Jamie Tuck [Tuck - Playfair

Addison / PF FOR EBOOK / 257 Para lasninas Wednesday Walkin On Sunshine Ah Christ! Man! Jesus fuckin Christ! Billy Hash Brown stands braced with the hose inhis hands, the jet of water blasting into the red mush of humanmeat and hair, shattered bone and blood. Thats fuckin mingin! Hes alone on the stolen boats little wooden deck,like the cleaner on a scaffold after a clumsy execution. The brains that had exploded from the young ladshead stick together and try to cling to the thin slats like adropped strawberry mousse, resisting the water blast before,finally, sliding across the deck and over the side of the boat andinto the flat North Sea. Mingin. Somewhere inside Hashs own head, theres surprisethat the kids oxygenated brains werent grey like in thefilms. Blue, even.

He looks away. Man, he gags. Ah fuck. Man. Ah man. The pressure from the hose rocks the boat a little,sending ever-widening ripples out into the otherwise calm water.All the way home to North Shields.

One hundred and seventy sixnautical miles to the west of this wet nowhere. Theres only one other living human being in anydirection between here and where the hot yellow sky meets thesea. And two dead ones. Fuck, Hash groans. Me. More pieces of the boys exploded head scurry awayfrom the water jet and wash over the side.

Ah man, ah man. Im sorry son. Im so fuckin sorry.Ah man. I didnt, I didnt? A chunk of skull wont budge. Its the hippy kids fontanelle - his crown, thepart his adoring mother had smoothed and protected when he was ababy, her youngest son at her breast. Oh Jesus, Hash mutters, turning his face away fromthe mess.

Jesus fuckin Christ. That fuckin psycho. I didnt knowhed? How? It wasnt an accident. Billy! a hard mans voice shouts from highoverhead, aboard a second boat. The one theyd both arrived here on. Kirrin.

Except Kirrin really is more ship than boat. Atop-of-the-range fish-seeking missile. The little boat Hash is nowwashing clean of murder rocks gently in her shadow. Hash turns and creaks his head back on his neck tolook up, high overhead to the deck of the huge deep sea trawler.But all he can see is a man-shape cut from the ferocious yellowsky. He knows who it is though, he brought him here; Talbot, WadeTalbot. Kirrins Skipper.

Stop fuckin around man, he barks. Hurry up! Fisherman. Father-in-law. Killer. The two boats rock slightly from the power of thehose. Tethered by a thick rope, side-by-side and alone in theDogger bank fishing grounds in the open expanse of sea thatseparates eastern Britain from western Europe.

Hash cuffs his handover his eyes and again looks up Kirrins sheet metal wall, but theshape and its voice have gone. Fuckin psycho, he mutters. He returns to his duties, pointing the jet of waterat the big chunk of skull, it looks like the top of a crackedcoconut. It resists and then begins to roll, tumbling over, showingthe red insides then the brown hair on top, the red insides thenthe hair - red and brown, meat and hair - until it skitters overthe side and into the sparkling silver sea. Ah man! Mingin! Billy watches it float on top of the water,hair-side up to the burning sunshine like the kid it was part ofhad been for a cooling dive and was about to break the surface andsmile. Fish rise from the deep, feeding off the tastyunderside, moving it from side to side in little jerks.

Ah, man! He turns away, gagging on something his body thoughtit had long since digested - a packet of salt and vinegar crisps,eaten at four oclock this morning when he and Talbot had left thedock alone aboard Kirrin. A canny bag o Tudor for the journey.Hash isnt keen on eating before these trips, not trusting norliking the sea. Hash leans against the rail, the hose pumpingaimlessly over the side and into the sea. Fuck, he sighs. Me. He rubs his brow with the back of his hand.

And, for the first time since the two boats met onthe high seas eleven minutes ago, he tunes into his surroundings.Ears freed from the heavy blast and splash of theindustrial-strength hose. A radio on the deck is playing Walking On Sunshineby Katrina and the Waves. A radio station somewhere obviouslyreaches this far. Its crackly but loud. Im walking on sunshine, woh-oh, Im walking onsunshine, woh-oh. Im walking on sun-shine, woh-oh-oh - and dontit feel good! Aye, Hash mutters, leaning against the rail andlooking at the mess floating on the sea.

Feels fuckin grrrreat.Just ask this poor cunt. A smaller fragment of skull flips over on itself asHash turns and points the hose at whats left of the kids explodedhead. It skitters overboard and into the sea. Hey, alright now, and dont it feel good! Hey ... Fuck off! Hash says, and boots the radio over theside into the bloody water. Sploosh.

Katrina joins the house band from the Titanic underthe waves. Stupid fuckin Yank. Billy! Talbot screams from above. Up on Kirrins deck, Talbot pulls on the firehose. Pack it in! Yfuckin talkin to yself man. Talbot yanks it out of Hashs hands.

It whips up andblasts him from crotch to chin with a hard jet of water. Fucks sake, man! Hash grabs his balls. Theres a lot of power in thathose, he feels a sickness down where the wires from his nuts areplugged into his guts. Thatll fuckin do, kidda, thatll do, Talbot barksdown from the rail. Christ. Youre a right fuckin woman.

Talbot pulls the writhing spurting hose up over theside of Kirrins deck like a chopped anaconda. We need to get movin. You know the plan, kidda,right? Most of the meat and skull fragments and brains havegone overboard and Hash stands in a shallow film of bloodiedwater. Holding his balls. Aye, Hash looks out across the vast sparklingcornea towards home. North Shields.

Two urban words that spell paradise to BillyHash Brown. I keep headin west then drop anchor when I seeland. I get it. I get it. Its okay. Ive got it.

Okay right, undo that rope. Just keep headin westkidda, just keep headin fuckin west. Do yhear? The Tyne isdirectly west of here, even a spastic like you cant fuckin missit. West. Got it? West, Hash says, as he works at the stiff knot inthe rope that joins the two boats, releasing the small boat fromthe big trawler like a duckling set adrift of her mama. Fuckin west, I got it the first time.

The little boat drifts out of Kirrins shadow. And sun spills from the sky onto the little boatsdeck and onto the back of Hashs virgin white neck like moltensteel from a blast furnace. Talbot disappears and Kirrins engines roar intolife. The big trawler growls away towards home, the gapbetween them widening fast. Hash shuffles around into the wheelhouse and startsthe engine. It coughs then fires and farts.

A lawnmower next toTalbots Bentley. Fuckin shitbox! He pulls on the little black lollipop that is thethrottle, feeling for the power. This the first time hed everskippered a boat. Billy Hash Brown had never found his sea legs -never looked for them, to be honest. He wasnt here for thefish. Itisnt. Itisnt.

Its on top of a big E. His head starts to ache. Jesus fuckin Christ, he says. He turns the wheel. Kirrin has already steamed far away, shrunk to thesize of a toy boat in a bath, her twin engines daring the RoyalNavy to a race. Hash pulls the lever down hard and the stolen boatsengine starts to moan then grows to a grumble before settling onthe sound of a broken tractor heading up a hill.

Ah man, this is gonna take for fuckin ever! He spins the wheel round and around until the Wkisses the arrow - 270 degrees. West. And Hash is alone, utterly alone. Nobody around for mile after wet nautical mile. Only ghosts for company. Fuck! He needs to stop the thoughts forming.

He reachesfor his brown Kappa tracksuit top and shuffles around in thepockets. He pulls out a green packet of tobacco and his cigarettepapers. Trying not to take his eyes off that W in the compass. Hewrestles the cigarette together and reaches for his lighter. It always gives him a snigger. A woman in a bikinibecomes naked when you turn it upside down.