Hotel Ambrose

Chapter 9.2

The tram was rattly. It smelled like puke and disinfectant. The conductor was up the front, behind the driver's cage, hanging onto the handrail and looking bored. There was a teenager next to him with his feet up on the seats. When the tram stopped the teenager got off and a guy with a dog on a leash came on. I didn't know dogs were allowed on a tram. It had short white hair all over and Chinese eyes and a pink nose and short legs - I think it was a Labrador, but I'm not good on dogs. The dog's owner was skinny. His jeans were so tight that he looked like he had sticks for legs. There was the square shape of a cigarette pack in his breast pocket – one of those big ones with fifty cigarettes in it. His shirt was open, and the skin of his chest was hairless and red, and he had blurry red eyes that constantly roved about. He had no shoes on. He had a stick in his hand.

The tram moved off. The man grabbed the rail and told the dog to sit. It didn't.

"I said sit, fuckya," he said, and hit the dog on the back with the stick. It yelped and sat down.

A few people looked up, but they all looked straight back down again. The conductor glanced at the man with the dog and looked quickly away.

I felt something rise up inside me. I don't remember standing up, but somehow I was on my feet.

"Why'd you hit your dog?"

The man had been looking out the window, and now he turned lazily towards me. "Mind your own business, sport." He turned back to the window.

"You shouldn't hit your dog."

"I'll hit my fucken dog if I want to."

"I'll report you!"

"Will you now?" he said, coming across the aisle, swaying from side to side because the tram was slowing down for the next stop, pulling the dog along behind him. My eyes were level with the place where his shirt opened. He smelled like sweat and bourbon and Brut. He transferred the stick to the same hand that held the leash and said: "And who will you report me to, sport? Your mummy?"

Nobody in the tram made a sound. An old woman near the front stared at us, her mouth hanging open like a fish's.

"I'll tell the cops," I said. I wasn't scared. I was getting angrier. It was like that time with Jungle Jim.

He bent down until his face was inches from mine. He whispered: "You won't be able to when I tear your fucken tongue out, sport."

"I'm not scared of you!" I said. It was like there was a storm inside me. "WHAT KIND OF COWARD HITS A DOG?" I screamed at him. "FUCK YOU!"

That was when he hit me. He used the back of his hand. Everything went blurry. I grabbed out blindly for something and my hands found the back of a seat. My jaw was numb and heavy and I could taste blood in my mouth and my teeth felt like they were swimming inside my mouth. I didn't cry. I looked up at him through the blurriness, hating him with my whole being, daring him to do it again.

The tram lurched to a stop. The man looked out the window and I followed his gaze. My heart sank.

There were two police standing outside.

By the time the man started to move towards the doors the police were already on the tram and the doors were closing behind them. He must have known that if he tried to get off now it would look suspicious. So he sat down. I did too.

The cops passed me on the way to the front of the tram, but they didn't notice me. The conductor was suddenly moving around the tram checking tickets. The tram seemed to be taking forever to get to the next stop. I'd seen how you pulled the wire that made the bell go off to let the driver know to pull up at the next stop, but I was afraid that if I used it I'd draw attention to myself. Then I heard it go off anyway. I didn't see who did it – perhaps the man with the dog. Would he follow me if I got off? I'd have to run. I looked over and saw that he'd left his seat and he was moving towards the doors that were halfway down the tram. Okay, I'd have to use the doors at the front of the tram where the police were. I could see the police there talking to the fish-mouthed old woman. I bent over and spat some blood onto the floor. I watched it dribble forward along the floor as the tram slowed down. Please stop, I thought. Please. I snuck another look up at the front. The old woman was pointing back up the carriage now and I ducked down behind the person sitting in front of me.