She pulled at her untie dress, guided his head, teasing instruction. Jimmy catered to every whim and upon subjugation reached for the wine before she pulled him back. He raised his hand to a halt.

"Not so fast, make the call."

She smiled. He was playing her at her own game. "You're going to make an excellent runner Jimmy." She reached for the phone then turned back. "Ok but you don't get a free ride, not that easy. You understand?"

Jimmy was a man with dwindling options. He took the bait in wilful ignorance.

She made the call and put the wheels in motion. Unbeknown to him they were in fact looking for a skivvy they could mould, someone like them, an unscrupulous opportunist.

With the deal sealed he proceeded to the lounge and worked from the table to the sofa, in front of the patio doors in full view and on to the rooms upstairs. Marital aids were toyed with, hair pulled, wares and objects trashed, every position exploited without reserve. He completed the trial in the bathroom. She looked up at the wall clock. "You better go… before my daughter gets home." Jimmy scrambled to attention and got dressed. She stamped his report cardand he snuck out like a thief in the night. Within a week he had magically usurped his predecessor and strolled into Tinsel Town.

Jimmy ventured to an Industrial estate in Wandsworth, South London. It was a far cry from the glamour he expected, a soulless desolate wasteland. There were no people, no houses or shops. Next to a car mechanics stood Criss Studios, a converted warehouse cold and unfussy. He pushed at a grubby yellow door as a man stomped out.

"Fuck you, I'm still gonna invoice."

"Yeah, why don't you take your invoice and shove it up your ass."

You knew Peter Criss was there before you looked up, such was his preceding fanfare. He was a slick dude, solid with rock star presence. He approached Jimmy, stumped out a cigarette on the floor and flipped back his hair.

"Hi, you must be Jimmy."

He was a slender good looking man in his early thirties, had a suave curtain fop, wore leather pants and burgundy leather jacket.

"Fiona said you were coming, please to greet you. Sorry about that, union dick. I can't stand Cameramen, fucking moaners."

"Is there a problem?"

"No they're a pain. He demanded a hot meal so I slammed his salad in the microwave." Jimmy looked down at the steaming lettuce and tomatoes strewn across the floor. "That's gratitude for you."

Eager to impress, he picked up a piece of the smashed plate and put it in the bin. "Thanks, just leave it. Let me show you round."

He led him along a shabby corridor pass partitioned rooms into the main studio, a cold empty space with cameras mounted on tripods and a few lights, hanging from overhead rigs.

"It was a photographer's studio before I took it over."

He saw the remnants; a box full of discarded photos.

"They use to do make overs, part of a spa day, Christ knows what they thought when they entered this dump," He led him on to a set of large rooms.

"Green screen; when they shot Superman flying, same kind of thing. I set the lights, takes an hour,"

"You do the technical?"

"Yeah, nothing to it. The techs would say otherwise, so they can charge. You ever switched a light on?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're a fucking technician."

"You got any staff?" asked Jimmy.

"You're looking at them; Camera, Producer, Sound. The budgets are tiny, choice really."

He walked past the edit suite to another room with a crate full of merchandise

"We shoot Ads primarily." He picked out something at random. "Swift Vac. Light, portable, cleans all surfaces; wood, carpet. Cleans, my fucking arse, load of 'ol crap. I took it home, nearly burnt my fucking house down."

Jimmy spied a shimmering fish tail "What's that?"

"A mermaid tale, you can actually swim with it on. These are not your typical

TV Ads, it's what we call Infomercials. Think The Wild West and the old travelling salesmen preaching from the back of his horse drawn; that's us. It's all tat, goes out on SaTA in the dead hours." They walked back to the set floor.

He poured Malibu into two glasses. "You drink don't you?"

Jimmy was taken aback, it was way better than he expected, two in the afternoon and on the sauce, he couldn't believe his luck. "Yeah, why not?"
"Good, not like that sissy she sent before, fucking tree hugger. You know how to operate a camera?"

"Not really."

"Don't worry it's all set up on a wide. Just whack the red button when I tell ya. We're shooting a Dominance scene later."

"Dominance?"

"S&M, SaTA content, didn't she tell ya? Sorry about that, I told her to lay it all out."

"That's ok."

"Cool, well I hope you're not squeamish The Dom does CBT." He downed the short and poured another. "It's all a bit weird if you ask me but it helps pay the bills."

"What's CBT?"

"Cock and Ball torture" Jimmy winced.

"It's cool, I normally put my phones on and watch the snooker. Ok let's get started, you see over there?" He pointed to a pile a metal bars "That's the cage, shove it up quick will ya, they arrive in ten."

Peter bent the truth so as not to put him off. Once settled he put him through his paces. He removed the camera from the tripod and got him to operate handheld, framing the most unconscionable shots, close up. Jimmy left Peter to lock up and retired back to Wood Green, mentally withdrawn. He traipsed in at 2am. Simon was still up on the Atari slashing Zombie Dogs on Crusader;

"How was your first day?"

"I'm gonna need therapy, those people are warped."

Jimmy explained the set up. "Fully grown men, I mean butch bikers with beards wearing nappies, breastfed, spat on, it ain't right."

"Wow, what about the Madam?"

"Miss Whiplash. Fifty something dressing thirty years too young in a baby-doll cami, flab bulging, not good. They wanted me to join in, can you believe it?"
"You lucky fuck."

"You're sick, you know that."

"Does it pay?"

"£100 a session,"

"Fuck, you gotta get me in."
"You heard of the phrase CBT?" Jimmy explained the process.

"Ok pass on that. What about Pony Play, it's just a nose bags and a tale,"

"Do I sound like your fucking pimp?" Jimmy pulled back apologetic. "Look, if we get something I don't need treatment for, I'll let you know."

"You are jammy man, you started off with jack and now you're a studio runner, you're in TV, not a bad turn up." Despite the trauma, Jimmy agreed, he saw potential, something solid he could build on.

He was just Peter's type, a cheap enthusiastic grafter, not a goon with a media degree. Now it was useful he wanted to learn it all. He was keen and Peter was only too happy to teach. He arrived early and left late, spending weeks honing his skills. He picked Peter's brain, experimenting with camera and lights and assembling rough cuts in the edit.

All the while Fiona made her demands, popping in and collecting her debt. She became possessive and was intent on owning him, moulding her latest accessory. He tolerated her affections and played along accepting gifts. He didn't mind it in private. It was a small price to pay to claw his way back from the edge. In public it became acutely embarrassing; casing point when he was introduced to her daughter of the same age at a SaTA works do. From then the countdown had begun. Question was could he survive long enough to coax Peter into keeping him.

Kelly was still at college on the acting tract. She had many plaudits but was keen to break out and land a paying gig. She caught wind of Jimmy's foray into TV and rang. He was surprised given their last encounter and wagered it a sign of desperation. Nonetheless, Jimmy felt guilty for not calling after she helped him out and was eager to make up for his bloody-minded reticence.

"I can try to get you in but can't promise nothing, I just started."

"Whatever you can do, it's got to be better than my agent. He's useless. So far he got me an audition as an Easter Egg in a kid's pageant,"

"You got to start somewhere."

"You don't understand. I didn't get the part. Do you know how depressing that is? They gave it to a guy with one arm, can you believe that? Equal ops my great aunt fanny."

"I'm going to try hard for you. Pra told me what you did, I owe you,"

"You don't owe me."

"No I should have rang you at least. It was a bit rubbish. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. I'm just glad I could help."
Jimmy reflected on her struggle and his own moral dilemma. If he could salvage something perhaps for himself or for her it would be easier to bear the unrespectable truth.

Marvin's ride into the sunset echoed deep. He searched for a parallel managing only to gaze longingly at the horizon, his dignity in tatters, bartered on the open toy-boy exchange.

Fiona's behaviour was becoming ever more intrusive. During her daughter's summer break, Peter would have to leave early to accommodate Fiona's indiscretions. Tensions surfaced.

"We've got work to do, can't you leave it for the weekend?" argued Pete.

"This is my company I will do as I please." said Fiona.

"We are losing clients, the Infomercials are bombing and all you can do is

shag the floor runner."

"You can't speak to me like that."

"Ok let me put it this way, no studio, no Jimmy."

Peter refused to vacate one evening, intent on standing his ground, making protest. After Jimmy had done his duty Peter hung around, thumbed his nose and insisted Jimmy join him for a drink. Fiona stomped off as she had to meet her daughter and left them to their own devices. They went across the road to the Bakers Arms for a drink.

Peter talked about a new series of infomercials he had in the pipeline. "I want to get shot of Victor, the presenter we use. He's shit but Fiona forces him on us."

"Why don't you ignore her, you're the manager?"

"She owns the company. Anyway Victor, is SaTA talent, it's synergy or some such crap. She likes to tinker, play around, it's an ego boost."

Jimmy began to scheme, seeing an opportunity to promote Kelly. "Maybe if she saw someone new for herself she would realise. You say he's a lazy git, doesn't put in the work?"

"Truth is this is our last chance to get it right. They're our biggest customer without them we're in trouble. They're probably already shopping around."

Jimmy freaked, he could not afford to lose his job. "No, no, no you can't afford to lose your biggest customer."

"She'll never agree to someone new. She's a control freak, you know that."

"Think of the business."

Peter was hiding under a mound of debt no-one knew about. Jimmy finally got him thinking straight. He inadvertently set a plan in motion. Peter was through brooding. He prepared himself to face it head on. "I hate to admit it but I think you're right."

Jimmy's motive shifted purpose. He was now more interested in saving his own skin than promoting Kelly but offered her up anyway as it was the right thing to do. Jimmy put her forward and saw it as a debt repaid.

"Has she got any experience?" asked Peter.

"She's good, got great presence."

"I see, that would be a no then. I'd like to help you out but I need someone established, someone hot right now."

Jimmy selflessly pushed it. "She'll do it for nothing."

"You're good Jimmy I'll give you that." He looked at him seeing it from his angle. Jimmy had been a good soldier so felt obliged. "Ok, I tell you what, bring her down and shoot a taster; in your own time mind you. If she's any good, I'll make a case."

He broke the news to Kelly. She was over the moon and came down especially insisting she treat him. They met at Porchetta, a Trattoria in Primrose Hill. Jimmy order Calzone and Kelly breadsticks with Panzanella. They sipped on a full bodied Merlot. Jimmy pandered.

"What made you get into acting?"

"I love movies, you know the old black and whites, Watched them with Mum to avoid the Saturday sport, still do; Twelve Angry Men, The Clairvoyant, Young Man with a Horn."

"Young man with the Horn, you mean Horny young man?"

"Very funny ha-ha. I didn't expect you to understand."

"Sorry, Young Man with a Horn. Let me see." He put his glass down "40s Film Noir starring Kirk Douglas and Lauren Bacall?"

"Oh my god yes, you've seen it too."

"I'm not a big sports fan either. I totally got Kirk, frustrated musician, creatively neutered. Reminds me of when I played in a wedding band to pissed up Dad dancers. I absolutely hated it."

"Well if you're Kirk who am I, Amy or Jo?"

He laughed. "Neither I hope. The ending really sucked."

"You are full of surprises Mister Bramble."

They went back to Jimmy's digs. Simon had been excused for the night. He set the products down on the bed and began to brainstorm. Kelly surveyed the goods and looked unconvinced.

"How am I supposed to talk about this tat for ten minutes?" She grabbed an item at random "What's this? Glow in the dark toilet paper."

Jimmy tried to encourage her by having a go himself. "How many times have you gone in the middle of the night and wiped your bum on..erm- -"

"- - yeah, toilet paper that doesn't glow in the dark. Yeah, like all the freaking time."

"Ok you're right, not an easy sell."

"Most bathrooms have a window, you can see anyway."

"Ok what about the half loo under the stairs."

"What, the loo that's two foot wide with a light?"

"Yeah, not exactly a herculean task. Still give it a chance there's plenty more." Jimmy took a sip of Sunny C a drinks product. "Oh my good god, that is vile, 'Orange juice with a hint of Penicillin.' Why? Hand me the toilet paper." He spat it in and wiped his lips. "It's like sand paper. I don't think I'd want to find it with the lights on much less off."

He grabbed another product. "Banana slicer?" A device allowing you to slice a whole banana into small pieces in one move." I love bananas but isn't it a drag, I mean all that chopping… Why not?"

"Eat it, with your mouth ! "

"Be serious I'm trying to help? Oh look, I would actually buy these, Picnic Pants."

"Put them on." As he sat crossed legged a triangular cloth table sewn to the knees and crotch pulled out.

"Be the envy of your neighbourhood and- -"

"- -Look like a complete ass."

"Can you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Making sense." He reached for another. " Ok smoking mittens."

Mittens with a grommet to place a cigarette.

"Actually that ain't bad, nothing worse than smoking in the cold, my hands freeze, you can't enjoy it."

"You see you just did it, hold on." He got up. "Ever had a picnic in the cold and fancied a fag?" He sat back down cross legged in the picnic mode smoking a cigarette through the mittens.

She fell over reeling. "They will lock you up."

Jimmy went again determined to crack it. "Spaghetti fork." A fork with a rotating motorised end to save twirling by hand. He passed it to her. "Give it a try."

"I love spaghetti but all that twirling makes my hand ache."

"Wait a minute, I think you got something there, try 'my mums loves spaghetti but her bad joints make it difficult to eat …blabla makes the perfect gift.' Jimmy hit on an angle, Kelly beamed, they had turned the corner.

They shot the taster after work the following day. Kelly arrived unexpectedly early. She wore a Maui top with acid washed jeans. Jimmy was busy clearing the S&M set.

"What's the cage for?" asked Kelly.

He scrambled to hide the whip and chains. "Oh that's where the last presenter

wound up."

"You got something you want to tell me?"

"No," Just then Albert, a sixty year old codger, tottered across the set floor in a PVC Gimp suit with mouth gag and manacles still attached. He murmured gesturing Jimmy to free him.

"- Actually, there may be something."

"Oh my giddy aunt," Kelly laughed it off as Jimmy freed him.

"What sort of stuff do you shoot here?"

"It's a side line. Anyway shall we get started?"

They got busy creating a set. She rummaged round grabbing a flat of a London Skyline.

"Great put that there we'll use it as a backdrop."

Jimmy assembled a white laminate trestle and positioned the camera and lights. He checked the monitors, clapped the board and counted her in.

She presented the first product like a pro. Jimmy gazed at her in disbelief. He looked up.

"What's wrong?"

"You're really good." She smiled appreciatively.

"Don't sound so surprised."

He began to think she stood a chance and attacked the remainder of the session with added zeal. They shot the taster straight through stopping only for

cutaways and close ups. He ejected the tape.

"Follow me." They went to the edit suite and started cutting.

"I got to say Jimmy I'm impressed. You're really are doing it, camera, editing. How did you manage to land such a sweet gig?"

"Luck I guess."

"Don't be modest. People like you Jimmy. I mean after all that happened in Manchester and now you're doing all this?"

"I said I owe you."

"You sure that's it? You haven't even asked me about Roger?"

He sat shuffling the jog wheel, ingesting the footage. "Ok, how's Roger?"

"Don't know. We split up." He smiled. "Ok your turn. What's that mark on your neck?"

It was a hiccie from Fiona. He blushed but instead of denying it he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm glad Roger's gone. He was a real dick."

"I know."

They finished up Jimmy ordered a taxi to take her straight to the train station.

She paused before stepping into the car. "See you around Don Yuan,"

"Hush up!"

He was glad he had the opportunity to reconnect and heal old wounds. She had gone but this time he had left things right.

Jimmy spent hours polishing up the fine cut, dropping the weaker stuff figuring she could re-work those if she got the gig. Once he was happy he picture locked and presented it to Peter after his morning fix.

"She did this on the fly you say? Damn she's good."

"I know."

"I like her style."

"She was going for Sally James."

"That's it, the Tiswas girl, very good I like it."

"I think Fiona will be round later."

"Perfect I'll play it to her before I leave. Good stuff, Jimmy this could really save us."

Fiona pulled up mid-shoot in a red Mercedes. Pete waited anxiously to greet her on arrival and ushered her through. Jimmy was on camera. The on air light was on. She squeezed his bottom on the way through and tip toed, heels in hands, on her way to the edit.

"What's all this about?" He slipped on the tape.

"This is Kelly. She could sell ice to Eskimos."

"What's this? I told you we're using Victor."

"Just watch."

She sat in silence. "She is good, where did you find her?"

"Jimmy's contact." His words rebound and smacked him in the face. He could see the rage building.

"Oh really? How do you mean contact?" She stomped around. "Never mind just get him?"

"Calm down she's just an old school friend. He's just trying to get her in, what's wrong with that? She's good."

"Just get him now please."

He stepped out and relieved him. "You better go in and calm her down. She's losing it, thinks you're with Kelly."

He sheepishly edged round the corner guarding his un-severed neck.

"Who's she?"

"She's just a friend."
"You think I'm stupid. We both know better. You knew the deal. That's it get out you're done."

Jimmy pleaded but she ignored him, ejected the tape and threw it in the trash. Jimmy stomped off to the exit. Peter grabbed him. "Where you going?"

"You better ask her."

"She can't do that. Wait Jimmy I'll talk to her."

Everything came to a head. Peter was furious he stormed in determined to salvage the situation.

"What are you doing. Sshe is the best thing that's happened to us. We need her and Jimmy is the hardest worker we've had. He's clued up great with the talent, what the fuck are you doing?"

"If I was you I would forget what you just said. Get back out front and do what I pay you for."

She saw it as a deep betrayal. The situation was untenable.

Jimmy wandered the streets aimlessly, his purpose ripped from grasp. He went out of his way to repay a debt. Now the cynic poked sore and vindictive. How could he be so naïve as to think Fiona would reward his efforts? He risked it all to win over a girl that did not care. Instead of basking in success he was left out of sorts, slipping down the serpent's wind back to where he started.

Simon was still up dancing around in a silk kimono to a 12' remix of Dr. Beat. Jimmy came in and slammed the wall. "I'm sick of it."

"Christ you look like shit?"

"Not now Si, I'm not in the mood. Can you kill the music?"

Jimmy relayed the whole pitiful affair.

Si poured two glasses of Peach Schnapps. "I told you not to help her."

"You were right I should have listened, happy now?"

"No I'm not, I told ya she's trouble, the pretty ones always are."

"That's cliché bollocks."

"You're too nice."

"Who me?"

"Let's take a look shall we? You get her a job as a TV presenter."

"Yeah what else?"

"That's it! Isn't that enough? That is way more than anyone has done for

her in the past."

"She didn't ask for that."

"What you talking about I was here when she called you."

"Yeah maybe. So what?"
"Okay, you want more? How about losing your job. Did you consider that? Do yourself a favour, get yourself someone needy."

"What like Lucy?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Nothing man. When she coming round?"

"Oh you noticed. Sorry do ya mind?"

"Course not, I'm a nice guy."

Simon went to get ready. "Don't worry mate, give it till morning. I bet you anything you get call."

Dawn broke. Jimmy woke, stepping on a crushed beer can jolted him back to reality. He checked his answering machine, praying Simon was right. The counter flashed one, but it was Kelly trying to spy news from the audition. He stopped it abruptly. He couldn't face it. He decided not to call but instead crawled back to bed determine to undo the torment. He ran through the sequence in his head, unpicking every torrid moment, as if the key to unlock the problem lie within. His old pals, gloom and pessimism checked in; holding him close, blotting out all else. He checked his pocket for change. He had just enough for a can of Brew. He got ready to face the day, opened the door and right on cue staring back was Peter.

"Good morning. You alright Jimmy? Come on let's get brunch, my treat."

They strolled to The Lordship, a pub at the bottom of the road recounting yesterday's fallout. Peter ordered two pints of the Guinness and they parked themselves down by the open fire.

"It's over. I told her to shove it." Jimmy held his breath. "Don't worry it's not down to you."

"I don't understand. It's me she's upset with."

"It's been going wrong for a while. Last night it all came to a head. She pushed me too far. Truth is I've been thinking about it for a while but never had the bottle to leave." He supped the creamy beige froth and gasped. "I had dreams once, wanted to be the next Scorsese. Can you believe it; look at me now. She convinced me to bury it and work for her. We were an item once, just like you."

"You were with Fiona?"

"Yeah, then she moved on. She was easier back then but she's got worse with age, more controlling. Well, I don't have to tell you what she's like. Still not to worry, these are new exciting times Jimmy, I never felt more alive. It's time to do what I want and I want you to join me."

Peter managed to snag a couple of shooting kits before he jumped and promised to call as soon as he had news. Jimmy sat tight waiting and when the call came he was ready. He packed light; hiking boots, thick socks and as many pants as he could stuff into his backpack. Peter pulled up in a black minivan and they set off to Heathrow.

Chapter 7 Kelly (Part I)

"I got an old school pal, Derek he's an investigative journalist working out of the Congo, into some very edgy stuff. He's got a lead on some very illegal activity and he wants us to film it," explained Peter.

"What's the team?"

"Derek interviews. I'll direct you'll be on camera and we need a Boom Op,"

"Boom Op?"

"Soundie, we use them on location." Jimmy looked blank. "Do you know anyone that can hold a pole?"

Jimmy rang Kelly before departure and offered up the role. He broke straight into it, offering it up as consolation to the infomercial."

"Let me get this straight. I didn't get the infomercial, that's all over? Now you want me to drop everything and meet you in the Congo?"

Jimmy shook his head slightly apprehensive. "Yeah pretty much, that's right."

"Okay Jimmy I trust you."

She bunked college and agreed to meet them out there after prep.

The flight was rough, the food distinctly French. "What are we filming exactly?"

"Don't know till Derek calls but the DRC is very unstable, many parts are lawless. Whatever it is I can guarantee it will be full on."

They touched down in N'djili, DRC. Jimmy caught a blast of heat as he stepped onto the air stairs. The sky was perfectly blue, the heat intensely penetrating. They jumped on a transit bus heading inland toward the hotel. On the outskirts, crop workers sowed manioc and sorghum in lush green fields. They weaved in and out of bustling villages, past patchy green sand buffs along the Congo River to the city, Kinshasa, King Leopold's claimed land. First they hit the squatting zone; tin-roofed concrete-block houses. Side paths were littered with trash, children playing in mud streets discounting the all-pervading stench of raw sewage. Parliament and the President's Palace crept up slow, looming with intent. High rises and Imperialist brick buildings lined the way leading to a procession of 100ft bronze statues of fallen rulers. President Lumumba, one arm raised uplifting in a Mandela like pose and the incumbent Mobutu a much maligned tyrant and puppet of the west.

They checked in to a Novotel. Jimmy took a shower and gazed out the window overlooking the neighbouring orange grove. Working in Africa smacked deeply of the old colonial past; living a life of lawn tennis and garden parties, working alongside NGOs and Ambassadors. He could not believe his luck. He went from scrounging an existence to a life he could only dream of.

They mingled with a large film crew making a film about renowned anthropologist Dian Fossey. The crew were staying at the same hotel. Peter got chatting with Rob Gore the Director. He was in need of escape so invited them out to shoot GV's in his downtime.

"So you're waiting for the SP? Reminds me of when I started out, covering crazy shit to get noticed. Be careful, up in the mountains it's a war zone. The rules don't apply."

"What about here?"

"We stick out like a sore thumb. It's hard to do anything under the radar. Tread carefully. Remember this is Africa they do things differently here,"

"Have you had any trouble?"

"A little, you start snooping, digging up shit on people around you it draws attention. We had the head of the Military, Colonel Ikolo round yesterday creating problems, pulling shit out of thin air. He stopped us filming. He said we didn't have the right permits, £30k to shoot per day and he wants us to stop filming, fucking cunt."

"What did you do?"

"Phillipe, our fixer paid him off and it all went away. They're all looking for handouts, it's curious."

"How do you mean?"

"At first you think they're on the level, that there's a problem, but it's code. They can't ask for a bribe outright, instead there's a problem, red-tape, simply code for I want money."

"What if you don't have any?"

"Beware, they are fucking scary and will threaten to off you, chop chop like that. Some have disappeared so watch yourself."

Peter waited in his room for Derek to call via satellite phone. At exactly 1.30 pm it came. He ran through the details and managed to scribble his coordinates down just before the line went dead. Peter convened with Jimmy on the rooftop bar.

"What's the gig?"

"Ghost Guns. Derek's made contact with three brothers. They make guns from scratch; 1911 handhelds, the Marines use them. They got the templates. They've been doing it for years from a hideout."

"Who do they make them for?"

"The US mainly. Gangsters love them because they can't be traced. You buy a gun from a back room, it could have been used in a murder. The Police catch you, you go down for murder. They don't care, that's one less crime to solve. Ghost guns are completely blank, no serial number, no history. They sell them here for $50. After they're shipped to Miami they fetch up to $2000. Worth a lot of money."

"When do we start?" He chucked him the keys.

They piled into a minivan and drove deep into the interior toward North Kivu.

"You nervous?" asked Peter.

"About what?"

"Rob's little pet talk. it didn't put you off? We are going into the mountains."

As always Jimmy just went with the flow. "Nah, I can take it."

"Good it may get a bit hairy."

Truth was Jimmy ran scared like the rest but ultimately believed no matter how many times he came close he'd always find a way out. It simply was not his time.

They stopped at the base of a beaten path, slammed the kit into a holdall and climbed up a steep incline to a hilltop cabin.

Derek was a posh kid from Peter's old Grammar School, a tall man who bore a marked resemblance to Klaus Kinski. He sat in a wicker cheer, smoking hard, knocking back banana beer;

"The plans changed. The Police were moving in so the brothers relocated. I was with them when you called. We were intercepted by Militia. I just managed to get away, told them I worked for the BBC; lucky I carry my old ID card. I said I had a camera crew and I would film their plight."

"Ok when do we leave?" said Peter.

"We're not leaving."

"Sorry?"

"I know you came all this way but it's not worth it," He said packing up.

"You're fucking kidding right?"

"No I'm fucking not, now we'd better go. Trust me now is not the time to argue, when they realise what I'm up to they'll come looking."

"Why didn't they come back with you?"

"I don't know, maybe they left a cake in the oven, just leave it." Peter stood bitchin, unconvinced, waiting for a proper explanation. "They're only grunts, believe you me once they get back to camp their commander will go ape. You got a million, half a million? Your folks sell their farm maybe? They are Militia, we are rich westerners, they will kidnap us and if we don't cough up we're dead, do you understand. Now let's move before it's too late."

"What about the gun makers?" asked Jimmy.

"Why the concern?"

"Their fate could have been ours,"

"Very good. You got a survivor there Pete. Don't worry they'll be okay won't they Pete?" Peter was silent, deflated racking his brains for an alternate plan.

"Yeah Derek's right as long as they're useful they're alive."

"And if they are no longer useful?"

"They're dead."

"Count yourself fortunate, like you said their fate could be ours," said Derek.

"Do we tell the Police when we get back?" said Jimmy.

"What are they gonna do? said Peter.

"Indeed," agreed Derek.

They heard a commotion, yelling then the crack of gunshots. First one, then a volley. One of the brothers had escaped. Derek could see him in the distance running toward them, falling over himself, stumbling downhill through the trees.

"Shit move it."

They flew out the back door and raced down the hill back to the minivan. Jimmy carried the equipment. Once they had cleared sight, Derek stopped and looked back to see what was happening.

"It's Luc."

"What are you doing?" said Peter.

"Get your camera."

"Fuck." He ran on and grabbed Jimmy.

"We're on."

Jimmy looked on in dismay but saw little choice but to follow orders. He pulled out the camera and held it up following the ricochets and tree splinters, all the while remaining hidden in the undergrowth.

Peter whispered. "I'm going back up. If something goes wrong, run."

Luc ran crouched down amid a hail of bullets. He made for the cabin and

dived in.

"Come out and you can live," Yelled the Commander.

Fire came back. Luc had found a loaded 1911 he stashed for emergencies. The

Militia had him pinned down. Derek moved up and threw a message wrapped round a stone through the window. Luc crawled across on his stomach, read the note waited for a lull and looked out the back window. Derek beckoned him across.

"When he comes out run like hell. Start the van and leave the doors open."

Luc went to climb through the window but was shot. He fell back onto the floor.

Derek looked on desperately. "No."

"They're coming. We got to go." cried Peter.

Peter grabbed Derek and pulled him down the hill as he looked back. They slipped down past Jimmy as he kept filming. Peter motioned him to leave it and follow. They clambered back into the van and took off at speed before they were spotted.

"He's ok." said Jimmy passing back the camera to Derek.

He rewound it the tape and looked through the view finder. He saw Luc being

carried back to camp. "Lucky beggar. He's still alive."

They drove back exasperated, coming down off the rush.

"You do stuff like this all the time?" asked Jimmy.

"No, I've been working on this story for two years, following leads, gaining their trust. When you've invested so much time you take the risk but now we have nothing."

"Can we build on the footage?" asked Peter.

"No, what we got footage of, a fire fight? We need the whole story. That's why I

hung back. If he had made it we could have picked up the story."

"You hung back for the story. I thought you were trying to save him," said

Jimmy.

"He was trying to save the story," laughed Peter. "You are fucking

insane you know that?"

"I carry the weight of my conviction. Two years down the fucking drain and

you'reupset?"

They were shattered and bedded down at the Novotel for the night. Peter stayed up wrestling with his decision to leave the studio. He was ambivalent, on the one hand tinged with regret on the other hopefully optimistically, holding out for a solution. He still had his freedom and was intent on using it. He racked his brain in search of a quick fix. There remained one possibility, although he thought it too tame for the Derek's maverick tastes, he had to try. He invited Derek to meet Rob Gore over breakfast and consider an alternative. They gathered round a table in the courtyard. The waiter placed a basket of bread rolls and Danish whilst Jimmy decanted piping hot coffee from the urn.

"We've been filming for three weeks and courted a lot of attention; you know what with the Circus being in town. We came across a hunting pack, a French outfit. They call themselves Formidable, a very secretive mob. They hunt officially for legal Big game, but in reality they shoot anything that moves. Our tracker says they plan to hunt Gorillas,"

"So it's a front?" said Derek.

"Exactly, they have free reign. Officials are bought off to look the other way."

Derek looked on dismissive. "Mmm, very interesting but fact is three hundred Gorillas are killed every year, mostly by the locals for bush meat. No-one really cares,"

"Francois Boutillion is with them."

Derek bucked up. "Stone the crows, are you sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely sure."

"Well that changes everything."

It came as news to Peter too. Francois was a huge Hollywood A-lister. He arrived overnight and was spotted in a beige ticking safari suit. It wasn't a cutting edge story, more a tabloid scoop but given the lack of alternatives they jumped on it.

Jimmy collected Kelly from the Airport and rushed to a bash thrown by the Swedish Ambassador on the Hotel grounds. A steel band played in the forecourt. Drinks and hor d'oeuvres were served on silver platers by uniformed waiters. Jimmy hired a tuxedo and Kelly borrowed a sequined gown Jimmy laid on from the Fossey wardrobe. They caught Rob discussing supposed murderer of Dian mid-conversation.

"The poacher was framed, everyone knows it wasn't him. You ask the people. What do you think Jimmy?" asked Rob.

"Definitely, why on earth would a poacher hang himself? They're not exactly the guilt ridden type are they? Anyway your fixer Phillipe, let it slip, says it's common knowledge."

Derek interjected. "Rumours all too often turn fiction into fact. You need facts not here-say."

"Well, we believe it goes all the way to the top, but the minute you speak they close ranks. Someone knows and we are going to find out who," said Rob.

"I think we best leave it there. The walls have ears gentlemen," suggested the Ambassador.

Jimmy led Kelly away to the bar. "I'm flipping out. I can't believe you know these people."

"It's just the way things are here. You see that girl over there, Irish, an IT geek. She's nothing back home; here she heads a government department earns £2k a week, lives in a villa with servants and a cleaner. It's a different world, but here, it's normal."

"Who's the Director?"

"Rob Gore, he gave us the lead. He's supposed to be some bigtime Director from Hollywood, worked with Niche once. Says he took the job because he wanted to tell the story, saw it as an artistic challenge. He's a nice guy but rumour is on the wagon, washed up and this is all he could get."

"He hides it well."

"He started as an actor."

"What about you? When you called I thought it was over, now look. Who would have thought?"

"You wouldn't have said that yesterday. You should have seen us."

Jimmy seized a platter of passing crudités. Kelly grabbed the wine and they

slipped to a quiet corner. He calmly explained what happened.

"Holy crap."

"Don't worry it's all history."

"Is this Derek guy on the level?"

"He's something else let me tell ya."

"Sounds nuts."

"Fierce, a hairs breath from suicidal in my opinion, Peter's not much better."

"Certifiable?" asked Kelly snapping a breadstick.

"Desperate to succeed."

"I know that feeling but seriously why would you risk your life?"

"It's an obsession. He believes in it so strong nothing else matters."

"Is he on some kind of glory hunt?"

"Maybe, still I'm glad I'm here. It beats 9 to 5."

"l know it's great. We're getting paid to go on Safari." She sipped her glass of Merlot. "How do you manage to land these gigs?"

"It leads on," he said tugging on a Gitane.

He rose to his feet and took her hand leading around the grounds, past the tennis courts and playing fields.

"What?"

"Something Simon said. Saying yes always leads on. He was right,"

"Simon from school?"

"Yeah. Saying yes and a touch of desperation actually,"

"You have some good friends."

Jimmy smiled in fond reflection. "Yes I do, I'm lucky."

"You know Simon's with Lucy now, they're getting engaged?"

Jimmy choked on his wine. "You sure you got the right bloke? I thought it was casual?"

"It was. She's got a bun in the oven."

Jimmy was eager to divert attention worried he had blown Simon's cover. He offered a toast. "To Simon and Lucy."

Jimmy stayed up all night with the fixer, Phillipe off the Fossey crew shooting craps against a wall with some locals. He went straight from the game to work, loading kit into the Minivan. As a parting gesture Phillipe slipped him some Jazz, MD cut with Speed. He popped one in and washed it down with vodka.

"Jazz my friend, very cool combo. The Speed keeps you awake then the MD kicks in and boom."

"Boom?"

"Yeah, it gets a bit crazy."

"Crazy good?"

"Mostly, it varies don't worry you should be back by then."

"Oh good, thanks, a time bomb. I wish you'd told me before I took it."

They clambered into the van and trekked deep into the interior on safari to pick up Formidable's trail. On the way they stopped at a picturesque beauty spot for water. A stream of African village kids appeared. They gathered round, giggling, whispering into each other's ears. It fell silent, then broke spontaneously singing a tribal incantation. Jimmy and Kelly closed their eyes bathing in sweet resonance. They tilted their heads up, light in the clouds. Upon closing they vanished into the mist; casting a spell, captivating the most cynical of minds. Kelly looked at Jimmy and squeezed his hand tight.

The tracker hung out of the back, walkie-talkie crackling receiving information from spotters on where the animals were last sighted. Suddenly he stopped and pointed. They followed his naked line of sight with binoculars and way in the distance on a ridge they could see a tree and behind that a small moving dot. It was their first sighting. They drove furiously up and round to the hill crest, walked a few yards, to see a baby Giraffe splitting thorns from an Acacia tree. They stood in awe watching as it moved gracefully through the savannah only feet away. The tracker signalled to the group, pointing out Formidable creeping forward through the scrub. Kelly ran back to the minivan and sounded the horn to spook it. A shot rang off in the distance.

"What are you doing?" yelled Derek.

"It's a baby?"

"Exactly." The calf escaped. "Shit, fuck," He threated exasperated. "I call the shots round here. You got that?"

Derek's callous disregard for the infant upset her. She was no shrinking violet but refused to stand idle and witness such depravity for his sake. She questioned if she had the stomach for it.

They sped past herds of Wilder beasts and pulled up at Lake Edward on the water's edge. The mountains cast still reflection broken by black herons trailing feet, seeking lift. The tracker pointed out crocodiles in stealth mode, motionless, eyes above the surface. Beyond that a bloat of hippos, some bathing others fighting, attacking other hippos.

The speed kicked in sudden, Jimmy started running his mouth, offering Kelly support. "I don't get it?"

"What?" asked Derek.

"Taking on a croc with a blade, I'd respect that, but with a gun where's the sport in that?"

"They are hunting in the wild, out witting their prey."

"From two hundred yards with a scope?"

"I didn't say I agreed. Anyway what if the animal were hunting you? How would you feel then?"

Just then, a few feet away on the shoreline, a crocodile lunged from nowhere and grabbed an Impala by the throat, suffocating it in the shallows. It struggled bucking and thrashing while the others ran away. The tracker said not to be nervous as the 'Hippo is to be feared more than the crocodile.' Jimmy was not thrilled with either prospect and began questioning his ranking in the food chain. He tried not to let on but The MD had kicked in premature. The tracker warned them. 'Better not get too close, they can spring out of the bushes.' Suddenly he noticed they were surrounded by bushes and scoped them with satellite accuracy. The thrill of the Giraffe was shifting to ever present danger. He looked back toward the van, calculating if he had enough time to make the run. The trees above had vultures or condors; a big scary line of Hitchcock's Birds preparing for attack. A condor flew out from the bushes as if spooked. Right behind him he could spot the jaw of a gapping crocodile, swelling in size but not getting bigger, a puzzling contradiction holding him petrified. He put on his sunglasses to conceal his anxiety.

The bushes rustled. "It's them," exclaimed the tracker.

A shoot rang out clearing the landscape of danger. A group of men in matching safari suits stepped out from behind. Derek and Peter held back, filming from a distance. Jimmy went across with the others.

Francois, a handsome rugged man, approached Kelly smiling, leading the pack.

"Enchanté."

"We caught you on the ridge before near the Giraffe," said Kelly.

"Yes, magnificent wasn't it."

"Why did you shoot?"

"We are hunting game we go where the hunt takes us."

"It was a calf, you're murderers."

"We have a license and will use it anywhere we feel fit."

"Like Virunga maybe?" implied Jimmy.

He smiled and tipped his hat. "Good day to you sir."

They walked back to their jeep and drove off. Peter and Derek raced over "Tell me you got the audio?"

Kelly held up the recorder from her side pack. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"So I'm forgiven?"

"You made the right call this time. You got lucky but don't let it happen again. Like it or not you two are now part of the story, in front the camera. We leave for Virunga tomorrow."

The Virunga Mountains was home to many families of Mountain Gorilla. They

trekked deep into the interior in a capable 4x4 and arrived at base camp in the early hours. They were accompanied by two well equipped Army Rangers.

"What's the guns for?" asked Kelly.

"Poachers, it's all show. The authorities know this will wind up on TV and want to look legit," whispered Peter.

"I'm surprised they're letting us film. They may be implicated," said Kelly.

"They're going to make an example of them." said Derek. "We are political pawns my dear. Mobutu hates the west. When the news breaks it will go global, with the white man cast as the Villain. It's too good to resist."

They traversed the red earth terrain pass straw huts and local tribesman to the base of the Virunga Mountains. The tracker began clearing a path, chopping through the undergrowth as they began their ascent. He checked in on his radio trying to locate the family. The tracker sniffed faeces hidden in the earth. 'We're close.'

They hit a clearing, ground to a halt and were told to get down. Behind, the bushes swayed. Jimmy turned round to discover a female climbing gracefully through the thicket behind. Kelly tapped him on the shoulder; he turned back and in front sat the entire family; two females, two babies and a magnificent Silverback. They gazed transfixed as they groomed each other only meters away; privileged to peak into this mysterious world. The babies came across, drawn in curious. Without warning the Silverback ran straight at Jimmy. He stopped a few feet away scowling, beating his chest then turned away and walked back. Jimmy was panicked but had nowhere to go as his back was against a tree. The tracker waved Jimmy to the side and the Silverback returned, walking straight past, merely inches away.

"You blocked his way. That's his path," the tracker explained.

The family followed the Silverback round and the second baby stopped to play with Kelly, he was inquisitive, warm and trusting. It felt no different from playing with her Sister's new-born. She looked into his fuzzy little face and felt protective, nurturing. He climbed up her arms as she reached out.

A shot cracked, then another. The first baby ran toward his mother and fell. A third shot bought the mother down, shot through the head. She fell to the ground silent. The second baby ran over shrieking with Kelly in hot pursuit. Kelly was tossed aside by the Silverback. Jimmy ran across waved his arms yelling to distract him. He came bounding over intent on stomping out any threats. Before he could strike a forth bullet bought the Silverback down. The rangers quickly dragged Kelly and Jimmy out of harm's way and radioed for help.

Chapter 8 Kelly (Part II)

They were evacuated by Helicopter straight to emergency. Kelly was unconscious, bruised with some broken ribs. Jimmy was relatively unscathed and stayed by Kelly's side so he was there when she came to. He caught up with Peter and Derek later back at the Novotel.

"The Police caught them back at their hotel. They didn't mention the first three shots just the one that took out the Silverback."

"That's rich, no mention why they happen to be up there armed to the teeth then?" asked Jimmy.

"Said they were hunting forest boar. That's their story, that's how they'll spin it." said Peter.

"No matter guys we got the footage to prove otherwise. This is mammoth, Kelly was amazing, you're all amazing. This is just the beginning, trust me."

Jimmy was unimpressed. He witnessed an entire family wiped out in seconds and all Derek could see was his name in lights.

Two days passed before they were back in England. The documentary was cut and poised to make a huge impact. With Francois' bankability on the line, his team made a calculated pre-emptive strike. A highly distorted account of the story was leaked to the French press. When they caught wind of the footage, Jean Pierre, Francois' agent, rang Derek who spoke immediately after with Peter.

"Have you seen Le Figaro Pete. It's breaking big."

"Are they in for a shock. Still it's great hype."

"I got some news. They rang me. They want to cut a deal."

"I'm not surprised they must be reeling."

"They offered £400k," It fell quiet. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Francois is a national hero and they want it to stay that way."

"£400k fuck, they know their game. What do they want?"

"They want us to pull it, keep quiet, give them the shot of Jimmy only. As far as they're concerned Kelly does not exist."

"You're not seriously considering it? What about the Pulitzer?"

"It's a sensational scoop, I won't deny that but award material? No. Get real Pete, no-one really gives a shit, the draw is Boutillion, but £400k?"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"We got them by the balls. I'm 100% sure I can get double. Before you start preaching think about it?"

Peter was no fool. He knew after the hoo-ha died, the world would move on. He would receive union rate pay, a pat on the back and be left out in the cold. With £400k he could produce and direct a screenplay he had been working on for years; with £400k he could leapfrog straight to the dream. He recalled the desperation he felt after Ghost Guns was dropped and knew beneath it all Derek made a lot of sense. He began to tip.

"What about Jimmy and Kelly?"

"We give them a touch to play along."

"That won't be easy."

"You have to convince them it's for the best."

He wrestled his conscience; fumbling for the kill switch. After all he had endured, he was poised to take moral victory but knew he was too far gone, Fiona saw to that.

Peter invited them to The Plough on Wimbledon Common, for what they thought was a pre-celebratory drink. They sat round a rustic wooden table. The waitress set down a pitcher of Pimms and three glasses.

"Can I take a peek? When's it going out?" asked Kelly.

Peter stiffened his resolve determined to go through with it. "It's not going out."

"What, I thought it was all sewn up?" said Jimmy.

"We got a better offer." Peter cut to the chase, laid out the deal and offered them £20k a piece.

"I don't believe it. This man is a fraud and you want us to keep quiet," said Jimmy.

"You think we are going to influence the Congolese corrupt. The PM, Mobutu, chartered Concorde for a shopping trip while his people starved. You think this is gonna spook them, get real."

Peter drew hard on his cigarette. He knew it was a sell-out. It weighed heavily on him. In the end it all came down to money, cold hard cash.

"I know how it looks, I was ideological once, fighting the system but you can't win. It will beat you."

"It ain't right Pete, not after what we been through." said Jimmy.

"I wrestled with it too. It pains me to the core but it's not a question of doing the right thing." He poured a glass of Pimms." In WWII my dad fought for the allies. He was a war hero, said no matter which side you're on, you're wrong. Sometimes there is no right and wrong only what's necessary."

Kelly remained buttoned lip, taking it all in calmly, apparently unmoved.

"You know don't you Kelly? You're an actress, you know how hard it is? Talk is cheap, failed promises, waiting for the call that never comes. This is a real chance to do something for yourself, take control."

Kelly excused herself and went to the ladies.

Peter shot a killing stare. "Come off it Jimmy, what you playing at? I need you onside here. You of all people should know, help me out for Christ sake."

Jimmy had nothing to add. Truth was he was only interested in the money but held the line to impress Kelly.

Kelly waltzed back in and looked Peter in the eye. "I want £30k and a roll in a movie."

Jimmy was astonished her halo slipped irrevocably down. Peter got through. She wanted to take a stand but knew this was her only real chance to break into acting.

"Ok fine," Said Peter.

"Not as an extra, something bigger."

"Ok I'll see what I can do."

"Not good enough; like you said I know how it is. I need a signed contract or no deal."

Peter weighed it up. "Ok deal, £30k a piece and a movie role, but there's one last thing."

Francois was in town promoting his latest blockbuster. They demanded Jimmy pucker up for a press call. Jimmy could handle the lie but the thought of playing friendly with the French was hard to stomach. He refused out of hand but was persuaded to brave it for the sake of the team.

They met at the Marquee and waited in the back whilst Francois gave interviews on The Last Time, his latest movie. The paparazzi gathered; Francois went back to prep Jimmy.

"Hi.. Jimmy isn't it?" He passed across some notes. "I wrote down a few words for you to say- -" Jimmy took the paper and ripped it up "- - or not as they case may be. Can you at least smile you're getting paid well for this."

"You got the footage that should be enough."

"Ok relax, take it easy. Just be yourself, just… well, you know smile a little okay? Did you bring your girl?"

"Did you bring the contract?"

"My lawyer's waiting."

After an excruciating ego battering, budding up for the flashes, Jimmy led Kelly to the lawyer in the lobby who bought her up to Francois's suite and left. Francois was feeling smug. He stood in front the balcony doors diluting a jug of Pastis.

"If I am going to get you a part I need to know you can act."

"What an audition?"

"Yes, I can probably get you a cameo; perhaps something better. Anything is possible it depends?"

"On what?"

"On how much you want the part?" he smirked.

"That wasn't the deal."

"The deal has changed. You had something we want. Now I got it you have nothing."

"This is bullshit, I can still talk."

He grew agitated. "You think you know me, you know nothing? Enjoying the money are you? You are worse than me. Now why don't you cut the act and come over here." She realised she had been out played and was left with little choice. She smiled and walked across. "Ok that's the truth of it isn't it?" She threw her drink in his face, kneed him in the groin and ran down the stairs to Jimmy.

"Let's get out of here."

"What's wrong?"

"He's full of shit."

They headed toward Broadway. Jimmy hailed a black cab to St. James Park.

They pulled up at the entrance to the Park. He sparked up a doob, "You need to de-stress."

Kelly tried the gates. "They're locked."

He knew a break in the fence where they could slip through. They squeezed

behind some bushes, through a gap in the railings and snuck in. They now had complete run of the park. It was dusk. A row of spot pendants lined the way. Jimmy took her hand and guided her to his favourite spot, a lake by the pavilion. He used a paper napkin to wipe the bench clean then placed his Jacket round her shoulders and a paper cup in each hand. He reached into his bag and presented a bottle of crisp Chardonnay he swiped from the green room.

"I can't believe I was so stupid to think it would work."

"Don't be silly it wasn't your fault. You are the hero and he knows that. He plays at it, pretends to be what you are and he can't take it."

"Do you think I'm a sell out?"

"You're a realist just like me. Peter was right, what did Fossey get for her troubles? We did what we could in the moment and that's the truth of it,"

"Peter told me what you did after I was knocked out. Why didn't you tell me? You're the hero Jimmy not me, you could have died," He played it down, a little embarrassed and diverted attention.

"Peter has asked me to be second camera on a film he's making and I am pretty sure he will give you a part." She perked up. "Don't get too excited it expenses only."

"Oh my god thank you. You're a good friend Jimmy."

"Yeah, I'm trying it on for size."

She gazed upon him in new radiant light and kissed full on the lips, rushing

his senses. "Just friends ay?"

"No," he whispered "Not anymore."

They prepped for a month before filming started on Peters' feature, Sven Katz, an apocalyptic and rather bizarre chronical of the end of the world; quite an ambitious storyline given the miniscule budget. They shot it mostly at Three Mills in East London. Jimmy marvelled at his new surroundings, it was a sea change; Studio flats transformed into dreamscapes of unimaginable depth and realism. Film was the Daddy, Film had the magic, the kudos. On press days they were spoiled rotten by dedicated caterers serving round the clock repasts the Ritz would die. At night they'd hang out with the pretentious coke-head actors constantly looking for a fix.

They felt special part of the privileged set. People would whisper 'he's one of them.' Lanyard in hand he'd slide pass security like VIP with minor celebrity status. Word spread, his folks were proud; friends bemused and to his family's friends the one who does movies.

Kelly played Eileen the Interstellar Astral guide and teamed up with Jimmy as an extra on a big day at Aldwych, a disused tube station. They performed hand in hand; chatting in a waiting room, prostrate on the platform floor and their DeMille close up waiting for the Train of Doom. Kelly was enamoured with Jimmy and rebuffed all advances from her acting peers. He finally won her over, not with tricks or gimmicks but with good old fashioned chivalry. The shoot came to an end and they started dating. He would go up on the weekends to her campus and she'd come down on long breaks.

They were close, had intense history and now a career in the same industry. Perhaps they moved too fast in a rush to make up for lost time. Jimmy gave Kelly the keys to his flat. She came down one weekend as a surprise and let herself in. As she entered, curious sweet acidic tones of vinegar led her to the bedroom. She pushed the door open and next to rubber ties and a tar stained spoon, was Jimmy's stash of H.

Jimmy walked in later to find her quietly brooding. They argued, they fought. She ran out in haste, crying.

What Jimmy didn't know was, the innocent girl he thought he knew was an ex-user. She got hooked on heroin at University and her supplier was Roger.That 'girl' she knew, the adult performer, got her taking it and introduced her to him. Pra spotted the signs, dilated pupils, flushed skin limp and lifeless limbs. He knew because he had been there, he managed to kick it unaided. Kelly let it slip and came to him at a low ebb, suffering from depression. Her dependency on Roger and lack of self-belief in her career left her desperate with low self-esteem.

Hold up in a dorm Pra weened her off and nursed her back to health. She wouldn't take methadone. Dad would kill her if he found out. Despite the severity of it, Pra knew first hand it was the best way as the pain was the one thing preventing him from going back. Even though he still took all manner of drugs he would never go back to H. She spent hours hunched over the toilet convulsing, chucking up in pain through the night. Then the muscle aches and spasms. He fed her a course of garlic tea and sympathy. By the end of the week she was through the worst but it would be months, with Pra at her side, before she was strong enough to stand on her own.

Jimmy knew nothing of her past. He called, she ignored him. He went around to confront her face to face. She left the door ajar wanting to avoid a welcome no matter how slight.

"I'm sorry, you got to believe me."

"Sorry you got caught?"

"No, that I hurt ýou. I'm not into heavy, I swear I only done it a couple of times?"

"That's how it starts. You can't handle it,"

"How do you know?"

"I was an addict ok." she yelled. "It was hell and I'm not going back there." She sat curled up, rocking back and forth afraid to be around it. They broke down. Jimmy held her. He promised to clean up his act. No more drugs, nothing around to tempt her. The moment bought them closer together, striping them to the core. He had new found respect for her having faced it, for her having the courage to beat it.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to go through that hell. If you're in a bad place you give into it, then you're hooked and you can't get out, you don't want to get out."

They made up, gave it another chance and slipped back into the routine but things were not quite the same. Jimmy was unsettled, wary of her hidden past. Couples argue, they grow tired and apologise for an easy life but neither really forgets.

Jimmy arranged a cosy weekend. She came down especially. He led her to Blockbuster, closed her eyes and placed Sven Katz, the video in her hand. She was delighted. It took her back to the time before the trouble started. Jimmy popped out to fetch some wine. Before he got to the end of the path the phone rang. Kelly picked it up. A female answered, a female with a foreign accent. Jimmy returned fresh, invigorated clutching a box of Blue Nun.

"You had a call."

"Oh yeah who was it?"

"Kayla." He froze cold, paralyzed beneath the burning cross.

He told her she was just a friend but the sharpness of the American's tongue spelled otherwise. He confessed there was something more once but it was over, believing their bond strong enough to take it; he was wrong. She grabbed her coat, Jimmy held her arm, she broke free and left. "Don't call me."

The door slammed tight. He was frantic, angry at God's betrayal. He told the truth and the truth knocked him down, he played it straight and got nothing in return. If anyone deserved the benefit it was him. He kicked off his shoes picked at the slow cooked bourguignon and drank the left over Red.

Kayla sprang to mind, creeping back innocent, tantrum free. He went to the bedroom and dug out the only picture he had of her, a polaroid Rawl took in Vegas. His mind screamed back through their time leaving him pale from broken promise; his head span, displaced by Kelly's turmoil. The phone rang, Jimmy hoped it was Kelly. He let it run onto the answer machine.

"I know you probably won't get this but I have to try. Something's come up, I got us a meeting with Neptune Records."

Jimmy picked it up. It was Kayla armed with a proposal of such gravity it sucked him back to the center of it. She went onto explain a sting she had set up.

"You know that jam we had in a Hojo back in Frisco? I left a copy after a session at Neptune and they played it….I labelled it Sex Tape! you know to get it noticed,"

"I see."

"They binned the tape but not before they heard the track. The next morning

Kacey, the Head, couldn't get the song out his head. He panics, rings reception tells them to grab all the trash off the sidewalk for the number and rang me."

"Are you shitting me?"

"No he loves it; wants to know if we have anymore?"

"What did you say?"

"I said yes."

".. but that's all we wrote, we only had the one track."

"So what, this is our chance. We are talking about Neptune Records. They get

two hundred demo tapes every day. Do you know how many they listen to? I'll tell you shall I? None, nada, zip. We are way ahead of the game, trust me."

There was a thoughtful pause. Kelly's bruising was still uppermost in his mind.

"So what do you want from me?" he asked.

"Is that all you can say? It wasn't that long ago you told me it was the dream.

What's changed?" He kept quiet. "I know you want this. Don't spend your life wondering what if? Those are your words not mine, remember?"

A cliché takes on a whole new meaning when it applies to you. All his life he'd been searching for success and now he had a shot. He grabbed his jacket and went for a walk to clear his mind, circling the block. The more he weighed it up the more enthused he became. Music was the improbable dream, the only exit from mediocrity. If there was any way he could make it reality he had to try. The only thing holding him back was Kelly. He was torn, this was incredibly bad timing but he knew he had to go.

He went home necked a scotch and rang Kelly. She was expecting an apology and got a slap in the face. He tried to reason with her, told her it was business, something he had to crack.

"First you tell me she's your Ex. Now you say you're going to the States to live the dream with your Ex. Sorry, am I supposed to be happy for you?"

He held the phone away to save his ears. The air turned stale, blue with obscenities, the odds lengthened on hopes of a fond farewell. In his naivety he expected to keep things going based on new found trust. He accepted his lot and took the flack before she slammed down the phone. He sat tight, hoping she would calm down and call back. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours; the situation made itself clear.

Her rage fuelled him, he felt indignant after all the help he'd given her, now it was his turn she turned her back. He felt betrayed as if their time together was nothing more than a convenient play. Things were not the same after the trouble. The trust had gone and the solid belief that he once held was sucked into the void. The scales tipped back to NYC, he began to appreciate the draw and at a stroke fell into its grip.

They had to move fast before things went cold. He rang dependable Pra to steady the ship and got more than he bargained for.

"Well if you're going I'm coming too."

"I thought you had plans?"

"Are you kidding? Programming a cleaning rostra at Guesthouse Forte is

more like a death sentence than a plan,"

"But what about your folks, your degree?"

"Let me weigh it up; boffin with no future versus Rock Star. Mmm.. what do you think Jimmy?"

"Pack your Bass mate we're leaving for New York."

The London light faded. New York loomed, heralding a new dawn.

Chapter 9 Making The Band

Kayla rolled up in an iridescent purple Buick; the driver's window cracked and

door scorched with holes. She stepped out, pointing pink Grendha jellies to the floor; her long legs preceding Coke bottle curves, cut off denim shorts and Lacoste striped crop top.

"Christ man, she is ker-racking. You don't even know what you got," gaped Pra.

"Yes I do and hands off. She's strictly off limits."

With Pra by his side he felt on top, happy to be back in fresh but familiar NYC. They headed toward Harlem, the plan, to write and record three tracks.

"Sorry to drop this on you guys but tomorrow we're going straight to Neptune to see Kacey, he called." It fell silent. "Trust me it will be ok, he's a Brit just like you."

They arrived at Kayla's, an old brownstone in Brooklyn. The apartment was vast, a whitewashed studio attic, the roof was exposed; two wrought iron columns supported beams and rafters. Pra took the spare room with Jimmy and Kayla slept in the room opposite. She ran the shower.

"I'm sorry man but what are you doing in here?" asked Pra.

"She's getting ready."

"Why aren't you in there helping her get ready?"

"Believe you me it's all I've been thinking about."

"What's up, don't tell me it's Kelly?"

"I don't know but if I go in there I won't make it out, it'll mess things up."

"Maybe I should go in then, for your sake."

"Yeah nice try, ya dawg."

Jimmy was dying to see Rawl so agreed to leave Kayla and meet up later. Rawl had moved up the ladder. Mark's coke runs had made him comfortably well-off. He buzzed them in and sat back swilling Courvoisier.

Jimmy entered nodding approvingly. "Very nice."

"We're on 71st and Broadway, what do you expect?"

They hugged. Jimmy introduced Pra and they kicked back; priming the pumps for the main event, the Blue Note where it all began. Rawl broke out party favours, hocus, coke and the new kid on the block, acid.

Archie Bunker, a sitcom featuring the bigot Archie was on TV.

"Shit did you hear that? He said coon Jimmy,"

"Christ he's like Alf Garnett."

"Alf Garnett?" asked Rawl.

"Yeah, Brit fucker, just like this cunt."

"What in jolly 'ol England?"

"Yeah, what a prick."

"They say coon in England?"

"Kids at school used it."

"You got called coon at school?"

"Didn't you?"

"What in the Bronx? Man get out of here, if Yankee Doodle said that at our school 1. He's is one brave Mother Fucker 2. He would be fucked up so bad his own Momma wouldn't recognise him. What else they call you?"

"Pickaninny."

"That's got to be a 10," said Rawl.

"Spear Chucker?"

"What's that?"

"Just off the boat, bone through the nose?"

"Shaka Zulu, we call them Shaka Zulu."

"You must have had some too?"

"We used NASA over here, but only Brothers."

"NASA?"

"Stands for North American Street Ape."

"You use it on yourself?"

"I'm from the Bronx, that's what we do."

"What else you got?

"Banjo lips. Oh, I know, wog we had wog, I know you got that?"

Jimmy put on his posh voice. "Wog of course 'ol boy it's one of ours. That's a 10; very popular weapon of choice. Golliwog or to use its abbreviated name the Golly is technically a Black character in a Children's 19th century book."

"Yeah and technically you'd deserve a spank for using it." Said Pra.

"Tru say," agreed Rawl, nodding, topping up balloon stems with Cognac.

As the night wore on, mired, they lost track. There was a knock at door. The lads fell out of their chairs. It was Kayla and Sherri.

"Oh great, that's all we need," said Rawl.

"Shit I forgot."

"It's alright for you Sherri's my big Sister,"

"I can't do it." Jimmy and Rawl hid in the Kitchen. "Pra get the door."

Pra stood debonair, like a young Elvis stepping onto the set of his latest movie.

Sherri smiled indulgent. "Hello, who are you?"

Rawl sprang out, ever-protective "He's no-one, a friend of Jimmy's."

Pra shook her hand. "I'm Pra pleased to meet you. I'm in the band."

"Really, what do you play?"

"Bass."

"Fo' real?" She smiled, transfixed, nodding, sure and slow.

"Fo' real." They laughed, Rawl shook his head dreading the implications.

They hit the Blue Note and immediately sprang on stage joining Aaron, a drummer Kayla knew. Pra played his ass-off, slapping bass hammer and tongs to Deniece William's – 'Free. He 'looked out to Sherri as she bobbed along, her eyes fixated on Pra. Jimmy was happy for them and couldn't think of a better match. Rawl shot daggers, ribbing Pra for fun.

Morning broke it was the big day. Kayla drove, Jimmy cranked up Prince's - Kiss and collected Pra round Sherri's looking the worse for wear. They quaffed vanilla coffee and bagels on the way to Neptune. The headquarters was on Broadway above a diner. Pra hung back, content to sit it out, sip a soda and have Sherri nurse his sore head.

They ascended the staircase to Reception. Gold and platinum records hung on retro red brick walls. Behind the main desk stood a floor to ceiling tropical aquarium bedded in white coral. She led them straight through down a long corridor and stopped at a door marked Kacey: Head of A&R. This was it, he stiffened, tension wound tight. She knocked and opened the door. Kacey got up from behind his desk.

"Kayla, Hi and you must be….fuck, holy shit, Jimmy fucking Bramble. What the

fuck are you doing here?"

Jimmy burst into laughter. "I don't believe it, Kael… Kael Stewart, holy crap!"

"What, you two know each other?" said Kayla.

"From All Saints, we went to the same school." He smiled and gave him a hug.

"It's good to see you, ya little shit!"

After the initial shock they caught up. Jimmy remembered their last encounter at Wood Green tube and it all fell into place. Kacey was Kael's American handle. He started from small beginnings at first, managing the London gigs but rose swiftly through the ranks. Neptune New York had problems with the incumbent's strong arm approach; hiring ex-cons roughing up anyone that stood in his way. Kacey was introduced simply because he was an outsider with no gangbanger past.

They sat down. "You know once, Charlie Chaplin entered a contest for 'Charlie Chaplin look-alikes' and came third. If that's a ten on the weirdo scale this is a five million at least."

They moved on over a pitcher of Long Island Tea.

"I was blown away by your track, Plenty Love, very deep. It's very rare I remember the hook the next day, that's why I rang - -"

Jimmy and Kayla sat there, hanging on every word. "- -Disco is dead. Message bands are in, Nation X, Les Nubians, people want to hear what you got to say. Did Kayla tell you about the gig?"

"No I thought I would let you explain."

"I need to bring my people down to see you play. You got to be able to deliver

live."

"When?"

"A week on Monday. Gemma will call you to arrange."

They rushed down, relieved from torment, thinking it was in the bag. Pra recounted the situation over four coke floats in the diner.

"Ok, Kael aside, which is very Area 51 I must say; all we have to do is form a band, write a few hit songs and perform them live in a week or so?"

"Piece of cake," assured Kayla. "Trust me, it will happen. If you need its easy."

Her words echoed Marvin. They took it as a reassuring omen.

Kayla bought in Aaron from the Blue Note, with Jimmy on guitar, Kayla on lead vocals and Pra on Bass all they needed was a keyboardist. They immediately placed an ad in Loot and the next day the keyboardist arrived, round Kayla's for the audition.

Jimmy spied Sly from The Family Stone peering back through the viewer; a tall skinny dude with a broad grin and even bigger Afro. He ushered him in keen as he certainly looked the part. His name was Kevin. He sat down in the front room and listened to the track.

"Nice, it's the lick."

"Did you read the ad?"

"Yeah I know, where's my keyboard right? This is going to sound strange but I don't have a keyboard."

Jimmy waited with baited breath for the follow through which came in unexpected form.

"My Dad's a Preacher for the Seven Day Adventist. I play for the choir and use the Church Organ. I'm good, really I am, I just can't prove it right now."

Jimmy liked his cheeky confidence and so went on a bit of faith.

Kayla knew a disused bottling plant in Hamilton heights, West Harlem. The electric was connected and for $5, security turned a blind eye. It had high vaulted ceilings and industrial sheet plate roof. They positioned a few dead boards, hired a keyboard and held their breath. Fortunately Kevin was Billy Preston deity; classically trained and excellent jazz noodler. Jimmy hooked up his axe, Aaron twirled his sticks and they went on an hour long jamming odyssey. He'd never had so much fun playing. He felt free and exhilarated. It was a cosmic revelation ordained by God and he wasn't about to let it go.

They went through Plenty Love, the parts practically wrote themselves. Aaron held the groove, Pra drenched it in delicious funky syrup, Kevin's fills were pure inspiration and Jimmy added lift, gilding the lily. As soon as Kayla slipped on her velvet tones the song came alive, an irreverent angel with attitude. They gleefully ran through it till it shone, a perfectly devoted team of players heralding unexpected opportunity. They took a break and went off to the kitchen. Jimmy stayed perched on a stool comping a melody waiting to happen. Kayla came back and immediately sang over the top.

"Don't tell me Maybe, Don't tell me Maybe, I won't take Maybe for an answer,"

"Do that again," Jimmy said.

Aaron spouted "You're not going to use that, I just said that to you in the

Kitchen. Jimmy, I asked if I could write some lyrics."

"Yeah then I said Maybe." interjected Kayla.

"Yeah then I said Don't tell me Maybe, I won't take maybe for an answer..?"

Jimmy interjected. "No matter - -" He played on and searching for a verse, "- -

it sounds great. Keep going." He set the Walkman down and she sang.

"Looking in the wrong places to be someone, So young yet so critical, My heart was hardened to my way of life."

The melody flowed poetic, celestial. It was incredible to witness the magic, words spun on the fly. They had never seen anything like it.

She smirked at Aaron "Did you say that too?"

Aaron laughed "Kayla, you're too cool."

They strummed and scribbled their way to the finish. Pretty soon they had their second track, "Maybe" a mid-tempo soulful gem reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield's People Get Ready.

The pressure was on; they had little over a week to write eight perfect songs. Jimmy grabbed his guitar and started playing around with riffs, trying to pluck a winner out of the sky. After three hours of hair pulling he had nothing. He retired to bed and struggled to sleep as the neighbours in the tenement opposite were blasting Cameo. His head hit the pillow frustrated and exhausted.

Jimmy woke the next day and by way of Cameosis a riff magically appeared. He only had a few notes but it was enough to build on. Jimmy sprung up frenzied with excitement and searched panicked for his Walkman. He frantically shoved a tape in and sang the riff. He scribbled some lyrics and invited Pra into the living room to listen. He loved it but said the vocal needed souling-up and threw on his best Luther. Kayla obliged and tweaked the melody to soulful perfection and in an hour they had their third song, "Back Together," a gritty track exploring the complexity of love, Kayla wrote the lyrics in moments. Jimmy knew instantly it was about them but didn't let on.

As a group they meshed effortlessly; a real force of nature but productivity was slow. They needed at least ten songs for the set and were seven short.

"Why don't we play some covers to pad it out?" suggested Pra.

"They're not looking for a covers band. We do originals, our material only," said Jimmy.

"Well you guys are the writers, you better get cracking."

They made their way to rehearsal. Jimmy listened to the radio in the car looking for inspiration.

"You're wasting your time," said Kayla "Relax, it will happen, the songs are in the clouds you just got to reach up and pick one."

No sooner had she said it they drove pass a crowd gathered in a shop door in East Harlem. They pulled over. There was an impromptu open mic session in full swing. A fat man dressed from head to toe in red Denim and a bucket cap was rapping freestyle to beats from a boom box placed on the stoop behind. He picked out a random person and rapped about them on the fly. Jimmy was impressed. They went in for a closer look only to be chosen next. He threw down.

"So which of you's doing the lovin?

the shit real hot? Do you need an oven?

Y'all in love, all hot and buzzin,

I'm sorry my bad, did you say he's your cousin?"

Kayla grabbed the mic threw it back in his face, spitting venom.

"N-ah, no, don't need no oven?

Half gram of coke and you still wudn't be buzzin

You see this Gucci, my shoes from Prada

Now go, pack up get back to your momma …

She said your dinners getting cold…Black Santa, hoho…ho! "

The crowd lost their minds. 'Oh no Black Santa, she's right, shame,' they clapped and jeered "Rewind, more again, again." They broke out a fresh beat at a slower tempo, Kayla sang a loop, preparing the way for Santa.

'Whatever goes around,

Comes back around ' (D.C. al Fine)

The crowd clapped on the one, Santa freestyled over the top.

'I give you the same ol scenario

Man falls for girl, they're in love you know

She knows he belongs to some else

But they go further still…

Jimmy could not ignore the chemistry, although eerily close to the mark, it was sublime. He heard the music in his head. It had to be their fourth track. The MC was called Rufus and was well known in the area, a big man with huge stature. He approached him and put out the feelers.

"I dig your style, laid back." said Jimmy.

"Your girl can spit, she's got personality." replied Rufus.

"Yeah, fo' real."

Jimmy told him about the band and listened to gauge his reaction.

"What you guys about?" asked Rufus.

"For me it's all about the music, getting people off."

"Fuck that shit I need to eat?"
Jimmy laughed "Roll in a '64 ?"

"Fuck the '64 I want a Benzo wid Lil' Dime ridin' shotgun,"

Jimmy invited him down to see them play.

Kayla was aloof a bit wary. "You know he's a gangbanger?"

"How do you know?"

"Just open your eyes and look,"

"So what?"

"So what!? You see the bullet holes in my car, have you been listening? I don't need no drama Jimmy, been there before -" she shook her head. "- not again."

Kayla got the call from Gemma, the date was set. Rufus came down regardless, they had run out of time.

"Gemma wants to know the name of the band," said Kayla.

"Yeah Sunny Jim what we gonna call ourselves?" challenged Pra.

"It's gotsta be stone." stated Rufus.

Jimmy got to work, he closed his eyes regurgitating their words. "Stone, stone, Sunny stone, Sunny Jim, Jimmy and the Stones."

"Sunstone, it restores life's sweetness and helps you to value and nurture yourself. Sunstone, that's it my favourite gem." Proclaimed Kayla.

"Too cool." said Aaron.

The days flew. Jimmy listened to the radio praying for inspiration. They rehearsed built songs out of a jam. By the end of the week they had six solid songs and two instrumentals just long enough for the pitch.

The audition was at The Altar, a hip dive in a basement, East Harlem. The ceiling was low, the lights dim and the stage a makeshift rostra. The crowd was a curious mix of rowdy nu-metal funksters and acid-jazz diehards. The atmosphere buzzed electric, heaving, sweet with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

The time was upon them. The mood ran hot, the air charged with anticipation. They unleashed their first track and the crowd went crazy. It sounded raw and energetic. Each track was stronger than the previous. The set built climaxing to an epic finale. All the while Jimmy searched the audience for Kael but he was no-where to be seen.

It was closing time. The landlord told them to wind it up or they would "lose their license." Jimmy's heart sank. They dropped an encore, hoping to glimpse Kael and his entourage but saw nothing. They signed off and started packing up to chants of "More, More, More!"

Jimmy ignored it deflated and yelled angry at the no show. "I said let's go."

"Hold on," said Kayla.

"For what, it's a waste of time. He's full of shit,"

"Listen to the crowd man, have some faith it will happen,"

Kayla believed when no one else would, such was her conviction. She played enough gigs to know this crowd meant business. She took it as a sign. Usually the cheers die out but this time they grew louder. Rawl and Sherri shoved themselves forward, shouting above the din.

"Man, I thought you'd be good but that was off the chain."

Sherri heaped praise. "Blacks are stoosh. Look nah, dem crazy."

Their words spurred him on. The whole pub pumped their arms pleading for an encore. Things were getting raucous.

The landlord yelled from the wings. "You better play or they will tear the place up."

Jimmy saddled up for the hell of it. They played their best three tracks 'Plenty Love, Maybe and Back Together' the crowd roared. This charming hip bar had given way to a heaving amorphous mass, gyrating and swaying. Jimmy was so amped when it came to introductions he told Kayla to introduce him last. He signalled to the drummer to take it down, hushed the audience then squeezed out Jimi's "Purple Haze," the rockers bowed in reverence. He gave the nod and they slipped into Herbie Hancock's Chameleon. The energy seeped into his brain and out his fingers, he played till exhausted on his knees.

The whooping and cheers went on and on. He couldn't get out of the pub everyone wanted to buy him a drink. Jimmy was upset at the no show but the crowd diffused his anger. Just then Jimmy felt a slap on his shoulder.

"That was da bomb." It was Kael.

Jimmy was delighted. "How long you been here?"

"I caught the encore. You bought it Jimmy, it was smoking,"

"I thought you weren't gonna show?"

"We're blood, we go back man I wouldn't do that to you."

"Good I'd hate to kick your ass, we worked hard." Kael chuckled.

"I knew you'd bring it. Jimmy, do you remember why I arranged this night?"

"You said you had to convince your people."

"Do you know who I was referring to?"

Jimmy looked round "Where are they?"

"My people are all around. Him that guy over there- -" 'You rock man' yelled a

stranger. "- - him. The crowd are my people - " He grabbed him round the arms and

shook "- and they're losing their loving minds. That's all I needed to know. You got it, I'll get Legal to draw up the papers. Congratulations Sunstone, you're signed!"

The news spread like wild fire and they partied into the night. Jimmy stared into Kayla's eyes, fixated, he felt on top of the world. They skipped out early while celebrations ran on and took a walk along Washington Bridge. The moon was high, light danced on the rippled waves.

She turned toward him. "Why didn't you call?" He felt winded, a sucker punch leaving him silent gasping for breath. "You thought you got away with it?" He put his arms around her. She smiled playful. "Get away, I should chuck ya down."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

She smiled. "You're lucky you know me." Jimmy smiled. "Sweet Bwoy."

They kissed spontaneously, caught a cab and rushed back to Queens desperately trying to contain themselves.

Kayla led Jimmy to her room. Jasmin candles flickered on the French dresser as she placed a bottle of scented pimenta oil in his palm. She kicked off her heels and lay face down on the bed. Jimmy slicked her hips, massaging with a feather like touch from the small of her back and further still breaching the line, building tension. She turned face up, he poured the remainder from her neck, across her collar, teasing till slippery. Shadows danced entwined, glistening against the flicker and spit of wick. She tensed up then lay uncoiled, freed from grip, easing every measure.

They woke late, the phone rang. Rawl broke the morning calm.

"Come on get up we're doing brunch."

Rawl met Jimmy opposite The Dakota on the corner of 71st . He held a pastry box. "Free croissant and Danish from the Patisserie. Marcia lets me have them, saves throwing them out."

"Marcia, I see. Are you..?"

"We're eating for free. That's all you need to know."

They walked to Central Park and saw a line of horse drawn buggies. "Lived here all my life, I always wanted to ride in one, be normal you know." He approached one of many. "How much?"

"$20."

"Today it's Jacks, just up by the Mosaic."

They climbed in, Rawl squeezed Jimmy's hand, he grimaced in jest.

"You looking after my girl?" He squeezed till it hurt.

"Ow, ok, ok were good." Jimmy chuckled.

"Alright ya wimp."

"Anyway, she's just a women?!"

He raised the back of his hand "Ya wretch!"

The connection was as strong as ever. He shook his head "Women, they always want more. You were right about Marcia, she wants more. Pity she was nice, I'm gonna miss her,"

Jimmy furrowed his brow. "You going somewhere?"

"I'm leaving."

"You're leaving, what New York?"

"No America. "

"Fuck, ya mad, you gonna leave all this?"

He sucked his teeth "Rass, all this what? You're lucky, you got talent, something to shoot for. All I got is heat. I'm getting out. Tired of it; waking up in a cold sweat, not knowing if I'm gonna make it through the day. I keep a 38 under the seat, check my rear view for 'copters, it's no joke,"

"Is VIK after you?"

"VIK? I left them after Vegas. Something bad's gonna happen, people want what I got. I ain't going down like Leon…" He sighed and turned to Jimmy " I got to thinking last night. We're winning Jimmy, you know that?"

"I know, so stay."

"No you're winning 'cause you got the girl, the record deal, the Dream. I'm winning 'cause I'm still alive and that's no way to live."

Jimmy smiled. Rawl's intention made perfect sense.

"What happened to Leon?" asked Jimmy.

"The harder they come…he was fucked from day one. I told him not to get in wid those fuckers but he wouldn't listen. He did well at first, made a lot, then the threats came. He was an offering, bought in to take a bullet, a sacrifice plain and simple. Even Kayla told him to blow; but no, 'just one more deal, the big one.' He was going to use the money to buy Kayla a recording deal with Neptune."

Jimmy was puzzled "So our deal is down to Leon?"

He back tracked, annoyed at the slip. "No, no don't start thinking up shit. I don't know and it don't matter. All Nu-Jack vinyl is drug money, everyone knows it."

Jimmy felt affronted, suspicion grew. "Does Kayla know?"

"I don't know man, really I don't. Truth is we were all shocked when you guys landed the gig."

"This is heavy, they're repaying a debt? Either Kayla was duped or she's in on it." Jimmy looked dejected.

"I told you, stop dreaming up shit. It don't matter. I meant what I said last night, you guys killed it. What does it matter how you got in… How do you think Kim Moore got in? That track - 'Please Me' was a favour from the Chairman and the Board. "

They stepped off the buggy and walked toward the Guggenheim. Parked on a stone bench. Rawl sparked a blunt.

"You're gonna smash it. Like Shelly said us Negroes don't rant and what did the landlord say?"

"Play or they're going to riot."

"Play or they're going to riot. Now please do me a favour and chill the fuck out,"

Jimmy tugged hard on the draw. "Sorry man, mi head twis up."

Jimmy looked up at the Guggenheim spirals. "Where you moving?" he passed the blunt back.

"Guyana, I already talked to Lennox. He wants me to set up a chain of Gas Stations,"

"What do you know about that?"

"Nothing, I'll work it out. He's putting up the money, wants me to manage it. He can't do it. I guess he'd rather trust family. Guyana is my home and it's time to go back."

As soon as Rawl left, doubts resurfaced. He wondered just how genuine Kael's offer was. He prayed he was on the level and not merely under orders. His safety valve shut off before paranoia kicked in prompted by the crowd's belief. As long as the crowd was real the deal was too.

They played JoJo's an innocuous dive in Harlem, Upper East side and broke after the first half. A skinny Rasta with thick dreadlocks caught Jimmy's attention. He had a post-op Jacko face, wore pristine white Nikes and a Red Tommy Hilfiger jacket so big it practically swallowed him whole. His name was Cornell and was from South Beach, Miami. He drew them in with that sweet southern drawl;

"You guys are sick, bitchin' and your look rare. I mean a Jewish drummer,

mixed race Lead, Indian Bassist and you -" he looked at Jimmy "- what are you?" He shook Jimmy's hand "I'm your manager, Kacey sent me,"

"Kacey's our manager."

"Did he say he was your manager?"

"Not exactly."

"He's A&R I'm your manager, Cornell."

He was slick and had a bewitching air. "I like you. You're good but you need to

raise your game."

"We bring it every time,"

"I'm not talking about playing, I'm talking performance. I can name you guitarists that can outplay Halen, jazz pianist who'd play Petersen under the table. You got to know how to move, sizzle interact. You don't look together, you all dress different and that's where we'll start. You wanna breakout, you got get tongues wagging give them something to talk about. You wanna make it? You got to stand out, give them something unexpected,"

"Next level." said Pra.

"That's what I am talking about, something radical, new."

It wasn't long before he won them over. He got them motivated, had a vison and understood what needed to be done. They went back to play the second half. Rufus went early as he had business to attend, his day job pushing H. Cornell clocked him, murky in the back, packing up and gave him the nod.

"You know Rufus?"

"Yeah."

"We caught him on the street."

"That's where you'll find him."

The machinery was put in play, they were placed on a punishing schedule; recording the album at Ladyland Studios, opening headline acts, paying their dues in clubs and bars. It was a gruelling non-stop push, driving across state overnight, playing to packed or empty bars, anyone that would take them just to get them out there and spread the word. The pressure began to take it's toll. Jimmy began taking coke to keep him going. Rufus supplied it, he bought a dime baggie every couple of days at first, then it moved to every night, fast.

"Why don't you try Tar?" said Rufus.

"Not for me man, no thanks."

"Forget what you heard. I was just like you. I used to do coke till I saw the light. If you get it pure and shoot it right it will last you all night, trust me. It don't make you sick like they say, not if you do it right."

Jimmy shuddered at the thought. He knew the routine but after Kelly's warning stayed away out of respect. He could not betray his conscience but the devil was persistent. The pace ground him down and eventually brought him to his knees. Rufus swung the door open and offered Jimmy a needle, casually as he walked by. The hit was immediate, the rush like no other, smooth like velvet. On the surface it seemed he was right, one hit would last and eased the frustration of scoring multiple times. Rufus was playing him; after he hooked him on the good stuff he started cutting it, taking risks to increase profit. Jimmy knew but by then it was too late; he was addicted and soon took whatever was on offer.

In a few short weeks he spiralled out of control surviving from hit to hit. He managed to conceal it from the others at first, keeping it together in polite company and on stage. As the weeks wore on he became more distant from Kayla and the band. He thought he could handle it, hold it down but inevitably took on another form. His behaviour became erratic, his face gaunt and tired.

They came off stage headlining at Sonny's, a premier jazz bar in Midtown. Jimmy sat in the dressing room, he seemed twitchy.

"Have you seen Rufus?"

"You're not here," said Kayla. "Off to Disney are we?" she moved in closer "You need to fix up."

Jimmy was hurting, he had cramps and felt prickly heat as if his blood was about to boil. "Just get him for me, can you please?"

"No I won't." Pra came in. "Can you do something, look at him?" she cried.

Jimmy heaved into the waste basket. "Leave me alone." Jimmy was sick before but not like this. He ran out and disappeared.

Pra caught up with him passed out on the minibus. His mouth was choked with vomit, his body cold and limp, not breathing. Kayla came looking with Kevin, everyone was frantic, rushing round trying to revive him. The medics came and rushed him to emergency but it was too late Jimmy was lost to the world. His mind drifted for an age beyond the confines of the room.

The death of Jimmy's brother Josh haunted him. Not a day passed where it did not enter his mind. Josh was thirteen, suffering severe head trauma from a joy ride. He spent months as a vegetable with his family by his side praying for a miracle that never came. Jimmy saw himself saying goodbye to Josh before they pulled the plug. Then Jimmy saw himself wired to a machine saying goodbye to Kayla. He could hear Josh call, his voice grew louder.

"Jimmy, Jimmy wake up."

The bright lights blinded his sight. The acrid smell of turps brought him to. He turned his head slowly, it was Kayla.

"You fool, don't you ever do that again."

"What happened?"

"You died," she cried, sobbing with tears of joy. "You stopped breathing, I hate you."

He felt disgusted in himself for stooping so low, hurting her after what she had been through seemed especially cruel.

Cornell stepped in. "You gave us a scare, welcome back. You are one lucky son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he uttered faintly.

Cornell shook his head. "The Cake of Liberty, it can bind you in chains or set you free."

His words echoed deep. Jimmy knew he had been there, where he lay. He understood and nodded out of respect then closed his tired eyes.

He had been riding the abuse for a long time, carrying the guilt. When he woke his mind was clear.

He left the hospital after three long days and moved back to Kayla's. His conscience punched a hole back to normality. He went cold turkey, no methadone, just a longing to redeem himself before Kayla. Pra entered his room.

"Kelly told me what you did for her," said Jimmy.

"She told you, did she?" said Pra.

"Why didn't you say?"

"Exactly when was I supposed to do that. You were busy positioning her pedestal I seem to recall."

"I'm a hot head when it comes to girls. I like to think I'm clever but I know I'm not. I got luck on myside and deep down I hate myself for not doing the right thing. Well some of the time, not all the time."

Jimmy winced. He had a severe attack of cramps in his gut. "Ow..the knot in my head had moved to my gut." He grimaced through the pain. "You went through the same when you kicked it? Why didn't you warn me?"
"I ain't your mama, anyway would you have listened? You had it before, you knew I dabbled. No-one talks about H you know that, it ain't like coke. You out of weed you munch Oreos, you out of H, man that shit is severe."

"Thanks for saving me man. I mean if you never came when you did."

"You owe me and one day I'll collect, I ain't ramping," he joshed.

Rufus was let go but not before he cursed out Cornell with a promise to get even. They took a break and auditioned for a new MC. After rejecting a line of hopefuls Marcia walked in late from playing with the kids in the street below. Rawl had suggested her. She was an acquaintance, a recommendation from a friend. As soon as she started to freestyle she was immediately handed a BabyCham Brandy out of relief and accepted into the fold. She was a west coast rapper, a petite Bajan with short locks, plucky and full of spirit.

The group was rested and with their new member everyone was on their best behaviour. Jimmy found new impetus and spent most days in doors working on new material, pulling from his experience, writing from the heart. They went back to recording and were booked for their first Stadium gig opening for Nation X at Staples, New York.

They piled into a Transit panel van and headed off with a full entourage and Access All Area passes. They were assigned a team of roadies to porter their equipment. Their dressing room was adorned with flowers and ice buckets packed with Caviar and Crystal. This was rock n roll at its' civilised best and they liked it. Jimmy and Kayla mingled back stage with pop couple Kim Moore and Patrice Gordon from Cronik. They gave embrace and wished them luck.

The sound check instantly blew them away. The arena shrank them small. The rear seats were mere dots in the distance. Jimmy gulped; this was altogether another league, people were approaching him from all directions asking questions about stuff he had no idea about. He was trying desperately to keep it together.

The call came 'Ten minutes and you're on.' Guitar in hand he was led through a maze of tunnels up to the stage. The roar of the crowd grew louder till they were face to face with a frenzied mass. He was overwhelmed. They were received like headliners. He bowed his head, plugged his guitar in, looked up and immediately back down, his heart in his throat. Thousands of screaming punters were all wailing for them. He looked back to compose himself and was faced with a forty foot high live screen with his face on it, there was nowhere to hide.

He gave Aaron the nod and they went into their first number. Kayla made a theatrical entrance from the wings and the audience cranked it up a notch. She started right on cue; every song was epic, every chord a triumph. At one point Jimmy spotted Chuck T himself in the wings nodding along. They were in the moment delivering the goods to a crazed stadium.

The floor manager told them they were out of time and to wind it up but they defiantly played on with "Josie" a song Jimmy had written on the Subway the week before. He marvelled at the power of it all, from an idea in a train car to a crowd of twenty thousand singing it back. This was what it was all about, sharing, sending a gift. Kayla made her exit as the outro played, succeeded by an exclamation of pyros.

Afterwards Jimmy went down to see Nation X perform with Pra and edged into the crowd. He could hear whispers of 'That's him, that's him.' People were talking about Jimmy; star struck by a nobody.

"From Funkenstien to this," said Pra.

"Crazy isn't it?"

"Imagine Kelly could see you now?"

"You sound like Kael back in the day." He flashed through everything moment that led up to that point. "Thanks for being there Pra."

"No problem man. Just do me a favour."

"What's that?"

"Don't die again, once is enough."

They went onto the after party at the Parkway, a prestigious club off Times Square. Debbie a friend of Marcia and resident groupie had designs on Jimmy from the moment she fist laid eyes on him back at the Blue note. Debbie was a voluptuous blond siren, self-obsessed and wanted Jimmy just to prove she could. She stalked him determined to strike. She cornered him in a secluded corridor. When the coast was clear she made her move, stroking his hands placing her thigh between his. Jimmy resisted but it was too late Kayla spotted them and stomped off. Jimmy ran after her back to the dressing room but she locked the door. He banged, he pleaded. Eventually the door swung open and she stood their vacant.

"Are you ok?" asked Jimmy.

"No, I'm pregnant."

Chapter 10 Throwing Sevens

Everything was a game up till now, rolling with the punches playing fast and loose. This was heavy; this was intense. He no longer had control. They were chauffeured back to Queens. Jimmy sat there rigid, saying nothing.

"Your face says it all?" said Kayla.

"It's a bit of a shock. What do you want?"

"Not this. Thinking of Kelly is that it? Don't look so shocked. You've been talking in your sleep."

"That's rubbish, I'm here."

"Are you?"

Jimmy was feeling the heat. He prevaricated to buy himself thinking time; time to position a response that wouldn't kill their relationship and ultimately the band. Kayla's position was crystal. He could either agree or split. The choice was simple the process impossibly hard. He soaked in the bath for hours inhaling eucalyptus vapour. A maelstrom brewed, questioned looped tormenting his brain, teasing him towards the exit.

He slept uneasy that night, dredging up the past, looking for the answer. He

saw a faceless man from the Airport back in Rio. He sat with his wife and three kids; a baby, infant son and daughter. He was in his early thirties, slightly rotund, not fat just a bit out of shape. He looked battle wary, like he had given up and rolled out of bed in pyjamas. No one noticed him. The baby was crying, the kids fighting. He ran after them; his wife's flamboyant paisley handbag swinging round his neck, but still he remained invisible. Just another battered family man doing his duty. He tipped the wink and smiled at Jimmy. It was as if Josh were speaking, urging him to lead the life he could not. When he woke the answer was staring him in the face.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked.

"Yes, but let's do this right."

"What do you mean?"

They caught the red eye from New York to Las Vegas. Pra made use of the complimentary drinks; triple shots straight no chaser poured without reserve. The plane was a lively mix of boxing and casino punters. Pra juiced bourbon, rose to his feet and made announcement putting torch to flame. Toasts were made, music played and pre-game celebrations vigorously pursued. Word spread and the booze flowed with giddy delight. After the fifth round in just as many minutes the air stewards closed the bar before the situation got out of hand. The mood was undeniable set for the marriage of Jimmy Bramble to Kayla Moreau.

They alighted and climbed into Limousines courtesy of Cornell. One for the boys and one for the girls. Jimmy, Kevin and Pra clambered in.

"Ok your stag do has officially begun. Where we going?" asked Pra.

Kevin interjected. "I got some Mexican friends in the desert, they'll know a place."

They drove for an hour and pulled up in a parking lot opposite a Lucky 88 motel.

"Are you sure this is the right place? It's pitch black and we're in the middle of no-where," asked Jimmy.

"Don't worry. He said he'd be here. Just sit tight."

They sat on a low wall waiting for Fede, Kevin's Mexican friend. A gang of do-rag creeps sloped up under the yard lights.

"Hi, you looking for some action?" asked the leader. A skinny white girl came forward into the light, fresh from shooting up, rubbing the red marks still visible on her forearm.

"No, we're ok thanks."

"Where you from?" He said closing in.

"London."

"Yeah, that's nice," he said looking shifty.

Jimmy whispered to Pra, gearing up for action. "Grab the bottles on the wall."

"Where's your car?" He said getting ready to jump them. He pulled a blade and thrust it forward.

"Are you serious?" said Kevin stepping up. "Put it down before you get hurt."

"Shut up and hand over the keys."

Jimmy and Pra grabbed the bottles and smashed them "Come on then, let's do it."

Suddenly a stout Mexican wearing a wide brim fedora emerged out of the dark pumping his shotgun.

"You wanna dance bitch?"

It was Fede, Kevin's contact. He let off a round into the air 'Boom' then pointed the barrel straight at his head.

"Well how about it ya punk ass bitch?"

They dropped the blade and ran. "Jodete, Bitch ass muthers fuckers."

He turned to Kevin and the boys "You guys ok?"

"Good to see you man," said Kevin, they hugged.

"Sorry I kept you waiting ah?"

"Cool, no worries." He grabbed Jimmy. "This is the guy I was telling you about."

Fede shook his hand "Congratulations. Don't worry about nothin'. In Tijuana those guys would be ex'd, gone. We better go before La tira come, Vamos."

Kevin laughed. "Hey Jimmy, you can drop the bottle now,"

He looked across slowly. "You sure your dad's a Preacher?"

They went back to Fede's Hummer. Jimmy spied a wooden crate marked Property of US Army in the tailgate.

Jimmy turned to Kevin. "This guy is fucking hard core."

"How do you know him?" asked Pra.

"In Harlem you either deal or use. Before my Dad became a Preacher he dealt blow."

"Does his flock know?"

"Only reason they listen."

"Fede was my Dad'ssupplier. He's like family."

Fede slammed the glass partition open. "OK guys we're running late, let's go."

They pulled up at the Lexx, a scavengers flesh pit for those in need of a quick fix. The parking lot was a dirt patch in the scrub. The club neon cut the night, a beacon illuminating poke rimmed pimpmobiles. Chrome coated Continentals and Caddy deVilles rolled in, sound systems pumping, bins popping so deep you could feel the ground quake. They entered and were immediately surrounded by pretty face honeys grinding, passing blunts, shovelling blow conspicuously unfettered.

They parked themselves at the bar opposite the podium.

"You see that guy over there? Don't point," said Fede.

"Yeah the dude with the hoochie?" said Jimmy.

"He's La Tira, Police under cover. He thinks we don't know he's a plant, but we do. He in for a surprise later. Either he turns or we gonna ex him."

"Ex him? you mean.."

"Yeah, we pop him in head, slip him in the trunk and you know, take a drive.."

Jimmy turned to Kevin "Nah, nah this is too much," he cried.

Fede and Kevin burst into laughter. "Relax man, we're kidding, it was a joke." They fell around slapping Jimmy on the back.

"Fuck, thank god for that. I had enough gangster shit for one night,"

"Ok no more gangster shit, got it haha..ha. "Kevin tapped Jimmy on the

shoulder. "How about this instead?"

They turned round and were face to face with a line of dimes on the side stage, glistening with body lotion, oiling each other up in plain sight.

"Buoy, look she a skin up." said Pra.

Jimmy weighed his options. "I got to get out of here, I'm getting married,"

"Don't be silly, we're just getting started." Kevin grabbed a body banging babe

off stage. "What's your name baby?"

"Glory." she stood wearing clear heels in a postage stamp two-piece.

"Glory you are one hot piece of ass. You wanna freebase?" He got closer,

whispered in her ear and stuffed a wad of Benjamins in her hands. She saddled Jimmy. Her hands wandered, pushing up.

"Why you wear jeans? Don't you know, you're supposed to wear tracks,"

Jimmy no longer had the will to fight and followed Kevin outside. They went

back to Fede's beach house. The party was in full swing. Dance hall Latinos in chinchilla bikinis welcomed Jimmy into a hot tub with a glass of Alize.

The last thing he remembered was diving head first onto the water bed before waking up face down in the morning on a concrete balcony you could fry an egg on. Barking dogs from a pen directly beneath bought him to his feet.

"Fucking dogs. What is it with Mexicans do they come with the green card?"

There was a loud roar. "What the fuck was that?"

"Hyenas," said Kevin.

Jimmy looked vacant "I thought I dreamt that. I got to see this."

"Ah, no time,"

He looked at the clock, "Oh, know Christ, I'm dead. I told you to wake me."

"Don't worry I've sorted everything," said Kevin.

A horn blew, they ran, "I rang Kayla's limo, told them to circle the block."

They stepped into the Limo. A row of Tuxedos were hung ready and waiting

next to a stocked bar.

"What you need is some wake-up juice." He mixed two shots of Tequila, coffee, sugar and ¼ cup of cream. "Drink this."

They rolled up at the Chapel of Flowers, a country style chapel complete with reflection fall strategically placed to blot out the construction site opposite. Reverent Tyler presided dressed in black, sporting winkle pickers and a studded Stetson. Jimmy waited at the altar, cameras rolled, the wedding march played and Kayla took her place by his side in a fab Kazar silk and lace.

The perfect ceremony played out with sincere loving intent. Kayla smiled knowingly. Jimmy felt calm once more. They filed out to a flood of tears and congratulations. It was a relief, all the anguish dissolved in a hitched instant. Jimmy unbuttoned his collar, untied his bow and clinked a cold one with the group. After the wedding photos they climbed back into the limos and proceeded to lead a procession into the velvet room at The Bellagio. Pra broke out his speech, Jimmy broke out cigars and the champagne flowed.

Kayla left the suite for breakfast with the girls. Jimmy ordered room service; decaf, eggs benedict and toast. He lit a cigarette, sipped his coffee and rang Chris, his eldest brother to break the news, unprepared for what was to follow.

One phone call shattered their new found happiness. One call bought fragile walls tumbling down. Kayla rushed in to find Jimmy on his knees weeping inconsolably.

"Babes, what's wrong?"

"It's my Dad."
Chris broke the news to Jimmy. His Dad had passed away.

Jimmy lost control. He was inconsolable, staggering hopelessly into the abyss, searching for a light to guide him out. All he could think of was getting back home to his Mum. He caught the next flight to England and left Kayla behind with baby, at her insistence.

As he flew into the clouds up among the heavens he closed his eyes and drifted. What stays with you in dire times are the things you hold most dear. Small things from the past now held epic meaning. His Dad pimping their Rover SD1; Holding masking tape while he straightened the edge and sprayed a bronze coach line. Goofing around underneath the bonnet with his brothers; trusty Haynes manual in hand. Dad got it, he understood the meaning of it all; treasure was not gems buried under foot but water to drink in the dessert, air to breath under ocean. Dad pulled something out of nothing, forging precious memories that held little importance until now.

The first thing he saw as he pulled out the carpark was rain falling against a giant grey brick wall. The rain wouldn't let up it reminded him of the last time he saw Vince. Jimmy was in the back garden helping his Dad erect a barbed wire fence round the fishpond to keep the alley cats out. He was always doing odd jobs around the house. Jimmy was never quite sure if he was trying to stay busy or keep Mum happy. He suspects it was a bit of both. To Jimmy he was a family man merely doing what Dad's do.

The funeral was a huge affair, everyone knew Vince. Many friends from back home came to pay their respects. Jimmy invited Mark, Simon came with Lucy and Pra brought Kelly at her behest. Jimmy was elected for the Eulogy. He stepped up to the lectern, nervous but proud.

My Dad met Mum, in a General Store in Georgetown, Guyana. He grabbed

any chance to serve Mum on her shopping trips from Mahaicony into town. They lost contact but met up by chance in England. When they arrived they found a bedsit in Highbury, Islington. Dad worked the trains, Mum worked as a trainee nurse. They intended to return to Guyana but they fell in love and stayed. My Dad was a family man. On Saturday we'd shell shrimp, mark up the test match cricket scores and give running commentary on overs as he ping-ponged from the kitchen to living room preparing dinner. At 3pm we'd catch Big daddy or Mick MacManus beat the nine bells out of the new fall guy. Times were different back then, men were men. I asked Dad to make a bird house and he proceeded to rip old beams and craft a mansion sized bird house complete with a tin gable, cut from an old Esso can. In the course of fixing our roof he'd steal out the attic window, three storeys up and replace tiles in his slippers. He'd close up shop and drive to Edinburgh for the day, cart us across Europe in our clapped out Victor. Heaven only knows how he performed these superhuman feats with four kids in tow. We were lucky, everyone says their dad is a hero but our Dad really was."

The casket rolled in to the cremation chamber for incineration. Closure was grim, closure was unashamedly harsh, a dramatic act to bring home the finality of it all. Delilah, Vince's favourite, played as everyone filed out to lay reefs in the memorial garden.

The wake was an altogether lighter affair. Mum decorated the lounge with pictures of Dad in his youth. Posing under a street lamp with his Teddy Boy frat, tugging a snout on his BSA. Elvis played as mourners circulated, ate parcel snacks and swapped stories. It was agonising but they put on a brave front, going through the motions for Vince.

Simon, Mark and Pra peeled off from the crowd into the side yard.

"He was always smiling your old man, always laughing he never had a bad word," said Simon.

"Hey, remember that time we borrowed your 'ol man's Rover, tell Mark," said Pra.

"Dad lent me the car I said I'd bring it back in one piece. On the way to the pub

I had a "conversation" with a lamppost, completely demolished it, the windscreen caved, car totalled. We got it started and took it back to Pra's. We went back to Dads. I said the car had been side swiped while we were in the pub. I thought he'd swallowed it, just as we were about to leave he says. 'If you weren't in the car why have you got glass in your hair?' You could have heard a pin drop; you lot vanished. I didn't know what to say, he knew I knew and left it at that."

"Clever, your dad was cool," said Mark. They sipped shots of Mezan. "What's all this I hear about you in the movies, how did that happen?"

"Ever since my dad took me to a Cinematic fair in Bethnal Green I wanted to be a Cameraman."

"Really? I heard you shagged some tart named Fiona,"

"Yeah, thanks Pra."

"Sorry, but if it's any consolation I like the fair thing better."

"Yeah, thanks so did I."

Jimmy led Mark away to the back yard for a quiet word.

"You know Rawl's gone?"

"Yeah, I got a call from the airport. Left me right in the shit. I had to fly out to calm things down."

"He said some people were after him?"

"Well he never told me. Anyway he got too flash, I mean a flat on 71st Street is fine if you're Ewan but Rawl? Like I said people will take your shit."

"I guess you're right. Anyway what about you, I thought you were getting out,"

"Nah, soon as I gave Sophie that diamond she turned into Imelda Marcos,

I got to stay in got no choice. What else is there?"

"Do a Rawl, go legit, buy a business?"

"Can you really see me running a corner shop?" He shook his head. " Thanks Jimmy, I know what you're saying but it's too late for me."

Kelly walked by. "Can I speak to you?"

Jimmy followed her into the rear. She forgot where she was and forced her agenda.

"Why didn't you tell me you were getting married?"

"Can you keep your voice down my Mum doesn't know."

"Oh well at least you're consistent."

Jimmy led her down a path covered in auburn leaves to a secluded part of the garden, a secret enclave in the back obscured by hedges and an overgrown trestle. He rolled a doob, let her rage then casually passed it over.

"Thank you."

Her aggression blunted, they lay on a blanket looking up at the stars. It was twilight the crowd had petered out.

"My Dad was run over, killed by two boy racers; just crossing the road and whack. He was going to the Doctor for his back. I don't get it do you, he never hurt no-one. He didn't deserve that."

"Did they catch them?"

"Yeah, they were knocked out. Even the Bill couldn't screw that up,"

"At least that's something."

"Is it? Doesn't feel like it."

She passed the blunt across. "… Why did you get married?"

"I don't know, I never know which way to go, sometimes you get pulled, you know."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know?"

"After I heard I was so upset I went to your pad and waited. I stood under a tree in the pouring rain to be close. How silly is that?"

"It's not silly."

"It was, if only I wasn't so stupid. I can't help it I'm a hothead. You saved my life Jimmy and you risked your own to do it. A girl doesn't forget that easily."

"I thought you had forgotten me, moved on. The whole thing was kinda sudden. I thought about you but things were moving so fast."

"If I had called, would you have changed your mind?"

"I don't know, maybe."

Kelly was filled with regret. She would trade a lifetime for one moment just to know. She lent in close and kissed him, it felt the same as the very first time. They let the cards fall where they lay, he fell asleep. When he woke she was gone.

They kept up the dead yard tradition and slept at Mum's for nine nights out of respect. Jimmy was cast adrift, paralysed by a recurring dream. The same scene nagged him every night. He thought it would fade but it grew stronger. Once a quarter his brother, Chris and Dad would cook the food from back home; souse, pig hoof, black pudding, exotic delights not for the faint of heart. The kitchen was a slaughter zone, under no circumstances was he allowed in, so he'd press his ear to the door to catch the fuss. Warm blood ran, limbs hacked, pots pressurised. He was never allowed in, but in his dream the door cracked opened. He told Mum. She knew what I meant straight away.

'He wants us to go back home.'

She immediately gathered them into the front room and made announcement.

"We're leaving for Guyana."

Chapter 11 Affirmation

They ventured to pay respect to Vince and retrace his formative years. Given their atypical destination direct flights were out of the question; instead they flew from London to Bridgetown and hopped on a twin-prop de Havilland to Timehri, Guyana. They touched down at Cheddi Jagan International Airport, a collection of municipal buildings bordered precipitously by a topiary garden with the words Welcome to Guyana cut into red and green hedges.

Immediately adjacent was the main foyer; a drab lobby reminiscent of a tax collection office. They queued up to check pass customs. Time slowed pace as he processed his new surroundings, focused on a puzzling distraction. For the first time in his life he noticed everyone from the humble porter to the savant pilot looked exactly the same as him. It felt strange as if he had slid through an interdimensional portal to a room where everyone had his face. Gone was the feeling of alienation, of being the odd one out. Sadly, the moment was fleeting, as though he looked like them, he knew he was not one of them. Laurie, Jimmy's brother and incorrigible fusspot interrupted.

"Are you going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?"

"About your wife."

"I think she's got enough on her plate without that."

"Well you better tell her soon, I don't like lying."

"You're not lying."

"If she knows, I know I am in the shit too."

"Ok Laurie, whatever."

They were met by their cousin Malcolm and his extended family at the Pegasus Hotel, Georgetown. Malcolm was a heavily built, tall strapping man with cast iron tenacity. His swarthy skin and thick black hair bore mirrored resemblance. His wife Sharro was an attractive Indian with a gentle face and kind eyes. They both wore American designer jeans and shirts. It was a surprisingly apprehensive moment. There were no open arms, instead a British-Guyanese stand-off; sniffing each other out. They cracked a smile and the British reserve crumbled giving way to a hug or two. They were welcoming and spoke like they were old friends instantly dissolving barriers.

They cut along the Demerara, skirting through lush green terrain in a white 12 seater Hiace. A blanket of ever present palm and banana trees mingled with exotic flora and rare shrubs lining the route. Eyes diverted to a clearing as they pulled up at a large farming estate. Tractors puffed and threshers thrashed in the expansive fields behind. An orange plumed rooster crowed on cue as if to announce their arrival. Sharro had prepared lunch. After slaking thirst on fruit and coconut palm they retired to their home, a wooden colonial house perched on flood evading stilts.

Jimmy hung back on the porch and dreamed of adopting a less complicated life. Malcolm's daughter, Sonia, a pretty young slip with long black hair; came out with an ice cold Banks. She wore a white linen dress and straw sandals.

"You're lucky you're British. I wish I was."

"Why's that?"

"You got choices, prospects. Opportunity is a word that has little meaning for someone like me."

"Why don't you leave, immigrate?"

"Too late they've clamped down, too many people leaving. UK got too many people, we haven't got enough. The only way out is to get married."

"You mean fake?"

"Yeah 20, £30k will get it done."

"You pay to immigrate?"

"If I had the money, why not? Do you have anyone special in your life Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"You're lucky, do you love her?"

"Yes, I think I do."

They climbed up and crossed the porch through to the living room. Wamara timber covered every inch of floor and wall. The bedrooms housed bulky wooden wardrobes and beds shrouded by finely meshed mosquito nets hung from the ceiling.

Sharro reached inside a glass display cabinet adorned with stencilled gold tulip garlands and granted privilege, placing occasional white plates and matching gilt edged serving bowls on the dining table. They tucked into a familiar spread of Madras Curry and Rice, Beef Chow Mein and to round it off Sweet Vermicelli Cake. Glasses fizzed with Mauby poured over cubes procured from the obligatory pineapple ice bucket. They listened intently to Malcolm's life and quickly glossed over theirs. Sonia connected a Walkman to a somewhat twitchy electric socket. She played CDs and showcased family pictures as Jimmy scrutinised musical tastes. They were a charming family with gentle voices. It struck him how different they sounded from the UK West Indians. Had twenty years of western toxins polluted these sweet tones into harsh dissonance?

He felt fortunate after speaking with Sonia but knew soon after she would return to her reality and he to his. Nagging doubts resurfacing about the recent choices he made. The trip granted perspective and focus; an awakening and desire to set mind eyes on what he had rather than what could be. His Dad would have told him to do his duty, his Mum to follow his heart.

Dad was gone but left a legacy. Mum let on at the disappointment she faced. Not one of her kids had given her a grandson and now Jimmy held the key. Did he not owe her that? What was he going to leave behind? Surely he was too young to fuss over such matters, yet there he was with the matter in his hand. As much as he wanted to appear new age and not give a damn his parents did a good job instilling family values, continuance of the family name.

Duty was deeply inbred. He was beginning to feel it take root.Sometimes it was easier to go with the flow. Sometimes it's easier to take the path of least resistance. He knew the bitter truth would return there was no hiding. Truth is, nothing good ever came easy, he knew that. He searched his soul and tossed the ambivalent coin looking for his own truth. Mum could smell discontent, so he put on his happy face and sought distraction.

Jimmy strolled up to Starbroek market for some smokes. It was a hive of activity; stall vendors scooped aromatic spice. Exquisite colourful displays of fine textiles flapped gently in the breeze. He jostled amongst the bustling hordes in the dry Caribbean heat and felt encroached. Someone brushed against him. There was commotion. He looked across and saw a dreadlock thug running away, barging the crowd aside. He immediately patted his flat, empty pocket and yelled at him to stop. He was making off with his wallet.

Jimmy gave chase, weaving through the market crowd then up a hill. He was gaining ground but losing breath. Before he reached the top, to his surprise he dropped it. Jimmy thought he'd won the battle of nerves. As he reached down to pick up his wallet he glanced up and spotted the Armed Police at the crest of the hill brandishing deadly Kalashnikovs. His assailant winked as he pulled out a blade and ran off. It was all a game. He may have been an opportunist. Maybe he had a family to feed.

Jimmy gambled his life for a worthless scrap of leather not because he had to, not because he needed it, but because it was in him to run and get it back. When you act on instinct, that tells you who you are. When you shoot from the hip, that's the real you. There was no escaping his traits. Jimmy was a simple man, like his dad, a dreamer, a grafter, a family man with old fashioned values. Ultimately there was no escaping it, of that he felt sure.

Jimmy ducked out early from dinner with the family. Ever since Mum announced the trip he made plans for a rendezvous with his old pal Rawl. He was filled with anticipation and paced round the forecourt lobby, eager to see his reformed friend. Alas, Captain of industry he was not. Things had taken an unexpected turn. They sat drinking Guinness Punch watching waves lash the seawall.

"Lennox wanted too much control. He got bamboozled by a suit. We opened our first station and he brought in a manager to audit the book. He started snooping, accused me of skimming off the top. Before I know it, I'm out and he's in. I was onto him from the get-go but who's gonna believe an ex-gangbanger?"

"So much for family?"

"True, blood don't' mean shit if there's no trust."

"Shame, I liked Lennox too."

"The devil whispers. No matter, follow me." They went to the rear of his flatbed. "Check it out," He peeled back the ragtop to reveal twenty glass demijohns. "Moonshine, it's the lick. I got a camp on the Potaro; the best spring water in the world." They ambled back to the hotel.

"You back in it?"

"Nah this is different, I got aces."

"Ok, long as you're happy?"

"I'm free, never felt more alive my friend." He secured the cover and ambled back to reception. "Why don't you come down? Fly to Kaieteur and check it out?"

"Kaieteur?" Rawl slapped a leaflet from the concierge in his hand,

'Kaieteur Falls'; 'Located on the Potaro River in Kaieteur National Park, central Essequibo Territory. Kaieteur is among the most powerful waterfalls in the world with an average flow rate of 663 cubic metres per second. It is the tallest single drop waterfall in the world, standing at a staggering 822ft.'

Rawl figured the sight a must see. Chris needed little persuading and dragged Laurie along kicking and screaming. Without notice they hopped into a 4x4 and caught a flight from Ogle Airport. They didn't have time to check the credentials of the pilot but later found out his nickname was Mad Dog. If only they had known that before the flight; Mad Dog could have taken his single prop Cessna and suffered it. They were accompanied on their adventure by two big burly city lawyers from England, a couple of toffs who were bragging about escaping a coup in Chile prior to Georgetown.

Sixty minutes into the flight they were bleating like sissies. Laurie was in the back, bent over double, trying not to retch as he felt he'd been riding the big dipper at Six Flags for the duration. The cockpit was cramped and incredibly noisy. Their pilot, a short determined hombre with a huge moustache, did not speak English. He tapped a gauge reading zero.

"Which gauge is that?" cried the lawyer.

"The fuel," said Rawl.

"Oh shit, shit."

"It's okay, I don't think the gauge is working."

"Fucking great."

Fact was none of the gauges were working. They were running on fumes, flying blind and lost as they were at least half hour over their planned thirty minute flight. Mad Dog descended to get a point of reference then suddenly pulled up to avoid a rapidly approaching cliff.

Chris took control. "Do you wanna turn back?" Back came a resounding Yes from the Lawyers. Laurie nodded hunched over, busy subduing the pain.

"It looks worse than it is." said Rawl eager to stay on schedule "Trust me I've done this trip many times, this is normal."

"Are we nearly there?" Jimmy shouted, tapping his watch.

Mad Dog ignored him, gestured with his hands to calm them down and feverishly went back to some gauge tapping.

Laurie threw up and wiped his mouth. "Just fucking land, will ya."

Finally they hit the runway and evacuated the craft. Laurie stumbled out, kissed the ground, euphoric as if a last minute reprieve had been granted. He sniped at Chris.

"You happy? You had your Adventure now?"

Jimmy laughed through the pain, it was very Laurie. Rawl took it in his stride and the burly lawyers remained silent, trying to style it out. They had survived the near death experience and were 822ft closer to god.

They sat in a wooden shelter exhausted and broken. Rawl splintered off to fetch the flatbed. Lunch was delivered in foam food containers. Their humble Chicken Dal Puri was elevated; each morsel savoured like Filet Mignon, flooding their senses, reviving consciousness.

On cue their land walking guide emerged. He led them deep into the Amazon and then they heard it, the roar of the mighty river. It was deafening, so loud you had to shout to be heard. They followed their ears and there it was, magnificent, breath taking. There were no handrails, no viewing box. They waded knee deep into the clear crisp Potaro River and slowly pushed their way to the edge. The river's spray dispersed sunlight into a rainbow arching red, gold and green.

Jimmy knelt on a rock next to Chris and peered over the edge straight down, all 822ft of it. A rush of adrenalin nearly tipped him over. Chris grabbed him and held him back.

"How do you feel?"

"On top of the world, like nothing can touch me." screamed Jimmy with his arms

raised.

They retreated back to the shore and knelt down skimming stones.

"So tell me about Kayla. You haven't said anything about her?"

"She great, easy going. I met her at a jam. I wasn't even going to play that night

but when I saw her I got a bit flash."

"If she makes you wanna try that's good."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Look don't listen to Laurie, take your time okay. Tell Mum when it feels right."

Jimmy was not worried about Laurie more tormented by the hidden truth, his unborn son. He could feel his freedom slipping over the water's edge. Jimmy off loaded, crying for help.

"I got a problem, there's someone else."

Nothing surprised Chris, with two divorces under his belt he had a clear perspective.

"Just ask yourself the question; if Kayla rang you now and told you not to comeback, how would you feel?"

Chris had a way of cutting to the truth. "Don't fill your head second guessing. If you're happy, stay with her. If you're not, get out."

Jimmy smiled as revelation dawned but as Chris only knew the half of it, only took half on board.

They headed back to the clearing. Chris and Laurie waited anxiously for Mad dog to fly them back to the Pegasus hotel. Rawl pulled up in the truck and peeled off with Jimmy into the Amazon.

They climbed into a Kayak and paddled along the Potaro into a tributary then moored up at the river's edge. The camp was up an escarpment under an over-hanging cliff; a collection of makeshift tarpaulin huts built around a stone campfire. Rawl rolled a blue plastic fifty gallon still into place and hosed in fresh spring water. He poured in bags of turbo yeast, corn sugar and gave it a stir with a mash paddle. There was a sickening sweet smell like the burning of molasses from a fermented batch. They strained it into a distilling tank turned up the heat to an 80° slow simmer and waited.

Rawl siphoned off the heads and threw it away.

"You drink that you die, pure Methanol. We want the hearts, the stuff in the middle, that's the best shit."

Rawl shook the glass demijohn. "Sweet, you see the bubbles, beautiful. The faster they disappear the purer it is."

Jimmy took a swig so smooth it evaporated the moment it hit his tongue.

"Good shit huh?"

"Where did you learn all this?" They got busy hauling bags, setting up another batch.

"From Buddy. He's an old school friend. We grew up together as kids."

"Where's he now?"

"Back in Agricola. He used to cook bigtime till he got caught. His Dad had connections so they went easy on him. He works as a tracker now."

"He works for the Police?"

"Yeah sort of, community service. The Police were desperate for help to shut down camps; too many deaths from off batches. It's a sweet deal. We make all the brew we want and sell it right under their noses."

"How much do they take? "

"$200 flat but it's worth it. All I got to worry about is a rival team bussin in, but up here it ain't no worry at all."

Rawl asked Jimmy to take the new batch back to town. "Buddy will meet you at the hotel, just follow the signs to Georgetown. I'll meet you there in a couple of days."

They worked into the night and broke for coffee round the campfire.

"I met Mark before I left." said Jimmy.

"Yeah what did he say?"

"Not much. He wanted to know where you were."

"Did you tell him?"

"No. You hiding?"

"I can't take any chances. Mark was good to me but a .38 in your mouth tends to loosen the tongue. I don't know who to trust. Anyway, up here I'm free,"

"It is fucking remote."

"Cayman and 'Condas is alI I got to fear and if the come." He took out his shotgun. "New shoes !"

They loaded up in the morning and Jimmy drove back to the Hotel. He met Buddy round the back.

Buddy was a coolie, Rawl's right hand man. He was a slick operator, his manner bold and flirtatious. He took the wheel.

"Hey gyal, wa gwan wid yo?" He holla'd at the lights trying to engage every floozy that fell in his path; a Guyanese White van man en route to a kitchen in Agricola.

"We gonna make Nutcrackers, fruit juice and shine. We pack 'em on dry ice. and sell them outside Chutney."

"You sell much?" asked Jimmy.
"Cha , ya think mi do this for fun. Last week ten case gone, dem buy bulk for party or jus to get lick up. What y' gon do? Pay $3 inside or a quart from mi gate ?"

They made up fifty cases, dropped thirty to a sub and sold the rest at Chutney. Jimmy felt more alive than afraid this time; a visceral rush evoking old feelings.

"Let's go on," proposed Jimmy.

"Cool. Sheriff Street?"

"What's there?"

"Every-ting."

They parked up in a side street.

"You see over there, the rum shop, restaurants all got 'bar girls' turning tricks for 50 cents. "

"No Police?"

"Cha Police. Murder and kidnapping is mo' dem business. They turn a blind eye to most. The girls clean and serve tables but everyone knows. Go see na? They push up on ya rass."

"You been inside?"

"Nah, I use to live near the gold fields; flesh for rent. Brazilians, French come to work mining gold. Mi Cousin went to work near Brownsweg. She earn two grams of gold for twenty minutes. Her man ketch her and chop her up."

"She's dead?"

He nodded. "I look after her daughter now."

They drove for an hour through the night to a gin joint deep in the bush. A solitary street lamp broke the darkness. The bar was lit with hanging shades dotted over dusty wooden tables. People sat round drinking cheap shine and brew. The radio was playing loud, blaring Chutney from the P.A. speakers. A flamboyant buoy was wining and liming. Heshot a smile across in their direction. A rough coolie sat on a stump opposite. "

Mi cut up, wen dem batty-man a skin dem teeth, Mi broadside dem rass scunt."

Patois was known as the ungrammatical language spoken by the uneducated, but to Jimmy it was the slickest diatribe he ever heard. Mid-flow he switched to The Queen's.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying do you?"

Jimmy gaped, his stool toppled. He sounded like a boater hatted graduate and apparently only used patois sometimes because he preferred it. He slipped back.

"Woman tek all meh money!" his hand outstretched "ah want six cents" the price of the bottle of iodine he swung, running dry.

"He mad no rass" said Buddy. Jimmy gave him some change. "I got someone I want you to meet."

They pushed pass a swaying crowd of limers, baying to a fresh mix. An old man sat at a table.

"This is my dad Alby."

They had not seen each other for months. They chatted and imbibed, Everclear, alcohol so over proof Jimmy felt he had been stabbed in the throat.

Alby lifted his wary head.

"I work wid music, got mi firs Soca hit when mi turn 54..and was hit by tumour, being wheeled to my death and all I could remember is asking God to give mi another day so I could be wid family- -" He hugged Buddy "- -that's all you got to know."

Alby words rang out, unassailable. It was love, love that made parents selfless; the reward simply to see their kids grow and become more than opportunity afforded them. It humbled him, he felt more connected and less self-obsessed. Jimmy retired back to the Pegasus ready to start the family tour.

Buddy collected them in a minivan. They drove to the ship yard where Dad started out as a welder. The yard had been decommissioned for some time. A mammoth steel keel jutted out majestically from the dock as if frozen in time; waiting for the searing heat of Vince's torch. They paid tribute then pulled up on a derelict side street in Albouystown, the perilous neighbourhood where Dad grew up. He couldn't believe it. It was still there perfectly shabby third world chic. Looking round, all Dad's explosive stories came to life. The main square still had a buzz and imagined it was just the way he left it. Jimmy became eager to explore, but Buddy wouldn't get out of the van.

"Cha, yuh mad."

He was one killing stare away from danger and when it came he quickly recoiled from doorsill to seat. He now understood Dad more. He was gentle but when the time came as hard as nails. When bullied by thug Rockers in the UK, they spat in his face. Dad wiped it clean onto the road then grabbed one and rubbed his nose in it; the other one pulled a knife. Chris ran over kicked him in the groin and held the knife to his throat about to cut him till Dad calmed him down. Jimmy slowly connected the dots, he understood more.

They drove onto Mum's cousin, Reggie in Mahaicony and suddenly pulled over. Mum climbed out astonished. She paced up and down.

"It can't be?"

A broad smile forged as revelation dawned. It was her old school and stood exactly as she remembered it; the same flaky yellow paint with not a crack out of place. They looked on as the euphoria built.

"My god, I wish your Dad was here to see this. That's where we met, underneath that tree. That's where we made plans."

A tear ran down her cheek. She left shell-shocked but happy, faintly humming schoolyard rhymes.

They drove on and soon arrived at Reggie's place, a roadside bar with ramshackle wooden tables and seating. They greeted each other with open enthusiasm. Reggie fetched a large pitcher of Rum Punch and they idled, recounting folly of hazardous swimming trips and barred horse rides.

"Your Mum still dance Margi?"

He demonstrated the Indian Classical dance with pointed fingers and toes. Mum laughed, she knew they had no idea. The Mum they knew was a '60's hipster into Little Richard and the Stones. She never watched Bollywood movies, wore a Sari or danced Margi. She sacrificed her traditions for her new life in Britain. The gaps were all but closed, Jimmy let go; the trip was now about Mum, lending much needed opportunity to close circle.

They left them to catch up as they consumed the complimentary Hassa and Rice. As the night wore on, spirits were high. They danced and drank themselves dizzy. This was how they did it in Guyana; partying till the moonlight dimmed and dawn broke.

As they got up to leave two men rushed in brandishing weapons, one waved a shotgun and the other pointed a pistol straight at Reggie's face. He was told to hand over the takings. Reggie led them to the till. They shoved him out the way and grabbed the cash.

"Is that all ya get, don't tes me," He punched him in the face.

"You think ya a big man," Reggie said puffing out his chest "Do it na? When dem come dem gon capoon ya rass."

He shot, blood gushed and Reggie fell to the ground. Jimmy and Chris rushed over and Buddy gave chase.

Everything changed, the underlying truth of a country tormented by an evil few. They were desperate people, lost with no purpose but to plague the innocent. Life was cheap, a man's life risked for speaking short. This was not Guyana. These were cowards hiding behind a barrel. Their day would come, a reckoning not by god but by man.

They were labelled bandits and treated as such. Armed Police hunted them down, not to capture and bring to trial, but to execute a prejudged sentence. It did not take long to find them. Buddy tracked them to a local shop and caught them hocking loot. The Police came, they were called merely to ID. A shootout followed, outgunned and cornered they met a grizzly end.

Fortunately Reggie only suffered minor concussion from a head graze. He was rushed to emergency that fateful night and survived.

Rawl was back in service. He picked up Jimmy. They were on a rum run for the reunion party that evening. Buddy parked his shotgun in the center console and hopped in the back. They stopped off at church, St George's Anglican, a National Monument. Given the topsy-turvy nature of the trip, Jimmy welcomed the change of pace and went with the flow, silently intrigued. They made their way up the church steps.

"You look surprised. What are two lawless muthers doing here?" said Rawl.

"It wasn't luck that saved Reggie ya know?" continued Buddy.

"Reggie's a parishioner."

"Yeah, drawing down his credit."

"He still got plenty left."

"He don't take shit. A good man, God Bless."

"You believe?" asked Jimmy.

"I'm afraid not to, aren't you?"

He stood beneath the giant Gothic arches and felt humbled. Even though he was not particularly religious he knelt and joined them out of respect.

High into the nave, light danced from the Victorian gifted chandelier, a reminder of the imperial past. After a short time, they rose to their feet and backed out the aisle, crossing their chests, turned and left.

"I was like you, full of suspicion." said Rawl.

"What changed?"

"I saw something after Leon passed."

"What, like a sign?"

"Yeah, I know, wacko right? That's what I thought too."

"What did you see?"

"Does it matter?"

"You can't say shit like that then keep me hanging."

"It was a ruby stone. I won it off Leon as a kid. I kept it for years, like a rabbit's foot, then I lost it."

Jimmy looked puzzled they hopped back into the truck.

"Remember in the park, in NYC? They were onto me then. I was a dead man no question. I didn't know what to do. I knew who was coming and decided to get him before he got me. I went to get my piece, reached into my bag to load up and there it was, the stone,"

"You found it, so what?"

"I lost it in Guyana; here, just across the way…. It was impossible, I tried to rationalise it but couldn't work it out. You think I gone mad don't you?"

"No, no not anymore."

They stopped at Kuru's Rum Store, a hive of activity. The queues were long, armed guards surrounded the tills warning off very shifty on lookers. They got a ticket, grabbed several bottles of finest El Dorado and hastened their exit. A man in a long grey mac trailed them, eyeing up the rum. He looked through the open window, Rawl calmly tilted up the shot gun so it was in clear sight. Nothing was said and the hoodlum wisely backed off to seek alternate prey.

That night they had their party, drank their precious cargo and danced to Soca on the rooftop bar. Jimmy chose his moment and grabbed Mum as she came off the dance floor.

"I got something to tell you."

"What is it?" she panted, clearly exhausted.

He took her hand and sat her down.

"You're going to be a grandma."

She caught her breath astounded. He explained everything from the band, meeting Kayla and the baby, a last minute addition. The news permeated, cracking through the layers of grief.

She grimaced. "I'm not happy Jimmy. Why didn't you tell me before?" Underneath she was beaming and could not hold it back any longer. She cracked a smile. "After all that's happened, thank god a Grandson."

The news overriding; Mum gathered everyone round they charged their glasses and made it official.

After the fuss died Jimmy sat down besides Mum gazing across the cityscape reflecting on the trip.

"Why did you leave?"

"For you, for us."

"I was speaking to Sonia back at the farm, she wants to leave."

"Well who can blame her. What she got here?"

"Identity."

"Cha, what identity. You think anyone gives a damn about that?"

"I do."

"It's a luxury. You never had to struggle to get what they don't have. The basics, electric that stays on, a house that doesn't flood."

"But she is Guyanese, what am I?"

"British."

"In America I'm British, in England I am the son of immigrants, that's it."

"No you are British Jimmy, some would have you believe otherwise but it's

not true. I never told you this, as I didn't think it important but I was wrong."

"What?"

"Don't be alarmed but you're not a Bramble." Jimmy shook his head. "Calm down, it's not what you think." Jimmy drained what was left of the Rum. "Your Great-Great Grandfather was Chinese, an indentured worker. The Brits bought them over after slavery was abolished. Your real name is Phang,"

"Phang?"

"Christian missionaries gave him the name Bramble after he converted to Christianity."

"I always thought Bramble was our slave name."

"No your ancestors were free and paid to work. They were hard times. He converted to receive help, a square meal and a bed that's all. When you got nothing to eat, identity is the last thing on your mind."

"Phang from China, Christ. How did he wind up in Guyana?"

"Repaying a gambling debt. The Brits kidnapped him, gave him a dose of opium, when he woke they had already set sail."

"Phang? My name is Jimmy Phang, but I don't look Chinese?"

"He married an African, then your Great Grandad an Indian; you're an eighth

Chinese. You're unique, be proud."

Jimmy felt the same but different; a special class of citizen, rich in heritage and bursting with pride. Guyana was no longer a dirty secret. The birthplace of his folks, land of his forefathers defined him made him who he was. The trip left him fulfilled and invigorated, eager to return to the States and make a go of it.

Chapter 12 Ammit and the Law of Maat

Jimmy met Kayla at the Airport. She was several months pregnant, hypersensitive and aching for attention. She made discrete plans scouting a private spot before arrival, took his hand, hushed him quiet and led him to the top of the fire escape. She turned round and steadied herself placing her hands on the railings, her long legs astride. His hands reached under her blouse trailing up from her hips to her laced demi; teasing her supple flesh into tight knots. Her grip tightened, she braced his hip and clenched, quivering, weak from convulsion. He steadied herself and Jimmy led her back to the bustle and hum of the main concourse.

Jimmy was itching to get back into the studio and hear the album. They stopped off at Ladyland on the way back to hear the latest mix and were taken through to Micky Finch the studio manager. Micky stood there, unusually tense.

"I'm sorry you got to find out this way. We tried calling Cornell but he's not answering." He sat down. "You're locked out,"

Jimmy glazed over processing the implications.

"Neptune owe $100k; I'm under orders. You're locked out till the debt is cleared."

He knew what it meant, he'd been there before. Kayla had her suspicions. She confessed that it had been unravelling in his absence. First came the excuses, then the cold shoulder followed by unanswered calls from all quarters including Kael. He was filled with dread, praying for a miracle to stave of the inevitable. He returned home deflated, sat on the balcony sifting through every detail scratching round for answers.

Kayla sat resigned to her predisposition. "I went round to Cornell but he disappeared. Neptune Records, Kael, it's like they didn't exist."

He was frantic, in denial; drifting from pillar to post not wanting to accept the truth unless he saw it first-hand.

They drove to Cornell's apartment hoping to catch him on the off chance but were instead met with flashing beacons. The apartments were cordoned off with yellow crime tape. The NYPD were out in force. An OB truck was parked up broadcasting live for the evening news. Jimmy and Kayla made their way to the reporter.

"What's going on?"

"There's been a shooting. Police say it's gang related but no drugs were found on the premises. That's all they're telling us."

"Which premises?"

She pointed to a flat in the corner. The Police were swarming all over it. An ambulance was on the corner with it's doors open. The medics wheeled out a body bag.

Kayla and Jimmy broke the tape and ran across.

The Police hauled them back. "Do you live here?"

"No our Manager does."

They unzipped the body bag as it wheeled by. Kayla broke down sobbing, Jimmy froze, "Oh no, no, no."

"Do you know the deceased?"

"His name's Cornell."

In an instant his life came crashing down. He looked at him one last time, peaceful, asleep. It put paid to any degree of optimism.

They drove back to the flat in silence, not taking it in. It didn't seem real. He

was mystified then grew suspicious formulating theories. Jimmy began to process the little information he had, trying to piece it together.

"I knew they had connections back in the day but I thought that all changed

when Kael took over," Said Kayla.

"Are you sure you're telling me everything?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Thoughts of Rawl's conversation at the Guggenheim over Leon's possible involvement splintered.

"What did you know about the drug money?"

"If you got something to say; say it."

"Rawl said Leon paid Neptune to get you a deal. Is that true?"

"You gonna listen to Rawl? Look I don't know what he told you but if you think it was a hand out you're wrong."

"How do you know Rawl isn't right?"

"Cornell is dead. Is that all you can think about. What is all this, a hoax?"

"Sorry babes I'm stressed, forgive me."

In the pit of his gut he knew she was telling the truth, paranoia was getting the better of him. Kayla was his rock. The notion was a foolish sign of desperation.

"I wouldn't normally do this but you need some rest babes."

She reached into the glove box and pulled out a blunt. "I was going to let you have it earlier, anyway." He took a drag. "Feel better now?"

"Yeah cool."

He drifted off, his mind running free. Everything slowed down. He saw people on the sidewalk; their lips moving without words. Kayla pulled back the roof and watched a bird soaring into the clouds.

"What do you see?"

"Mosaic, it's a blur."

"Look closer."

His memory sifted through the grey matter and zeroed in. "Rufus. He talked about some big deal when we were shooting up but I never thought anything of it. I saw them talking. He must have used the money to buy into the deal."

"Yeah, but why is Cornell dead?"

"I don't know. Rufus was pissed after he was pushed out."

"Rufus is bad news but he's no killer."

"Then the deal must have gone bad. Pull over."

"Why?"

"I'm going to talk to him, he lives that way."

"Are you nuts? You just said he was behind it."

"We are fucked without those tapes, we got nothing."

"You're not thinking straight. You start sniffing around and you'll be dead too.

Have you learnt nothing, these are not the sort of people you mess with."

"So we just roll over?"

"What do you think is going to happen? You think he's gonna sub the $100k for old time's sake? You think he's got our money, a street hustler on smack? Get real, it's over. I know it's tough to accept but you have to let it go, you got a family to think of now."

Jimmy's little demons tormented. "Is that it, let it go we're a family now. You got it all worked out haven't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's like you planned it, you're happy it failed so we can settle down, get a job. Well you don't need me for that."

"Is that what you think?"

Jimmy took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "No I don't. I'm sorry. I don't know what to think."

"Why did you marry me Jimmy, was it for us or the band?"

"Us of course."

"You sure about that?"

Everyone at Neptune skipped town, Cornell was gone. The only strand of hope was locked away in a vault at Ladyland. Jimmy managed to get them to write down the debt to $60k. Pra was still in the UK so checked in for an update.

"How you fixed?"

"No change, Kayla's busting my balls. It's looking grim. What about you?"

"I'm living at Mum's eating nuts and tofu. I was hoping to fly back to see Shelly. We we're making plans."

"I'm sorry man. I wish I had better news."

"Have you tried Mark?"

Pra did what all good friends do, say what you want to hear and offer someone to blame it on should things go bad.

He broached the idea with Kayla, she snapped. "Go to England, what to see Kelly?"

"I used to have a good job. I can work."

"You gonna make $60k? - " He sat there silent. "...- then why go?"

The idea was to go back to London to make a quick score. The suggestion forced an ultimatum. She insisted he get his green card to prove his commitment to stay. Jimmy agreed but only to divert attention and keep her off his back. In truth a seed had taken root. He called Mark to explore the option.

Connecticut runs dried up. They switched to postal couriers; UPS, Fedex. Mark suggested an alternative. He asked around and came back a few days later.

"I spoke to Marcel he knows a guy that can help but for the sort of money you want you need a plus one. Ideally someone who doesn't look suspicious."

"I don't know anyone do you?"

"Kayla mate, they want you to take Kayla; a doting husband with his

pregnant wife is low risk."

"Hold on, I said just make enquires?"

"You're not shopping around for builder's quotes. These guys are serious.

They checked you out, it's procedure."

"There's got to be another way?"

"Sorry mate they were very clear it's Kayla or no deal."

"What do you know about them?"

"They're good, the best, not one bust."

"What would you do?"

"Don't put it on me, I don't know. All I can say is, if your mind is made up,

they're your best bet. Anyway you got till Friday to decide or the deals off."

Jimmy made his way to the US Embassy for his immigrant visa. He grabbed a ticket and was summoned to a kiosk. The interviewer shot intimidating glances from behind pitched spectacles. She geared up for attack and for the next thirty minutes tried to throw him off his game but he flippantly hit back with determined ease nailing every fact, producing certification and deed on demand. She huffed stamped his Green Card and he rang Kayla, reporting back, playing the good husband.

"That's great Jimmy, I got some good news too."

"What's that?"

"My Uncle owns a furniture business and he's looking for a delivery man. I

said you might be interested? You got your card now so you can work legit,"

"A delivery man? Are you kidding me?"

"It's just to pay the rent till something better comes along."

"Why do you keep pushing me. I got the card. Can you just let it be. I'll pay the

rent don't worry."

The days passed slow, Jimmy agonised over the options; live like a rat or

return alone to London, neither prospect appealed. He buried himself in the mundane catching up on mail Kayla had left unopened. When he sensed the argument brewing he dashed out for some peace.

It was the Jheri curled candysmoking '80s. John Lennon was shot dead. The Berlin wall fell and HIV gave rise to AIDS, acquired immune deficiency syndrome. Jimmy was not particularly religious but knelt in St Patricks Cathedral on the corner of 5th and 51st; totally obliterated, numb. In his pocket was a crumpled note from the hospital where he flat-lined, urging him to come in for further test. The tests were routine but the results were anything but. He did not know for how long or from where he had contracted the disease but the fact remained he was HIV positive.

He tumbled hopelessly delusional, firmly in denial, reluctant to accept the indelible truth. Only he knew, only he carried the burden and that's the way it would stay. He was ever more determined to live his life by his rules. He had to see things through, play the system one more time to silence the doubters once and for all. He went for a walk to clear his mind and stopped outside a liquor store running the options through his head. If the inevitable happened he had to leave a legacy, security for his family, something enduring to hold on to. Time ran short. He sat on the stoop in the rain, slowly coming to terms with Mark's proposal, polished off a quart of Spey Malt and made the call.

"Make it happen, I'm in."

"Ok, with Kayla?"

"With Kayla."

The stage was set. Mark put him in touch with a Dutch man called Lars. He would get $40k for the run, enough to get things moving at Ladyland. Jimmy was nervous. Jimmy felt guilty. Jimmy was making a coke run to Thailand.

He met with Lars at O'Relly's, an Irish bar opposite Penn Station. He was in his thirties, a tall man with lanky blond hair. He wore a white linen suit, Panama hat and black Ray-Bans. Lars sat in the corner supping Guinness from a pre-chilled glass. Jimmy ordered the same and sat opposite. Lars placed an envelope on the table.

"As agreed, two economy tickets to Bangkok and $1000 expenses. Does your wife know?"

"No, she suspects nothing."

"So she thinks it's a holiday?"

"Something like that."

"That's the way to look at it, a free vacation." He smiled. "She won't look

nervous as she doesn't know but I'm wondering about you Jimmy, will you look nervous?"

"No I am looking forward to our Honeymoon."

"Very good. I left the cases in a security locker at the airport. The goods are

sewn into the sides, lined with carbon paper. They're completely undetectable by sniffers. The key to the locker is in with the tickets."

Lar's confidence and professional manner put Jimmy at ease. "Everything is in place. You will be staying at the Sheridan on your first night where you will meet a guy called Toad. He will test and weigh the merchandise and pay you. You will shake hands. He will leave and you can kick back and enjoy the rest of your vacation."

"Did you say the guy's name is Toad?" Said Jimmy trying to break his stride

and expose his true nature.

"I know, right. It's his real name, English-Thai I think. Don't worry I've been

doing this for years. Forty two shipments last year alone, 100% success, not one search and they were single; a married couple absolutely no problem."

Lars shook his hand and left, picking up the tab on his way out.

Things moved quickly, the flight was only days away. Jimmy broke the news. He told her everything had been arranged and only to pack a carry-on. She was ecstatic but later grew suspicious.

"Babes, I don't want to sound ungrateful but you sure this is a gift?"

"I told you, Mum wants us to have a proper Honeymoon."

Jimmy didn't have it in him to act outraged at her doubts. She could read minds, so left it well alone. Kayla buried her pessimism in favour of the fairy tale trip she'd always dreamt of.

The days passed agonisingly slow, Jimmy's mind was pushed to breaking point pretending he was excited all the while concealing the truth. He felt extremely guilty but was determined to go through with it. He took solace from Lar's track record but the cynic in him doubted every word and soon grew anxious again.

He tried to convince himself he was on holiday when the day finally came but all he could think about was doing time at Bangkok Hilton, the infamous prison. As he boarded the plane he smiled at Kayla and squeezed her hand tight.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah I hate flying."

She squeezed his hand. "Don't worry babes, I'll look after you."

He unbuttoned his collar and set about watching a movie downing just enough miniatures to numb his head but remain lucid. Three movies and several bottles later they arrived in Thailand, alighted the plane and careered across the blazing tarmac. With each step Jimmy grew more fearful, the clock ticking, each stroke sounding a death knell. His heart was thumping so hard it made his ears ache.

"You feeling okay babes?"

"I'm a little hot actually, too much wine. I just gonna pop to the boy's room,"

Jimmy hurled into the basin. He splashed himself with water and dashed back out. As they collected the luggage his throat ran dry. He felt everyone knew and were staring. He held Kayla's hand tightly, looking at the ground trying desperately to keep it together. They stood in line until they were called to check pass Customs. Jimmy stood frozen;

"What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Sorry?"

"What is the purpose of your visit?"

Kayla stepped in "Vacation."
"Did you pack your cases yourself?"

"Yes" said Kayla.

They walked clear and heaved their cases onto the conveyor belt as instructed. Just as he was about to walk through, the X-ray inspector looked over at another more senior officer, took her pen and tapped on the computer screen, seemingly pointing something out. She looked at them with a stone cold expression.

"Please step aside."

Jimmy stood paralysed with fear. Kayla was fine, oblivious to it all, suspecting nothing. The inspector radioed for assistance and three officers approached; a sour-faced scrawny Thai in a grey suit and the other two with military uniforms holding rifles.

"Is this your bag?" asked the official.

"Yes it is."

"Did you pack it yourself?"

"Yes."

"Ok come with me."

They were grabbed from behind and frog marched to separate rooms under

duress. Kayla looked back, the anguish on her face lingered horribly as Jimmy was thrust into a cold grey room.

On the wall was thirty to forty Polaroid pictures of various men and women with drugs laid out before them; a confessional wall of shame.

"What is this?" asked Jimmy.

"You see these pictures. They, like you - -" He gestured with his finger slitting his throat. "- - they all die now."

"No, not me. I'm not one of them."

"Maybe we should ask your wife?" he smirked.

He poked around in the case then took out a long Swiss army knife and slit the lining, looking up, grinning with expectant gaze. It was empty. He cut the other side. Again it was empty. He grew frustrated, red-faced, veins popped in his temple.

"Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

He began shredding the lining into pieces, then grabbed the other case and proceeded to cut that too. Jimmy looked at the wall trying to avoiding eye contact.

"Where is it?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

He looked up seething, left the room and returned moments later.

"Okay you're free to go." He snapped.

Jimmy stepped outside into the corridor supressing screams of joy as Kayla ran into his arms.

"Are you ok?" asked Jimmy.

"Yes are you?"

"Yeah fine, did they search you?"

"No, they didn't touch me."

Kayla knew something was up and Jimmy knew he would have to come clean. They walked clear and caught a flight to Vietnam, Saigon.

Jimmy only took the gamble because he knew it would work. Before the trip, just after he met Lars in New York, Mark called.

"You know I like to be thorough? So just to be sure I've been asking around about Lars. I've just come off the blower with Ram, a very unhappy ex-associate of Lars from Australia. He just finished a stint at Bangkok Hilton, banged up for eight years. Our friend Lars is a bit of an operator. You're being set up mate."

"What !"

"There is an insider at customs, who already has your details. He will confiscate the coke, dummy the paperwork to read less, skim the balance and sell it on."

"Fuck, well that's blown it, I got to pull out."
"It's too late, you're in too deep. They know where you live, they know everything."

"What am I gonna do?"

"Don't worry, I got a plan."

Mark suggested he meet an associate of his at JFK and transfer the coke into a holdall. "It's fool proof, how can they arrest you if you aren't carrying?"

"What about Toad? If I turn up without the goods."

"You're not thinking straight. Work it out Jimmy there is no Toad, there

never was. You are supposed to go straight to the slammer. Have you got the reservation for the Hotel?"

"Nah, he said just to give my name."

"Yeah, he would because there are no reservations."

"I don't believe it. I'm gonna slaughter that fuck."

"No you're not. You're gonna play it cool. Listen up, I need you to focus we

haven't got long. They will be watching you from the moment you take the cases. If you screw up they will know."

"What about Mr Customs?"

"Just tough it out. He will have no choice but to release you, then take the next flight out and I will meet you in…"

"Saigon, Vietnam. "

"Ok Saigon, I'll meet you there."

Mark used his connection to sell the merchandise. Mr Customs had to swallow it or risk being exposed.

They alighted Tan Son Nhat Airport and caught a taxi to Banh Thanh, a district located in the heart of the old capital. They finally made it. This was Saigon, this was Kayla's Vietnam. Jimmy felt safe.

The streets were French in aspect, a throwback to the one hundred year imperial rule. Shops selling patisserie and French baguettes mingled with Vietnamese street carts peddling atomic-hot bowls of Pho. The air blazed hot, fusing 2-stroke with fish sauce marinating in huge plastic vats. Bikes rode six to the dozen side by side, all jostling for space; shifting passengers, pigs, cages stuffed with ducks and geese. Sky walking builders skipped along girders on construction sites, seemingly defying gravity but this was Vietnam where the impossible was made to look easy.

They checked into a B&B Jimmy confessed all to Kayla and braced for the blowback. He took a calculated risk thinking Saigon might help appease her. He was wrong. She felt completely let down. She trusted him, thought he was different. The betrayal was more than she could bear.

Jimmy went down to reception and contacted Mark as planned. Mark switched focus eager to wrap up any loose end.

"I got some bad news, it Lars. He's not letting it go."

"Did you say we'll shop 'em."

"He don't care. I tell ya he's a madman, he wants his coke back or you and me are dead."

"You don't think he tailed us from Bangkok do you?"

"Don't panic, just be cool and I'll meet you day after tomorrow like we planned."

When Jimmy returned to their room Kayla was packed. She headed out the door clutching her case.

"I can't be with you any longer."

He begged her to stay but she had made her mind up and left to stay with Toan ala Bam Bikes in the Country. As far as she was concerned it was over. Jimmy was out of sorts, he did not expect her to run off. He took the risk because he believed he could pick up the pieces. Jimmy let her go, hoping she would soften before he tracked her down.

He left that afternoon, checking behind, making sure he was not followed; caught a bus north to Vihn Long, a small village in the countryside. When he was close he switched to a bike taxi and walked the final mile.

Toan stood at the top of the dirt road on a Bam Bike.

"I'm sorry Jimmy, she doesn't want to see you. I don't know what's going on but she is very upset."

"I know, it's my fault. Can I see her just for a moment, please?"

Toan looked on in dismay and shook his head.

"You made mistakes Toan, you told me but you put it right. Give me a chance to turn it round, please I'm begging."

He looked into Jimmy's eyes and saw himself staring back; a lost man who needed a second chance. He nodded. "Okay, she's in the back."

He saw Kayla tending the graves of her great grandparents; burning incense, placing offerings of food and paper effigies.

"Kayla."

She ignored him. He knelt beside her, took an incense stick lit it from a candle and blew it out to smoulder; placing it in the earth with heads bowed and hands placed together in prayer.

"What you doing here?"

"I could have lied and pleaded ignorance but I didn't. Your dream became mine, I couldn't let go."

She remained silent, unmoved. Rather than break news about his condition, he remained stoic, tight lipped, got up and walked away. "I'm sorry I lied to you. If you change your mind I'll be waiting in Saigon."

She took out miniature paper effigies of a suit and dress from a box. "We burn these to send them to the spirits."

He turned back and knelt beside her. "Why?"

"We believe what you need in the afterlife, you need here; clothes, food, water all the things we need to survive."

She lit them and placed them on the altar to burn. "I am very angry, do you know why?" He looked down toward the ground filled with remorse. "Let me show you."

She said a prayer, took the food and headed back to the house. Jimmy took up residence in the hammock and peered through the fish jumping in the farm opposite. He spied kids playing hide and seek, counting to ten, dancing round the tombstones. A bluster of wind rustled the trees he felt the spirits stir; smiling down on them as they laughed and giggled.

It was Tet, the Vietnamese New year. They went round with Toan to meet the

neighbours and celebrate. They entered a gated house with an orchid garden, pretty in purple bloom. A frail gent came to the door.

"Please to meet you, are you American?"

"No, I'm British. How do you know English?" asked Jimmy.

"I use to be an interpreter for the American army during the war."

His emotions were still raw like it had happened yesterday. He stood still,

flashing back to the past as if awaiting orders then snapped out of it, smiled and returned back to his bedroom.

"Is he alright?" Whispered Jimmy.

"Yeah he's fine," said Toan.

"I feel sorry for him he looks lonely. Where's his wife?"

"She was rounded up by the Viet Cong as a spy and shot."

Jimmy felt small. He squeezed Kayla's hand as he thought of what he had put her through. She smiled, placed his hand on her belly just as the baby kicked. He was slowly walking the path back to sanity, wanting to believe without kidding himself.

As the sun set they took a stroll along a nearby flower market, a dazzling array of vibrant reds, pinks stretched for miles. Men and women alike bargained for flowers, scented rose buds and citrusy apricots.

"Do you know why I'm angry?"

He quoted Plenty Love the first song they wrote together.

"What would you give if you had nothing?"

She smiled happy and felt he understood. Life was not about what he could provide but what he had left to give.

Jimmy still had to meet with Mark. He hated himself but had to stick to the plan and finish up. He insisted he go alone but she persuaded him to let her tag along. They went back to Saigon that evening.

The main street leading to Bitexco Tower was crammed with pedestrians hustling for space. They bumped pass beautifully constructed flowerbeds and magnificent sculptures specially erected for New Year. Hundreds of Red National flags speckled the landscape. Makeshift stalls surrounded shops peddling toys and commemorative ware. They stopped at a lady making Plasticine models skilfully crafted onto wooden poles. Jimmy chose a Pink Rose and presented it on bended knee.

"You are lucky you're with me Jimmy you know that?" she smiled.

Kids danced on the sidewalk blowing bubbles and playing catch till dusk. She

rubbed her belly at looked at each other as if glimpsing the future. As night descended an array of multi-coloured illuminations covered every inch of space. Huge crowds gathered invading the streets, filing pass fruit laden alters and gifting lucky money to kids extending red balloon lanterns. They visited a Pagoda dense with scented incense from preceding practiced ritual. The sweet hum from the main hall enveloped. They followed the chants and drew close to reveal spectacle; an enormous gathering of Monks draped in bright yellow robes chanting incandescent verse, inducing rhythmic narcosis. It had been a weeks since Jimmy slept through the night. That morning he woke uninterrupted to the morning Sun. The phone rang from reception.

"Mr. Bramble there's a Mr. Stevens in reception for you."

"Send him up. It's Mark, he's here,"

Jimmy opened the door and Mark was shoved in, his hands raised at gun point. Lars followed behind. Jimmy could do nothing but look on, his hands tied worried for Kayla.

"Hello Jimmy and you must be Kayla. Isn't this nice?"

He stood there, feeling smug feeling he had won. "You have caused me a lot of inconvenience and for that you're gonna pay. First, I want my gear back and I'm taking your wife as insurance."

"Lars, be reasonable. Kayla's got nothing to do with it. It's us you want," said Mark.

"Don't worry I'll get round to you after. Now listen up. I'm taking Kayla and as soon as you return my property you can have her back, that's the deal."

Lars beckoned to Kayla. "Come on let's go."

Jimmy grabbed a vase from the dresser behind and threw it. Lars hit it away and let off a shot. Kayla screamed and Jimmy fell to the ground, wounded in the leg.

"You think I'm playing games," He pointed the gun straight at Jimmy's head.

"You feel like a hero?" Jimmy looked down. "Yeah, that's a good boy, stay put."

Kayla stood petrified staring at Lars. "Okay let's go sweetie." She stepped across.

"Lars, please don't do this," said Mark.

"Too late I'm doing it."

He opened the door and backed out with the silencer nuzzled in Kayla's back. As he edged back his eyes were fixed forward, unaware of two men lying in wait behind him.

"Don't move. Let go of the girl and drop the gun." It was Ram, Mark's Australian friend from Bangkok Hilton, pressing cold steel against his throat.

"Why should I?" said Lars.

"Cause I'm the reasonable one, that's why we're talking, but Dang - -" Dang pushed the door open wide and walked in "- - he wants you dead and will go through her to do it."

Lars let go, dropped the gun to the floor and kicked it to Dang.

Mark got up. "I think you already know Ram. This is Dang, Ram's brother. You're a popular guy Lars."

"Cut the shit, what do you want?"

"I don't want anything, I'm just making introductions. I'll let them take it from here."

Mark got up. "Now listen to me you piece of shit," He punched him in the gut, winding him. "You think I'm stupid. I was onto you from the get-go. That's why I got your gear and you got a knife resting on your juggler."
They took him onto the balcony. Lars squealed "Hold on, hold on, now don't be stupid, let's talk."

Ram and Dang gaffer taped his mouth and hands and took him out the back way.

"What they gonna do?" Asked Kayla.

"He's done. I don't think we'll be hearing from him again."

"You mean..?"

"I mean you're safe." He opened up his bag revealing a stack of notes. "$60k Jimmy, and when you get back I'll get you the rest."

Kayla interjected "I think we better go to the Hospital."

Jimmy lifted his shorts, "No need, it's just a graze."

Kayla grabbed the side board "It's not for you."

They raced to the FV, a private French hospital. The doorman greeted them upon arrival took their bags and fetched a wheel chair.

The contractions came and went; light cycles at first building slowly to debilitating intensity. The midwife seemed pre occupied like Lieutenant Uhura scanning, checking computer screens; distracted by ECG monitors. The whole process was an elaborate illusion designed to make them think they had some degree of control but Mother Nature was running the show and they were just along for the ride. Kayla panted, her heart pounded. He offered words of encouragement, tenderly held her hand and the little elf arrived cute and helpless.

They were flooded with joy, overcome with tears as he rested on exhausted shoulders. It was a relief, all the anguish dissolved in an unhitched instant. As before nothing felt quite the same. The band, Bangkok, Lars all paled into insignificance as they marvelled at God's magnificence; a spark from the unknown spawning matter and meaning."

Mark came in with a bouquet. "Well done Kayla, can I hold him?"

Jimmy passed him across. He gazed intently at them.

"People look for the answer, search history for the truth when all the while it's staring you in the face. You're lucky, he's beautiful."

"His name is Thien Long. It means King."

"Looks just like you. Honestly, no matter what happens look after him, stick with it, it's the greatest."

He passed him to back Kayla "You guys have been through a lot, I will leave you be. Jimmy can I have a quick word."

Mark led him into the corridor. "Let's wet the baby's head."

He pulled his hip flask, waved two half inch Coronas and led him to the balcony overlooking District 1.

They drank to the baby's health, nursed the rope, watching the street chaos unfold below. Mopeds swarmed, hordes of people rushing to market on mass weaving along the old French roadways, and canals.

"Look Jimmy. All those people each with their own stories, their own crazy past. Remarkable isn't it. So much to see and feel. Sometimes you got to pull back to take it in. It's been quite a day."

"One hell of a ride."

"Listen I hate to bring you down but there's something you should know. I was

waiting for the right moment, tall order given the day but well.."

"What's up, you're making me nervous?"

"I spoke to Pra before I came out, about business and.."

"What's up? "

"I hate to do this man."

Mark exhaled charging the air with penetrating silence. "Kelly's up the duff." Jimmy turned pale, startled, the blood drained leaving him cold. "Did you hear me? Kelly's pregnant."

The wheel span, needle static slowly ticking to a stop.

"I heard you." He knew what it meant, he'd been there before.

"I'm sorry."

Jimmy nodded. "I know,"

"You gonna tell Kayla?"

Dear Reader.

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George Mei