[The Game] Pentonville Road

Chapter 23

"Men in the game are blind to what men looking on see clearly"
- Chinese proverb.

Press play

Pentonville Road, 2nd December 1981

Rain, falling hard, a sharp swirling breeze whipping it upwards in slithering sheets that slap at passing cars. A horn sounds, lights flash. A figure in a black coat is pulled backwards by the collar, off the street and out of harm's way. On to the pavement he lurches, his companion shaking her head in exasperation. He rights himself, opening his eyes. A third figure, a man, huddles under a bus shelter and produces a pocket watch from his waistcoat. He sits down, smacking at the side of the watch, grimacing intensely. The other two figures begin having a conversation.
'Hey' Michael says with a smile, 'I didn't puke!'
'Yep. You just nearly got yourself knocked over instead' says Victoria, sitting down beside Gabriel under the bus shelter.
'I must be getting better at this' he announces. He looks around him, taking in the scene. An Austin Allegro zooms by. He grunts to himself. 'Late 70s?' he asks over his shoulder.
'80s. Early 80s' Gabriel says, his eyes fixed on the watch. A bus passes, belching a great wave of filth into the air, the majority of it splashing on Michael. He stands, arms open, mouth flapping as brown liquid pours down his face.
'Motherfucker!' he screams at the chugging red monster. 'Cunt!'
'Pentonville Road' Gabriel announces, closing the watch with a curse. 'Signal is stil crap. Can't get a lock on the next jumplink.' He looks up at Michael, who is still swearing at the dissapearing bus.
'Ignorant-ass, fat fucking shitface cuntsplatter!'
'Michael?'
'What?' comes a snarl.
'Any ideas?'
Michael's shoulders heave up and down. He turns on his heels, twisting his head this way and that. After a time he closes his eyes momentarily, breathes deeply, slightly swaying on his feet. Eventually, he turns left, raises an arm and points.
'That way' he says opening his eyes.
There's a moment's silence.
'You know some day, when we have a second to sit down' Victoria says with a tilt of her head, 'you must tell me how you do that...'
'Yeah, me too' Gabriel adds.
'Do what?' Michael asks.
'That' Victoria replies, 'how you always seem to know where the next link is. Usually we need one of those' she says with a nod indicating Gabriel's watch, 'to tell us. But you seem to be able to find them on your own'
'I dunno' Michael replies, kicking at the pavement with his foot, 'I just kind of feel them'
'Feel them?' Gabriel asks, exchanging a glance with Victoria.
'Yeah, I know that doesn't, well...'
'Make a shred of sense' Victoria adds.
'Yeah, guess not' Michael replies. 'Shall we?' he asks with a nod towards the road beyond them.
'We shall' says Gabriel, rising to his feet and pulling the collar of his coat tight around his neck.
They walk, three abreast, collars up, heads down.
'You'd think these feckin coats would have hoods' Michael mutters.
'Ha?' Victoria grunts at him.
'Well, they do every other bloody thing. Bend space and light, stop bullets, act as a shield against the forces of unspeakable darkness...'
'They don't stop bullets' Gabriel said with a smirk.
'They don't?'
'Nope'
'Fuck. Well, just saying you think they'd have a hood like'
'I guess we overlooked that' Victoria says.
'Guess so' Gabriel adds. 'How far?'
'About five minutes or so. I think'
'Groovy' Gabriel answers. Michael looks at him.
'You do realise that that makes you sound like an old fart, don't you?'
'What does?' he asks, looking back at Michael, rain pouring down his stubbly face.
'When you say "groovy". Makes you sound like a relic from Studio 54 or something'
Victoria sniggers. Gabriel stops walking.
'What?' Michaels asks, looking between them.
'I went to Studio 54, you little shit'
Michael stops walking and considers him a moment. 'How old are you?'
Gabriel regards him, his face a mask. 'Not so old that I can't kick your arse from here to fucking Scotland'
'Sorry' Michael says, turning his head back again and beginning walking. 'C'mon then' he says cheerfully, 'let's be moving'.

Five minutes later, they arrive at a bin on the side of a street. Gabriel and Victoria look at each other, pause and then look at Michael. He smiles and plunges his hand in to the bin, rummaging. 'In here somwehere' he says with a wince. The other two stare incredulously. After a few moments he emerges from the burger wrappers, soggy fag ends and beer cans holding something which makes Victoria jump backwards.
'Jesus Christ' Gabriel says, a look of intense disgust on his face.
Michael holds the item, an ancient looking boot, it's open torn toe staring at them like a gaping mouth, at an arms length but manages another smile. 'This is it' he says with a radiant grin.
'You sure?' Gabriel asks, holding his sleeve up to his nose.
'I think you're forgetting what game this is that we're playing' Michael replies.
'Fair point' comes the reply.
'C'mon then' says Michael, an impish grin spreading across his face.
Nearby, a red-eyed tramp, emerging from an alleyway, stops to consider them. He lists like a galleon, his eyes screwing up in concentration. He raises a hand to speak, seems to forget what he was going to say and closes his mouth.
Reluctantly, looking the other way, Gabriel tentatively places his left hand on the boot. He shudders from head to feet. Victoria steps forward and slowly places her hand on also. Her nose screws up
Michael looks at the tramp and winks.
They vanish, the boot falling to the ground with a wet splat.
'There it is' he says.

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Old Kent Road by Markybon. Used under a Creative Commons License.

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