Free Blind Needle by Trevor Hoyle

suddenly sick. The thought of the needle had churned the greasy food in my stomach into a fermenting cauldron: my bowels became liquid. I had finished with needles, I thought, for ever. Starched white coats and tight transparent gloves and glass ampoules with clear amber fluid. Dr Morduch’s waxy face swam up like a bloated balloon. It loomed larger as he bent towards me, his gold-framed spectacles glinting. His eyes bulged in the round lenses, filling them, and he frowned a little, V-shaped creases appearing on his wide forehead as he aimed the syringe. Christ, I could feel it happening … the hollow point bearing down … the thin cold sliding pain piercing to the marrow. Needles shrivelled my insides, made my head into a drum-beat.
    Without realising it I was leaning against the whitewashed wall. I saw the man with the birthmark – pointed nose, narrow furrowed brow, long thin ears – peering at me with small, glittering eyes like tiny sharp stones. ‘What the hell’s up with him? Bugger looks sick.’
    â€˜Leave me … please,’ I said weakly. The smell of urine from the grate brought something up in my throat.
    â€˜Hey, Ray,’ the fat one said, gleefully, as if struck by a wonderful idea. ‘Led’s give him a free shot. Eh? Why not? Build up our clientele.’ He reached into his pocket.
    â€˜Okay,’ the man called Ray said. ‘Go ahead. And you pay.’
    â€˜Who? What der you mean? Why me?’
    â€˜What I said – give him one if you want to, only it comes out of your share. What do you think I am, the Salvation Army?’
    The light from the frosted globe gleamed weakly on something in the fat one’s hand.
    I closed my eyes.
    The wall was rough against the back of my head. If I could have died by willing it I would have chosen to. It was the same feeling I had when S – threatened me, the same numbing panic when he told me what he was going to do to me.
    â€˜Roll his sleeve up,’ said the soft fat voice.
    â€˜This one’s on you, is it?’ Ray said in a flat snarl. ‘Your fucking share, remember that, Wayne, not mine—’
    â€˜He’ll have money. Feel in his pockets.’
    Hands rummaged inside my coat, dipped into my pockets. I took hold of a thin bony wrist and dug my nails in. The thin man yelped a curse and hit me with sharp knuckles. It wasn’t a hard blow but it made me angry. I opened my eyes and saw the needle. I hawked up what was in my throat and spat in his face.
    â€˜You dirty …’ Ray said incredulously. ‘Did you see that?’
    â€˜Hold him still,’ the fat one, Wayne, said. ‘While I jab him.’
    Ray wiped his face and edged sideways out of my vision. I tried to watch him but couldn’t keep my eyes from the needle’s point, weaving in front of Wayne’s straining stomach. On his flabby forearm there was a tattooed dagger dripping purple blood.
    Grinning at me with his bad teeth, Wayne said, ‘I dun’t care about the money. He can have dis one on the house. Hee-hee-hee. I can’t wait der see him come crawling to me on his hands and knees. I’ll mek him eat dog turds first. Make the bastard beg!’
    â€˜Please keep away,’ I implored him. ‘Please.’
    â€˜Please-please-please. He’s god manners.’
    â€˜Stick him if you’re going to.’
    â€˜How much do you want? I’ll give you money,’ I said, pleaded.
    â€˜Come
on,’
Ray said. ‘For crying out fucking loud.’
    â€˜Led him sweat a bit.’
    â€˜Why do you want to do this?’ I said hopelessly, knowing I couldn’t reason with them. Reason to them was a sign of weakness. Easier and quicker to obey your instincts, do what the mood told you to do. Thinking was difficult and unnecessary, gratification came easy, gave instant pleasure.
    â€˜Lissen, squire,’ Wayne said gently, wheedling