Zodiac's toy, John Jones [nonfiction book recommendations .txt] 📗

had had a lot worse, and felt tired and groggy, but after a few hours just lazing around the flat, his sobriety returned. He thought of the previous night, of Virginia, and the women he had tried to 'chat up', and thought perhaps there was potential there. Don't give up, he thought, keep going.

Not tonight though. He wanted maybe an early night, or at least no alcohol in his system for tomorrow's wedding. He was quite looking forward to it, having never been to one before and it would be nice to meet everyone. Still though, he guessed he would try and avoid 'Uncle Pete's' or 'Auntie Ivy’s' go-to question that is used universally, even when trying to chat someone up, besides 'What's your name?' is the question: 'What do you do?', or ‘what are you up to these days?'. It would be tempting to say: 'I'm up to a whole load of none of your fucking business'.

He was embarrassed to admit it, the truth. I'm a cleaner in a supermarket. I scrub toilets and put trolleys away and get paid a pittance, and what do you bleeding well do? Perhaps some preparation would be in order for when he was asked. Something to look good, as he would be meeting Wayne's family and he at least wanted to seem as good as he could be, even though his own family knew exactly what he was. They were hardly proud of him.

'Yes I've been thinking of going vegan for a long time now'. 'I love getting back to nature whenever I can'. 'I'm thinking of starting an animal rights campaign'.

For all he knew, he thought, Wayne could be the only one in the family who could be called bohemian. His family could all be 'hard-assed' meat-eaters who pump iron and box all day in the gym.

Fuck it, he mused. I'll just have to wing it.

A banging came on the door, and he guessed it was Lee. He can never knock normally.

"Ray!" he called, "open the door", and when he did, he walked in and into the bedroom, standing there looking at the weapons.

"I think it's time we shifted this lot. We need more customers". Ray came in.

"How?" he asked, "how do you get customers for weapons without the police knowing?"

"It's just word of mouth I think. They find out one way or another. We're probably going to have to remind people that there's weapons for sale. When was the last customer?"

"Days ago,"

"See, there's fuck knows worth of weapons here, and I think it's a lot, and they look new as well, and all the ammo, so we need to go out there and get some customers".

"'We' need to?" Ray asked.

"Yes, both of us, and we can split the profits. There's plenty of shady fuckers out there. All you need to do is tell them. Let them know we're open for business".

Ray looked confused, but Lee simply continued.

"We've just got to go out and tell certain people that we have weapons for sale and word of mouth should do the rest. There's a few people I know that go the local pub who I know I can trust not to say anything. I can get them to put the word out. I'll go there now, see if anyone I know is there. There's some people I know you can see".

"Lee I'm getting ready for the wedding".

"Really, how? how the fuck are you getting ready? The wedding isn't until tomorrow. Just fucking do it. All I'm asking is for you to go and tell them there's weapons for sale. How hard is that? Fucks sake Ray". He left the flat, returning a few minutes later with a piece of paper from a note-pad. On it were three names and addresses. He handed it to Ray who was sat on the sofa almost in a sulk.

"Go and see these, they're just people I know who might be customers, or they might put the word out. That top one there," he said, pointing to the name, "Owen Quinn, works for a night-club owner. He's like his right-hand man. A bit like what you are to me. Until someone better comes along you're my Blotto. Anyway, tell him, and he might tell his boss who might buy the lot. Nice fucking payday," he said, rubbing his fingers together to indicate money.

"I'll go and work on those fuckers in the pub. You just go to that address and let him know we're open for business, okay?" Ray was quiet, sullen. Lee stepped forward and leaned closer.

"I said okay?" Ray just nodded, avoiding eye-contact.

"Right, get on it today. And take pictures of the weapons on your phone to show them". Lee then left, and Ray crushed the piece of paper in his fist.

 

Outside it was cold and rainy, and a light wind blew across the town. Ray had to get a bus which stopped quite far away from the address, but he walked rather slowly to the destination, in no hurry, checking the map on his phone for direction.

He passed by a quiet fire-station, and crossed a road to where a narrow public footpath cut between a low wall, with overgrown bushes almost obscuring the entry. It would be easy to miss, but he walked along it, with more haggard bushes, weeds and low walls on either side.

A man who looked to be a vagabond, or tramp was coming the other way, and as he approached, placed a hand on Ray's shoulder and leaned in close.

"Are you looking for Owen Quinn, gangster wannabe?" he didn't wait for an answer. "At the end of this path on the other side of the road is a gym. He goes for a swim three mornings a week and is in there now. You'll find him on his own doing laps. Don't worry, you can just walk in. Go in the main entrance to the left hand corridor. Go to the end, turn left and through there is the main pool. I know this because I'm the water-bearer". Then he continued walking. Ray just watched him as he turned a corner. After a few more seconds, he took out the piece of note-pad paper and looked at the address. It wasn't a gym, but he decided to believe the man, or at least see if he was right.

Bloody zodiac, he thought. Nope, still don't believe. What else can it be other than coincidence? Nothing, he thought, and nothing joined coincidence standing on the slowly cracking thin ice.

When he emerged from the pathway, the gym stood as a large imposing building across the road, and Ray wondered if it contained other businesses and offices. Perhaps it did. He crossed over at the lights and walked through the busy car-park to the entrance. There was a queue at reception, but he simply walked in, guessing he could anyway because he wasn't there to use any of the facilities.

Following the vagabond’s directions, he soon emerged into the large swimming pool area, the odour of chlorine entering his nose. There were a few people swimming leisurely. A bored looking life-guard stood looking out of a large window. In the far left corner there was what looked to be an aquatherapy class. They were standing in the shallow end, arms raised, leaning to the side.

On the right side was a man on his own who looked to be doing lengths. That might be Owen, Ray thought, and waited for him to swim near enough to catch his attention. The man slowed down.

"Are you Owen Quinn?" Ray asked. The man just nodded. He looked a little older than Ray with more 'meat on his bones', and blue goggles, which he removed, then sat up on the poolside.

"Are you the weapons guy?" he asked, "show me what you've got".

"How did you kn..?" Maybe Lee called ahead. Ray took out his phone and brought up the photographs. Owen took the phone in his wet hand and looked at an image of a submachine-gun.

"No, sorry, I don't want your stupid weapons," he said rather loudly. A few people looked in their direction.

"Could you keep your voice dow..." but Owen continued, even louder:

"Tell Lee to shove his weapons. Tell him to fuck right off!" He then threw the phone into the water and laughed. "I'm the water-bearer," he shouted, then fell back into the pool and swam away.

A few more people looked in his direction, and the life-guard was walking slowly closer, hands behind his back. Ray sighed heavily, then turned and walked quickly out.

He didn't lose momentum out in the car-park. If I lose another fucking phone..! he thought, but then slowed to a halt and took out the piece of paper. He angrily ripped it in half and threw it. Now he couldn't remember where the other two addresses were. Fuck Lee, he thought, and really wished he could say it to his face.

Although Lee wouldn't be happy about him not visiting the other two people, he wouldn't be too pleased with Owen either, but that wasn't his fault. That would be between them. They can deal with it. The prospect of going back to tell him he had not done it was not something he was ready to face. He looked back to where he had thrown the paper. One was out of sight, and the other was being blown by a light breeze over the traffic. He spent a good five minutes looking around the vehicles, trying to find the one by the traffic, but they had blown away.

Perhaps he could tell Lee they were not interested. Or they were not in. Yes, that'll do. They were on holiday or something, or away for a few days.

He still didn't fancy the idea of going back to the flat yet though. Maybe Lee was still in the pub, or had brought customers back to the flat, so Ray decided on finding something to eat before making his way home.

He found a cafe and ordered a beef and vegetable pasty, deciding to sit down and eat it in the outside seating. When he came out he saw near one of the tables a woman with a buggy and a nearby child that looked upset.

"Well where did you leave it?" he heard her ask, but the little boy continued to cry. The mother looked exasperated. She turned and saw Ray.

"Excuse me sir," she asked, "you haven't seen a toy centaur, have you? My boy has lost it".

"A toy cen...no, sorry". The child looked around the area, when, at that age, a lost toy was a major crisis. Ray just sighed. A fucking centaur, he thought.

"Found it!" the boy shouted, lifting up the plastic toy he had found in his buggy.

"How did we not see it in there?" the mother asked. It was a rather large, cheap looking toy, the type found in discount super-markets. The man part of the horse held forth a bow with what looked to be a shiny nail as the arrow.

"Yay!" the boy cried, happy, and ran around with it as though it was a toy plane.

"Sorry mister," the woman said, smiling. The boy stopped before Ray and looked up at him. Ray was still looking at the mother. The child aimed the toy at him and pressed a button on the side of the horse's shoulder. The nail fired from the bow and hit Ray on the cheek-bone.

"Ow," he cried, stepping back. The nail fell to the floor. It drew a bead of blood and Ray put his hand over the pain.

Instead of saying sorry, apologising for her boy, the mother and child burst out laughing, the mother pointing, tears of joy in her eyes, the child in pleats as well, red-faced with laughter. Ray composed himself then stormed away. When the bleeding and pain had stopped, he calmed down, and found he still had a luke-warm pasty in one hand. He slowly ate it as he gradually made his way back to the high-rise.

He