14. THE NEON MAZE.
Las vegas: Monday 28th May 1990.
The television set just blared away in the backround... ........ The news was on, but I wasn't listening......
The newsreaders voice seemed to merge with the backround noise from outside my hotel window- The window I had been staring out of for the previous twenty minutes.....
....... I just stared down at the world below, watching the world go about it's business....
I was tranfixed and quietly floating away... My mind was blank...... Peaceful......
Without Hymie I was free.....
Somebody was calling the room... You can guess who...... ...... I wasn't listening....
I ignored the calls and decided to take a walk....... Get a breath of fresh air... .... See the sights.....
I Laughed to myself exiting my room- Thinking about Hymie repeatedly calling my room, hoping to piss me off so much I'd pick up the phone... Unaware I was outside in the big bad city.....
Just me.....
I laughed to myself in the lift; the old fella next me thought I was nuts! But I couldn't hold it in!
Getting one over on that prat felt too good!
I envisioned Hymie slamming the phone violently against the desk, cursing my name and the day I was born......
ONE NIL YA' JEW BASTARD!
It suddenly occurred to me that staying in the room and getting drunk was a waste of time- Negative energy..... Nothing good would come of it. It would just be me and a load of bad memories.......
It was time to see what the city of Las Vegas had to offer......
There was nothing that took my fancy, nothing that set the world on fire; Las Vegas looks like it does on the television.
I jumped into a cab and stopped by a Tower Records. For so long I'd promised myself a recordable walkman, like the one Hymie has- If its good enough for a degenerate bastard like him, it's good enough for me.
I felt strangely at peace.......
......... Walking around Las Vegas with my cane, taking in the sights.... My mind seemed calm....
Tower Records was impressive: Three large, football pitch sized floors of cassette tapes, vinyl and compact discs; multiple esculators and flashing lights; cardboard cutouts of pop stars and sportsmen; large, flashing television screens showing music videos and sport....
It was all rather dizzying..... It took me five minutes to remember what I'd come in for in the first place....
The confusion must have been written all over my face....
A young shop assistant called Bradley was keen to help me:
"Errr.... Hi there! Can I be of any assistance sir?"
I took me a moment to explain what I needed, but I managed to spit it out in the end.... I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so confused....
It was as if the kid had given me a strange jolt, but not in a bad way.... I was in a strange place for a moment....
I drank in his enthusiasm......
......... Watching him talk about a walkman as if it was a top of the range sports car.... I smiled, as he extolled the virtues of a duel playback system.....
Bradley reminded me so much of someone, but in the moment my mind couldn't couldn't work out who.......
..... Who was it?
I watched Bradley smile; he had a smile that was infectious..... I smiled too..... I watched Bradley smile........
Smiling like Tobey used to.........
Maybe it was because of Tobey I let Bradley sell me a bunch of albums I'll probably never listen to: Guns N Roses, Van Halen, Motley Crue- Hymies pals......
I managed to pick up some Nina Simone and Otis Reading before returning back to my hotel room......
The red light on the phone was flashing away when I got back, indicating I had a message or messages......
Hymie.....
This is the first time I've felt good in a while; maybe not being around Hymie has helped. I'm considering flying back to England or maybe visiting Eleanor in South America. After a hot shower, with the air con on full blast, I'm weighing this all up my head.....
Maybe stay in this fucking hotel room with Nina and the walkman and just lock out the outside world........
..... Back to Blighty or maybe head for Argentina?
Does it matter?
...... Any port in a storm.......
....... It feels nice to feel the soft carpet under my toes as I make a call to room service......
........ The bellboy is a miserable cunt called Wayne. He seems to always be the one delivering to my room- He acts as of it's a problem bringing things up to my room....
Anyone would think it's his fucking job.....
The bugger looks down at the two dollar tip and scowls.......
"Goodbye," I tell him, closing the door as he mumbles something under his breath. The first five dollar tip I gave him he raised his eyebrows, now he gets two.....
...... Just me again.....
.... Peace....
.....Swilling a glass around in my hand, listening to the tapes I bought.... Getting dressed slowly..... ...... At my own pace....
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The loud knocking at the door- Hymie.......
We were supposed to meet in the bar downstairs- Not for another hour! What's with this cunt?!.... Impatient as always.....
"COMING HYMIE! ONE MINUTE!" I shout, spraying on deodorant, trying to button my short sleeve shirt with one hand.....
Opening the door, I suddenly remember why I was avoiding Hymie.
"Hey Asshole! We didn't drop by for a peepshow!" He says, referring to my naked navel.
The 'we' Hymie is referring to, is the two girls from the bar; the two girls the cop scared off..... They look different somehow- Dressed in dinner dresses, they somehow look older than their years; older then when I first met them......
Hymie is on form:
"Blue?! Tone? Blue......"
The girls giggle, giving those looks to each other.....
Hymie is referring to blue suit I'm wearing:
"This fuckin' guy! He only ever wears black suits... With a white shirt n shit!" The girls giggle again....
I just raise my eyebrows like Wayne with his five dollar tip.......
"WHAT?!.... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!" Shouts Hymie out of the blue, jolting everybody......
The Motley Crue tape!
Shit!
I'd forgotten! I was gonna give it to Hymie as a joke! Drop it in jacket pocket- A nice surprise....
The cassette tape drops onto the floor as Hymie unfolds the tape cover:
"LOOK-AT-THESE-FUCKIN'- FAGS MAN!!"
"That's enough Hymie!" I snap, annoyed the bastatrd has barged into my room, disturbing a rare moment of peace.........
He points to the photo inside the tape cover:
"C'MON TONE! THESE MOTHERFUCKERS GOT LEATHER PANTS N SHIT! THEY GOT A BROADS HAIR-DO! SHIT! I WANNA PUT MY HAND UP THEY'RE SKIRT AND FINGER THESE BITCHES!"
Hymie tears the cover in half and throws it over his shoulder......
PRICK!
"I like 'Every Rose'!" Sarah says, looking around the room- Inspecting it. "That's Poison," corrects Talia.
"Whatever," Hymie laughs, "they all look like redneck, fag motherfuckers n shit!"
He picks up the cassette from the carpet and starts to pull the tape out with his fingers.
"Hymie, what the fuck-"
Before I can finish what I'm saying, he's jumped on the bed, swinging the tape around his head like a lasso- The plastic casing flying and whizzing around the room, clanking against the light shade, the tape elongating rapidly.
"YEEEEEAAAH HAAAWWWW!! MA N PA! BREAK OUT THE DAMN BOURBON!"
The girls think this is hilarious, falling into each other as they watch the cunt destroy my property. Funny- I admit...
But I can't condone this:
"Hymie! That cost me six dollars! You fucking spastic!"
He pushes a twenty dollar bill into my shirt pocket:
"By some decent records asshole!"
It suddenly occurs me to me that I need to get Hymie and the girls out of my room before more of my property is destroyed- I dump what remains of the album in the waste paper basket and hit the light switch.......
We walk down the long hotel corridor towards the lifts- Hymie's banging on random doors with his gold plated fists:
"HIDE THE COCAINE ASSHOLES! IT'S THE PO-LICE!"
I say nothing as there's no use- There's girls around and Hymie is doing his schtick.... The girls have started to sing 'Every Rose' as we get nearer to the lifts.... I'm fucking regretting this already....
Why did I agree to Vegas with Hymie?......
As the lift doors- Excuse me!
As the'Elavator' doors open, an old couple step out: An old hag with a wrinkled face, fur coat and ruby red lipstick- Long past her best.... The old fella is a long streak of piss in a grey suit who looks deaf as a post....
The old hag sticks her fingers in her ears to signal how loud we're being. The girls stop singing and start laughing.
This angers the old bitch- She turns to her husband:
"Honestly.... Some people have no class......"
Without knowing it, the old hag has just pulled the pin out of the grenade: A grenade called Hymie.....
As we're stood in the lift, he drops his trousers and pants. He lifts his cock up and grabs his balls:
"THIS!... THIS!... THIS IS WHAT YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' FACE LOOKS LIKE BITCH!! HOW'S THAT FOR CLASS?! FUCKIN' BITCH!"
He lets go of his cock and then points to it:
"YOU LIKE THIS?! DOES IT LOOK SMALL MAYBE?!.. IT WOULDN'T BE IF I STUCK IN YER MOUTH! CAN YOU SWAL-LOW!"
The elevator doors close, leaving the old couple with their wrinkly mouths on the swirly carpeted floor.
I watch Hymie fasten the gold buckled belt on his suit trousers.
PRAT!
The girls are still laughing as we step into the taxi.......
I have a bad feeling this is just the tip of the iceberg with Hymie. He usually does this sort of thing at the end of the night when he's absolutely blotto- We haven't even had dinner yet!
Hymie explains that Les Halleś is a French cuisine restaurant that specialises in seafood, but it isn't a seafood restaurant. The girls aren't even listening; I just nod along wearily......
"They blast the fries in peanut oil! SHIT! And when you got that dope ass butter on the lobster and the fries?! Shit! FORGET ABOUT IT! DAAAAAMMN!" Hymie boasts, lighting up another cigar, whipping his his big gold lighter into his pocket.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't-"
Before the words are out of the cab drivers mouth, Hymie has flung a crumpled twenty dollar bill over the seat at the driver, who sighs as he picks up the bill from the floor......
Inside Les Halleś, we stand around....
Waiting to be seated.....
The Maitre D approaches us, his eyes narrowing when he sees Hymie:
"Can I have the name.... Sir?"
He stares down at the reservation book.
"Papin... Jean-Pierre...." Sniggers Hymie.
The maitre D's eyes narrow even more- He spins around on his heels and leads us to a table at the back of the restaurant:
"I take it you'll be wanting the smoking section..."
It's nice to feel wanted......
......... Seated, Hymie can't contain himself:
"I gave the name of a French soccer player!" "Football," I correct.
"Whatever," he responds, flinging a menu at me, snapping his fingers for a waiter...... Hymie can be an utter cunt in public; its not that he's not aware- He's fully aware. Hymies aware of everything.
Hymie says he'll recommend for all of us. He orders three bottles of champagne- The waiter looks disgusted by his gluttony... This just spurs him even on more.
I sometimes wonder if Hymie was put in this earth to antagonise the human race- Maybe he was spat from the bowels of hell......
Hymie starts another story. This one is about the footballer whose name he gave the snotty Maitre D:
"... So like Rolling Stone wanted to do this story on Soccer in Europe......"
"Football," I correct. Again.....
"Whatever..... So, they give us these plane tickets to different parts of Europe..... I get France.. France! Shit! Not Italy or Spain?! France!.."
What a raconteur Hymie.....
He continues on:
"I'm at this hotel in Marseille.... This dude shows up with his manager... This dude looks like some kinda angel or some shit...."
The girls are laughing already.... They can see the story will descend into a tale of chaos and disorder. Hymie downs a glass of champagne in one long gulp and pours another....
The raconteur forges onwards:
"... He's got this blonde, curly hair... Dude's wearing a pink, silk shirt! His manager looks like a terrorist! Black sunglasses, beard, leather jacket..... Like Carlos The Jekyl.... I can't take my eyes of this soccer player...."
"Football player," I comment.
Ignored.
"..... I got the tape recorder rolling... But I gotta know! Is he a fag?" "Why would it matter Hymie?" I ask. Ignored. Again.
".... So, I keep asking him about his girlfriend or his wife, weaving the questions in n shit.... The asshole won't play ball. No way..."
The girls are hanging on his every word. His face has turned evil. Here it comes:
"So.... I ask him about his work schedule.... When I say 'partner', the asshole asks me what I mean... So I asked him: Are you gay?"
"That's out of order Hymie," I comment..... Ignored.
"..... This asshole reached across the table and socked me in the chin! His manager jumped in before I could kick his ass!! I heard he lives in Italy now, asshole needs to watch his back! I holiday there like every two years..."
I'm sure he's quaking in his boots Hymie....
"Was he?" Asks Sarah, her eyes full of innocence.....
"My lawyer got that shit dealt with.... He said he spoke with his wife!" We all laugh- Hymie was wrong.
Again!
Something behind me grabs the girls attention.
"Shit!" Talia says, "what the fuck is wrong with those people on that table. They look like 'Night of The Living Dead' or something......"
Hymie laughs out loud- That acidic laugh:
"How did they get in?! They should be in a trailer park eating tuna fish outta a tin can! Or drinking Port Of Saint Louis with Tone...."
I'm choosing to ignore the blatant snobbery and tackle the lobster and butter combination..
...... I'd rather be somewhere else: A smoky chip shop in Portishead; a noisey steakhouse in New York; a Las Vegas hotel room with a bottle of cheap rum and a type-writer.....
...... Somewhere without white carpets...
The girls clank their cutlery, overcome with excitement at being in such a swanky place.
"So....." Talia says, "We know who Hymie is, but who is Tony?"
Hymie puts his knife and fork down, his mouth is full of steak- But he explains, as always....
Regardless:
"Tone is a writer from England, his new book just shifted fifty thousand copies in a week!"
"Impressive!" StatesTalia, rather predictably...... She isn't impressed at all......
Talia turns to Hymie:
"I was at a bookstore a while back, and I got this book called 'The Savage Twilight'..... It was really....."
She rolls her eyes back in her head, searching for the words. She has no idea....
It was me who wrote it......
She continues:
"... Really sick. This dude, he kidnaps girls at night, takes them to an abandoned building, chains them up to a wall, rapes them and then eats them while they're still alive! Gross! How can somebody write that shit?! It's disgusting!"
Her critique is harsh.....
..... But refreshingly honest.
Hymie chokes on his food as he sniggers...... He winks at me.
I ask her:
"Did it disturb you?"
"Yeah... Totally! I threw it in the trash! It was a waste of five dollars!" The cream of America think my work is bin fodder......
"Whoever wrote that is a fucking asshole....." Mumbles Sarah, sipping her champagne, looking around the restaurant.
"Well," Hymie says, "I know the guy who wrote it!"
"You should tell him he's an asshole!" Sarah responds, prodding her steak one of the large restaurant forks.
Hymie cracks his head back and laughs- The girls look confused.....
"He knows," I say, raising my glass in a mock toast. The girls look at each other quizzically.
I excuse myself and head to the toilets as Hymie calls for the bill. ...... Walking through the restaurant I see somebody in front...... .... Strangely familiar.......
But I can't place where I know him from......
I don't know anybody in America- Except Hymie.
Has the booze scrambled my brain? Yeah.....
...... Maybe.
Inside the 'restroom', I realise how superficial Vegas is..... Everything is sleek and shiny- Not like toilets in Blighty. Bright white light reflects of black marbled walls, gold taps set on black marble sinks. There is no flunky in sight; he must be on his tea break- Getting a blow job on a roulette table somewhere maybe?
I stare straight ahead as I empty my bladder. The chap next to me who looked so familiar from the back farts loudly:
"OOOOHHHH..... Nice.... Better out than in......"
My blood turns cold....... The accent is British. ...... West Country.
PORTISHEAD.
I turn and there he is: TERRY.
WHAT......
..... ON..…
EARTH..... ..…
HUH?!
It takes me a moment.....
Shock pulses through me.....
"Cat got yer tongue," he says, smirking at me. "Long time, eh......"
Terry looks like shit: His shaven head is now greasy, limp strands of thin hair, covering a thining scalp; his eyes are grey and bloodshot; his face is red and bloated, covered in blotches.
"Aint seen you since you did a runner from Portishead. What's it been? Six years?"
"Eight," I correct him.
He's still an antagonistic prick..... But older and uglier.....
He's wearing a load of gear he's bought in the states- It can't hide the fact he looks like death warmed up.
"Me brother sold up the garage! I got made redundant! He gave me a pay off! Can you fucking believe it! Me own brother! Selling the family business! Fucking disgusting innit...."
He looks at me for a reaction- Maybe sympathy......
I just stare at him.
Then he continues:
"So I got my package and took the wife on holiday..... Once in a lifetime opportunity. So tell me.....
Is this where you've been hiding since you did a runner?"
Any sympathy I might have had for him is now fading:
"I didn't do 'a runner' Terry boy....."
"What would you call it then?" He spits back, smirking.....
"I moved to London because there was nothing left for me in that dump.... It was time to leave. The courts ruled I was not at fault, a vehicle had jumped out in front of us. Do I feel guilty? Yes. Yes I do Terry. It haunts me everyday, everyday of my fucking life! But I didn't do a runner! Been nice talking to you. Enjoy your holiday."
I turn and walk towards the door.
Then he says it:
"Fuck! Tone! I never meant to cause an accident....." I stop in my tracks.
HUH?!
What?!
I turn to face him:
"Come again?!"
He's now shaking, becoming tearful:
"Tone! I've become a state since the accident! Drinking all the time n that... I drink first thing in the morning, last thing at night! I never meant to hurt any of yers! I'm fucking racked with guilt yer cunt! Its killing me!"
I have no idea what Terry is talking about.
He goes on:
"When we was kicked outta the pub that night, I loosened the brakes on yer motor...." ...... Tears are starting to burst out of his red eyes...... I have no idea what he's talking about..... Then it clicks......
Terry..... He was supposed to tighten up my breaks.... He'd promised to look my brakes.... They were getting loose.... ... Slow.....
"I just wanted to give yous lot a jolt! I never knew some bastard would cut you up! I never meant for Tobey to die!!"
Theres tears pouring down his face now.....
I can see Terry looking at somebody stood behind me......
They've been there for a while- Listening to our conversation..... ..... Taking it all in.
I really don't care who it is....
I'm exonerated...... In my own mind at least.....
"There was that American fella! Jeff! Tobey an' some bird.... And you! I never meant to-" "Save it Terry. There's no hard feelings... Lets pretend this never happened... Lets go our separate ways.... I'm having dinner with Jeff's cousin.... If he catches wind of what you've done, he'll-"
"DO WHAT...... ASSHOLE?!"
I turn around....
There he is: HYMIE.
"Hymie, lets go....." I say, gesturing to the door.
As I go to put my hand on his shoulder to lead him out, he smacks it away violently:
"DONT DO THAT!! DONT FUCKIN' DO THAT YOU FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!!" ...... The cats out of the bag.
Hymies in front of Terry- Shaking..... Trying to find the words:
"YOU....... YOU...... YOU......"
I need to get Hymie out of here, before this turns any uglier- Hymies in a great deal of pain.
"Hymie mate, Lets go! Forget this cunt!"
"I swear Tone, I never meant to hurt any of yers, I'm paying for it with my soul... My missus is gonna leave me!" Terry says, tears rolling down his reddened, swollen face. "I can't stop drinking!
I'm fucked Tone! I'm going to fucking hell Tone! I'm gonna burn!"
There are no words. But I need to find some. Quick:
"Just fuck off Terry! Get out of here!"
Hymie turns to me:
"FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!!"
BOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!
......... Suddenly I'm on the floor. Hymie has exploded in a mushroom cloud of rage- He's fly kicked me in the chest! The cunt has sent me flying.....
I'm dazed.....
..... Winded...
As I try to pull myself up on the sink, Hymie is nose to nose with Terry:
"YOU KNOW WHO JEFF WAS?! THE GUY JUST STARES OUTTA FUCKIN' WINDOW EVERY DAY BECAUSE OF YOU ASSHOLE!!"
I'm stunned....
Unable to break up what's about to happen..... Hymies lost control.
BOOOFF! BOOOFF!!
Terry is on the floor....
Hymie is punching Terry repeatedly in the face....
BOOOFF! BOOOFF!!
There is no stopping Hymie- Droplets of blood are spraying onto the ice white floor:
"YOUR FUCKING ASSHOLE!! YOU MOTHER-FUCKERRR!! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!! YOUR FUCKING DEEEAAD!! DEAD!! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!!! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!!"
...... Terry is accepting his fate, too pissed to fight- Too guilty to fight back. The fight is gone from Terry....
BOOOFF! BOOOFF!!
A looooong time ago....
BOOOFF! BOOOFF!!
Splatters of blood in Hymies peroxide hair... Across his hands and rings:
"YOU FUCKIN' PIECE OF SHIT!! NO GOOD MOTHERFUCKER!!! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!!"
I'm trying to breathe......
BOOOFF! BOOOFF!!
I can hear Terry's skull thud against the floor tileing as Hymie grabs his greasey hair with both hands.....
BOOMP! BOOMP! BOOMP! BOOMP!
.... Tears rolling down Hymie face: Aggression.... Grief....... Regret....