Apocalypse Baby (13 page)

‘Afraid to leave your pals for five minutes, are you? Will you wet your pants if you let go their hand? I've got three
questions for you. Think that's too difficult?'

‘No. But I've got nothing to say. I don't know her.'

‘Oh yes, you do. You know her all right. You know her very well, in fact. Do you think I've driven all this way from Paris without finding out a thing or two?'

She's like a snake, her words hiss and coil. He looks round at his mates, but the atmosphere has changed. They're still sort of laughing, but their hearts aren't in it now. I don't know how it happens, or why one of these great gangling lads doesn't just take her by the collar and sling her out. The kid would be best advised simply to refuse to answer, but he's too young to realize that. He gets up with an exaggerated swagger. He's already acting towards her as he must when his headmaster calls him out at school, and in fact I bet he hasn't often been kicked out of his lycée. He's saving face in front of the others; he goes to the door and boldly declares, ‘Well, if you really want to have a private interview with me, madame, I won't oblige you to go down on bended knee. Hey gang, if I'm not back in fifteen minutes, call the cops!'

She stands aside to let him go first, and eyes his ass as he walks; he hasn't gone a hundred yards before she says, ‘Well, fuck me, kid, you gave in pretty quickly there. Do you always let someone unpick you from the gang as fast as that?'

He turns round, surprised at her tone. I think his instinct had told him there was something a bit louche about this woman, but he preferred to listen to his reason, telling himself he had nothing to fear from some old hag who's looking for a missing girl. She pushes him forward, just a pat on the back to get him going, saying, ‘Don't worry, this won't take long.'

We're in the little courtyard outside the big hall. Away from prying eyes. It's quite dark now. Behind the railings, some kids are already queuing up waiting to come in, I see one who can't be more than fourteen drinking vodka, holding the bottle in both hands like a bear cub. He'll enjoy the concert all right. The Hyena sits on a low wall, elbows on knees, and invites the boy to sit beside her, patting the wall with her hand. ‘You knew Valentine had disappeared?'

‘I did hear something about it. But I haven't seen her for months. She hasn't been in touch.'

‘So what did you think when you heard she hadn't come home?'

‘Nothing. I felt sorry for her, in case something nasty might have happened to her. But well, nothing. Didn't think anything, really. I don't know what you've been told, but honestly, the last time I saw her was, oh, about four months ago.'

‘And what was that like, the last time you saw her?'

‘It was at a concert. She was tanked up. As usual. But after that, well, we went our different ways. She started going round with… well, I dunno really, some people from her family, Arabs… immigrants.'

‘I see. And that's when you went your different ways.'

‘She got kind of grotty, I dunno what she was into altogether. I didn't talk to her about it. She's on her own, Valentine. I don't know what you've heard about her, but she's always been like, strange. In the end, we couldn't take any more, we were fed up with the way she carried on. And she didn't want to see us either. She dropped us, and we were relieved. Even before that, frankly. I don't know why you want to ask me about her. She came to our gigs. But
we didn't see that much of her. We weren't interested in her. Not as a friend, not as a girlfriend, nothing. Really, we just wanted her to piss off.'

‘But she came to your practice sessions, didn't she?'

‘We didn't ask her to, she just kept hanging round us all the time. Valentine, see, she's pretty randy. I'd be surprised if she's changed. Once a slut… but it's got nothing to do with me, right?'

‘No, and then what?'

‘Then nothing. We couldn't stop her following us round, but we're not into that kind of girl, none of us, we're not like that.'

The Hyena rubs her forehead as if suddenly overcome with fatigue, she gives a sigh as if she's not getting anywhere, and then she says very softly: ‘I told you this would take five minutes. And I'd be happy for it to take five minutes. But what I'm hearing is a little boy giving me a load of bullshit. And that bugs me, your trying to cover up. That really bugs me. Because I don't want you to miss your concert. Just tell me what really happened, I'm simply trying to understand the state of mind she was in when she disappeared… I'm not judging you. Just tell me what happened.'

‘Nothing. Nothing happened, I haven't seen her for months, I keep telling you, you're on the wrong track.'

He's spoken rather too loudly, as if on the point of losing control. Wallop! Not an ordinary slap with the flat of the hand, a brutal blow, using the edge of her palm, and the death's-head ring makes a long red scratch on his cheek. I didn't see it coming. I don't think he did either. He staggers, she grabs him by the scruff of the neck. If this was a film, it'd
be like when someone turns into a werewolf, but too fast and a bit exaggerated. She's become a different person, her voice has changed, the pupils of her eyes have changed, her whole face is transformed by a vicious, but still contained, anger. Her features are drawn. She's not at all pretty now. She's metamorphosed. And you can tell she's got plenty in reserve. This is just for starters.

The boy puts his hand to his cheek. The mark has gone red. He's more shocked than hurt, opens his mouth to protest indignantly, when he sees her face and doesn't even try to hide his terror. He turns to me to be a witness. I'm petrified too. If I dared, I'd intervene, thinking, What will his parents do to us, when he goes running home to mummy to tell her about this? But I'm rooted to the spot, my legs won't move, my mind is frozen.

The Hyena stands up, and from her fragile-looking body she summons phenomenal strength, grabs his collar, hoicks him upright, then throws him to the ground. For a microsecond, he flies through the air. Then she is kneeling astride his chest, he moves his arm to try to push her away, but it would better for him to be completely passive, the slightest resistance enrages her, and he gets three more slaps. She turns him over easily on to his stomach, his arm twisted behind him. She presses his face in the dust to stop him crying out. Lying on top of him, she speaks into his ear: ‘Listen, you little shit, I just told you; we're not going to spend all night here. You've got your gig, I want to be back on the road, it would be simplest if you make it snappy. You keep me waiting another five minutes and you're going to get fisted. You know how much it'll hurt? Want to try it?'

This really doesn't seem necessary to me. The kid probably doesn't know anything, but even if he has something to say, surely we could have got it from him some other way. I ought to run off and get help. But I'm afraid of her and her reaction. She moves the kid's knees apart with her leg, and gives him an impatient tap on the head.

‘Come on, pull 'em down, I'm going to rip you open. Just relax, you'll love it.'

His lips in the dust, he tries to speak, she lets him lift his neck, his mouth is full of dirt, and his eyes are full of tears. He's trembling with rage or fear.

‘She stuck to us for months, we didn't want her around, she was just this fat lush, we wanted her to leave us alone. She was keen on me, one night she bombarded me with texts saying she had to see me. We were all a bit high, so I told her to come out to play, she sneaked away from home, she turned up half naked, like Paris Hilton or someone. We were in our van. And we all screwed her in this parking lot in town, but look, she was
willing
, she didn't tell us to stop, she was knocking back beer after beer, and she'd do anything you wanted. Then we left her there. But we all pissed on her before we left, she didn't even notice, she was lying on her back, not a stitch on. Next day, she turned up to a practice session, like we were just going say ‘Hi' and carry on talking to her. As if. So we chucked her out. Then she vanished, she went off, tagged along with someone else maybe, I dunno what she did then. We didn't ask. I swear that's the truth.'

‘Oh, when you're telling the truth, I can tell, don't you worry. What's all that about some cousins she was seeing?'

‘That was before the parking lot. She said she'd discovered
this other side of her family, and they were these Algerians, but they were cool with her going to see them. I don't know anything else about them, I didn't talk much to her, I swear it, I don't know anything else.'

‘Like I just said, when you don't tell lies, I believe you. No need to be scared.'

As he's been speaking, she's gradually relaxed the pressure, letting him recover, he stays for a moment on his stomach, then sits up. Around us, nobody has heard a thing. At any rate, nobody has intervened. In the distance, behind us, we can hear the voices of people starting to arrive for the concert.

The kid stays sitting on the ground, staring up at her, trying to be defiant, but he just looks pitiful. Standing in front of him, the Hyena dusts off her knees carefully, before holding out her hand to help him up.

‘Sorry about the roughing up. But you were pretty slow off the mark. Don't look like that, you'll see worse. Better if I knock you about a bit and then don't tell anyone. Because what if I was to go and inform the cops, or tell the parents? Any idea of the shit you'd be in then? It'd be a lot worse than a few quick clips round the ear outside the hall, wouldn't it? Go on, off with you now…'

He takes a few paces backwards, she snaps her fingers and warns him: ‘Listen, we won't breathe a word about this, but you do the same, you hear me! We've just had a little chat, right? You go to the gents, you clean yourself up, and we'll forget you tried to fob me off with lies. OK? Or the next time I get my hands on you, you little scumbag, it won't be empty threats, I'll slit you right open. Agreed?'

She's called the last words to his back, as he runs away. She takes out a cigarette from her jean jacket, the packet is crushed and the cigarette bent in half. She acts as if she's completely calm again, but her hands are still shaking and her face hasn't completely recovered, her features still have a haggard look. The worst thing was the way she enjoyed it, visibly enjoyed it, when she was lying on top of him. She zips up her jacket, puts her hands in her pockets, and heads for the car park.

‘It won't be difficult to make this generation toe the line. They're made of papier mâché.'

She has asked me to drive on the way back. I start the car without a word. I feel sick. We're stuck in the courtyard for a long time: in front of the entry gates, four kids are kicking a fifth who's lying on the ground, and a crowd has gathered round them. We'd have to run over them to get the four-by-four out of there. I look up at the sky, full moon. I feel like crying. Police siren, sound of a van skidding roughly to a halt, any numbers of uniformed cops jump out waving their guns and super-charged, they shout even louder than the kids. At first I thought they were coming for us, and my blood drained into my feet, my heart stopped, I felt petrified, but no, they were there for the fight. They were even more violent than the kids who were drunk, they got all the youngsters to kneel down in the middle of the road, hands on heads. Someone from the concert venue recognizes the Hyena and comes over to her side of the car with a smile.

‘That you? See all that commotion? We're trying to get the cops to cool down. Then we'll have to see how to deal
with the kids. Don't you want to stay for the concert? It''ll all calm down in a while…'

‘I just had something to say to one of the boys in the band, no time to hang about, sorry.'

He passes her a spliff, she takes a couple of puffs and gives it back, he glances at me, I indicate I'm not interested. A few yards from us, the flashing police lights are illuminating the street, the kids are protesting, furious that the cops want to go inside, others are raging because they won't let them out, and a few who are already smashed decide to take a leak, staggering about. The guy from the admin looks on from a distance, visibly fed up.

‘These youth concerts, we've really had it up to here. Christ, we're not in the business for this kind of thing.'

The Hyena laughs, completely in control of herself now.

‘The kids aren't very together, are they… but what would you do, turn it into a jazz club?'

‘You can laugh, but the more it goes on, the more I appreciate country-and-western. Or an organ-grinder.'

He gives a sad little laugh.

The Hyena asks, ‘Is it just this band's fans that are specially stupid?'

‘No, put up a reggae sound system here and it'd be the same. It's out in the sticks, Bourges. Not like Paris. Nowadays, the kids turn up, but all they're interested in is drinking. The band, they don't see much of the band, they're already wasted before the concert starts, they don't even go into the hall. They've got their tickets, nothing to do with money. They just couldn't give a toss, they do their heads in, they vomit, they piss all over the place.'

This time he gives a full-throated laugh, scaring himself by what he just said. The Hyena declares pompously, ‘The cops are being too rough. They shouldn't act like that.'

‘You can't even talk to them when they turn up, you can't get near. They've already flipped, you saw them just now. Getting the kids on their knees in the road, with an accident black spot round the corner… I dunno, that's not what I'd do in a million years. Sure you don't want to stay for the concert? We'd have time for a beer. Or if you want something to eat. The band didn't touch anything, I think they get really choked if people start fighting before their gig.'