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indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
Part 2: Pleasure or Gain
22.
Ripper took the bus back from the hotel, carrying his guitar case. The bus wasn't busy: it was too late for people going home from lunch and too early for the schoolkids. He found a double seat, sat across it, and had a cigarette.
Dee had found him the job. Dee, of all people, whose sole conception of music since Beethoven was "can dance to it" or "can't dance to it", which was the only way she could distinguish between "Helter Skelter" and "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun". But someone in Dee's family knew someone who owned a hotel whose lunchtime pianist had run off with the wife of the maître d'. Would an acoustic guitarist be considered as a replacement? So now Ripper was playing anodyne hits of the Fifties and Sixties from Wednesday to Saturday, with a set list that the hotel manager routinely scrubbed of anything interesting. But it was an all right job: it would tide him over.
He stepped off the bus into misting rain, a block from the house. He thought the squat would tide him over too.
It was not clean and it was not warm. He'd mopped his room's floor, but the dirt did not seem to shift and splashes left grey streaks on the walls. The electricity ran some days and not others, and the hot water frequently wasn't. He could sit at the bottom of the stairwell, smoking a cigarette, watching the ceiling paint drift like dandruff to the floor as mice ran through the hallway.
But he could do anything he wanted. He could get up at any hour of the day. He could read or not read, he could play guitar or stare at the wall. He could spend the whole day drunk if he wanted. He could do anything or go anywhere he liked, if he had enough cash in hand, and wasn't going to be late for work.
His housemates though had surprised him by being stick-in-the-muds. He'd thought a squat would be chaotic, with people coming and going, parties and noise, and girls passed out on sofas, but no. Weekday afternoons, for example, were always the same: Stan out, Adrienne at work, and Tom at university. Dee would be up in the attic, asleep with an opened book on her chest. Randall would be painting the upstairs landing and Ethan would be casting spells in the drawing room. Thoroughly predictable, the lot of them.
He'd go out this afternoon, he thought. He'd live it up. No reason for him not to. He'd had enough quiet days and he was through with them. He had the whole of London before him.
But first he went to see what the others were doing.
He found Ethan in the drawing room, sitting in the exactly same spot he'd been in when they'd first met, and wearing the same sandals and jeans. He had the same intent expression as he laid out the spell components, and he was just as oblivious to the movements of others.
Randall was there too, sitting inside his own circle of sorts, with a scrapbook and copies of The News of the World surrounding him. He had scissors and a pot of glue. He asked Ripper, "How was work?"
"All right," Ripper said.
So there was nothing happening here, again. He should head out. Only there was something wrong with Ethan's set-up, even if Ripper wasn't sure what.
Today Ethan was working with Spivak's Compendium, a volume Ripper knew only by reputation, but which was probably suitable for someone at Ethan's level. The spell involved cards laid out three by three within a rectangle with corners marked out by small stones. Ethan scattered a pinch of sand over their backs and muttered a chant.
Ethan suddenly looked up. "Pick a card, any card," he said.
Ripper pointed at one.
"Turn it over."
Ripper did so. It was an ace of spades.
"Now pick another card."
This one was also the ace of spades. So was a third. And a fourth.
"Is that what the spell's supposed to do?" asked Ripper.
"Now pick one up and remove it from the circle."
Ripper took the first of his upturned cards. As soon as it left the marked-out space, it flickered into a two of diamonds.
"Dammit," said Ethan. "I can't get the bastards to hold their shape." He rubbed at his forehead, looking tired.
Could be the chant, Ripper thought. Or the kind of sand or the alignment of the cards.
"Doesn't sound much like a useful spell," Randall said. "Or a fun one. Can't you skip it?"
"It's an exercise," said Ethan. "It's not supposed to be either useful or fun."
It could be due to a lack of concentration of Ethan's part, Ripper thought, although, in all honesty, that seemed unlikely. The kind of stones?
"Then skip it," said Randall. He turned a page of his newspaper and laughed. "Poltergeist of Brighton Pier! Part-time model June Guthrie was..."
"Put it in the scrapbook," said Ethan.
"That's what I'm doing. Say, did you ever find out more about that woman you were looking for in the scrapbooks?"
"Turned out to be a dead end," Ethan said. "She died twenty years ago." He glanced over at Ripper. "Do you see anything wrong?"
"Well," Ripper said, but Dee came in then, saying, "Oh for God's sake, Ethan, are you still playing with those bloody cards?"
"It's not playing, it's practice."
"Can't you do something fun? Can't we? It's been ages since we did some fun magic."
"I whole-heartedly endorse her sentiment," Randall said.
"All right, all right," Ethan said. "I'll try and think of something."
"Good," she said. "And now Randall and I are going out to see a film."
"A film?" asked Ripper. So they might actually be doing something different this afternoon.
"Theatre of Blood. It has Vincent Price and Diana Rigg in drag. Want to come?"
"Er, no," said Ripper.
"No," said Ethan.
"Suit yourselves." She kissed the top of Randall's head. "Let's go, dear."
"So what's wrong with the spell?" Ethan asked again, as soon as Dee and Randall were out of the room.
"It's the stones," said Ripper. "The sandstone won't project the spell outside the rectangle. You should use quartz."
"Quartz," said Ethan.
"Or something else highly crystalline. Gypsum or halite, even."
"You know this, or you're guessing?"
"I know this," Ripper said.
Downstairs, the kitchen door slammed shut. Ripper could hear Randall and Dee heading out the back gate. The rest of the house was quiet. There were just the sound of Ethan's jeans sliding over the floor as he stretched his legs out, and the small cracklings of the cards as they were picked up and shuffled. Ripper realised that they were the only people left in the house: that was unprecedented. Tom and Adrienne wouldn't be back for a couple of hours.
He watched Ethan's hair swing over a shoulder as he lent over to sweep sand into an envelope, and thought that he looked a very little bit like David Gilmour. Any moment now, Ethan might turn around to say something mildly suggestive and Ripper would have to think of a reply. Ripper reminded himself that he was neither naive nor, as it happened, completely inexperienced, but that he had to think of Adrienne.
So Ripper said, "We could find you some quartz."
"Yes," said Ethan, suddenly cheerful. "There must be some sort of mineral tat shop somewhere."
"I know a place," said Ripper. "It's south of the river, near where I used to live. It's rather 'Age of Aquarius', but it would have what you need."
"Well, excellent," said Ethan. "We'll go now, unless you have something more pressing?"
Ripper fetched his jacket.
On the Tube he had a sidelong look at his fellow passengers, trying to memorise their faces so that he could recognise them again later on in case he was still being followed. Perhaps he should have taken the car instead.
"So, what were the main books you learnt from?" asked Ethan.
"Oh, this little primer my... grandmother put together," said Ripper. "And then Kreyszig's Introduction. And I had access to Stegun and Abramowitz's Handbook of Applied Magic for a while but I didn't really understand much of it at the time. You?"
"I had this old handwritten thing," said Ethan, "and I worked out some of it myself. Randall brought over a copy of Morse and this translated Ogata. And I've traded here and there for individual spells and techniques."
"Traded?" asked Ripper.
"Yes," said Ethan.
"I thought sorcerers were, well, apprenticed."
"Oh, Evelyn asked me, but I turned her down. I'm not very interested in her speciality."
"Which is sex magic."
"Yes," said Ethan.
"Right."
"It's just hard to imagine it being useful in an emergency."
New Dawn Bookshop and Gifts wasn't far from where Jim and Alison lived. It was a long and narrow little store sandwiched between an antiques dealer and an Oxfam shop. Ripper had checked it out a couple of times to see what it had, but this wasn't his game anymore. It had the usual incense, candles, bongs, and dragon statuettes. There were fake Celtic bangles and posters of Hawkwind. None of this seemed to perturb Ethan, who looked keen-eyed around the room, with his head slightly tilted as if he were listening for a sound. Then he ambled along the aisle, picking up all sorts of complete rubbish.
The only other customer was a middle-aged woman in a long floral skirt. Ethan looked her over too but then shook his head. "No-one I know," he said. "And I don't recognise our proprietress either."
They reached the table that was laid out with crystals of various sorts. "What do you think?" Ethan asked him.
Ripper picked out some unassuming but effective looking pieces of quartz, feeling rather self-conscious about it. Ethan looked like he belonged in the shop, with his collar-length hair and second-hand clothing, but Ripper didn't. Ripper thought he must look like the sort of person who would only go into a place like this in order to shoplift. He vaguely considered doing so. Ethan though, had moved on and was inspecting a moon-shaped candelabra.
Ripper caught up with him at the bargain bin. "Look at that candle-holder," said Ethan. "It's the only genuinely magical thing in this shop."
"You can just tell, can you?" asked Ripper.
"Yes," said Ethan, very matter-of-factly. "I haven't the faintest idea what it is though."
Ripper did. In fact, it rather astonished him that one of his old exam questions was turning out to be actually useful. "It's for warding off scryers," he said. It was slightly chipped and was going for fifty pence. Ripper wondered if the chip would make any difference to its efficacy.
"Well now," said Ethan, "aren't you full of interesting information? I'm not sure if I need it though."
"I'll buy it," said Ripper. "You take these," and handed him the quartz.
Ethan wanted to go to the pub after that, so they could avoid the worst of the rush-hour crush on the Tube. He found them a booth in The Saracen's Head and they sat opposite each other with their beers.
"This can't be where you're from originally," said Ethan, meaning south London. "You don't have the accent."
"Right," said Ripper, warily.
"So where are you from then?"
"Here and there."
"So we're back to that again, are we?"
"Where're you from then?" asked Ripper.
"There and here," said Ethan.
They lapsed into a pointed silence.
Ripper fished around for a less charged topic. "What about Dee?"
"Oh, she's pure Home Counties," said Ethan. "You can call her Diedre, by the way. It's her actual name." He reflected. "Not that you use yours, I suppose."
Ripper was quite keen to steer him off that topic too. "How'd she come to stay with you?"
"Paul," said Ethan, "one of Randall's older brothers. He and Diedre got engaged and Randall went home for the engagement party, because this is about the time when he and his family were almost reconciled. But what you have to know is that Diedre's family are mostly solicitors, and Randall's family are mostly doctors. They have their eccentricities, but you can imagine the party was quite staid--"
"You've met them?" asked Ripper. "Their famillies?" wondering what they'd made of Ethan.
"Oh yes," Ethan said, "several times. But then Randall shows up, dressed as he does as if he's from another world. And Diedre takes one look and decides that Randall's world is much more interesting than hers. So she runs off with Randall. The first I know of it is when this woman in an A-line skirt and pearls shows up at our flat, which wasn't big enough to swing a rat in."
"She's not still with Randall though," said Ripper.
"No," said Ethan, "well."
The conversation shut off again, like a tap.
After a while, Ethan managed, "How are you going then, looking for a new band?"
"I'm going to meet some people on Sunday," said Ripper.
"Right," said Ethan. After that they decided it was probably time to head home.
Outside the pub, though, Ripper bumped into Jim. There was a wary moment when Ripper considered punching him out for breaking up the band. But it didn't look fair: Jim looked exhausted.
"Alison's had the kid then?" Ripper asked.
Jim nodded. A boy, it turned out, seven pounds, here's the photo (it looked ugly and pink-faced). Ripper remembered to ask after its name. Jim said, they'd thought Donald at first, but that hadn't seemed right for him, so they'd gone for Stephen. Stephen Donald Cox. And how was Ripper these days? So Ripper told him about the hotel gig and how terrible it was. He didn't say, and it's your fault I have to be there.
Ripper looked around, thinking he'd have to introduce Jim to Ethan, but Ethan had wasn't there. Jim said he had to get home to Alison and little Stevie now, stay in touch. He looked a little relieved.
Ripper ducked back into the pub, but couldn't see Ethan there either. Maybe he'd gone on to the Tube station and was already on his way home.
In fact, Ethan was still in the station. He'd laid out some cards and the quartz pieces on a countertop. A small group of people had gathered around him.
"I'll bet you a pound," Ethan said to the man at the front, "that you'll pick the two of spades. You can shuffle and you can lay out the cards if you like. Check and see that they're an ordinary pack first."
Ripper loitered in a nearby doorway as five people lost a pound each. The spellcasting was faultless, even when people threw their two of spades angrily onto the floor or tore them up.
The first man came back. "This is a trick!" he said.
"Of course it's a trick," said Ethan. He just stood there, smiling slightly, as the mood got uglier. Couldn't he tell, or did he not care?
Ripper moved forward to pick up and the cards and quartz pieces. "Time to go," he said.
Someone tapped him on the back. "So, are you his accomplice? Are you how he does it?"
Ripper turned around to face someone who was considerably stockier than he was but not as tall. "Piss off," he said. "You've lost your bet, that's it."
"I think you'll be giving me my pound back," said the man.
This seemed doubtful, as Ethan was somehow halfway to the stairs. So Ripper said, very quietly, "I think you'll get out of my way."
The stocky man raised a fist but never got to use it. Ripper kneed him in the groin, then punched his jaw. The man keeled over. Ripper kicked him, then kicked him again.
Passerby stared as Ripper tried to walk away casually. Someone shouted, "Police!"
But there was no police officer nearby and no-one else seemed willing to accost him. He reached the stairs, and then he went down them, and at the bottom, coming into the platform, was a perfectly-timed train.
Ripper got on board, wondering if, at any moment, he'd hear the toot of a policeman's whistle. But all that happened was that the train moved off, and Ethan came through from another carriage.
"Good work," said Ethan. "I have to thank you for that."
"I'm not doing that again," Ripper said.
Ethan laughed. He laughed in these loud bursts that had everyone in the carriage turn and look at them. And Ripper found himself laughing too, partly because it had been a bit of a rush, but also a little hysterically. He'd never beaten anyone up in full public view before.
When Ethan finally got a grip on himself again, he said, "Those quartz pieces really did help."
"You are bloody insane," said Ripper. "I'm telling you that next time you are on your own."
Ethan didn't say anything, but he grinned. It made Ripper want to punch him too.
Part 2: Pleasure or Gain
22.
Ripper took the bus back from the hotel, carrying his guitar case. The bus wasn't busy: it was too late for people going home from lunch and too early for the schoolkids. He found a double seat, sat across it, and had a cigarette.
Dee had found him the job. Dee, of all people, whose sole conception of music since Beethoven was "can dance to it" or "can't dance to it", which was the only way she could distinguish between "Helter Skelter" and "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun". But someone in Dee's family knew someone who owned a hotel whose lunchtime pianist had run off with the wife of the maître d'. Would an acoustic guitarist be considered as a replacement? So now Ripper was playing anodyne hits of the Fifties and Sixties from Wednesday to Saturday, with a set list that the hotel manager routinely scrubbed of anything interesting. But it was an all right job: it would tide him over.
He stepped off the bus into misting rain, a block from the house. He thought the squat would tide him over too.
It was not clean and it was not warm. He'd mopped his room's floor, but the dirt did not seem to shift and splashes left grey streaks on the walls. The electricity ran some days and not others, and the hot water frequently wasn't. He could sit at the bottom of the stairwell, smoking a cigarette, watching the ceiling paint drift like dandruff to the floor as mice ran through the hallway.
But he could do anything he wanted. He could get up at any hour of the day. He could read or not read, he could play guitar or stare at the wall. He could spend the whole day drunk if he wanted. He could do anything or go anywhere he liked, if he had enough cash in hand, and wasn't going to be late for work.
His housemates though had surprised him by being stick-in-the-muds. He'd thought a squat would be chaotic, with people coming and going, parties and noise, and girls passed out on sofas, but no. Weekday afternoons, for example, were always the same: Stan out, Adrienne at work, and Tom at university. Dee would be up in the attic, asleep with an opened book on her chest. Randall would be painting the upstairs landing and Ethan would be casting spells in the drawing room. Thoroughly predictable, the lot of them.
He'd go out this afternoon, he thought. He'd live it up. No reason for him not to. He'd had enough quiet days and he was through with them. He had the whole of London before him.
But first he went to see what the others were doing.
He found Ethan in the drawing room, sitting in the exactly same spot he'd been in when they'd first met, and wearing the same sandals and jeans. He had the same intent expression as he laid out the spell components, and he was just as oblivious to the movements of others.
Randall was there too, sitting inside his own circle of sorts, with a scrapbook and copies of The News of the World surrounding him. He had scissors and a pot of glue. He asked Ripper, "How was work?"
"All right," Ripper said.
So there was nothing happening here, again. He should head out. Only there was something wrong with Ethan's set-up, even if Ripper wasn't sure what.
Today Ethan was working with Spivak's Compendium, a volume Ripper knew only by reputation, but which was probably suitable for someone at Ethan's level. The spell involved cards laid out three by three within a rectangle with corners marked out by small stones. Ethan scattered a pinch of sand over their backs and muttered a chant.
Ethan suddenly looked up. "Pick a card, any card," he said.
Ripper pointed at one.
"Turn it over."
Ripper did so. It was an ace of spades.
"Now pick another card."
This one was also the ace of spades. So was a third. And a fourth.
"Is that what the spell's supposed to do?" asked Ripper.
"Now pick one up and remove it from the circle."
Ripper took the first of his upturned cards. As soon as it left the marked-out space, it flickered into a two of diamonds.
"Dammit," said Ethan. "I can't get the bastards to hold their shape." He rubbed at his forehead, looking tired.
Could be the chant, Ripper thought. Or the kind of sand or the alignment of the cards.
"Doesn't sound much like a useful spell," Randall said. "Or a fun one. Can't you skip it?"
"It's an exercise," said Ethan. "It's not supposed to be either useful or fun."
It could be due to a lack of concentration of Ethan's part, Ripper thought, although, in all honesty, that seemed unlikely. The kind of stones?
"Then skip it," said Randall. He turned a page of his newspaper and laughed. "Poltergeist of Brighton Pier! Part-time model June Guthrie was..."
"Put it in the scrapbook," said Ethan.
"That's what I'm doing. Say, did you ever find out more about that woman you were looking for in the scrapbooks?"
"Turned out to be a dead end," Ethan said. "She died twenty years ago." He glanced over at Ripper. "Do you see anything wrong?"
"Well," Ripper said, but Dee came in then, saying, "Oh for God's sake, Ethan, are you still playing with those bloody cards?"
"It's not playing, it's practice."
"Can't you do something fun? Can't we? It's been ages since we did some fun magic."
"I whole-heartedly endorse her sentiment," Randall said.
"All right, all right," Ethan said. "I'll try and think of something."
"Good," she said. "And now Randall and I are going out to see a film."
"A film?" asked Ripper. So they might actually be doing something different this afternoon.
"Theatre of Blood. It has Vincent Price and Diana Rigg in drag. Want to come?"
"Er, no," said Ripper.
"No," said Ethan.
"Suit yourselves." She kissed the top of Randall's head. "Let's go, dear."
"So what's wrong with the spell?" Ethan asked again, as soon as Dee and Randall were out of the room.
"It's the stones," said Ripper. "The sandstone won't project the spell outside the rectangle. You should use quartz."
"Quartz," said Ethan.
"Or something else highly crystalline. Gypsum or halite, even."
"You know this, or you're guessing?"
"I know this," Ripper said.
Downstairs, the kitchen door slammed shut. Ripper could hear Randall and Dee heading out the back gate. The rest of the house was quiet. There were just the sound of Ethan's jeans sliding over the floor as he stretched his legs out, and the small cracklings of the cards as they were picked up and shuffled. Ripper realised that they were the only people left in the house: that was unprecedented. Tom and Adrienne wouldn't be back for a couple of hours.
He watched Ethan's hair swing over a shoulder as he lent over to sweep sand into an envelope, and thought that he looked a very little bit like David Gilmour. Any moment now, Ethan might turn around to say something mildly suggestive and Ripper would have to think of a reply. Ripper reminded himself that he was neither naive nor, as it happened, completely inexperienced, but that he had to think of Adrienne.
So Ripper said, "We could find you some quartz."
"Yes," said Ethan, suddenly cheerful. "There must be some sort of mineral tat shop somewhere."
"I know a place," said Ripper. "It's south of the river, near where I used to live. It's rather 'Age of Aquarius', but it would have what you need."
"Well, excellent," said Ethan. "We'll go now, unless you have something more pressing?"
Ripper fetched his jacket.
On the Tube he had a sidelong look at his fellow passengers, trying to memorise their faces so that he could recognise them again later on in case he was still being followed. Perhaps he should have taken the car instead.
"So, what were the main books you learnt from?" asked Ethan.
"Oh, this little primer my... grandmother put together," said Ripper. "And then Kreyszig's Introduction. And I had access to Stegun and Abramowitz's Handbook of Applied Magic for a while but I didn't really understand much of it at the time. You?"
"I had this old handwritten thing," said Ethan, "and I worked out some of it myself. Randall brought over a copy of Morse and this translated Ogata. And I've traded here and there for individual spells and techniques."
"Traded?" asked Ripper.
"Yes," said Ethan.
"I thought sorcerers were, well, apprenticed."
"Oh, Evelyn asked me, but I turned her down. I'm not very interested in her speciality."
"Which is sex magic."
"Yes," said Ethan.
"Right."
"It's just hard to imagine it being useful in an emergency."
New Dawn Bookshop and Gifts wasn't far from where Jim and Alison lived. It was a long and narrow little store sandwiched between an antiques dealer and an Oxfam shop. Ripper had checked it out a couple of times to see what it had, but this wasn't his game anymore. It had the usual incense, candles, bongs, and dragon statuettes. There were fake Celtic bangles and posters of Hawkwind. None of this seemed to perturb Ethan, who looked keen-eyed around the room, with his head slightly tilted as if he were listening for a sound. Then he ambled along the aisle, picking up all sorts of complete rubbish.
The only other customer was a middle-aged woman in a long floral skirt. Ethan looked her over too but then shook his head. "No-one I know," he said. "And I don't recognise our proprietress either."
They reached the table that was laid out with crystals of various sorts. "What do you think?" Ethan asked him.
Ripper picked out some unassuming but effective looking pieces of quartz, feeling rather self-conscious about it. Ethan looked like he belonged in the shop, with his collar-length hair and second-hand clothing, but Ripper didn't. Ripper thought he must look like the sort of person who would only go into a place like this in order to shoplift. He vaguely considered doing so. Ethan though, had moved on and was inspecting a moon-shaped candelabra.
Ripper caught up with him at the bargain bin. "Look at that candle-holder," said Ethan. "It's the only genuinely magical thing in this shop."
"You can just tell, can you?" asked Ripper.
"Yes," said Ethan, very matter-of-factly. "I haven't the faintest idea what it is though."
Ripper did. In fact, it rather astonished him that one of his old exam questions was turning out to be actually useful. "It's for warding off scryers," he said. It was slightly chipped and was going for fifty pence. Ripper wondered if the chip would make any difference to its efficacy.
"Well now," said Ethan, "aren't you full of interesting information? I'm not sure if I need it though."
"I'll buy it," said Ripper. "You take these," and handed him the quartz.
Ethan wanted to go to the pub after that, so they could avoid the worst of the rush-hour crush on the Tube. He found them a booth in The Saracen's Head and they sat opposite each other with their beers.
"This can't be where you're from originally," said Ethan, meaning south London. "You don't have the accent."
"Right," said Ripper, warily.
"So where are you from then?"
"Here and there."
"So we're back to that again, are we?"
"Where're you from then?" asked Ripper.
"There and here," said Ethan.
They lapsed into a pointed silence.
Ripper fished around for a less charged topic. "What about Dee?"
"Oh, she's pure Home Counties," said Ethan. "You can call her Diedre, by the way. It's her actual name." He reflected. "Not that you use yours, I suppose."
Ripper was quite keen to steer him off that topic too. "How'd she come to stay with you?"
"Paul," said Ethan, "one of Randall's older brothers. He and Diedre got engaged and Randall went home for the engagement party, because this is about the time when he and his family were almost reconciled. But what you have to know is that Diedre's family are mostly solicitors, and Randall's family are mostly doctors. They have their eccentricities, but you can imagine the party was quite staid--"
"You've met them?" asked Ripper. "Their famillies?" wondering what they'd made of Ethan.
"Oh yes," Ethan said, "several times. But then Randall shows up, dressed as he does as if he's from another world. And Diedre takes one look and decides that Randall's world is much more interesting than hers. So she runs off with Randall. The first I know of it is when this woman in an A-line skirt and pearls shows up at our flat, which wasn't big enough to swing a rat in."
"She's not still with Randall though," said Ripper.
"No," said Ethan, "well."
The conversation shut off again, like a tap.
After a while, Ethan managed, "How are you going then, looking for a new band?"
"I'm going to meet some people on Sunday," said Ripper.
"Right," said Ethan. After that they decided it was probably time to head home.
Outside the pub, though, Ripper bumped into Jim. There was a wary moment when Ripper considered punching him out for breaking up the band. But it didn't look fair: Jim looked exhausted.
"Alison's had the kid then?" Ripper asked.
Jim nodded. A boy, it turned out, seven pounds, here's the photo (it looked ugly and pink-faced). Ripper remembered to ask after its name. Jim said, they'd thought Donald at first, but that hadn't seemed right for him, so they'd gone for Stephen. Stephen Donald Cox. And how was Ripper these days? So Ripper told him about the hotel gig and how terrible it was. He didn't say, and it's your fault I have to be there.
Ripper looked around, thinking he'd have to introduce Jim to Ethan, but Ethan had wasn't there. Jim said he had to get home to Alison and little Stevie now, stay in touch. He looked a little relieved.
Ripper ducked back into the pub, but couldn't see Ethan there either. Maybe he'd gone on to the Tube station and was already on his way home.
In fact, Ethan was still in the station. He'd laid out some cards and the quartz pieces on a countertop. A small group of people had gathered around him.
"I'll bet you a pound," Ethan said to the man at the front, "that you'll pick the two of spades. You can shuffle and you can lay out the cards if you like. Check and see that they're an ordinary pack first."
Ripper loitered in a nearby doorway as five people lost a pound each. The spellcasting was faultless, even when people threw their two of spades angrily onto the floor or tore them up.
The first man came back. "This is a trick!" he said.
"Of course it's a trick," said Ethan. He just stood there, smiling slightly, as the mood got uglier. Couldn't he tell, or did he not care?
Ripper moved forward to pick up and the cards and quartz pieces. "Time to go," he said.
Someone tapped him on the back. "So, are you his accomplice? Are you how he does it?"
Ripper turned around to face someone who was considerably stockier than he was but not as tall. "Piss off," he said. "You've lost your bet, that's it."
"I think you'll be giving me my pound back," said the man.
This seemed doubtful, as Ethan was somehow halfway to the stairs. So Ripper said, very quietly, "I think you'll get out of my way."
The stocky man raised a fist but never got to use it. Ripper kneed him in the groin, then punched his jaw. The man keeled over. Ripper kicked him, then kicked him again.
Passerby stared as Ripper tried to walk away casually. Someone shouted, "Police!"
But there was no police officer nearby and no-one else seemed willing to accost him. He reached the stairs, and then he went down them, and at the bottom, coming into the platform, was a perfectly-timed train.
Ripper got on board, wondering if, at any moment, he'd hear the toot of a policeman's whistle. But all that happened was that the train moved off, and Ethan came through from another carriage.
"Good work," said Ethan. "I have to thank you for that."
"I'm not doing that again," Ripper said.
Ethan laughed. He laughed in these loud bursts that had everyone in the carriage turn and look at them. And Ripper found himself laughing too, partly because it had been a bit of a rush, but also a little hysterically. He'd never beaten anyone up in full public view before.
When Ethan finally got a grip on himself again, he said, "Those quartz pieces really did help."
"You are bloody insane," said Ripper. "I'm telling you that next time you are on your own."
Ethan didn't say anything, but he grinned. It made Ripper want to punch him too.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 03:24 pm (UTC)I've missed this story so much, and this chapter is just pitch perfect, with this terrible sense of menace, underlying the ordinariness of everything. And it still has that very authentic, tawdry 70s feel.
I'll be saving the later chapters until tomorrow. I don't want to rush them.
A few typos in this sentence: He'd mopped his room's floor, but the dirt did not seem shift and splashes left grey streaks on the walls.