Authors: Frederic Lindsay
The
room
was
small,
a
kitchen
of
sorts
with
a
sink
under
the
window
and
a
cooker
loaded
with
dirty
pots.
The
shape
of
it
put
into
Malcolm's
head
a
memory
of
his
brother's
flat,
his
brother's
poverty –
This
is
my
only
chance,
he
would
tell
Murray.
Don't
spoil
it
for
me.
When
he
turned
his
head,
the
bed
was
in
the
recess
where
he might
have
expected
to
see
it,
and
the
black
girl
Rafaella
across
it
with
a
sheet
thrown
over
to
cover
her
from
the
waist.
It
was
nothing
to
do
with
his
will,
it
was
automatic,
that
he
saw
the
nakedness
of
her
breasts
-
and
would
have
his
response
to
their
size
and
shape
as
part
of
what
he
felt
when
he
remembered
–
before
he
realised
what
the
stain
on
the
sheet
was
at
the
junction
of
her
parted
thighs.
In
the
stillness
of
her
face
only
her
eyes
moved
watching
Kujavia.
'Miss
Palamas
had
a
job
to
do,'
the
ugly
little
man
explained.
'She
was
supposed
to
be
very
good.
I
don't
like
monkeys,
so
I didn't
care
how
good
she
was.
And
she
wasn't
one
of
my
girls.
And
then
she's
not
good
after
all.
So
now
she'll
be
one
of
my
girls.
Even
if
I
don't
like
monkeys
.
'
He
picked
a
bottle
up
from
the
table.
It
was
a
wine
bottle
and
the
long
neck
stood
out
from
his
fist.
At
the
sight
of
it,
the
girl
whimpered.
'Even
a
monkey
can
learn.'
He
leaned
on
the
bed
with
one hand
and
bent
over
her.
'Because
she
wasn't
one
of
my
girls
then,
I
teach
a
little
lesson.
Only
have
a
few
friends
in
and
make
some
fun
for
them
.
'
Malcolm
had
risked
himself
for
this
girl
before
.
On
the Saturday
night
with
the
two
plainclothes
policemen,
'lovers'
quarrel?
‘You
go
home
,
sir
.
..
You're
seeing
the
young
lady
home?
Know
her
well,
do
you?
.
.
What
close
dose
the
..
.
lady
live
in
along
there?
The
number?
What's
the
name
on
the
door? ...
You
leave
the
young
lady
to
us.
We'll
see
her
home
..
.
Don't
give
us
a
hard
time
..
.
sir!’
‘
Joe!
He's
had
enough!
He's
had
enough!
Knock
it
off
you
daft
bugger!'
Clockwork
man,
he
had
marched
down
the
incline,
defying
them;
they
couldn't
treat
a
man
who
had
come
from
one
of
Blair
Heathers'
parties
as
if
he
was
nobody.
'I'll
see
the
young
lady
home,'
he
had
said.
The
younger
man
,
thin
faced,
sharp
nosed,
had
watched
him
and
grinned.
The
older
one,
beefy
and
smelling
of
drink,
had
stared
at
the
girl,
smacking
his
lips
as
if
tasting
something
sweet.
It
had
been
the
young
one
who
had
used
his
fists
and
then
his
feet,
shoe
caps
like
black
gleaming
hands
that
flew
at
him
as
he
curled
tight,
tight,
until
everything
that
was
black
flowed
together
and
the
voices
stopped.
–
This
is
my
chance,
he
would
tell
Murray.
Don't
spoil
it
for
me.
It
was
the
decisive
moment
of
his
life;
but
it
did
not
feel
as
he
lived
it
that
he
had
any
kind
of
choice
at
all.
He
had
thought
of
himself
as
greedy
and
had
dramatised
it
to
himself
as
an
adventurer's
greed
for
life
and
possessions.
In
this
squalid
place,
he
learned
that
his
greediest
need
was
for
something
as
shabby
and
uncertain
as
security.
–
This
is
my
chance.
But
he
tried.
'Mr
Heathers
would
never
tell
you
to
do
anything
like
that.'
Kujavia
did
not
deny
it
'Nobody
tells
me
what
to
do,'
touching
his
chest
with
the
tips
of
his
fingers.
'Mister
Heathers
is
a
rich
man.
But
there
isn't
anything
I
don't
know
about
women.'
He
showed
his
yellow
teeth
in
a
smile.
'Next
time
I
break
it
off
inside her.'
The
fat
woman
blocked
the
lobby.
She
did
not
move
aside
and
for
a
sick
instant
he
thought
she
was
trying
to
stop
him
from
leaving.
As
he
squeezed
past,
she
nudged
him
with
her
belly.