‘So are you going to tell us, then?’ David leaned forward, impatient to learn the cause of his friend’s bloodshot eyes since anyone who could do that sort of damage to him was obviously someone to avoid. Sad-case smiled slyly.
‘El Slobbo, my brother, caught me messing about with a World War Two Luger he won in a poker game last week. But I knew where he had it stashed.’ Derrick paled at the thought of his monster brother as Sad-case continued.
Unfortunately he’d jammed the pointed bit into the barrel at the same moment as El Slobbo staggered in drunk. By the time his huge knuckles slammed into Sad’s face for the second time, their father had appeared, discovered the previously secret gun and quickly administered some punishment of his own before confiscating it.
At least it had meant their mum didn’t get any more grief that night.
‘It was the sear.’ David informed him knowledgeably. He’d never actually seen a real gun, but could strip down (if only in his head) any and every currently used weapon carried by the entire British army. His stock of Guns and War, Soldier of Fortune, and Battlefield wounds (special colour edition) were the envy of the school. So much so, in fact, that some of the older boys had indicated their intention to tear off some of his more personal bits if he didn’t make them available for their collective perusal
‘Bout time he got a good smack.’ Where Sad’s extraordinarily large brother was concerned, they were in total agreement. He made the swimming pool’s enormous and vengeful janitor seem like a feeble girl in comparison.
‘Injubily.’ Derrick confirmed.
A companionable silence was broken by Derrick. ‘So are you going to tell us about it then? Your very own, actual star.’
There wasn’t much to tell. David leaned back into the gloom.
‘My mum saw the ‘ad’ on the back page of one of those weird magazines she gets every month. You know, the ones where you can buy ‘X’ ray specs, or shrimps that look like real people, or look at colour photo’s of film stars after their fiftieth face-lift.’ The others waited, their faces glowing with delight in the dim flame.
‘She filled in the form, bought a postal order, and sent it off. The photo got here a couple of days ago and the certificate thing is coming later.
‘So what’s it called?’ Derrick twitched with excitement. A real star.
‘Anything I want to call it.’
‘So, like, David’s Star? Sad-case suggested helpfully.
Derrick shuddered at the very prospect. As a keen astronomer and used to grand names like Ursa Majoris, or Canis Minoris, a star called David would be an immense intellectual let-down.
‘What about Davidus Majoris?’ That at least came close to satisfying his moral outrage.
‘Or Bigus Plonkus.’ Sad-case added.
‘Or Wettus Beddus.’ Derrick smirked.
‘Or...’
David took the only opportunity available to shut them up; he was embarrassed enough already by the childish present.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
This had been something mutually agreed upon months before. None of them would thump the metal sides of the van because the resulting vibration made it feel as if their fillings were about to jump out. Or make him fill his strides as Sad-case had rather more graphically explained.
‘Just shut up about it okay?’
The others subsided with knowing winks after rolling about the floor screaming, hands clasped theatrically over their heads to prevent their brains spurting out of their ears. There was enough fodder here for at least a week’s annoyance.
‘Come on, let’s go to the slaughter house.’ Derrick grinned. The thought of all that blood sloshing down the drain always made them want to hurl chunks, but was also something they could never stop going to see.
They ran off, Derrick’s earlier digital mastery forgotten, even by him. But it would soon prove useful in ways none of them could ever have imagined.
