‘Alright, Kay?’ said Pete without looking up. He chuckled as he read. ‘My God, they’re not averse to a bit of pretension, this bunch, are they?’ He held up what he was reading and Kay saw it was Drum ‘n’ Bass Massive 3!, a CD Kay had just bought. Kay fought to speak but his mouth was suddenly dry in terror. ‘ "Rudeness ME sends shouts to: the Rough an’ Ready Posse, Shy FX," blah blah blah, "an’ Boys from da North, da South, da East, da West, remember… It’s a London Someting! Urban-style ghetto bass!" ’ Pete looked up, grinning. ‘This is drivel, Kay.’
‘Pete…’ Kay finally croaked. ‘What’s going on? Get me down, man! How did I get here?’
‘Well, I needed to ask you some questions about something. I’m concerned about something.’ Pete moved off, still reading. In his other hand he held Kay’s bag. He replaced the CD and brought out another. ‘ "Jungle versus the Hardsteppers." Cor! I’ve got a lot of lingo to learn if I’m going to get in with Natasha, haven’t I?’
Kay licked his lips. He was sweating even as he shivered. His skin felt slick with terror.
‘How did you get me here, man?’ he moaned. ‘What do you want?’
Pete turned to him, replaced the CD, squatted down on the platform to his left. His flute, Kay saw, was thrust through his belt like a sabre.
‘It’s early yet, Kay, probably not yet five o’clock. The Northern Line doesn’t start for a while. Just thought I’d let you know. And, yes, what I wanted… well. When I came out of the pub I headed for Natasha’s flat as well, a little after you, wanted to have a word or something. See what you got up to. I’ve been very interested in all these stories I keep hearing about your mate who’s in trouble, and I wanted to maybe get you on your own — see what you could tell me about him.’
‘Then, as I come towards you, downwind, I smell a very particular scent, one that someone wore once who I’m trying to track down. And it occurs to me that maybe your mate knows the bloke I’m after!’ He smiled reasonably and put his head on one side.
‘So. You did bump into your mate last night, didn’t you?’
Kay swallowed. ‘Yeah… but Pete… let me down… please. I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll just… please, man… this is really freaking me out.’
Kay’s mind was racing. He could not think for the pain in his head. Pete was mad. He swallowed again. He had to make him take him down, he had to do it now. Kay could not formulate his thoughts clearly, so overwhelming was the adrenaline rush brought on by fear. He was trembling violently.
Pete nodded.
‘I’m not surprised it’s freaking you out, Kay. Where’s your mate?’
‘You mean Saul? I don’t know, man, I don’t know. Please…’
‘Where’s Saul?’
‘Just get me fucking down!’
Kay’s control broke and he began to cry.
Pete shook his head thoughtfully.
‘No. You see, you haven’t told me where Saul is yet.’
‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t know! He, he, he said he was…’ Kay thought desperately for something to tell Pete, something that might save him. ‘Please let me go!’
‘Where’s Saul?’
‘The sewers! He said something… he stank. I asked where’d he been, and he was on about the sewers…’ Kay’s waist twisted, legs yanking violently at the strong cord.
‘Now that’s interesting,’ said Pete, leaning forward. ‘Did he say anything about where in the sewers? Because I’ve often suspected that… this guy I’m after uses them.’
Kay was sobbing.
‘Nah, man, he didn’t say nothing else… please… please… he was weird, his voice was weird, he stank… he wouldn’t tell me anything… Please let me down!’
‘No, Kay, I won’t let you down,’ Pete’s voice was suddenly shockingly vicious. He rose and stalked towards him. ‘Not yet. You see, I want to know everything you know about your friend Saul, because it’s important to me. I want to know everything, Kay, capeesh?’
Kay gabbled, tried to think of what he knew. He screamed about sewers, repeated that Saul had stunk, that he was hiding in the sewers. He ran out of anything to say. He whimpered and twisted where he hung.
Pete had been taking notes, nodding with interest now and then, writing carefully in a little notebook.
‘Tell me about Saul’s life,’ he said without looking up.
Kay talked about Saul’s father, the fat socialist they had all laughed at; about Saul’s brief, disastrous attempt to move in with a girlfriend; his return home, temporary he said, always temporary for the next two years. Kay kept talking, about Saul’s friends, about his social life, Jungle, the clubs, and as Kay spoke tears rolled down his cheeks. He was pathetically eager to please. He whimpered with each breath. He had no more to say and he was afraid, because Pete seemed pleased with him when he told him about Saul, and all Kay could think of was that he must keep Pete happy. But he truly had no more to say.
Pete sighed and put the pad in his pocket. He glanced at his watch.
‘Thanks, Kay,’ he said. ‘I guess you’re wondering what this all means, what I’m up to. I’m afraid I won’t tell you that. But you’ve helped me a lot. The sewers, huh? I thought as much, but you don’t really want to go wading around in shit unless you’re quite sure you have to, do you? It’s not really my turf, know what I mean? I’ll have to get him out.’ He grimaced lightheartedly. ‘Maybe… maybe… you… can… let… me… go…’ Kay forced the words out past chattering teeth. His body was shaking with little sobs, and every word of Pete’s chilled him.
Pete looked at him and smiled.
‘No,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I don’t think so.’
Kay’s screams began again, went shooting off down the tunnel he faced, bounced around him. He threatened, cajoled, pleaded, and Pete ignored him, and continued speaking in his conversational tone.
‘You don’t know me, Kay. I can do a trick.’ He pulled the flute from his belt. ‘See this?’ Kay continued begging. ‘I can play this, make anything I want come to me. Play the right notes and I can get you the cockroaches around us, the mice, anything close enough to hear. And it feels so good to make them come to me.’ He crooned the last sentence, and at the sound of that cloying wetness, that fucked-up sugary tone, Kay retched.
‘And I was looking at these tunnels and thinking how much they looked like wormholes,’ Pete continued. ‘If I played this, what do you think I might call?’
Pete put the flute to his lips and began to play, a strange, droning tune, a hypnotic dirge that wailed flatly over Kay’s garbled exhortations.
Kay gazed into the mouth of the tunnel.
Behind him the melody continued, and Kay could hear the slap of feet as Pete danced to his own tune.
The wind jerked around Kay, pushed into his face from somewhere far off.
Deep in the darkness before him something growled.
Kay hung like an obscene toy, nude and chubby in the yawning darkness of the underground.
The wind pushed on with more resolve, and the growl sounded again. Kay shrieked in despair, felt himself relax in terror, sag in his bonds, felt piss run down his legs. The tune continued.
There was a sound like steel whiplashing as the tracks buckled and moved under the oncoming weight. The wind began to hit Kay now, began to push his hair out of his face. Scraps of paper and dirt came whirling out of the blackness, surrounding him, sticking to him; grit filled his eyes and mouth and he fought and spat to clear himself of debris, consumed by a ghastly desperation to see.
The growling ebbed and flowed, became a clattering, began to drown out the disinterested flute. A great presence rushed towards him.