Tink. Bloop. Tink .Bloop.

A loud hoot of laughter rose from behind the rusted dumpsters.

“Man, do you ever miss?” Brandon asked, slapping his spider-like limbs against the concrete until the crazy laughter ebbed from him.

On cue, Clint rolled a pair of coins up and down his left knuckles and with a deft flick of the wrist, both landed almost simultaneously in the tin of fetid water. Tailor made butts from earlier cigarettes floated like battleships on top. He did all this while reading.

The fading light forced Clint to give up the theatrics and he bent closer to the well thumbed tome lent against his bent knees, and began scribbling points in the margin, a slow smile spreading across his face as his eyes raced along the paragraph. He stroked the ornate silver pen, tracing the florid inscription and butterfly motif tenderly as he contemplated what he had just written.

Brandon’s hand darted out as if to catch something, only visible to him, collecting one of the numerous sticky notes protruding from the book. It plastered itself to the back of his hand, sending Brandon into a wild panic. He tried to shaking it off as though it was attacking him, legs kicking out with each desperate attempt.

“I told you don’t touch the fucking book,” Clint ripped it from Brandon’s hand, read the neat script and reapplied it to the apropriate page. “Touch it again and I’m going to beat the crap out of you.”

Brandon’s humour wilted into fear as he recognised the truth in his friend’s face despite the visual miasma confounding him. Clint looked at his watch, replaced an elaborately decorated bookmark and put the book away in a bag he kept inside his backpack. He stood and Brandon scrambled to his feet, hoping it was time to move on. Stretching, for dramatic appreciation rather than physiological relief, Clint grinned at Brandon opening a machine steeled balisong knife with an expert flourish, moving it about his body in lightning fast movements, creeping closer to Brandon.

“Don’t do that so close to my face. You’re freaking me out.”

The tip of the knife stopped a breath away from Brandon’s pinpointed irises.

“Doesn’t take much, even when you’re not tripping”

“Can we go back down-town. Just for a bit – I hate all this waiting round.”

“Boring you am I?” Clint continued with the knife show.

“Neah. Just that you know…she.. the thing is still here. There.” He pointed to an empty spot a few yards from the dumpster.

“You paid for the trip – so stop whining.”

“She’s staring at you. I don’t think she’s happy.”

“Keep it to yourself.”

“I’m serious man. We went too far yesterday. Cutting up that professor. She was there, she didn’t like that.”

“I don’t give a shit what your screwed up mind says you see,” then he smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. With a better haircut and manicured shave, Clint could be the new face of a men’s magazine. “Lets see if she likes what I have planned next huh?”

“Don’t go messing with my head man.” Brandon shifted uncomfortably and rubbed at his temples. “She’s still looking at you. She’s not happy. I don’t think we should go pissing her off.”

Clint pointed the knife back at Brandon.

“She’s not real. She can’t care what we do. It’s a trip dude.”

“I think I’m on a downer…. Can we go back down-town. I need some more stuff.” Brandon rubbed his arms. “Max says he has some easy jobs for us; ya know some quick cash. Come on man. All this waiting round. S’not natural.”

“Fuck Max.” Clint took a second to put the knife in his pocket then finding his balance booted the can full of butts and small change. “Trouble with you is you have no vision.” Clint ground his finger into the centre of Brandon’s forehead. “We got it sweet here. No investigations. No-one else trying to muscle in on our gig. No Max taking half of what we grab, telling me what and how to do it.”

Brandon bit his lip and allowed his oily long hair to drop into his eyes. “You’re right. You’re always right. I know ya only lookin’ out for me. It’s just that Max says this next job won’t have any heat. Be real easy. He’s goin’ to throw in a dozen tabs as well. You could sell your half.”

“Buddy, this here is our territory.” He motioned with pioneer grandeur, throwing a well toned arm around his friend’s scrawny shoulders. “Ours.”

Brandon started to shake and began scratching his arms again.

“I dunno.”

“Dude, you gotta get off that crap Max is feeding you. It’s messing with your head. Slowing your game. I need a partner I can rely on.”

Brandon pushed the hair out of his eyes and slicked it back. “P..P..partner?”

Slapping him lightly on his back, Clint grinned. “Sure. All the greats had help.”

“I guess the girls are prettier here. And untouched till we get to them.”

He sniggered and scratched at his crotch.

____

Purchase The Red Book to read “Kraepelin’s Child” in its entirety.  Official release is 1st December – pre-release orders taken as of 24th November.