The Hand

by Michael Keenaghan

No way. No cunt takes the piss like that. I’ve packed the samurai and I’m heading straight over there. Mate or no mate, he’s getting it, the junkie fucker. Eight hours banged up and when I get home - my gear - no sign of it - someone’s been in. Think I don’t know it’s you, you little prick? This time I swear it, you’re getting taught a fucking lesson. Had it too good from me, that’s what, too many fucking times.
 
I get to Turnpike Lane and by the High Road there’s police cordons, crowds, the lot. All I need. I make a wide berth and hear someone saying it was a gangfight, some kid shot dead or something. Nothing new there then. But with all this filth everywhere I’ve got to watch it. Getting done with a weapon is the last thing I need. I press on. Hit the backstreets towards Rob’s place. Yeah, give the cunt a little surprise.
 
I bang on the door - Open up. Now - then there he is, greeting me in his boxers - alright mate - like butter wouldn’t melt.
 
You pisstaking cunt! I belt him in the face and he down he goes like a sack of shit. I’m kicking him down the hallway - I want my fucking gear! - when suddenly his girlfriend appears, notices what I’ve just whipped out of my coat and starts screaming like a maniac, running straight past me out of the house in her bra and knickers.
 
-That’s right, you tart, fuck off! - kicking the door shut - then I’m moving back to Rob, on the floor by the stairs shitting himself now.
 
-Mikey, I swear it! I don’t even know what this is about!
 
-You lying little wanker - Lifting the sword.
 
-Mikey, no, please…
 
-You’ve been round my gaff, Rob. Ripping me off again. Last time I’m with you I lose my wallet, now this! Letting yourself in!
 
-Honest, I swear it, Mikes, I’ve been here all day. Honest…
 
-SHUT UP! I know it was you, you cunt, I fucking know it…
 
-No…No… He’s crying now. Tears flowing down his face. -I swear it, man, on my mum’s life… and look at him: thinks he can turn on the waterworks and each time I’ll let him off. No fucking way!
 
UP! Get up! On your feet, Rob, now! You’re going to take this like a man, you wimp…and I’m pulling at him but he’s trying to stay down, pleading away, face so screwed up I can’t even see his eyes.
 
I SAID GET THE FUCK UP! - booting him in the gut but he’s just crying even more…
 
-I ain’t fucking saying this twice, Rob. Just stand up and hold your hand out, you’ll get a stripe and that’ll be the end of it. You’re getting taught a lesson, man. And I’m poking him with my foot: You fucking listening to me?
 
Then to my surprise he’s staggering to his feet. Tears, snot - the state of him. Blubbering away. Same old shit since we were kids. Pathetic…
 
…and I don’t know… I feel like maybe leaving it. Like I’ve tortured him enough. I mean, what can you do with a fool like that? Maybe he knows next time not to go robbing my gaff… after all, it wasn’t much really… only a gram or two… well gone now I’m sure… and luckily I did find a bit of spare…….
 
Yeah, fuck this… maybe I’ll just nick something and leave it at that….
 
But then he fucks up. Tries grabbing for the sword, the silly cunt. Never learns. Ever. I belt him with a left hook, and he slams back against the wall, should fall and that should be that - but then he’s coming at me again - grabbing for the sword…
 
How much has this cunt got to learn? I clout him, one, two, and he’s down. -God…when are you gonna FUCKING learn - For emphasis swiping the samurai a few inches from his face, a little gesture so he knows not to mess. But fuck-up number two: he puts his arm out - right in the line of fire and - Whoosh! - the samurai takes his hand clean off!
 
I’m stunned. We both are. Frozen in shock. His arm still out and the severed hand palm-up on the floor. Suddenly Rob starts screaming all high-pitched and I almost jump. He’s clutching his wrist, panicking, looking up to me and back to the stump in disbelief.
 
I drop the sword and it thuds to the floor. Fuck. He’s a mate. Known him all my life. What have I done…
 
-You bastard!… my hand!… my fucking hand!… Tears flowing from his eyes, but I don’t know what to say. I mean, fucking hell, I never meant to do that, I was just about to let the bastard off…
 
…and he’s wailing and wailing; and his face, the stump, the hand, all that blood - it’s shocking, and I’m breaking into a sweat, mind misfiring all over the shop, and I say: Rob, look mate,  I never meant…
 
SHUT UP YOU CUNT! He roars.
 
And there’s no talking to him… don’t know what to do for the cunt… And suddenly I just need more gear. Don’t need all this bollocks now. Just need a shot. Now. Need some of that stash that this cunt fucking swiped off me; not that there’d be any left of course, but still. Need it. I head into the front room, beer cans, mess, fucking trash everywhere. When I suddenly remember…
 
The gear… back at the flat… I’d hid it under the floorboard… hadn’t checked… hadn’t remembered… SHIT!!!!!!!
 
I run back to Rob, pure panicking… -Rob, look, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry man. Fucking hell, I’m so sorry…
 
And he’s sitting there rocking back and forth, eyes stunned, shocked, in a trance of pain.  -I’ve been fucking out of order man I don’t know what to say…
 
-GET AN AMBULANCE! he shrieks.
 
-Okay! Yes! Of course! And I’m patting myself for my mobile but I must have forgot it. -Shit, Rob, where’s your phone?
 
-In there, he gasps… -on the table.
 
-Right, okay… But then I think, hang on a minute… ambulance….police… questions! No way!!! I grab the sword and fling it beneath the stairs. -Rob, listen, one thing. Let’s just say it was an accident, yeah? That we were just fucking about…like you slipped or something… I don’t know, cut yourself… honest, I never meant this, man, none of it, I’m just so fucked at the moment…
 
-WHATEVER JUST GET ME A FUCKING AMBULANCE!!!
 
-Okay Okay! I run back into the room, rummage about for the mobile, get it, dial 999. -Get your arses over here quick! Right now! My mate’s just lost his fucking hand! But it’s like she isn’t getting the severity of it, telling me to calm down and giving me instructions like I’m a fucking two year old…-Whatever, just get here fast!
 
I’m back by Rob’s side - They’re on their way, mate, they’re on their way.. and he’s looking fucking tragic now, staring into the wound and whimpering away while I’m just standing there like a spare prick, don’t know what to say to the cunt, just feel fucking bad for him.
 
I look at the ceiling. God… God!… all this shit… what happened to us, man?.. used to be straight, had our own business… legit… well mostly anyway… bit of partying, bit of coke here and there… but it all went tits up… we lost fucking everything…
 
But fuck that, I need a blast. Can’t handle this…
 
-Rob, listen. I know it’s a bad time mate but honestly I need some gear… is there any in the house? I’ll pay you back double, honest…?
 
And he looks at me and I can see the disgust, total fucking contempt. -There’s a bottle of green in the kitchen. But keep some for me you bastard…
 
Meth? Anything. I head to the kitchen. -Now hang in there, yeah. And as for the hand, don’t worry, they’ll have that sewn back in no time, mate, believe me. It’s been done loads of times… Then I remember something: They said to put it on ice - pronto! SHIT!!!
 
-Where’s the fridge? No sign of it. Run back to Rob - Rob, the fucking fridge, where is it? But he’s shaking his head. What… no fridge?…we need ice! They said to freeze the thing! Preserve it!
 
-There fucking ain’t one!
 
And then I remember the place is a squat. And a grotty one at that. But no fucking fridge…
 
-It broke last week, he says through breaths of pain. -We flung it out, didn’t we.
 
So I’m thinking…I’m thinking. Maybe we should put it in water or something… don’t know… maybe don’t mess with it…leave it… yeah, probably do more bad than good… And I’m pacing back and forth. Where’s the fucking ambulance!
 
Then I remember the meth - the fucking meth! - and I’m straight back to the kitchen searching for it. Tearing through cupboards - where is it? - then - yes! - belt it down. Lean against the worktop for a bit, close my eyes, try to relax….
 
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
 
I’m up like shot. It’s Rob. Shrieking like a fucking maniac. I run to him. -What’s going on!
 
-My h-h-hand, he stammers, it just fucking m-m-moved!
 
-What?!
 
-I just seen it! It flipped over by itself! I ain’t lying!!!
 
I look at it. It’s been turned over, it’s palm-down now, but so what? What’s the bloke trying to say?
 
I get down and put my arm round him, try to soothe him but he keeps telling me the thing moved! It fucking moved! and he’s clutching onto me and it’s pitiful - Rob, mate, listen. You’re in a bad way okay, in pain, you’re just seeing things, yeah. It happens. I’ve been there…
 
AAAAAHHHHHH!!! IT JUST MOVED AGAIN!!!
 
And I feel for him, really do, wish the fuckers would hurry up, he’s hallucinating all over the place. I look down at the hand and… hang on, maybe it DOES seem in a different place, closer to him now. But still…
 
-Now Rob, calm down man. You’re shuffling about and moving the thing yourself. Just try and stay calm till the ambulance comes… But he’s telling me I don’t understand, the thing is alive, and he’s holding me tight, petrified and shaking like a leaf and I look to the hand and…
 
I FUCKING SEE IT MYSELF…. Its fingers drumming on the carpet!
 
AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! Both of us.
 
Then suddenly it’s still.
 
-See! I told you, I fucking told you!
 
-Shut up! I’m saying. Shut up!
 
We’re clutching each other watching it but its not moving. Staring at it for ages. Nothing. Not a twitch.
 
-Now Rob, look, I say, wiping sweat from my face. -We just need to relax, okay… We’re just both fucked up right now. I mean I don’t need this shit. You fucking psyching me out man…
 
-But we seen it! We both seen it!!!
 
-SHUT UP! - I get up and start pacing up and down - We’re both in a state, okay. Just fucking seeing things, alright! But he’s trying to shout me down. -Shut up, Rob! I don’t want to hear it!
 
And I’m looking around for the phone. -Where are these cunts? - when suddenly: AAAAHHH!! AAAAHHH!! AAAAHHHH!!! Rob again…
 
-What now!
 
He’s leaning back against the stairs, screaming, and the hand… there it is… crawling up his chest, making its way to his neck, wrapping it’s fingers around his throat…
 
-ROB!!!
 
I run over and try seizing the thing, but it’s gripped tight, veins bulging, locked in a vice-like hold - My God! Jesus Christ! - it’s squeezing the life out of him and he’s choking and struggling and fucking hell, I’m pulling and pulling but it won’t budge, and his face is going from red to white to blue - ROB!!! ROB!!! - for fucks sake - I’m using all my strength and his eyes are rolling in his head but the thing is locked like steel, stuck there, it won’t move.. ROB!!!
 
I’m still struggling but Rob is still now… limp… lifeless… Oh my God… He’s dead!… I don’t believe this. I stand up; the hand still glued to his neck, Rob lying flat on the stairs, eyes wideopen in shock. Then the hand: gently it loosens its grip and topples to the floor.
 
I’m clutching my head in my hands. Shit…There’s blood everywhere… Shit. It’s too much to take in. It’s a fucking… murder scene. I panic. Can’t handle this. No way. Got to move. Got to get out of here. Now.
 
I head straight out into the night, head down, moving fast, and… BAM!!! I slam straight into somebody. He’s shouting and putting his arms out and wanting to start, but I don’t have time for this shit, keep moving, threats hanging in the air, one foot in front of the other, don’t even know where I’m going, one backstreet to the next, brain fucking scrambled…
 
-Alright Mikey. What’s the rush?
 
I turn and see a meatwagon cruising alongside me, a pig hanging out with a big sarky smile on his face. I’m stunned but - relax - stay calm - It’ll be alright - just fucking play it cool…
 
But I don’t. I run. And of course they’re all piling out like a sewer’s just burst loose. SHIT! I dart up an alley, out into the next street and up another alley and yes, I’m making speed on the cunts I swear it, until BOLLOCKS - there’s more of the fuckers charging in from the other end, shit shit shit, but wait, I’ve still got a chance and I take a jump for the fence into the back-gardens but God it’s a struggle, my coat sticking to a knot of barbed wire and fuck… it’s no use, the sound of radios and shouting pigs, a pair of hands grabbing me - COME HERE YOU CUNT!!! - and I’m falling and feel a baton cracking me across the skull and I’m down on the floor and there’s more batons now a dozen of them piling into me like a ton of bricks…
 
-GET UP! I’m lifted to my feet. A copper puffing into my face. -Running from us… NO ONE FUCKING RUNS FROM US! poking his baton hard into my belly. YOU’RE NICKED! Now get this shitbag into the van before I fucking cripple the cunt.
 
We’re travelling along and I’m clutching my gut. It fucking hurts. I could skin that cunt. One of them has my coat and he’s ripping the lining to shreds and they’re all around me in my face like I’m a monkey in a fucking zoo.
 
-So what’s it been tonight then Mikey? Breaking into houses again yeah?
 
-Or handbags and wallets. That’s one of your pastimes ain’t it. You fucking slime.
 
-Selling drugs, nicking, making a nuisance, you name it he’s done it.
 
-Menace to society, that’s Mikey here. Waste of space.
 
-Junkies. Full of sickness, disease. If I had my way they’d be lined up and shot.
 
-What do you say chaps, we just speed up and toss him out of the van, let the hospital deal with it. Don’t know if I want this dirt even near our nice clean nick…
 
And one of the cunts at the front who has been checking me on his radio goes -Ere, guess what I’ve just heard. This is his second arrest today! They only released him from Edmonton a few hours ago. Done for shoplifting!
 
-Dear oh dear, shaking their heads. Then one of them backhands me in the face -You fucking twat!
 
-It’s clean. The one searching my coat goes. -Nothing. One thing though - looking quizzical -There’s kind of, blood, all over this thing. And they laugh. -Yeah I know, we just kicked fuck out of the cunt. Ain’t that right, Mikey boy?… -But no, he says, it seems more like… dried blood…
 
Then something comes through on the radio, all their ears pricking to attention. Serious incident. All available units. A murder off Turnpike Lane. Suspect seen leaving house. IS1, dark hair, long leather coat…
 
All have turned. They’re staring at me in disbelief. -What? What! - They look to each other and suddenly it’s like they’ve scored for England. YEEEEEESSSSS!!! Clenching their fists and rubbing their hands together in glee. -What are you saying!!!
 
-SUSPECT IN TRANSIT, OVER! We’re onto a winner here boys! Struck fucking gold!
 
-Well then Mikey, a murderer now eh? In with the big boys, A-Cat…
 
-What was it anyway, a row over a bit of skag?
 
-What do you reckon lads, twenty years?
 
-Nah, thirty year tariff on that one. Definitely. Bad news, Mikey boy…
 
***************************
 
Cunts! Rob was my mate. I never killed him. I was there, mistakes happen - but I tried to fucking help him. In court they said evidence showed we must have tussled and I’d chopped his hand off then strangled him. But that’s bullshit. Total crap. But there was no telling the cunts. They didn’t want to know. Sent me to Broadmoor, said I was mentally ill. But you know it and I know it, crazy shit went down that night. Mad shit. Voodoo stuff… Are you listening to me?
   

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~ This piece was posted on Friday, May 18th, 2007 and was filed under Blog, Writing, Short Story, Featured. You can make comments on it below. ~