Free Nineteen Seventy-Seven: The Red Riding Quartet, Book Two by David Peace Page B

and pink and hanging out like a little fat juicy cherry, just waiting for you. Ooh. Ooh. What’s that? A drop of the good stuff slipping out, sneaking off. Come on Steve, she’s not dead, you didn’t kill her, she’s here and she’s hot and she’s waiting for you to stick that big old cock of yours inside and give her a good seeing to, a right good time. Come on, get it hard. Come on, she’s all wet and waiting, begging for it, flipping on to her belly, her fat little fingers right up her juicy chute, wondering where the fuck you are when she needs you. Where’s Stevie, she’s thinking, and then the door opens and in comes a big black dick, but it isn’t you is it Stevie? It isn’t your big black dick, is it? Well, well, if it isn’t your old mucker Kenny D and he’s looking at her all wet and naked and lying there with her fingers up her cos you’re nowhere to be seen and so he whips it out and puts it in and out, in and out, in and out, till she’s got it running down her legs and then here you come and you clock him and her, your woman and your mate making the old beast with two backs and you’re pissed off aren’t you Steve? Pissed off and who wouldn’t be? Him with his big black cock up your white woman, your white woman who should be out earning your cash not fucking around with your mate giving it away for nowt. Makes you sick, just fucking sick eh? Your mate and your woman. Hard to take, eh? That’s what happened, isn’t it Steve? And you had to get her back, pay her back big time didn’t you Stevie, didn’t you?’
‘No, no, no,’ he’s whimpering.
Noble stands up, Barton sobbing between his legs.
‘So you come, then you go.’
Steve Barton reaches for the cup and puts it over his shrivelled dick.
Fifteen white faces stare at the black man on the floor before us, a white plastic cup on his dick, his other hand shaking it, stopping it shrinking anymore.
There’s a shove in my back and there’s Oldman.
He looks at the scene before him, at the black man on the floor before him, a white plastic cup on his dick, his other hand shaking it.
Oldman looks at Noble.
Noble raises his eyes.
Oldman looks pissed off.
‘Get the black cunt some porn and get his fucking spunk down the lab,’ he says.
‘You heard him,’ shouts Noble at the man nearest the door, me.
Craven makes a move, but Noble points at me.
I’m down the corridor, up three flights of stairs and into Vice, Craven’s lair.
Dead, half of them back down in the Belly.
I pull open a cabinet: envelopes.
Next drawer the same.
And the next.
Thinking, this is fucking Vice, there ought to be some.
And then it hits me and I look back at the door, the thought right in front of me: JANICE.
Back into the cabinets, eyes every second second at the door, ears bleeding for the slightest footfall.
Ryan, Ryan, Ryan …
Nothing.
Nowt.
Nil.
I’m almost out the door before I remember the fucking porn.
I reach across the desks and pull open a drawer: two magazines, cheap and nasty, a fat blonde woman with a sun visor and her cunt wide open.
Spunk .
I grab them and go.
Back down into the Belly, the crowd parting, Barton still lying on the floor in a ball, still fucking crying, a blanket beside him.
I chuck the magazines down on the ground next to him.
He turns his head and pulls the grey blanket slowly across the concrete towards him.
‘Had an Aunty Margaret,’ Rudkin is saying. ‘Went by the name Mags. We all called her Nuddy for short.’
Titters and giggles.
‘Should get one of the women to do it for him,’ says someone else.
‘Do rest of us while she were down here.’
‘Long as she does me before Sambo.’
Noble kicks the magazine closer. ‘Get on with it.’
Barton lies on his side beneath the blanket, the magazine before him.
Ellis bends down and opens it.
Everyone laughs.
‘Go on, Mike,’ shouts Rudkin. ‘Give him a hand.’
Belly laughs in the Belly.
Barton’s started moving beneath the blanket.
More laughter.
‘Here, don’t forget the fucking cup,’ says Oldman. ‘Don’t want it all over