Paradise [Draft 1]

Chapter 12: 2 Kings (10478)

Tucker's place was a large flat on Gorphine Road, large and elegant, but cold in the winter. With the power outages and intermittent gas supply it was so cold that there was mould growing on the walls and ceilings. Tucker, wandered the place in his robe and slippers, smoking his foul pipe, and spreading dandruff everywhere as he scratched at his balding head. He has long since passed caring about appearances, thought Joe to himself as slipped and slid through the snow back to his scruffy benefactors digs. Joe knew the old bastard had money somewhere, but if it was in the flat it was well hidden. Tucker liked Joe enough to tolerate him living in the flat but didn't trust him with any sum of money larger than twenty pounds, which was why Joe, on his way back from the minimarket, only had a couple of quid in change in his pocket.

The pavements were covered in slushy snow. No one had bothered to put salt down on it and it was turning into a treacherous ice rink. Joe's nose was red. He had been given money in November to buy himself a new coat, hat, and gloves, but he had spent it on dope. Tucker had told him he could go around in nothing but his hoodie as a lesson. It was a long slow walk, and Joe did it silently, continuing to think his thoughts, or what passed for thoughts in the head of someone like Joe. He was not deep; his desires were simple. Above all else he needed a steady supply of dope or as a second option – weed. When his stash started running low, he started to get nervous. His usual suppliers were unreliable now after the reditus and Joe's equilibrium had been upset by it. Still, it was what it was, and if he had enough on hand, and a bit of extra money to top up his stash as and when required then he was happy. Things like food, drink, fags and clothing he never paid for unless he absolutely had to. Generally, though he found he could get by sponging off Tucker or Johnny, or anyone else in his orbit.

Currently he was not happy, as getting to his suppliers was much harder with Johnny out of town. Joe did not think much of Johnny, he did not think much of anyone when it came to it and was quite open with himself that the only reason that he hung around with Johnny was because he had a car and was a pushover. Without that free taxi service, he had to do things like go to the shops for Tucker on foot. If he couldn't get lift from some other sucker, he would have to make the journey over to Yolker by himself, either on foot or by bus. Neither option appealed to him.

He'd tried calling Johnny but had not had an answer. He had considered going over to his flat, but it was too far for Joe to consider walking it and he wasn't sure of what bus to take. He'd work it out when he needed to. For now, he'd keep the change from the money he had been given by Tucker for his groceries and add it to his dope kitty.

The shops nearest to the flat were all closed up and the minimarket was about a mile away, an inhumane distance to expect anyone to walk in this weather without a coat thought Joe as he walked hunched down over his cigarette. There was no snow, but there was a chill breeze coming up from the river with the threat of rain in the air. The clouds hung low over the roof tops and the streets were dark and quiet. Over the course of his entire walk back, he had only seen a couple of cars go past and three army trucks. Once he heard a police siren, but it had been out of sight. From the minimarket he followed a cycle path through a long strip of trees beside the dual carriageway before turning right up a hill and onto a city street. From there he turned again, onto another one, a meandering narrow lane lined with closed shops that lead past the old Odeon. Next, he walked across a carpark, now largely bereft of cars, and finally onto another terraced street where Tucker's third floor flat was. He was used to this journey, having done it many times, but before the reditus there had been no minimarket, no dual carriageway and no cycle path. The jumble of the Splintering had shattered the town Joe had known into sub-zonal fragments and mixed it in with many others. If was funny how people had got used to it, like they just forgot the old roads. Joe remembered though, he prided himself on it. Right now, he was on the east end of Gorphine Road, which had once led to Heater Park, but which now, if you followed it long enough lead to an area of city unknown to Joe that he wanted nothing to do with. Gorphine was safe and familiar. It had been a rundown dump even before the reditus. Even so, where once every other shop window had been boarded up, now they all were. Last year windows had been broken by squatters and DPs until they were all rounded up and taken away. After that a council van had come around with a bunch of MDF and a nail gun and put the final nail in Gorphine's coffin. That was why Joe had to walk a mile to get to a shop.