*18*
I reckon you and Mike take me for a mug,' said Terry, opening another can of lager and sprawling on the sofa again. 'I don't swallow this bullshit about you wanting to know what Amanda looked like. I've seen the way you watch Mike, and I've seen the way he watches you, and my guess is you're panting for him to do some uphill gardening, and he don't fancy the idea.'
Barry wouldn't look at him. 'I don't understand what you're talking about,' he said.
'Sure you do. You're a faggot, Barry. So what were you fer when you went round Amanda's? And what did the old Bill nick you for?' He put a cigarette between his lips rolled it from side to side with the tip of his tongue. .'Know what I think? I think you got well worked up having a drink with me and Mike, and then went out to do some damage to the competition. I bet it really sticks in your gullet that he fancies Amanda more than he fancies you. Am I right or am I right?''
Barry reached forward to switch up the volume on the television. 'I don't want to talk to you,' he said.
'Stands to reason. You might hear something you don't want to hear, like Mike ain't so unavailable as he's making out.' His lips thinned to a cruel line as he lit his cigarette. 'He's pretty fucking keen on me, that's for sure.'
Barry didn't say anything.
'How about you, then? You keen on me, too, are you? You were getting mighty close last night when we were going through them photos.' He propped himself on one elbow and drank noisy mouthfuls of lager.
'You shouldn't be talking like this.'
'Why not?' said the boy with a sneer. 'It makes you excited, doesn't it?'
Barry doubted anything would excite him again. Fear was the only emotion he understood now. He should have trusted his first impression that Terry was a shaven-headed thug, then he could have saved himself this terrible disappointment. He took off his glasses and stared blindly at the screen. 'If I were a different kind of man-a braver one,' he said after a moment, 'I'd stand up to you. Not for me, but for Mike. It doesn't matter what you say about me, I've had people talk about me behind my back all my life, but Mike deserves better. The sad thing is, he thinks you're a decent lad.' He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if trying to hold back tears. 'But he couldn't be more wrong, could he?'
'Yeah, well, it ain't your place to lecture me about decency, being as how you most likely got arrested for indecency.'
'Did you abuse Billy's friendship the way you're abusing Mike's?'
'If I knew what it meant, I might be able to tell you.'
'Yes, I forgot. You're ignorant as well as despicable.'
Terry grinned. 'You want to be careful what you say to me, Barry. I ain't scared of no queer.' He blew a stream of smoke disdainfully in Barry's direction.
'Don't do that,' said the fat little man in a stifled voice. 'I suffer from asthma.'
'Jesus wept. If you weren't such a girl, you'd've hit me. Ain't you got no bottle at all?'
He was quite unprepared for the speed with which Barry launched himself at his throat, and equally unprepared for the little man's deceptive weight and strength. As his lungs started to struggle under the combined constriction of his throat and Barry's solid knee in the center of his chest, he realized he'd tried the rape scam on the wrong person. He looked despairingly into Barry's unseeing eyes and saw only madness.
'Where's Terry?' asked Deacon as he let himself back into the flat.
'In his room.'
'Asleep?'
'Probably. He's been in there half an hour. Can I get you something, Mike? Coffee? A drink?'
Deacon looked around the room, noticed Terry's abandoned cigarettes on the floor and the stain on the carpet where his lager had fallen over. 'What's been going on?'
Barry followed his gaze. 'I'm sorry about that. He knocked the can over accidentally. He's tired, Mike. Don't forget he's only fourteen.'
'Did he try something?'
'I'd rather you asked him.'
'Okay. How about a coffee? I'll check on him while you're making it.' He watched the other man go into the kitchen, then went down the side corridor and tapped lightly on the spare bedroom door.
'If that's you, you murdering bastard,' said Terry's suspicious voice from the other side, 'you can bog off. I ain't coming out till Mike gets back.'
'It is Mike.'
'Jesus,' said the boy, pulling the door wide, 'am I pleased to see you. Barry's round the fucking twist. He tried to kill me.' He pointed to his throat. 'Look at that. Fucking fingerprints.'
'Nasty,' said Deacon, looking at the red marks on the boy's neck. 'Why did he do it?'
'Because he's a nutter, that's why.' Terry poked his head nervously round the doorjamb. 'By rights I should have the law on him. He's well dangerous, he is.'
