At lasthe touched down at ground level.Raced barefoot across theconcrete, wrenched the iron door inwards, and...
“Oi-oi-oi, Priddy boy!”
Herecoiled.A burly figure wrapped in a damp afghan coat shoulderedpast him, reeking of ciggies and dope.He struggled for a name, andhad to bite back a cry of misery when he remembered it, all itsassociations of shame.So far in Priddy’s world there had been twokinds of drug-dealer.One was the Kit model, who would buy you somepills as a present and spend the rest of his life regretting it.The other type was Baz Dingwall.
Priddy trailed him slowly up the stairs.Baz, in the alleybehind the Penzance cinema.Waiting round the corner when Priddygot off a late-night bus, or came into town for a few drinks withKit and the lads, or tried in any other way to enjoy himselfwithout getting wasted.Priddy didn’t blame Baz.The option hadbeen open each time for him to walk straight past.But thatgreeting—oi-oi-oi,Priddy-boy!—was the call of a merchant to awell known customer, the one who would stop and shift his weightlongingly from leg to leg while Baz listed his wares and the otherboys walked on without him.Not Baz’s fault.Priddy had just likedto be high.
It wassuch a nice alternative to constant bloody low.“So,” Baz calledback to him, continuing a stream of chatter he’d maintained sincewalking through the door, “how’s life treating you up in your towerhere, Prid?Long time no see, and when Huddy Jones blew throughtown the other day, I couldn’t help but think of you.”
Why hadPriddy let Baz in?Huddy was another type of dealer again, too highup the food chain for Priddy ever to have met him.The dealer’sdealer, the one who drove the crack-wagon, the supplier to all thelittle peddlers like Baz from Zennor to Angarrack.Huddy broughtthe good stuff, in bulk.Baz ushered Priddy into his own quartersas if he owned the place.Once inside, he took a foil-wrappedpackage out of his pocket and laid it on the table.“Nothing butthe best for you, my son.Pure, sweet and simple.”
Priddycould smell that it was.Top notes like sunshine, and then adescending scale through hot greenery to deep, furry musk.“Thanks,” he said distantly, holding on to the back of a chair.“Sorry you’ve had the trip out here, but I’m not doing that stuffanymore.”
Baz let out a low whistle.He took a slow circuit of Priddy’slittle world, hands in his pockets.“Whatareyou doing these days?Where’sthat mate of yours—Kip, wasn’t it?”
“Kit.He went to university.You’re gonna have to get out ofhere, Baz—I’m expecting the police round anytime.”
“The police?”Baz chuckled richly, propped his biker boots onthe table beside the packet of dope and folded his arms.“What’veyou been up to, then?”
“Nothing.They’re investigating something else.I really don’twant to be sat here with you and twenty grams of dope when theyarrive.”
“Twenty five.Don’t worry, only half of it’s for you—tailoredto your budget, which I know is never large.”Baz settled morecomfortably into his chair.Clearly he thought the police tale wasjust Priddy’s weak-willed attempt to get rid of him.“About towatch a movie, were we?I’ve got nothing better to do tonight.Chuck us a brew from the fridge and I’ll keep youcompany.”
“I don’t have any.”
“What, beer?Are you joking, mate?What kind of wagon are youon?”
A bumpy one.I’m belly-down on the flatbed, nothing to holdon to.That pot smells like paradise.“Baz,please.”
“All right, all right.Make us a cup of tea and I’ll be out ofyour hair.”
SoPriddy put the kettle on, like Polly in the old song.He made teafor both of them, then returned to the armchair by the TV and triedto pretend Baz wasn’t there.He set the DVD to play and staredblindly at the screen.
The film was much, much better than its name and the coverimplied.The plot began to grab his attention despite the combineddistractions of Baz, the dope and his cravings.The lovely,helpless mermaid, imprisoned in her tank by a group of travellingshowmen who can’t believe they’ve laid hands on the real thing,turned out not to be helpless at all.Nor was she lovely: not inthe end stages, when her submission to capture turned into acomplex passive hunting game that lured her captors out to sea as agrand feast for her waiting offspring.Her face distorted to arazor-mouthed skull.Her eyes became glowing slits.Priddy curledup in his chair.He thought about theSweet Roseand her crew.Five ofthem, three under eighteen, one of them a baby...
“Hoi.Are you gonna buy this shit off me, or what?”
Priddyhad almost managed to forget about Baz.He was surprised he’d satthe movie out.Then, guys like Baz had a good passive-hunting gameof their own.They could wait, and let time and rising hungers dotheir work.It was dark outside now, fog pressing cold flat handsto the glass.“I want you to leave.”
“No, you don’t.”Baz swung his legs down, folded his arms andstared at Priddy intently.“Look at you, man.You’re a friggin’wreck.Just imagine this sweet dope undoing all those chilly littleknots in your guts and your brain.”
Priddywas used to the automated light that began a high-beam sweep atdusk, making his eyrie creak as the lantern revolved.What hehadn’t yet encountered was the horn.The roar of it burst from theair and the walls around him, combination elephant and whale call,majestic and vast.For once he wasn’t the one who jumped hardest orfell off his chair.He watched Baz lurching to his feet with a grimsatisfaction.“Visibility must have dropped below the criticalpoint.”
“How bloody fascinating.Fuck’s sake, Prid—nearly burst myfucking eardrums.”
“You’d better go, then.I can’t switch it off.It’ll keep upuntil the fog clears.”
The howlcame again.Hagerawl sang in three-tone phrases.“Don’t be ahardarse,” Baz said into the reverberant silence.“Huddy wants meto sell this, all right?Truth be told, I owe him a few quid.Soyou can have ten grams of this for thirty.I can see that muchcrumpled up by your car keys over there.”
“That’s grocery money.And half of twenty five isn’t ten,Baz.”
Priddycaught his breath.He hadn’t spoken.The DVD player switched off.Fragments of reflected light from above them whipped through theroom, and then the horn cried out again.Merou stepped out of thevibrating air behind Baz and laid a hand on his shoulder.“There’sa special hell, you know.”
Bazwhipped round.“What?”
“A special hell.For those who put stumbling blocks in the wayof wandering feet.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
