Free GBH by Ted Lewis Page B

to describe the movie in detail, I considered what James had been proposing to me. Not of course the actual words, the stuff about Farlow; the only way Farlow and the Shepherdsons were going to break me down was to put their own heads on the Attorney General’s block first. No, James, being the extremely clever fellow he was, wasn’t conveying me the literal meaning of his words; the words were just words. And whatever the purpose behind them, it wasn’t necessarily a warning; if I ever went down he’d move on to representing the Shepherdsons without bothering to change his carnation, before he’d even collected his final payment from myself. On the other hand, if he ever let me go down, it would never be because he’d withhold from me any knowledge he had which I ought to be in possession of.
    But whatever James was saying, he certainly wasn’t saying it.
    Curious.
    For the moment, I dismissed any alternatives that might have entered my thoughts. I tuned back in to the description of the Russell movie; James had just got to the point where he was describing the homosexual rape.

THE SEA
    I N THE S OUTH, UNDER the harsh evening lights, the regulars look older than ever. They’re dotted about the leatherette, at angles reminiscent of ventriloquist’s dummies without the support of the ventriloquist’s hand. I cross over to the bar and as usual Jackie is ready with my drink.
    “What sort of a day you have?” he asked, taking my money.
    “Fine,” I say. “And one for yourself.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Carson,” Jackie says. “I’ll have the usual.”
    After Jackie’s worked his optic and given me my change, instead of retiring to the leatherette, I ask Jackie for the darts. He doesn’t give me the usual Sailors’ Aid ones; instead he lends me his own personal tungstens. He even takes them out of the wallet and inserts the flights for me himself.
    “I’d give you a game myself,” Jackie says, “only the governor doesn’t like it at nights. It’s all right at dinner times.”
    He hands me the darts and by the time I’ve crossed the yards of carpeting and reached the seven-foot-six marker, Jackie’s operated the switch behind the bar and the board is already lit up. I set my drink down on a nearby table and begin to go round the board in doubles.
    Sanity, I think as I pluck the first handful out of the board and go back to the marker. That’s the name of the game. Sanity. The trick is, in an asylum, to try and remain sane. I float three more darts at the board. Sanity. Therapy. Control.
    By the time I’ve got round to the nines, Eddie hustles into the pub as I’m pulling the darts out of the board. He waves and I acknowledge his wave. While I’m throwing another handful I overhear Jackie suggest to Eddie that he give me a game.
    After the next handful, Eddie joins me, sipping at his pint.
    “Winning?” he says.
    “I’m up against tough opposition,” I tell him, going on from twelves, getting the thirteen, narrowly missing the fourteen. “Fancy a hiding?”
    Eddie takes his darts out of his breast pocket and while he’s fitting them together he says, “You dropping by tonight?” I must look blank because he says, “The Dunes. The rehearsal.”
    “Oh, yeah. Well, I may not be able to.”
    “We’re starting early. We won’t be going on late.”
    “I’m not sure yet,” I tell him.
    “Waiting for somebody?”
    “You ever seen me waiting for anybody, Eddie?”
    “Er, well, no, I can’t exactly say I have.”
    “No, I don’t suppose you can,” I say. “You want a practice, or shall I throw one for middle?”
    “No,” he says. “No, you go ahead, Mr. Carson.”
    I throw one and get a twenty-five. Eddie’s lands just outside the circle. He takes the two darts out and hands me mine.
    While we’re halfway through the first game, the girl from the arcade comes in, the girl in the Afghan coat. She clocks Eddie and Eddie clocks her. Eddie slips into his promoter’s habit.
    “Er—can you