This page contains a Flash digital edition of a book.
Jumping Jack Flash


Phone rings. Armstrong wakes. It’s Friday. 7.30. He peels a teenager off his chest. He pulls on jeans. Picks a chippie from the ashtray. Lights it. He goes to the bathroom. Looks in the mirror. His tan is fading. He pastes his toothbrush. The teenager appears in the doorway. She watches: tea in hand. He brushes like it’s a sport. He spits. Rinses. Gulps the tea. And pisses.


Downstairs, he’s dressed. Car keys. Fags. Pills. Puff and coke. All set. Front door slams. Key in ignition. Engine roars. He revs. Wheel-spins out the drive. Drum and Bass thuds. Cruises the streets. Lights stream green. No coppers about. Too early yet.


First stop: Jan’s. Three kids, and a husband away on nights. Doorbell chimes. She appears in her robe. Chinese print. Red. He slips in, and out. They smoke a fag. No time for tea. Front door slams. Drum and Bass shakes the gravel. A couple of revs, then he’s off.


Next stop: Jase’s. A bed-sit above The Stag. Always full. Plenty of dollar! He takes out a flip- phone. Rings a number. He’s led up a fire-escape. Inside, reggae blares. Blanket of smoke. Bopping heads. He’s offered a beanbag, and a can. He accepts and swigs half in one go. Half ounce of solid, a bag of green and twelve pills for later. He finishes the can. Down the fire- escape.


A riot van sits at the end of the street. No insurance, or tax! He slides in, turns off system and pulls out quietly. Drives off in the opposite direction. Next stop: Pat’s. No kids, just an Alsatian. Dog barks, but don’t bite. Pissy flat. Clothes everywhere. Two grams. She’s clucking. A quick line and he’s off. Back in the van. Petrol’s low. Quick stop at BP. Fills up, fucks off.


Next stop: his mother’s. He’s doing it up. Painter and Decorator, by trade. The house is bare. Carpet’s going down today. No sign of boys. He makes a call.


—Carpets? —On our way boss.


He flips the phone shut. Lights a fag. Inspects the plastering. Boys turn up. He leaves instructions. Does another line. Front door slams.


22


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