Living Hell

By Lisa Scullard

Post-adolescent grunge fiction... Enter, one teenage blackmailer, one troubled band frontman, one questionably unresolved suicide, and an alternative religious history, for an irreverent and unpredictable swipe at youth culture, and the power of the small-time Media.

As the town's most notorious blackmailer, 19-year-old Kim Blackshields has plenty on her plate. Unscrupulous journalists trying to rummage through her stuff, two best friends and blood brothers whose main hobby is tapping phones - even in cohorts with the local police - and a younger brother also into blackmail, whose friends seem to think she's an easy target. And the small matter of the Halloween fiasco...

When the youth club Halloween event has to replace the live band at short notice, Kim tracks down The Hellraisers to step in, fronted by the charismatic, Harley-riding Alastair Brash. Who manages to live up to their name.

Not that anyone's complaining. The youngsters of Jericho already know far too much about explosives and burying things under concrete, and day-to-day Satanism is a way of life - even if no-one practises much these days (there's always the goat pinata on Black Mass to look forward to, at least). There's just an ongoing drama in the local Press about an unresolved 'suicide' of a young model, and who they're likely to pin the blame on.

But when the Halloween party ends violently and abruptly, and Alastair disappears leaving behind a large puddle of blood, it looks like there's more to this town than just nosey hacks, dodgy old videotapes, and blackmail...

Contains adult humour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Scullard
• Release date: Apr 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458028464

Lisa Scullard

Writer, and stuff :) Likes Iron Fist shoes/clothing and Hell Bunny, Depeche Mode covers and remixes, Chinese food, Barbie (not so much in her puppy parlour phase), Holst's Planets Suite, graphic novels, ginger nut biscuits and Prince Harry - in any given order or combination.Awarded 'Honourable Mention' in the 2013 Jeffrey Archer/Kobo/Curtis Brown Creative 100-word Short Story Challenge, for the flash fiction 'Performance Car' published in Kobo’s free promotional contest anthology eBook along with the final round entries, prior to London Book Fair, April 2013.As well as zombie parody and literary satire written as Lisa Scullard, now writes romance under the pen-name Lauren Boutain (guaranteed no zombies - yet) :)

Book preview

LIVING HELL

© Lisa Scullard 1990/2010

Smashwords Edition

Living Hell

© Lisa Scullard 1990/2010

Category: FICTION. Any similarity to real persons or events is coincidental.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Cover design by Lisa Scullard

Also by the author:

THE ZOMBIE ADVENTURES OF SARAH BELLUM

TALES OF THE DEATHRUNNERS series:

DEATH & THE CITY: Book One

DEATH & THE CITY: Book Two

Also in combined format with bonus screenplay:

DEATH & THE CITY: HEAVY DUTY EDITION (eBook only)

THE ZOMBIE CHRONICLES OF OZ:

THE TERRIBLE ZOMBIE OF OZ (with L. Frank Baum)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Mostly I have to thank Simon Spanton, who was very encouraging back in the days when this was first written, when at the time he was working under PanMac – and although probably doesn't recall it now, or the sequel I was struggling with at the time, he gave me a lot of confidence to research the writing business, and practise a great deal. It made me want to learn more as an individual and gain life experience to have as my perspective before attacking a big project again, and he also reassured me that the humour was a good thing. And I've stuck with the humour ever since, even where the experience has been lacking.

I'd also like to thank Transworld Publishers, and Sir Terry Pratchett, for running their novel contest in 2010, which had me metaphorically looking under the bed for old vampire hobbit porn to submit (thankfully there wasn't any) and dusting this off instead. It was worth the wait to read it again and think to myself, not bad for age 18...

And a massive thanks to my brother Paul, who was my first reader and enabler, who brought home portable computer equipment for me to write this on before such a thing was available to the general public, and still is the most encouraging creative individual to have had the privilege to grow up with.

I'm still proud to be part of such an inspiring family :)

BIOGRAPHY

Having written 'Living Hell' as just a teenager, and feeling like it was the social equivalent of winning a game of solo Monopoly, L. Scullard subsequently went on to train as a motorcycle mechanic, volunteered in the mental health community, worked in a supermarket deli immediately followed by a biker pub, became a single parent on holiday, started a Physics & Engineering degree, got employed as a nightclub bouncer, dealt with some very messy First Aid incidents, trained as an ITEC holistic therapist, and moved on to work in bank staffing for the NHS. Throughout which she wrote some more, including screenplays. She did various martial arts on and off for twenty years - until she decided there was nothing new to learn, with hitting pads and wielding wooden swords getting just a bit boring.

She does not have a husband, although one who enjoys housework and washing cars would be handy, and is unlikely to show you her tattoos.

For more random information & archives:

http://lisascullard.wordpress.com

http://voodoo-spice.blogspot.com

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

DAY ONE

DAY TWO

DAY THREE

DAY FOUR

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

When I was first submitting this manuscript back in 1990, everyone seemed to love it, and the only thing I didn't understand was why they were suggesting I should rewrite it to fit either 'adult' or 'teenage' markets. Because I was a teenager myself at the time, and writing for my own reading age...

One for Caitlin. Too grown-up by half...

Day One.

Kim!

The dark girl did not respond, other than to turn the page of The Nihilist, Jericho's most popular broadsheet controversial. The front-page headline, bold black type, read THE GIRL WHO HAD EVERYTHING AND CHOSE TO END IT ALL: WHY DID SHE DO IT?

KIM!

I'm busy! she shouted back in a muffled voice.

There was a creak outside the cupboard, and the door was wrenched open. Kim looked up sharply in annoyance, taking her pen-torch out of her mouth.

I said I was busy!

Liar. The spiky-haired youth snatched the paper and swiped her across the head with it. She ducked instinctively and it missed her by centimetres. What are you doing in here, you skyver?

Creative research. She gave him a black look. He managed to ignore it.

Well, save it for later. Come and sort your cousin out - he's got a mental block of excitement and he's battering himself to death on it.

I expect the band's cancelled again. Kim made a grab for the paper but he held it out of reach. She stared at him mutinously, but he equalled her in that at least.

Oh, all right. She uncrossed her legs from how she sat lotus-style, got up and stretched, flexing her cramped joints. Where is he?

All right, Adam, she began. Better make this a good one. You look like you've seen the face of Satan in your cereal.

The figure in the tie-dyed shirt turned from where he had been banging his head against the wall by the telephone. He presented them with a face that looked as though it had seen Armageddon. Or, at the very least, had heard about it on the telephone, which was more likely.

Well? Tobias demanded.

It's the band! Adam exclaimed, stone-coloured eyes round with alarm. They've CANCELLED!

Told you so! Kim sighed.

Kim was one of those peculiar people who knew everything, and spent half the time denying it. You could tell just by looking at her.

Is that all? Tobias shook his head exasperatedly. We were beginning to think it was a men-in-white-coats situation. Let me get to the phone and I'll cancel the padded taxi I just ordered.

I never liked them anyway, Adam revealed, calming down with a sudden completely characteristic change of attitude. Bad for anyone's credibility - hiring a band called The Sherbet Lemons.

They were your idea, Tobias reminded him mildly. Adam ignored him.

Get another band, Kim told him.

But there aren't any! Adam wailed, resorting to his former more familiar panic.

BANDS.

Kim ran a black-lacquered fingernail down one of the many columns in The Nihilist. Amongst the embarrassing cartoons and ads that weren't small enough, usually headed IMPOTENT? were a surprising number of people trying to break into the entertainment world, although nobody had yet told them they were in the wrong place.

Jazz, Kim read R 'n' B, folk, Christian...

Not at my party, you don't, Tobias advised, with feeling. He was known for being quietly pious. Someone on the JYMSAC payroll had to be. Find some proper bloody music.

Only kidding, Kim grinned, turning the page. There's a group here called Candyfloss.

No. No more sugary poufs. And no girls.

All amounts to the same thing, doesn't it? Kim asked.

Sexist, the Australian girl across the room grumbled. She was trying to pin up some bunting, teetering suicidally on the stepladder in a pair of impractical high heels.

Only 'cause we're not letting you sing, Angela.

What's wrong with my band, I'd like to know? she queried crossly.

I didn't know you advertised in here, Kim. Adam was reading the facing page of The Nihilist. Kim gave him a single look and snatched the page out of his reach.

Here's one, she said quickly before he could make further comment. 'Loud obnoxious heavy metal for all occasions. Also practical jokes and vendettas carried out to your specifications.'

What's their name? Tobias asked shortly.

It says 'The Hellraisers,' Kim replied. That's funny...

What?

No phone number. Kim checked the previous page in case she had made a mistake. No anything. She looked up sharply. Did you take a page out of here, Adam?

No. Adam looked convincingly innocent.

They were attempting to organise a Halloween party in aid of the Jericho Young Minions' Satanic Association Club, and it was proving to be as easy as a trip to the dentist's without the mushrooms. They had use of the 'Elizabeth the First Martyr' town hall, courtesy of Mayor Crowley's office, and all the volunteer help they needed - but no band.

Hey, guys. It was the youth club leader and school counsellor, Dean Cipher. He put down the cardboard box he was carrying, dusted off his hands and sat down with them. Why all the inaction and long faces?

The band's cancelled again, Adam informed him gloomily.

Can't you lean on them a bit?

No. It's for good this time. They don't want to do the party. Apparently they're cutting back on the Sabbath school gigs circuit to head for the big time.

Can't you do something, Kim? he prodded her.

I don't owe you any favours, she replied acidly. Kim never hid her dislike for certain people, whether they were bigger than her or not. Besides, I already told you. Someone's leaning on them already from the opposite direction.

Do you think they've been warned off? Angela queried, intrigued.

No, I think they've had a better offer, that's all. Kim turned back to the article she had been reading earlier. Don't blame them, personally...

So? Dean looked from one to the other. What are you going to do? I can't help you - I've got enough to do.

I've got a band, Angela announced brightly.

Tobias groaned.

Angela, who wants to hear about World Peace and rainforests sung A Capella by a group called The Horny Wallabies at a Halloween party? Nobody's going to take you seriously.

It's topical, she said defiantly.

It's also bad taste. Kim held up the front page. Michelle Styles was an Earth freak.

It can be a tribute, can't it?

Sorry. I'm not paying tribute to a successful suicide attempt.

Have a bit more respect, Kim, please, Dean urged. But she is right, Angela. People are coming to this party to enjoy themselves - not to be reminded of the unpleasant things in life.

It's a good thing The Sherbet Lemons aren't coming, then, Kim remarked cheerfully. Tobias pinched her just above the elbow, guaranteed to leave a bruise.

Dean spread his hands.

I wash my hands of the situation, he sighed. It's up to you lot. As I said, I've got enough work to do.

Don't strain yourself, Adam called after him sourly as he picked up the box again and strode away. Have you seen him do anything useful?

You're not much better, his cousin reminded him.

All right, you two. Tobias got to his feet. Let's see how you do at finding another band in the next eight hours.

It was Kim's turn to dial. She scanned the columns of the newspaper with a long exhalation that signified near-defeat. Almost every ad for available bands now had a red cross through each.

As a sudden afterthought Kim turned to the back page and dialled the editorial offices.

What are you doing? Adam hissed. She waved her hand at him, shushing him into silence.

"Nihilist offices Ned speaking how's your day so far?" a voice answered all in one breath.

Can I speak to Philip Inkpen, please? Kim inquired.

He's rather busy at the minute may I say who is calling?

Kim Blackshields.

Just putting you through, Kim.

Cheers.

She only had to wait a few seconds before the connection was made, twisting the spiral cord round her finger.

Miss Halloween herself, as I very nearly live and breathe! the new voice greeted her. How's my day so far?

Kim liked Inkpen as much as she liked the unubiquitous youth club leader. Unubiquitous meant that he was nowhere at once instead of everywhere. Both gave her the same impression of greasiness and self-centred omnipotence. But at least Philip was always ready to talk business as far as she was concerned - and willing to pay for it.

Useless, Stinkpen. Forget it.

Can't blame me for trying. How's business?

None of yours for a start, she told him amiably. What about you?

Likewise, I'm afraid. We've still got investigators out on the Michelle Styles case.

I know. I've had to change my locks twice to stop your little leeches going through my stuff.

Well, they do have rather a free hand, you know.

You can tell them if I happen to catch them in my property again they won't HAVE any hands, free or otherwise. Michelle's not the only person I've got stuff on.

Okay, hint taken. To what do I owe the pleasure?

We need a band tonight for the youth club party.

Ah. Philip paused. The Lemon fellows cancelled on you, did they?

What do you know about that? Kim picked at a smudge of dirt on the dial, absently aware as always of leaving fingerprints on things.

No more than the average bookie. Do you know what the odds are that they would have cancelled before the party?

They did. Twice.

Seven to five. She could almost hear him grinning down the telephone. Want to know how we worked that one out?

No thanks. I can imagine those odds were subject to insider influence. Kim gave up on the smudge of dirt before risking giving in to a minor obsession with it.

We're trying to work out the odds on the next suicide. You know, how, when, where, who...

Kim sighed. Phil would gamble his granny on a five hundred to one long shot, but that was because he always won. He would place a bet on anything.

What makes you think there'll be a next one?

Don't be local, Kim. As always she found that remark unreasonably insulting. Suicide is like smoking or drugs. It's imitative. Want to know what your odds are?

Depress me. It's been a long time since I went to Sabbath Mass. I'm not the religious type.

Twenty-five to one, taking into account that you don't smoke or do drugs. But also taking into account your level of stress. Makes you a stab in the dark, so to speak.

Hmph. Kim decided she didn't like the sound of that. You're preaching to the knife. Don't bet on it.

I just might, now that you mention it.

What are the odds on you meeting with a messy accident involving a stab in the dark in the not-too-distant-future?

Fairly safe, considering the more underhanded methods my rivals seem to adopt. He did not sound as if he were joking. It's altogether more likely that I shall receive something interesting in the post.

But I've already done that, Kim complained.

Okay, pleasantries over with. Have you tried all the bands in our advertising column?

Yes, and they're all booked or in hospital or prison or both. She licked her finger and tried to wipe off any smudgy evidence onto the leg of her jeans.

Are you sure?

Well, there is one more, but there's no number to ring in their ad.

I know which one you mean. Phil spoke slowly, and she could hear him tapping his desk with a pen. The Hellraisers - am I right?

And not once too often, Kim observed moodily.

I can get hold of them if you want, he continued in the same thoughtful tones. They do come with a warning, though.

Fantastic. What is it? Here it comes, she thought.

Don't advertise their name outside. They've got a few rivals around.

Who hasn't?

That's not the only thing. One of them is one of the Brash twins. Have you ever met them?

No.

I'm not sure but I'm almost certain it's the American one. He's the one that seems to attract all the trouble. You know what they did, don't you?

Just about. They've got quite a reputation.

Still interested?

Still desperate, Kim corrected. Phil, I'd hire Mary the Damned Queen of Scots if she could sing. Even being able to sing isn't mandatory right now.

Suit yourself. I'll get hold of one of the band for you. Where are you at the minute?

I should be at the town hall all day. But I wouldn't think about snooping around my place if I were you - there's somebody there.

I believe you. I'll see what I can do.

Thanks, Phil.

Cheerio.

Kim hung up quickly and flung the paper at Adam.

If anybody turns up you-know-what, she said hurriedly, grabbing her coat. They're hired. Whatever.

Where are you going? Adam demanded as she pulled it on any old how.

"Back to my place before the leeches from The Nihilist get there!"

She skidded up to the glass-fronted double doors and swung the right-hand one back before struggling through. Jumping the flight of steps at the entrance, she landed rather awkwardly, but recovered quickly enough and started to run downhill.

Going somewhere in a hurry, Kim? somebody on a bicycle called after her with a grin.

You're not wrong about that, Charlie, she muttered, skidding round a corner and pelting down the next road.

Charlie grinned again nastily, adjusting his dark glasses.

I didn't think I was.

Another figure in a baseball cap and shorts dropped from the tree overhead, holding a toolbag.

What's up with her?

You should know, Sparks. Charlie turned his bike around and jerked his thumb up at the telegraph pole that merged with the tree. You're the one who's been listening.

Oh, yeah. Sparky scratched his head beneath his cap. Who's next on the hit-list?

Charlie gazed at the banner outside the town hall thoughtfully. JYMSAC HALLOWEEN PARTY.

Let's do Toby Savage.

Er... Earwig Road.

How appropriate. Charlie set off slowly, with Sparky trailing behind kicking pebbles, and the not–too–infrequent tin can.

Charlie and Sparks were infamous in Jericho. It wasn't that they were Christians, or heavy drinkers, or horrendous drivers, or voracious pursuers of women - it was just that they knew all the people who WERE, and knowledge was a profitable business. There was nothing you could hide from them. It was said that the only way to survive the appearance of these two on your doorstep or tampering with your phone lines was a change of name, moving house, plastic surgery, and preferably a sex-change. Just declaring yourself born-again Satanist didn't cut it anymore, unless you were trying to improve your public profile in certain Southern U.S. States. Angela would be the sort to change her name to Demona, for example, claiming that faith had re-named her, to compensate for whatever formerly misguided ways of hers had led the pair to rummage through her sock drawer.

Kim took an illegitimate short-cut between two houses and emerged in the street parallel. She was still two roads away from where she lived. It was debatable as to whether she would make it before Inkpen's sewer-rats - she was on foot and they would most likely have something a bit faster.

As she ran for the end of this road she saw them. A large black car crawled leisurely past the junction. Swearing under her breath, she dashed across the road and cut through the row of houses opposite, jumping a hedge and ducking under a washing line. She ran straight across the next street and into yet another front garden.

This house had a tall wooden gate at the side, barring her way. Temporarily forgetting that these gates usually had a purpose, she grabbed the top and scrambled up.

She was greeted by a frenzied barking. A berserking Doberman bounced up and down in fury at the foot of the gate.

Kim curled her lip. She was not afraid of dogs, but was still not stupid enough to tackle a strange one. Instead she climbed from the gate to the wall that divided this house from the next, well over six foot high like the gate, and walked along the top of it while the panting animal followed her progress with slavering anticipation. Disappointingly she reached the end without so much as a falter, and dropped down on the other side of the fence at the end of the tiny back yard, pausing only to give the dog a childish raspberry of triumph. It stood staring at the blank fence in disbelief for a few seconds before breaking out into a tantrum again.

Kim shot over the second front lawn and hurdled the hedge just as the black car pulled up on the other side of the road. She ran straight across diagonally and slid to a halt in front of the two figures that had just alighted from the vehicle.

Aaahh!

Her yell was of anger but theirs was of fright. She grinned and suddenly looked disturbingly like Charlie, with whom she had a little too much in common.

Bet that was a shock, eh? I said there was somebody here. She laughed at their horrified faces, and had an idea. Hold it just a minute. She started looking in her pockets. I know I've got one in here somewhere...

The effect was immediate. The pair composed themselves at once.

Look, Kim, one of them began diplomatically. Phil sent us to see if we could PURCHASE some of your material...

Yeah, pull the other one hard enough, it comes with Hell's bells on, she chuckled. Did you bring that lockpick as payment, then?

He whipped it out of sight.

Of course not.

Good, because I've already got one. And I've got one of those, in case you were wondering. She pointed as the other fellow struggled to conceal what looked like a crowbar.

We've got money. He felt in his pocket and brandished an envelope. The other one was shocked.

Put that away, Norris! We're not supposed to show her!

How much? Kim demanded.

Five minutes later they were getting back into their car.

Sorry it's not exactly what you were hoping for. Kim didn't sound very sorry, hanging over the passenger door. But there's just some things you can't afford with that kind of money.

We'll remember that, thank you.

Good. She stood up. You can also remind Phil that when he wants to buy something he should go through the proper channels.

We will. I mean, he will. They drove away abruptly in a cloud of dust and confusion.

Kim watched their retreat with folded arms. There must be something she could do to protect her flat and belongings from these people…

Across the road the Doberman started barking frantically again, and a voice rose above the sound in agitation.

It's ME, you stupid great tosser...

Kim smiled.

What? the man demanded in answer to the knock at his door, baffled upon opening it to find a young lady outside. She did not beat around the bush.

Do you want to sell your dog? Kim asked, tapping the envelope she had just acquired meaningfully.

As it turned out, the man was happy to sell his dog. He was so happy he threw in thirty-six tins of K-9, the wicker bed, the restraining chain and even the scummy teddy-bear it liked to practise on. Practise what exactly, Kim decided to wait and see, rather than request the lurid details. She also avoided looking too closely at it for the anatomical evidence.

My ex-girlfriend bought me that dog as our anniversary present, he told her cheerfully as she attached the end of the chain to its collar, previous to leading it back across the road. The other things were loaded into his wheelbarrow.

What did you get her? Kim inquired out of form.

Pregnant.

Tosser was released into Kim's basement yard. It was well below the level of the pavement and surrounded by iron railings. The other residents of the house were in no danger of encountering the newcomer as their means of entry was up the steps to the front door, not down into the yard. Tosser's belongings were locked in the small shed under the front steps.

He can thrash around down there as much as he likes, Kim said in satisfaction. He seemed contented at the time to nose around his new surroundings.

You're lucky he doesn't like doing his business in his home, otherwise he'd stink the place out, the man informed her garrulously, leaning on the railings to watch his ex-pet. You just have to let him out two or three times a day and he runs up to the golf course.

That's easy.

I used to hope that one day maybe he'd meet some lady dog and wouldn't come back, but he always does. The man picked something out of his teeth, regarded it absently and then flicked it away. What do you want him for, anyway?

Guard dog.

The man chuckled.

Oh, he'll do that all right.

There was a squeak of brakes behind them.

What've you got down there, then? Charlie queried. Sparky was sitting on the handlebars with his toolbag in his lap.

Anti-landmine tank, Kim replied smugly, turning away to go back to the town hall. Charlie craned his neck to see down into the yard.

Christ, he managed to comment.

What are we supposed to do now, Smartarse? Sparky wanted to know. Charlie thumped him.

Shut up.

Anyone call for me?

Adam looked up as Kim returned. He was drafting out a sign that read MUSHROOMLESS FRUIT PUNCH. No doubt that meant the underage kids would be bringing contraband mushrooms, as usual.

Somebody left a message for you. There was no sign of his earlier panic. Kim did not find this particularly surprising. Adam changed his moods more often than his underwear, of which she happened to know he kept quite a collection - not all of it his own.

What was it?

I don't know. There's a card or something over there on the notice-board.

She went to look. It was not the easiest of tasks as the notice-board was more crowded than a bigamist's wedding, but she spotted it fairly quickly because it was red.

She unpinned the card and read it through.

THE HELLRAISERS. 32, GALLOWS HILL, THE MONKEY PUZZLE, NORTH JERICHO.

If geography ever had anything to do with society, it was most clearly exampled in Jericho.

Parklands Satanic Boy's school was situated south of the capital itself, amongst the woodland and lakes in rural Kent. The most expensive housing was in the neighbouring areas, the sort with double garages complete with BMW and outdoor spotlighting. There were squash clubs, golf clubs, bridge clubs and badminton clubs.

The most horrendously up-market suburb was easily The Parklands, named imaginatively after the famous school. Residents of The Parklands, if not involved in one of their clubs, could be seen at the weekends during daylight hours walking their Great Danes / Poodles / Chihuahuas or running their neighbours' Poodles / Chihuahuas / Persians / children over in their BMWs / Toyotas etc. Satanic charity fairs did good business there, and Jesus freaks avoided the place.

And then there was North Jericho.

Where The Parklands was up-market, North Jericho was uphill. There was nothing bourgeois or classy about North Jericho, and the only clubs you were likely to find were bottles with the bottoms knocked out of them. It was a promising part of town that couldn't keep promises. You had Jesus freaks working quite happily in the Satanist charity shops, primarily to get their hands on free retro junk like obscure books and music. It's not like anyone got paid to work in charity shops, after all.

The worst part of North Jericho was undoubtedly The Monkey Puzzle, a paranoid's nightmare of a suburb so awful that pitying youngsters had been known to hang around the street corners selling pocket compasses, bottled water, and balls of string. The other youngsters kept things going by spending their free time switching the road names around. Nobody bothered with church on Sabbath around North Jericho, unless it was Black Mass and there were free mushrooms, toffee apples and fireworks for the kids. Only the immigrant communities went to sing at weekends, to hear readings from The Sacred Tome - Better The Devil You Know: The Proverbs & Sufferings Of Erasmus, and to sacrifice the pinata goat full of wine gums.

Gallow's Hill was the northernmost tip of North Jericho and The Monkey Puzzle. As its name suggested, it was the old scaffold site for executions in the days of piracy on the High Seas. Not that there were any High Seas around Jericho, but it was the inspiration for many a horror story in the North Jericho Infants' School. It was the poisoned tooth of The Monkey Puzzle; the utter depths to which a neighbourhood could sink, were it not for the simple contradiction that it was a hill.

Number 32 just happened to be right at the top.

What?

You found them, Tobias reminded her.

"The Nihilist did, you mean," she corrected him irritably.

Who cares? They're a band. We need a band. Go.

WE'RE all busy, Angela added unnecessarily, hardly glancing up from her magazine.

Kim stared from one to the other in disgust.

I'm surrounded by dictators! she muttered as she turned and marched out.

Better than being surrounded by just plain dicks. Tobias's parting shot followed her out of the door.

All right if I take your car, Dick? Kim called over her shoulder before wisely breaking into a run.

Tobias's car, a nightmare of fluorescent spray-paint on once reasonable black paintwork, was parked in the woods to protect it from vandals, and to preserve the retinas of any elderly citizens who would probably find such a violent visual assault fatal. You could unlock it with practically anything except its original key, but the ignition was more foolproof and could only be started with the handle of a teaspoon.

Kim unlocked the front door with one of the zip tags on her black jacket. Tobias had tried using the zipper of his jeans once and had got stuck, leading to an incident, which resulted in his now unfortunate blushing in the presence of police officers.

Forgotten your key?

Kim looked up sharply.

It doesn't have one, she replied automatically, as the figure stepped forward into the half-light and cupped