Hiya! It has been brought to my attention by a friend of mine that in the last chapter the language got really bad and frequent. Just wondering if people think I should put the rating up to cover myself??
Also, this is a quick update, right? Hopefully, you wont think i'm so mean now =]!
Anyway… enjoy!
"Argh!" Howard threw the mobile wildly at the wall. It shattered just millimetres from Bollo's head, who's eyes widened to terrified proportions. Howard dropped to his knees and beat the floor with his fists.
"Howard… what the hell are you doing?"
Howard's head snapped up. "We need your car."
"What?"
"Come on. We have to find him."
--
Howard hadn't spoken since they'd got in the car. He hadn't explained to Bollo why he was driving excruciatingly slowly down the roads. He didn't bother explaining why he slammed the his foot on the brakes when he suddenly saw the beat up red Porsche buried in a statue on a roundabout.
Howard leapt out of the car, leaving it across the middle of the road. The sound of the horns behind them were thunderous but Howard was deaf to it. He just ran towards the wreckage, which was surrounded by police tape and a few nosey pedestrians.
"Excuse me." Howard called as he pushed his way past the reluctant crowd. "Excuse me. Oi. Fucking move!"
Eventually, he shoved someone right over in desperation and climbed over the police tape.
"Excuse me sir. You can't come in here." A young policeman called.
"But that's my…" Boyfriend? Lover? Friend? "… car."
"Oh. Right. What's your name sir?"
Damn. What name had he used to buy this car?
"Boom. Harold Boom."
"Right." He said, tapping something into a small machine. Obviously coming up with a positive match, he continued; "Do you know who was driving your car Mr Boom?"
"Ummm, yeah. My…" Boyfriend? Lover? Friend? "…nephew. How is he?"
"I'm very sorry to tell you this sir but, he's moved on."
Howard felt a lump rising in his throat, tears pressing painfully at the back of his eyes. He felt sick and numb. He felt like the world was closing in on him, stealing his breath.
"Dead?" he gasped.
"No. Missing."
"Missing?" Howard blinked. "What d'you mean, missing?"
"Well, when we got on the scene, the car was empty."
"So he's…"
"Gone. Yes. We assumed the car had been stolen and the driver had just run away but you gave him permission to be driving, yes?"
"Yeah."
"Right, well after the detectives have found the reason for the crash."
"Check the brakes." Howard muttered.
"Sorry sir?"
"Nothing. What were you saying?"
"That after we've found the reason for the crash, we're going to have to log this as a missing person case and we'll get right on to finding him."
"Thanks."
"What's your nephews name?"
Howard knew he couldn't tell the truth. He couldn't trust the police to snoop around in his life without finding out other, less desirable things.
"His names… Kirk."
"Kirk Boom?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"What's he look like?"
"He's a fat kid. His mum only feeds him chocolate."
"Age?"
"17. He's blonde… short hair. He's about 5"2. Maybe shorter…" Howard poured the lies to the policeman, who quickly scribbled them down.
"And could I have a number Mr Boom, to contact you with I mean?"
Howard made up a number off the top of his head, which consisted mainly of noughts and threes.
"That's an unusual number sir."
"Mm." Howard mumbled as he walked away from the scene towards Bollo, who'd since moved the car and was now just leant against it looking angry.
"You spoke to that piece of scum for a long time."
"Mmm."
"How's Vince?"
"Gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. There was no one in the car when they found it."
"So he panicked and left. Ring him."
"I broke my phone." Howard reminded him angrily.
"Use mine." He handed it to Howard, who looked at it blankly. "Don't play like you don't know his number off by heart."
Howard sighed, took the phone and punched in the numbers. He almost screamed when Vince's answer phone message took him for a fool again.
"Not there?" Bollo asked casually, after Howard had kicked a the nearest object (a lamp post).
Howard didn't answer. He just got in the car in complete silence, mulling silently over the possibilities of where Vince could be.
--
That evening Bollo decided he would stay at the attic.
"I'll sleep over here though." he said, pulling the sofa further still from the bed. "Don't want you thinking I'm Vince and, oh, I don't know… trying to bum me in my sleep."
"…"
"Howard… Howard. It's okay you know, if you love him."
Howard remained silent and got in the bed.
"Where does he sleep? I mean there's a sofa and a double bed. Is he in the double bed with you?"
"…"
"Shall I shut up?"
"Hmph." Howard turned his back on Bollo and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep.
Bollo did and he snored, which didn't help Howard's insomnia but he knew he wouldn't have slept anyway. His mind was racing. Hitcher, could Hitcher have taken Vince from the car? Did Vince just run away? If so, why hadn't he come home? Was he…dead? Howard sat up. He couldn't deal with this not knowing. He dressed quickly and tried to hotwire Bollo's car. He couldn't, which made him furious. Why was it so difficult? Vince could do it. Vince. Vince. Vince.
Eventually, he gave up and chose to walk to the closest 24hour supermarket and bought 2 bottles of vodka, 1 box of wine and a few cases of beer. That should be enough to make him forget… or kill him. Either way, he wasn't bothered. By the time he got back to the attic, he was already drunk. He crashed around the flat, tripping over things and breaking everything, until he collapsed unconscious onto the soft bed.
"Hi bed." he mumbled as he drifted off into an alcohol induced coma.
--
He spent the entire of the next day hovering around the toilet and telling Bollo to make less noise.
"Why the hell are you here anyway?" he snapped eventually, when Bollo had put on some music. Gary fucking Numan. Vince's CD. Vince. Vince. Vince.
"I'm looking after you."
"I'm forty one I don't need looking after."
"Yeah, well…"
"Yeah, well… what?" Howard asked, as he heaved over the toilet bowl again.
"Vince didn't need looking after either but you still made Hitcher do it."
"He was a stupid kid in way over his head and you know it."
"Like you are now you mean."
"What? When did you get so fucking cryptic?" he heaved again. His guts aching as he slumped back against the wall.
"Look, all I'm saying is, you're in over in your head too… in love."
"I'm not it love."
"I heard you on the phone. You told him you loved him."
"Yeah… well."
"And he's the first person you saw when you got out of prison."
"Yeah, coz he…"
"And you keep calling this shithole home, when we all know you've got that place in Scotland."
"Yeah, but that's a long way…"
"And he ain't your fucking nephew!"
"No, but that doesn't mean I lo-…"
"And, you've already virtually admitted your fucking him, so…"
"Alright!" Howard bellowed, before clutching his throbbing head and retching again.
"Alright, what?" Bollo asked, slipping his hands into his pockets and slouching against the wall.
"Alright." Howard breathed. "I know he's a fucking idiot and I know I should have shot him years ago and I know that he's useless at, well… everything. And I know he's the most annoying twat that's ever walked the planet but…" he sighed. "I love him, yeah."
Bollo just stared for a second and said; "Right." and; "Well, I'd better be going."
"What?"
"Yeah. I'll see you, later or something."
Howard didn't see him later. Howard didn't see anybody for the rest of the day, for the rest of the week. He just stayed in bed and drank, waiting for some kind of sign that Vince was alive but none came. None ever came.
"…Oh my god, this is so funny. Right leave a message for real now, seriously, I've run out of credit and I ain't got no one to give me money for more. Real bleep coming now." Bleep.
Howard wasn't sure how many millions of times he'd listened to this infuriating message now, just so he could hear Vince's voice but this was the first time he actually spoke after the bleep.
"Hi Vince. I know you wont get this but… I need you to know that I miss you. I'm nothing without you. I used to be so strong before you. I used to be cold and manipulative but now… if you could see me…. I'm a mess. I guess what I'm trying to say is… I love you Vince." Vince. Vince. Vince.
--
No one had phoned. No one had come to see him. No one had wanted him to get them a job. No one had wanted him to do a job. No one wanted him. He was useless.
--
Howard was led on his sofa, Naboo snuggling on his stomach, half a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He couldn't remember drinking the rest of it but his throbbing head and dry tongue suggested he probably had.
Suddenly, there was a crash from downstairs. Howard knew the door had been kicked open. Was he being robbed? Why? He had nothing worth taking. He considered getting his gun but it was all those meters away on the coffee table and he really couldn't be bothered. What did it matter anyway? No one would miss him if he died. No one would even care. Maybe it was his time. He'd always known he wouldn't grow old anyway and he hadn't had a bad life, all things considered.
So, with all these depression-fuelled thoughts running through his head, by the time the door opened, Howard was ready. Ready but not prepared. Not prepared for exactly who was going to walk through the door.
"Hitcher?" Howard frowned, digging his knuckles into his eyes and forcing away the last feelings of drowsiness.
"Howard Moon." Hitcher growled, moving inside followed by Bollo, then he made a big show of sniffing. "Something die in here Moon?"
"What do you want?"
"I said, did something die in here?" Hitcher repeated, lifting up his revolver and breathing on it before cleaning off the residue.
"You gonna kill me?" Howard asked calmly, looking in almost bored fashion at the gun.
"No. I was gonna leave that to my number two."
Howard's eyes flicked to Bollo. "So you're gonna kill me."
Bollo shook his thick head.
"No." came a voice from out of view. "I am."
Howard looked up at the doorway. Stood there was a man, puffing so hard on a cigarette that the smoke completely obscured his features. He was wearing heavy black boots and a clichéd leather jacket and Howard knew this man had long black hair and large blue eyes. He didn't need to see the man's face. He knew exactly who it was. He'd seen him every night in his dreams since they'd met.
"Vince?" he breathed. "Why?"
Vince said nothing. He just took another long drag on his cigarette and stared heartlessly at the broken man in front of him.
"He's gonna do it Moon," Hitcher stepped in. "because you are weak. We all agreed right at the beginning that we couldn't play this game if you ever fell in love."
"I ain't in love." Howard lied weekly, avoiding Vince's stare. Though he needn't have bothered. Vince didn't flinch. He clearly didn't care.
"Bullshit. I've got proof." Bollo smiled proudly, taking a small black box out of his pocket.
"What's that?" Howard asked suspiciously.
"Talkbox." Bollo whispered. Then he pushed play and Howard's own voice flooded the room.
"I know he's a fucking idiot and I know I should have shot him years ago and I know that he's useless at, well… everything. And I know he's the most annoying twat that's ever walked the planet but I love him, yeah." Followed by the sound of retching. Howard winced. And then; "Gorilla."
Everyone turned to look at Bollo. "What the hell was that?" asked Hitcher. Bollo shrugged as the American voice came from the talk box again. "Man." and ; "Note to self; I hate whites."
"Where the hell did you get that thing?"
Bollo shrugged again, "Robbed it off a fat American man."
"Gorilla."
"Will you pause it!" Hitcher practically yelled.
Bollo quickly paused the tape and ignoring Vince's poorly suppressed giggles, Hitcher looked at Howard.
"Point is Moon." he hissed. "You're in love. You're weak and now you're dead."
"But you didn't kill Vince."
"He wasn't in love." Hitcher smirked. "Or if he was. Ten years is a long time. He got over you pretty damn quickly."
Howard's heart plummeted. "What?" His eyes flicked from Hitcher to Vince. "But you said, the other day… you said" he said, standing up for the first time, begging Vince with his eyes.
"I lied." shrugged the younger man, puffing again on his cigarette.
"But on the phone… you crashed. You said…"
"I lied." Vince repeated coolly. "I was naïve before but I've learnt. Hitcher's taught me. I'm not weak anymore."
"And obviously the crash wasn't real." Hitcher smirked. "We were all in it from the beginning. We needed to proove that you'd gone weak since prison and judging by the state of you and of this place… you have."
"We haven't got time for people like you." Vince smirked cruelly. He cocked his gun and pointed it at Howard.
"You ready Vince?" Hitcher asked.
"Mh-hmm." Vince nodded, swallowing thickly.
"Right. We'll leave you alone." Hitcher left followed by Bollo. Vince locked the door behind them and allowed his head to fall heavily against the wood.