Jones 5
19
Breakfast next morning was a quiet affair: at least, it was until Roosha appeared. Chen and Jones were sitting at a table in Jones’s suite and generally dressed apart from their ceremonial uniform jackets which hung in their covers on the back of the drawing room door. Unlike the other clothes they had been given for the trip, these were only on loan and as they were over fifty years old and made from a very scarce and valuable fabric they decided not to chance it with the scrambled egg. Jones re-read the instructions that had come with the outfit. He had heard of wool but as far as he knew he had never come across it before, let alone worn it.
"It's made from the hide of a sheep," said Chen, waving his piece of toast in the tunics’ general direction. Jones wasn’t sure if this was completely right, but Chen spoke with such quiet, measured authority that he always sounded knowledgeable even if he probably hadn’t the slightest idea what he was on about.
A frenzied hammering on the door disturbed their peace and tranquility.
"Come in, Roosha!" The door swung open.
"How did you know it was me?"
"I can't imagine." Jones looked at the thunderous face storming towards them from the other side of the vast nineteenth century hand-cut oriental carpet. "Something up?" Chen hid his face in the large bowl of his breakfast teacup: he had never had Jones’s confidence when it came to confronting Roosha’s dramas head on.
"Up? Of course something’s UP!" She spat out the last word with such force that Jones half expected to see it shoot across the room and shatter all in its path. "LOOK AT MY HAIR!!!!"
"Looks OK to me." Jones cocked his head to one side and examined it more closely. "Where’s all your beady things?" Chen finally had the courage to look up and decided that he quite liked the bun at the back. He also had the wisdom to realise that that particular observation probably wouldn’t be very welcome. Roosha dropped onto a chair and stared at Chen's ponytail.
"I suppose, Chen, you don’t look too bad with it all scraped back."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Sorry. I’m just not used to it. There I am half asleep and this pink, frilly witch rides in on her hairbrush and gives me a complete makeover." Roosha impersonated the beautician, acting all coy and batting her eyelids. She got up and minced around the table behind Chen and started fiddling with his hair. “Just look at these hair rags! Went out with the ark, love. I suppose we’ll have to leave the ironmongery in your face: mind you, if you were my daughter, dearie, you wouldn’t have it there in the first place. As for the tattoos, well... say no more! Just an itsy bitsy bit of lippy and eyeliner, sweetie, and rouge on cheeks is an absolute must! I always think Autumn Rose is such a divine colour, don’t you? Does wonders for someone of your complexion!"
It wasn’t until she patted Chen’s cheeks that Jones even noticed the white gloves. He looked worried.
"We don’t have to wear those, do we, Chen?"
"Not as far as I am aware, but then we don’t have Bomb Bomb Mixer tattoos all over our knuckles." Roosha flopped down again and helped herself to the last muffin.
"Huh. I’m only doing this for you, Jones!"
“I appreciate it, Roosha. Mind you, if we don’t get our skates on you’ll have gone through all your selfless sacrifice for nothing." He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "The ceremony starts in an hour."
Once in the car, their escort explained what to do. The limousine was nearly at the Palace and if the bespectacled girl with the clipboard was aware of Roosha’s surly look and Chen’s closed eyes she was not showing it.
"It's OK," said Jones. "They are being receptive, really they are. They just give the impression of being rude, ill-mannered and completely pig-ignorant". He waited until she turned back to her clipboard and then gave the meditating Chen a discreet kick. "I was wondering, ma'am, if you could just run that last bit by us again." He caught Roosha mouthing 'ma'am', raising her eyes heavenward and acting a yawn. Suddenly smiling, Roosha patted Jones’s hand, told him to chill out and ran through the itinerary for the morning.
“Half past nine meet the President, twenty to ten be seated and ready, quarter to ten listen to General Mortimer give his address and watch you receive your pardon, ten o' clock you receive your medal, ten past it’s drinks and nibbles and half past we go on a tour of the palace." She patted Jones’s hand again and gave the escort her most charming smile. "This young man frets far too much. We try to help him keep on top of it all, but he will worry so." Roosha gave the poor girl a knowing wink. "What he needs is the love of a good woman!”
The escort was still fanning her blushes with the clipboard as the car pulled up in front of the palace steps. All three were ushered into the entrance hall and Jones was whisked off through a side door.
Jones went into an antechamber and sat down. The escort sat down with him, opened her notes and went through the next hour or so with him.
“You won’t have to do anything except step forward when you are asked and salute the President when he presents you with your replacement medal." Jones noticed that her delivery was deadpan and professional: he reckoned this was probably because of the embarrassment of being cooped up alone with the lad that Roosha had just tried to fix her up with. He touched her arm and cursed himself as she recoiled.
“It’s OK, I don’t want to hurt you. Just the opposite. I want to apologise for my friend. What she said was inexcusable, but she is finding all the formality a bit of a strain. So far today she’s been shoehorned into a uniform and tie, had her precious hair braids confiscated, been plastered in makeup and made to come here and stand on ceremony with her hair scraped back and a pair of white gloves on and, quite frankly, that is more of an achievement than you will ever realise. Sounding off is the way she copes in a situation like this". He looked at the neat girl in the bun and glasses and smiled hesitantly. He was relieved to see her smile back.
"Don't worry, give me someone like her any day. The name’s Julie, by the way. I suppose I shouldn’t say this, but people like that can be a welcome change: there are some really stuffy people round here, especially a few of the officers. The President’s OK though, and some of the senior officers are really human sometimes. Two who are worth getting to know are Major Keeley and Colonel Jones. They’re both here this morning and I’ll introduce them to you if I get the chance."
“Thank you, Julie. That’d be great."
She pulled her smile down with her fingers and frowned at him. "Time for my ceremonial face now." She giggled, pulled on her peaked cap and opened the door for him. "Ready to roll, Cadet Jones?"
The ceremonial chamber was an intimate, oak-panelled room just big enough for two rows of chairs either side of a red carpet. Julie marched her young escort along it between the facing rows of seated officers and stopped at two empty chairs. Jones stood to attention between his escort and a rather austere bust of an old gentleman who looked rather familiar. Jones read the plaque. General de Montfort. The president was seated at the end.
General Mortimer stood up and addressed Jones.
"A great wrong has been done and we are here today to set the record straight. This fine young gentleman was the victim of a heinous miscarriage of justice for which the state now apologises. He has two choices. He may either take his freedom and resume the dreary struggles of civilian life or he can stay in a service for which he seems eminently suited and in which he will no doubt flourish." He paused for effect. "Never let it be said that I try to influence anyone’s decisions one way or the other." There was a small titter amongst the senior officers at this point. The general continued.
"I call upon Colonel Jones to tear the prison order asunder in front of us, the assembled witnesses." As his mother stood to attention, Jones’s escort marched over to her and handed her a crumpled piece of paper. Holding it in spotless, white gloves she tore it in two and placed it on the table at the side of the President who signed both tattered remnants. Julie retrieved the papers and stood back to attention. Jones’s gaze was caught by the red velvet box on the table next to the President.
Of course: the medal. Escorted to the President’s chair, Jones stood to attention as the replacement medal was attached to his uniform. He saluted and was returned to his place. He watched as the President was escorted out of the chamber closely followed by General Mortimer, Major Keeley and Colonel Jones.
On reaching the Officers’ Lounge, Jones grabbed a couple of glasses. His first job was to walk over to Roosha, hand her a drink and nod in the direction of their erstwhile escort.
"Her name is Julie, Roosha. I really think-"
"Yes yes, Jones, I know. I was just about to go over." He watched her back view: she was a very sad, pathetic figure sometimes. He saw her pluck timidly at Julie’s sleeve.
"Hello. Julie, isn’t it?"
"Hello, Roosha. I hope that wasn’t too much of an ordeal for you."
"Look, I’m sorry about all that in the car. It was uncalled for." Julie smiled and stroked Roosha’s arm.
"I'll let you into a secret, Roosha. I was a real fish out of water when I first arrived. My mother thought that as I’m a linguist it would be 'good for my career' to come and work here but I had different aspirations at the time. I hadn’t been here five minutes when I got put in solitary for three days for swearing at a Presidential Aide. It took me a long time to fit in."
"You're joking! To be quite honest", said Roosha shuffling from one foot to the other, "I think you’re great at what you do."
"What, standing still and saluting. Yeah, that really looks good next to a medic!"
"You know what I mean. You just come over as really together. I sometimes feel a bit of a restless, troubled soul."
"And I suppose I don’t? Don’t be fooled by the bun and the glasses; they just give me an easy, straightforward life. You’re not the first person to be conned by them." She gave Roosha a mischievous grin. "Here, try them on!" Roosha peered through the lenses.
"You fraud! They’re just plain glass!"
.
"Yeah, a good front, eh? I must admit they’re a good disguise: quite frumpy for a fifteen year old to be wearing and very 'Miss Efficiency' but not so much as to be a caricature."
As Roosha watched Julie put them back on she noticed the minute hole in the top of her ear. "Not you, surely: you a Wire Girl?" Julie looked round in mock panic.
"Sshh, Roosha. Walls have ears!"
"Sorry."
"Only joking, silly. Most people round here know. The younger ones don’t mind and the older ones like to feel it makes them 'in touch with the cutting edge of youth culture'. It adds a bit of excitement to their humdrum, bureaucratic lives." They both giggled.
"Anyway" she added, sipping her drink, "I've seen Jones's. It’s the first thing I noticed, but there again I suppose it’s the first thing I look for". She looked over to the hapless youth as he cowered in a corner.
"Poor guy. He’s been pinned into a corner by General Padretski."
"Who?”
“He’s on an exchange from the North Eastern Block. Can’t speak a word of English and tells the most obscure, awful jokes. I just hope Jones twigs what’s going on and laughs sometime soon. We have to keep these chappies happy or they start lobbing threats at us. Or worse.” She looked relieved as Jones let out a polite titter.
“I bet it’s great working with Jones. He seems a really nice guy.” She gave Roosha a sly smile. “You know your suggestion in the car? I just might take you up on it. He’s a bit of alright!” Jones watched them both laughing and raised his glass to them as they looked his way. So, he thought, they were probably laughing at his expense. That was a small price to pay if it meant they weren’t scratching each other’s eyes out.
He turned his attention to Chen who was the next one to be collared. He seemed to be having a rather heated discussion with General Padretski. Julie had noticed it too and went across to smooth things over. Jones walked up to Roosha and they both watched as she managed to turn the scene from tension to laughter in a matter of seconds.
“Did you see that, Jones? Now let her dare tell me that all she does all day is stand to attention and salute.” Julie came back over and, raising her eyes to the ceiling, wiped a pretend bead of sweat from her brow.
“Apparently, Padretski's lot are the ones who occupied Chen’s state a few years ago. Phew! Now Jones, there’s someone you simply must meet." She took him by the elbow and steered him in the direction of a group of officers. "Let me introduce you to Colonel Jones.”
20
As Julie led him across the room to the woman with the briefcase she whispered in Jones’s ear.
“I tell you, this old girl has been brilliant. If it weren’t for her I’d have packed it in. She’s been like a mum to me, she has!”
“I can imagine.”
They reached the spot where the colonel stood and Julie introduced them.
. “Colonel Jones, Ma’am, this is Cadet Jones”. Jones’s mother transferred a cup of tea to her left hand and extended her right hand to the uniformed youth in front of her.
“Good morning, Cadet Jones. I’ve heard so much about you!” After a pause she laughed and looked at the two of them. “Actually, Julie, it’s confession time because this young man and I know a lot about each other already.” She whispered in her ear. Julie recoiled with horror.
“What, you mean absolutely starkers?” Colonel Jones nodded.
“Oh, yes. And not to mention countless times in the past when I heard the padding of feet and before I knew where I was this fellow here was in my bed for the remainder of the night.” Julie put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Jones found himself calling out.
“Look, Mum!”
“I told you dear, when we are in public it’s ‘Colonel’”. A mischievous smile was just visible behind the bone china cup. Julie slowly smiled too and then laughed with relief.
“Colonel, no kidding?”
“Yes Julie, he has been a real blessing to me. On the whole. There have been times when I have wanted to wring his neck: but I can see I’m embarrassing the poor boy yet again.”
“Is that why it was you who tore up the prison order?”
“Yes. As your encyclopedic knowledge of ceremonial procedure probably told you, it should have been torn up by the most senior officer there but the President let me do it. Let me tell you, Julie, I just wanted to tear it up into little tiny pieces and throw it all round the chamber! Changing the subject, Sergeant Julie Braithwaite, Events Administrator of the President’s Personal Staff, shouldn’t you be asking me as your ultimate line holder to authorise four evening passes so you can all go and hit the bright lights of Ville d'Or tomorrow night at the tax-payers' expense?” Julie drew herself to her full height, stood to attention and saluted.
“Colonel: permission to procure four evening passes so we can all go and hit the bright lights of Ville d'Or tomorrow night at the tax-payers' expense, Ma’am!”
“Granted. And don’t forget to stay out of Sleepwalker: it’s out of bounds to all Government personnel until we get to the bottom of who spiked Private Ellesse's cocktails last Saturday night.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you ever so, Ma’am!”
21
The rest of the day was spent having a guided tour of the establishment. This was carried out by Desmond, the President’s youngest son. It was a brilliant idea as an eleven-year old's take on it all was not going to be bogged down with tedious detail. How long they spent somewhere on in one spot relied entirely on Desmond's mood but as they passed the barracks Jones thought he would have liked a little more about the Military Police than “Man, these guys… they confiscated my hoverboard!"
Back at their rooms, they all had ten minutes to themselves before Roosha heard a knock on her door.
“Oh, hi there, Julie. come in!”
“You know we’re going out tonight, Roosha? What are you going to wear?”
“We didn’t really have anything of our own on the fire station so they gave us all a trunk of clothes. You can have a look if you like and tell me if you think anything’s OK. To be quite honest, I’m really out of touch.” She looked at Julie’s easy elegance and sighed. “Never was in touch, really.” Julie pulled a couple of items out of the trunk.
“The day stuff’s great, but there doesn’t seem to be a great deal for going out. Who chose it?”
“Someone down here. We don’t exactly do a lot of clubbing stuck in space, so I was happy for someone else to choose. We’re on a bit on a cultural limb up there but I didn’t realise how much until I came back to Earth. I reckon a lot of stuff is censored before it gets to us.”
“Look Roosha, we’re about the same size. If you just hang on I’ll be back in ten minutes”. As she got to the door, Julie turned around and looked anxious. “What have the boys got with them?”
“You’ve seen what they wear during the day. I’d say it’s probably more of the same. We seem to have a run on white t-shirts at the moment. They seem quite happy with them.”
“Phooey. There’s not a lot I can do about that. See you in ten minutes, then?”
Roosha watched her leave. She’d never really been into clothes herself but it seemed churlish to refuse an offer. She smiled to herself as she thought of Julie’s bun and glasses. Talk about playing the system.
Jones and Chen watched a football channel for about twenty minutes and then went to Roosha’s door. They were just about to knock when they heard shrieks of laughter.
“What the Heck’s going on in there, Chen?”
“I don’t know, Jones, but judging by the pile of clothes Julie had in her arms when she went in, I reckon we could be in for a long wait”.
They sat down on a settee in the corridor and looked at the portraits in the heavy gold frames.
“Did those people ever exist, Chen?” said Jones pointing to a crinolined lady in jewels.
“She did. We studied her in school. That Queen Victoria looked like a little white haired granny but ended up ruling half the world. He was interesting, too” said Chen pointing to a rather stern Abraham Lincoln. “He got shot in the theatre”. Jones winced.
“Painful. Something tells me, Chen, that being a president is a bit of a hazardous pastime.” Jones looked at the large gilt clock on the wall and then at Roosha’s door. “Oh, come on, you two!” Right on cue the door flew open and Roosha and Julie fell out of it, laughing.
“Tadaaaahhhh! Stunning eh, chaps?” Roosha gave a twirl and showed off her red sequined top and black silk trousers. “Howdya like the jazzy little silver shoes, boys?” She and Julie stood in front of the lads and looked them up and down.
“Look at these two, Julie: not exactly adventurous. OK perhaps for a night out collecting shuttle numbers, but a night out with two delicious babes? I think not, perchance!” Roosha shook her mane. Jones and Chen looked at their white t-shirts and grey trousers.
“But we like white t-shirts.” Now it was Julie who shook her head.
“OK, you win... shuttle spotters it is." Turning to Roosha, she held a hand in front of her mouth and pretended to whisper. "Well, that’s obviously what they’re most comfortable in!” Julie looked at the clock. “We’d better shift it you guys if we’re going to get a good long night in.”
They walked to the car pool entrance and went down in the lift to one of the underground levels. Julie walked across the floodlit tarmac and picked out a racy little red number.
“To go with your top, Roosha! This one’s pretty new and it’s got proper, traditional rubber tyres. There’s something about that contact with the road that really makes you feel you’re moving: hover cars just don’t give that buzz and I find the fans noisy, too. Anyway, the roads around the clubs are pretty good.” She licked her finger and wiped a smear off the door. “This one was blue last week. We respray the cars regularly to keep Whisper guessing”.
She sat them all inside it and, sitting in the driver’s seat, looked ahead for a second while the scanner identified her iris. The car dashboard suddenly came to life and a synthetic voice emanated from a computer in front of her.
“Good evening, Miss Julie”.
“Good evening, Harvey”.
“Please pick a number, Miss Julie.” Roosha stared at the dashboard.
“Are we going to sit here all night playing silly games?”
“No!” laughed Julie. “It’s an extra security measure for when we get back in the car. I type in a number and Harvey tells me if we can use it as a pin number for the evening. It’s more secure if it’s something we have to remember between us.” Julie held her hand over a number pad. “We’ll move clockwise round the car. When’s your birthday, Roosha?”
“The sixteenth of September”. Julie typed in the number sixteen.
“When’s yours, Chen?”
“The first of August”. She typed in a zero and a one.
“Jones?” She listened and typed in the number eighteen.
“And now me. That makes it one, six, zero, one, one, eight, two, seven. That OK, Harvey?”
“Very good, Miss Julie. That number is available. Might one know where we are going tonight?”
"A club, Harvey. Mandy’s preferably."
"Sorry, Miss Julie. Mandy’s was acquired by Whisper today and is therefore out of bounds to all palace personnel."
"Great, another place we can’t go to. OK, how about Door? Door’s OK. I know that for a fact."
"Sorry, Door reached critical density thirty-seven minutes ago and I know you do not like a crush, Miss Julie. Might one suggest Drive? It has only had an attendance of eighty-eight percent average over the past six month period".
"Yeah, Harvey. That’s because it’s crummy. You can do better than Drive!"
"Might one suggest The Boardroom, Miss Julie? In a recent survey among the under twenty-five population, ninety per-
"OK, OK, I give in! Boardroom, anywhere, just get us in somewhere!"
"Yes, Miss Julie. Anything you say, Miss Julie”.
"Oooh!"
“I love it when you get angry, Miss Julie." They all collapsed in a heap of laughter and listened again as the light blinked on the dashboard. "You are now booked in to The Boardroom. Your name tonight is Julie Warrington." Knowing Julie’s personal preference regarding money, the on-board computer beeped and clicked into action.
The patient girl smiled, waited a moment, took the credit card that whirred out of the dash and read it. Julie Warrington, and the card was issue number six. Yep, that seemed OK. Julie turned the rectangle of plastic over in her hand and smiled: just like the tyres on the car, there was something about good, old-fashioned real cash that seemed more real to Retro Julie than a simple scan of her ID Tattoo.
"Right, come on, Harvey; let’s roll, for goodness’ sake!" The door clunked shut and a metal gate lifted in front of them. Julie put her foot down and the car squealed up the ramp and past a saluting sentry into the bright lights of Ville d'Or.
22
The car park under The Boardroom was filling up but they managed to find a space in a dark corner three storeys below ground. Julie peered out of the windscreen and decided to go for it; such a remote spot had its advantages and, anyway, there was a lift.
They all piled in and, as the throb of the music got louder, Chen was beginning to wonder if even he’d underestimated the general gruesomeness of the evening ahead. This really wasn’t his kind of thing but he’d come along because he didn’t want to appear a spoilsport. Roosha stared at her reflection in the mirrored lift wall, was convinced that she was wearing completely the wrong outfit and that everyone would laugh at her dancing. Jones was worried about the lack of fire safety features in the lift. Only Julie was jiggling to the pounding beat, a blissful grin on her face. She was going to party and no one was going to stop her. She looked around the lift and stopped jiggling.
"Look, we can go back if you like, but Harvey wouldn’t forget it. For a computer he’s such a gossip and he’d tell everyone. Give it half an hour and see how you feel."
Getting out of the lift, they were met by a riot of colour and noise. The walls were giant multiscreens reaching from floor to ceiling, each one flashing garish collages of pop footage, adverts and spycam shots of the clubbers. Even the transparent floor had hundreds of monitors under it, each one showing a different commercial for a drink or fashion label. The roof space was a mass of cables, lights, loudspeakers and cameras. The cameras picked out pretty people or exciting dancers and splashing them large across the walls in a brief moment of stardom. Julie walked confidently up to the burly doorman, showed him the code number on her wristcom and whooped as he waved her through. Smiling back at the others and mouthing "YES!" she made her way straight to the bar and ordered four Blockers.
"You'll like these, they’re very more-ish. While we’re all together I’ll give you the low-down on this place. This floor’s the heaving, pulsating bit and the upper floor is the quiet and meditative area, all very ambient and spiritual. We meet back at the exit at eleven. Keep your wristcoms in text-“
“Pardon?” Julie laughed and shouted above the din.
“I said keep your wristcoms in text mode!”
“I think I’ve got a fairly good idea of where I’m going," shouted Chen as he pointed towards to the stairs. “See you later!"
Jones, Roosha and Julie found a place to sit and watched the dancers on the floor next to their table. Jones sat next to Julie and asked her a question.
“Pardon, Jones?" She smiled at him and slid nearer as if to hear him better. He caught her perfume and then she leant even closer so that her hair brushed his face. It felt like a shock of electricity and he was finding her scent and the ever-pounding beat of the music a heady mixture. The sensation both excited and unnerved him and he felt ever so slightly sick in his stomach. Julie pointed at a couple who wanted to sit down and moved in on his personal space.
“I think we’d better move up hadn’t we, Jones?” He became embarrassed and flustered and tried desperately hard to put some distance between them.
“Sorry Jones, is it my deodorant?"
“No, it’s just that I, er, um..." She looked him directly in the eye and leaned over, her warm breath on his ear. So that was Julie’s little game. Roosha suddenly felt very protective towards Jones and she winced as Julie moved up a gear.
“Let’s put it like this, Jones." said Julie softly, her lips brushing his cheek. “I don’t mind squashing up if you don't". Jones was beside himself and he looked nervously around the table. He felt as if he had a flashing sign on his head saying “HEY LOOK EVERYONE, I’VE REALLY GOT THE HOTS FOR JULIE".
Roosha now had her own preoccupations, the chief of which was a gorilla of a man in a black shirt. Jones watched Roosha and he wondered if she was OK but he decided that she could probably handle him: one of her looks would have far more effect than anything he could dish out. A touch on his arm woke him from his reverie and he felt his hand being squeezed.
“Come on, Jones, let’s dance. You coming, Roosha?” Roosha shook her head, smiled and looked wistfully at Jones. Standing up she gently pulled Julie’s head towards her and put her mouth to her ear.
“Be nice to him, Julie. Jones thinks he’s a bit of a toughie but this really is unknown territory for him.”
“Don’t worry Roosha, if I had the roadmap I’d willingly share it, but I haven’t. Anyway,” she added with a sly smile, “All he really needs is the love of a good woman."
“Touché, Fit Girl." Roosha sighed and then shrugged. Inside she felt uncomfortable but didn’t really know why. Was it jealousy? Hardly.
She turned round but the man in the black shirt had gone. She saw him propping up the bar and about to buy a girl a drink. Roosha obviously hadn’t paid him the right amount of attention. Stuff him, then. Draining her drink she watched Jones and Julie come back off the dance floor. Their seats had gone.
“It’s OK; you two lovebirds can have mine. You probably only need one, anyway!" She flounced off and hit the stairs: the last thing she felt like was the heaving, sweaty din of the dance floor. Reaching the top she stopped. The mood of the music had changed and it had gone slow and sensual. For some reason she suddenly had the compulsion to make sure that Jones was safe. She couldn’t put her finger on it; it was just a feeling. She turned round to go down and, from her particular vantage point at the top of the stairs, she could see what no other person would have done. A shadow was flickering this way and that in a lighting gantry. There was someone up there.
Running down the stairs, she saw her friends on the dance floor again. They weren’t dancing this time but locked together in an embrace and swaying gently to a slow song. Looking up she saw the shape of a figure and screamed as she saw an arm point a weapon at Jones and Julie. She shouted at them to get down but the noise in the club was still too loud; too loud for her to be heard but not too loud for the air to be cracked open by the report of a firearm.
Moments later there was a large circle around Jones. The clubbers watched in silence as he cradled Julie in his arms, her warm blood soaking his shirt. Some had seen the whole gruesome incident on the giant screens. The cameras were still trained on Julie and her gigantic, pale face stared from all four walls.
In the ambulance, Roosha watched the medic as Julie’s chest was strapped up. Roosha squeezed Jones’s hand and just managed to utter "Good medic, Jones," into his hot, sticky face before she felt her own convulse in tears again. If ever she felt guilty this was it. Looking out of the darkened window, Jones saw the city below. It looked just like it did on the night he had been tried. The door in the bottom of the ambulance started opening before it had even properly touched down, a bad sign if ever there was one as it could only mean that every second held Julie’s fate in its grasp. Jones gripped Roosha’s arm and buried his face in her sleeve.
They watched the stretcher being lowered through the bottom of the ambulance and onto a large hydraulic platform. An orderly stood at each end and Jones and Roosha saw it hiss and plummet to a lower floor of the hospital. It had started raining on the roof and the wind had whipped itself up but they were both oblivious to it. Roosha sat on a hatch cover and looked out over the skyscrapers. She pulled Jones closer to her and rocked him as she kissed and stroked his head.
23
At the time, Chen had thought it was a really good idea to climb a pillar, jump into the lighting gantry high above the dance floor and chase a gunman round flimsy, swaying walkways in the roof space of the club. It even seemed a good idea to pursue him through a small trap door onto the roof space, but right now, in the cold and the dark and the rain, it all suddenly felt a little rash to say the least.
Crouching in a cold puddle behind a ventilation duct, he tried to keep really still. He had uncoiled briefly to stretch but got a bullet graze in his shoulder for his troubles so he decided that cramp was probably preferable to something more terminal. Finding a loose bolt in the ventilation cowling, he removed it carefully from its hole and threw it onto a different part of the roof. A mocking voice came from out of nowhere.
“Gonna have to do better than that, boy. Whisper are somewhere higher up the evolutionary scale than a primordial swamp amoeba like you!" The sound of footsteps came nearer to where he was hiding. “Ain't you never heard of night vision glasses, sonny? Tut tut. Stand up slowly 'n' raise your arms!" Chen heard a safety catch click. It was definitely a bullet-firing gun.
“Good old-fashioned lead, boy. I have a sort of sentimental attachment to the traditional way of doing things. More kinda right, huh?" The figure stepped forward and was now silhouetted against the light. Chen saw an arm raise as the man took aim.
“Say "night" and “thank you" for an exciting evening, sonny!"
Chen heard a whirring roar rise up from behind him and saw his would-be assassin bathed in flashing blue light. The police bubblejet swung round and a harsh, metallic voice shouted at the gunman to drop his pistol. As he did so, a blast blew him over and he grabbed his shoulder. A cackle came from the megaphone and a harness dropped from the hovering police craft. Climbing into the sling, Chen held on tightly as the roof disappeared and he hung over a yawning canyon of steel and glass.
As his head rose into the bright, warm atmosphere of the bubblejet, Chen noticed that no one was wearing a uniform. A large hand covered with rings grabbed his collar and dumped him on the floor.
“Welcome, boy! Fancy seeing you. It’s enough to make me wanna shout with joy! Actually, perhaps I ought to keep my voice down and whisper…" A deathly pale face topped by dyed black hair grinned into his. “I guess that’s a kinda clue, Kung Fu Kid. Here’s another one!" A fist brandishing a heavy pistol waved in front of his nose.
“See that scar on my hand? Very careless of me. Thing is, Marty’s got one and so have Brando, Federico and Bosch. Kinda careless of us all, boys: we must take more care when using these nasty sharp knives." The pale man looked round to raise a dutiful laugh. Chen studied the ‘W’ shaped weal on the man’s knuckles and slumped on the cold, hard floor. So this was the gang called Whisper. Things didn’t look good.
The pale man looked out of the window and ran a hand through his plaits.
“Guess they’ve got Harley by now". He shouted towards the front of the cabin. “Not your best shot, Brando. If Harley squeals, you and me got some talking to do." He turned back to Chen.
“You see, boy, I’m surrounded by morons. F’rinstance, I kept telling Harley in the club but he didn’t rightly comprehend. I said ‘Shoot the girl and take the white boy’. Yep. That’s what I said. I said ‘shoot the girl and take the white boy.’ What happens? He shoots the girl and then tries to take you out, you who have been dumb enough and crass enough and stupid enough to follow him onto the roof. That’s why he had to be punished. Tell me, Princess Ponytail, what am I to do when I’m surrounded by such idjuts?"
Chen looked at the other occupants of the cabin. People called him weird…. so what were these guys then? The clothes were strange but expensive and the jewellery plentiful. Probably the most unsettling thing about their appearance was the combination of the make-up and the tattoos. The eye-liner had been carefully applied and the tattoos discreetly kept to upper arms and chest. The leader looked at Chen and pretended to put his fingers down his throat.
“This freak makes me want to vomit. Redeem yourself, Brando: put him with the others and tie him up real good." As Brando tied Chen up next to three trussed-up police officers, Chen looked him in the eye.
"I want to thank you for saving my life on the roof".
“Heck," chuckled Brando as he taped Chen’s wrists to his ankles, “by the time Blanc’s finished with you, you’ll be wishing we hadn’t butted in!"
"Blanc?"
"The guy in charge here."
"Is he head of Whisper?" Brando looked at him in disbelief.
“You don’t know nothin', do you? He’s a tiny speck of sand in the big ba-a-ad world that is Whisper." He taped Chen’s ponytail to the central pole in the middle of the hold. “Don’t go away now, Princess!" Chen looked at three police officers bound together round a chair, their bruises contrasting with the clean whiteness of the tape over their mouths. Settling as best he could, Chen listened to the laughter from the control cabin.