Читать книгу UniteDead Kingdom - Stuart Irving Irving - Страница 7

“Jack!” Zan shouted across the high street. He knew it was unlikely that Jack would answer. His loss. The gentleman's agreement forged all the way back in Fresher’s Week had been the following; if either of them ended up with a 'munter' then the other must intercept to save their friend’s honour. Zan looked at Jack’s squeeze for the evening and shook his head slowly. The interception wasn’t supposed to be required every fucking night.

Zan sighed and straightened his posture as if getting ready for battle. Right, he thought, tonight’s booby prize appears yet again to be a gigantic, loud, shouty girl, wearing gigantic, loud, shouty clothing. Jack had pulled her in the kebab queue, for fuck's sake. What happened to ‘celebrating the end of their exams in style’ they agreed to in the club only two hours before?

“Jack!” Zan shouted again, going for a slightly quieter but more authoritative approach. It worked; Jack jerked his head away from her determined blubbery lips.

“Yeahhh, wha’ is it?” said Jack, his lower face smeared with bubble-gum pink lipstick. He also had a large dollop of kebab sauce on his shirt collar.

“I need to talk to you dude. You can carry on with your new girlfriend when I'm done, but it’s very important.”

“God dammit dude, it f-fuckin better be.” answered Jack, and then paused. He looked straight through Zan, his head slowly jiggling … then he jerked it right back and laughed crazily up at the sky. The enormous girl looked up at him and/or his kebab sauce stain with hungry eyes. Then their eyes met again and they resumed chewing at each other’s face.

Well, it’s true what they say about a man's big head is ruled by the little. It led Zan to a further baffling thought … how did Jack manage to get so hammered in such a short space of time? We matched pint for pint, shot for shot. The booze wasn't close to a sufficient excuse for such a scandalous display.

The girl looked miffed as Jack pulled away. And why wouldn't she be? She clearly wanted to get laid and Jack seemed willing (and possibly even able) to oblige. But even for two battered, temporary love-birds the location was awful. They were outside a kebab joint where all the locals, students and even some squaddies were queuing and had ring-side seats to the courtship. So, rather than the three groups fighting with each other as normal they had found a creative outlet: unleashing a wide variety of cat-calls and creative but crude hand symbology at Jack and his new lady-friend.

Jack finally wrestled himself away from the girl and came over, swaggering confidently at first, then almost completely losing his footing on a slight indent in a paving stone. Zan started to explain as the rum-soaked Jack approached.

“Look dude.” said Zan. “First of all - you're very drunk. Agreed?”

“What you talking about buddy, not a ch-chance,” said Jack. “I can probably still dive … and drive better than you.” He finally reached Zan. They stood facing each other a few seconds, Jack slightly swaying. Jack burped and blew it steadily in Zan’s face.

“Wonderful.” said Zan, turning his head away from the rancid, kebab-flavoured gas. “Just perfect. Look, Jack. Look at me! We have our agreement, remember? And because of that, right now I have to tell you this; your judgement is shot to hell. Do-you-get-what-I-am-saying?”

“Eh? No-one is s-shooting anyone tonight! And no-one j-judges … me!”

“Really?” asked Zan. “You’re really that fucko’d? Jesus Christ. Arrrghh. OK, basically, the girl you are trying to tune this evening - that’s right, over there - is terrible. I don't JUST mean she is obese, which she is. And, by the way, you allegedly don’t like that.” Jack turned and looked at her, squinting. She was giving the fingers to the jeering crowd in the kebab shop and bared her titanic buttocks at them, enjoying the jeers as if hearing only encouragement.

“May I present exhibits A and B?” said Zan.

They both watched her display with silent, quiet concentration.

“Last but not least, she has a God-awful screechy, whiny voice. I think even the neighbourhood dogs are struggling with it.”

“She’s not a dog!”

Zan sighed. “OK, yes, correct, she’s not an actual canine. She IS more or less a human. Actually … much, much more. C’mon man, look at her clothes, they must be hurting your eyes! And to top it off, she has a really nasty attitude. She was fighting with everyone in that club, even in the fucking kebab queue, which you somehow found appealing. She is a low-three, do you understand me? A LOW-THREE!” Zan showed three fingers in Jack’s shaky line of vision to reinforce the message. A brief flicker of light sparked deep down in Jack's blood-shot eyes and he suddenly looked up at Zan with a puppy-dog face.

“I th-think - I think I want to go home.”

“Hallelujah!”

Zan peered over Jack’s shoulder. “OK, lady, sorry, but I'll take care of Jack from here.” She stopped baiting the Kebab shop crowd and her belligerent gaze fixed on Zan as he put his hand on the back of Jack’s neck to lead him away.

“What? No fuckin way! Shut up! That is fuckin' bullshit, youuu’re a fuckin' FAGGOT!! Both of yers are fuckin’ FAGGOTS!!” She screeched this out loud for the whole street to hear; this made the kebab shop audience cheer even more. Jack stared back at this dramatic drunken scene and then quickly looked forward again as they strode down North Street.

“Oh shit, not again.” said Jack to himself.

“Yes indeed. I think you’re returning to Earth buddy. Let’s get you home …”

The next morning, aside from the usual barf-fest that accompanied their crazy nights out in St Andrews, there was a very subdued Jack.

“What's up buddy?” asked Zan

“Well … I’m just crazy hung-over. And a bit shocked by what happened last night. She was so aggressive! And then because I was so drunk I was totally on autopilot. Just like in your favourite movies - I was a fuckin’ zombie.” His voice trailed off and Zan saw him relax into a thousand metre stare. He'd seen this stare a couple of times before, always before some crazy suggestion for a weekend away or a plan to pull more women. Not this time though.

“Well, you know what, it’s made me think actually,” said Jack. “What … what if there was a way to control … let’s say, hardened criminals by using the active ingredient in booze - ethanol. Just like I was controlled last night. Just like being drunk, it would shut down a person’s higher functions. Their aggression would dissipate to nothing. And then their lizard brain could be controlled with simple reward-system conditioning whilst they’re stupefied by the ingested ethanol.”

“Dude, words fail me.” said Zan. “I think you’re still stupefied by ingested ethanol from last night. What the hell are you babbling about?”

“OK, hear me out. If a dangerous criminal was in a permanent state of dull stupor, without having to constantly inject them with expensive drugs, then you'd be able to switch the stupor on and off with nothing more than a stinking hangover. You could have him picking up litter in public parks and painting youth clubs walls unsupervised. Think about it, jails would be a thing of the past.”

“Eh look, I'm the maths guy; you're neurochemistry-guy, fine. But that doesn't mean what you just described makes any sense. Note carefully - I'm NOT saying I don’t understand the vocabulary or because it’s not my field of expertise or something. It just doesn’t make any sense because … well … the mechanics are just faulty. Ethanol cannot be used to pacify people as simply as that. Aren’t you forgetting the hundreds, if not thousands of drink-related deaths every weekend from accidents, violence and … undercooked doner kebab meat. Haha! Seriously, even if ethanol could be somehow injected into the brain and the effect switched on and off, that would still just cause more problems than it solves.”

“OK, I'm just thinking aloud here,” said Jack, holding both hands up in front of him. “Penicillin started from a mouldy piece of bread, right? It seems to me far-reaching solutions are often the simplest, most counter-intuitive ones. If we could isolate and nullify the aggressive aspects of ethanol's impact on the brain then we would have a cheap, pill-free pacifier for dangerous criminals or the mentally unstable. I mean, obviously, we'd have to do tests but we're talking about a multi-billion dollar drug here!”

“Oh come on, if it was that simple, someone would have already done it!”

“No, no, don’t you see?” Jack pleaded. “No-one’s done it because it’s dangerous research and could mess-up or probably zap someone's brain entirely.”

“We'll it's words like 'zap' that make me worried.” said Zan, turning his head back to the TV. “I know you’re a bit of a brainiac, and I don’t care how your finals went; you still don’t fully understand the brain’s chemistry. Nor does anyone for that matter. Not yet anyway.” Jack went silent. His already thin lips narrowing as he looked at Zan through his hangover daze.

“Zan, don't do that. Don't dismiss me out of hand. Do I need to remind you I was picked for University Challenge not you—”

Zan groaned. “Really? This again? Here we go; your answer to every debate … Jack the intellectual master of the universe and yet somehow, he still can't handle his fucking drink. Why don't you have something to eat and get over your hangover and stop being such a fucking … evil genius douche-bag. Or maybe just buy a white cat to stroke and be done with it. In fact just go have a stroke full stop. If it stops you ending up with another swamp monster it can’t be bad. I’m going to archery. See you later.”

“…” Jack began but stopped. Zan felt a cruel sense of spite that Jack, whilst by far the smartest guy he had ever known - including every hot-shot researcher in the science faculty - was still waylaid by a jibe about his drinking or his ability with girls. There was no way he was thinking his way through those two brick walls. It felt good seeing his ego knocked down to size.

Zan smirked as he started to walk way. He turned at the doorway to look back and the smirk quickly faded from his lips. Jack now looked serene; not all puffed up and frustrated like usual. His eyes had a calmness that he didn't much like …

Zan’s eyes closed as he remembered how he looked back then and opened them to return to the present day. He gazed at the array of electronic lights scattered around his otherwise pitch-dark bedroom and the call waiting symbol on his arm with Jack’s name next to it.

With the thoughts of their last meaningful interaction years ago still filling his head he looked at the ceiling, eyes refocusing on the drone-cam. The riot had become more like a human banquet. He peered at the name buzzing on his wrist, Jack’s third call in a row. He tried to steel himself to answer and face the awkwardness. Was that last hangover-inspired argument after their finals really the last time they talked? Some stupid blow-out fuelled by binge drinking and a bad taste in women. It had been nearly thirteen years since they’d spoke a word. Well, here he was again. This had better be good …

“Yes, hello Jack.”

“Hey Zan.”

Silence.

“Long time eh?”