Narc 'n' Scabs Last Gig

8/8/2019 Narc 'n' Scabs Last Gig

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Narc n Scabs Last Gig

by Luke James

I was about to fall exhausted into the rubble and give up when Harrison

yelled,

Over there! Buildings!

When I finally caught up with him, he was standing on the edge of a

street that ran out of the rubble and down to a cluster of buildings,

raggedy topped survivors with their top floors blasted away.

Youre not even out of breath, I panted, How dyou do that?

Gusto, dear boy. Sheer zest and gusto. Look, over there.

He killed the flashlight and I saw light flickering in some of the windows.

You think theyre friendly? I asked.

Dont spose theyll send us a formal invitation to dinner. Like

those rifles back we found back at the mall. Only way to find out if they

work is to try them.

And just like those old rifles, I said, we have a choice. And mychoice is lets not risk it. We were right not to risk firing those rifles. Lets

be right again.

He frowned at me.

Did you ever, in your whole life, have any fun? And if so, how in

the name of Disney did you manage it?

This might easily be the last funwe ever have, I said.

Let me ask you something. Why are we out here?

Because of your idiotic

Oh please, spare me that tired old stuff. We are out here to

explore, to find out things. Its genetic. Our prime function. All were

likely to discover standing out here on the edge of this rubble is what

good targets we make.


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Oh yes, I said, indicating the desolation that stretched around

us, and just look at where all this genetic curiosity, this glorious destiny

of ours got us.

But his remark about making good targets was nagging at me, even as I

found myself standing alone, staring at his rapidly disappearing back. I

sighed and stepped out onto the road. I caught up with him at the corner

of the first intersection. He had his back pressed against the wall.

What is it? I hissed.

Someone down there. I saw two of em. They dont look right.

Dressed weird.

He turned to me,

But do you want to hear something reallyweird?

Do I have a choice?

Some of the street lamps over there are working. Only a few of

em. Flickering like they were about to burn out. But they were definitely

on, he said.

But thats -- -- impossible. Yeah, I would have said so.

He dodged round the corner. This time I was right behind him, crouched

behind his bulk, running with my moving cover. We dodged from

doorway to doorway, corner to corner, until we were within twenty yards

of one of the figures. We slid into a doorway, our backs pressed against

twisted wood. Harrison peeked out, and I peeked out round Harrison.

The figure, a man of indeterminate age, was standing at the back of a

truck, his back to us. The truck doors were open but I couldnt see what

was inside it. His clothes were mostly black leather, decorated with

various chrome spikes and studs. He had long, greasy-looking hair

pulled back in a ponytail. Painted on the back of his leather jacket was a

garish portrait of a soul in torment. A second figure, similarly dressed,

came out of a building near the truck. We jerked our heads back into the

doorway. Their voices drifted past us like careless pedestrians.


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Aint you got them drums out yet?

Whys it always me as has to lug em out? How come you never

gimme a hand?

There was the sound of mocking applause as the newcomer gave his

partner a hand.

Oh very funny! Youre such a shit head.

Look, you play them bleedin things, not me. Besides I gotta rest

me voice, aint I? I gotta be careful. Voices is delicate, voices is.

Yeah. Whatever

We heard grunting and cursing, scraping noises, and then a loud crash.

There. Theyre out. Cant you at least help me get them into the

club?

Scabs, me old dog, you know Id love to. Nothin would make

appier than to elp you but like I told you, I gotta rest me voice. We gotta

be good tonight. Tonight could be the night. We might get some live

ones.

Yeah right, sure we might. Scabs muttered.No, no, I aint kiddin. Theres a couple of em behind us right now.

Over there in that doorway. They might decide to come and see the show.

You never know.

I wasnt breathing. I couldnt move. But of course Harrison merely took

this as his cue to step out from the doorway.

Hi guys. So, uh, what kind of show do you do?

There! See, I bleedin told you didnt I? Narc crowed.

I dunno Narc, Scabs mumbled, He looks a bit straight to me.

What if hes a cop?

What if hes a cop! There aint no coppers left, are there?

Well wheres the other one then? I thought you said there was two

of em.

Narc looked at Harrison and rolled his eyes.

Sorry mate. Drummers, eh? Thick as pig shit, the lot of em.


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Then turning back to his pregnant piscine percussionist he said,

There are two of em, you stupid sod. The other ones still back

there in the doorway.

He shook his head and peered past Harrison.

Its all right mate, you can come out. He dont bite. Well, least not

sos youd notice. Old Scabs here is what you might call mostly all mouth

and trousers

I stepped out and joined Harrison.

Where you guys from? Harrison asked.

London. Came over here bout three days before they pulled the

plug or whatever it was they did.

He stared morosely at his pointy-toed boots.

Didnt even have time to get laid really, did I? Well not more than

a couple of times anyway.

Then he looked at us, his eyes suddenly unnaturally bright.

Still, like me old mother used to say when she was sober enough

to string three words together, dont brood. It dont do to brood. Do it?He stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out a handful of bright

orange pills and, grinning, stuffed them into his mouth.

Always look on the bright side thats what I says. Lifes too

bleedin short innit?

He turned to Scabs

Now get them drums in there and set up, and less of it you bolshy

little bleeder.

He smiled a mouthful of nicotine-stained tombstones at us and raised an

eyebrow,

Shows in about an hour. Fancy a drink?

He pointed across the street to a bar. Its front lay open to the night, split

like a piece of rotten fruit.

Sounds like a good idea to me, Harrison said, Well see you later,

Mr. ...?


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Oh just call me Narc. Most everyone back in the old country used

to.

He stared off into space,

Part of the reason I left really.

He looked at us,

Tell you what, Ill put you on the guest list if you like. Names on

the door, eh?

Harrison. Harrison said.

Ralph. I lied, not quite sure why.

Right you are then. See you later.

And he sauntered off, yelling oy, arsewipe after Scabs.

What do you think? I asked Harrison.

About what?

About what? About the price of fish. About those two lunatics of

course.

Hard to tell really. he said, Obviously crazy, possibly dangerous.

Diamonds in the rough, perhaps. Wed best keep our wits about us.Think you can scrounge some up? Now what about that drink? Im

thirsty.

I was too tired to argue. We crossed the street, past the sputtering street

lamps, and in through the gaping front wall of what must have once been

a smart, downtown watering-hole. Harrison zigzagged through collapsed

and rotting furniture and stepped behind the bar. He perused the bottles

then pulled one from the shelf, blew dust off it, and snatched up a couple

of shot glasses. He set the flashlight to low wide beam and placed it on

the counter.

Old Grandad! he exclaimed, brandishing the bottle, and whereas

this meant nothing to me it seemed to please him a great deal.

There are a couple of things I dont understand. I said. We settled

on rickety bar stools.


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Just a couple? Harrison asked. He held the bottle aloft and

peered at it.

Good color. he muttered, then looked at me.

So, there are a couple of things you dont understand, eh? Me, I

dont have a living clue most of the time. But Id be more than willing to

at least try and help you out with your couple of things.

He splashed whatever Old Grandad was into the glasses and offered me

one.

You dont seriously expect me to drink something thats just been

lying around for Fred only knows how long?

He gulped his drink down, grimaced, shuddered, smacked his lips, and

then leaned close to me.

And when we do manage to get those two little things you dont

understand cleared up, you will of course explain everything else to me

wont you. Wouldya do that buddy, wouldya, wouldya, huh?

His breath smelled toxic.

You can be such a prat sometimes.Hey, I can be a prat any time.

I snatched up my glass and slugged it down. I gasped and choked back a

cough. I was damned if I was going to let him see my discomfort. Slowly,

the fire in my chest subsided. We drank for a while in silence, my sips

growing bolder. I started to feel a little better. Then I started to feel a lot

better. And then I suddenly found that I felt better than I had at anytime

since setting out on this lunatic adventure, all that time ago yesterday.

Ive been thinking about those street lamps out there. Harrison

said.

Street lamps?

Yeah. I mean, why is there power out there but none in here?

I sighed.

Well I thought that the whole point of this little suicide jaunt of

ours was to find out about stuff like that. To


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Some distant memory flared like a phaser on overload,

boldly go and stuff like that.

Hmmm? Harrisons brow was furrowed, his mind elsewhere.

It sheems to me, I said with deliberate, slow, semi-drunken

accuracy, we find out less, not more. The further we go into this

nightmare, I mean. All we find is more confusion. Oh, and danger, lets

not forget the danger.

No, lets not. he said, I wonder if it has anything to with your

fridge?

My fridge?

Yes, you remember? There was always food in it. Whenever you

were hungry. Even though you never went shopping. He spread his

hands, Nowhere left to shop.

Look, lets not get started on that again. I said, I was almost

enjoying myself there for a minute.

And thats another thing, he said, You never want to talk about

things like that. Shall I tell you why I think that is?Id rather you didnt. I said and reached for the bottle of Old

Grandad.

Because they dont fit thats why. You just dont want to face up to

things that dont make sense, do you.

Whereas you love to, cant wait to face up to them.

I poured two more shots.

If you mean I want to know why things are the way they are, well

yes, of course I do.

He stood up and swayed, clutching the bottle.

Cmon. Lets go check out that show. Whaddya say to a little rock

n roll?

How about go away and leave me alone?


9/16

Narc and Scabs truck was parked outside the clubs sagging faade. One

side of the vehicle was decorated with a garish deaths head and the

legend Brain Damage On Tour. A cracked and buckled neon sign that

had once flashed out Barbarellas hung by the skin of its wires above

the club entrance. We went down a short flight of steps and in through

the main door, with absolutely none of the difficulties often associated

with being on the guest list. Inside the club was murky, occasional

braces of candles to gave the place a stumbling-about-in-almost-total-

darkness night club ambiance. There was a good-sized crowd, but as my

eyes adjusted to the dark I noticed none of them seemed to be drinking

much or talking or laughing or breathing for that matter. We

crunched our way through the gloom and I tried not to think about what

was crunching underfoot.

Hey man!

Narcs face bloomed out of the darkness like skull shaped fungus.

Glad you guys could make it.

Scabss disembodied head floated up next to that of his partner.Yeah, we saved you the best seats.

They led us to a table in front of the stage. Set on the table was a bottle

and two shot glasses. I wondered precisely what proportion of LSD to

strychnine they had added to the booze. We seated ourselves and Scabs

started working his way along a line of torches set on the lip of the stage.

Brandishing a zippo he lit each torch with all the studied concentration

of a munitions worker inserting handgrenade pins.

Sit, drink, chill, and prepare to be amazed. Narc commanded,

and scampered off. He collected Scabs, and disappeared backstage. I

eyed the flames of the footlight torches lick dangerously close to the red

velour of the stage curtains.

Looking around, I saw that some of the towns most stylish and

successful celebrity corpses, carcasses, mummies, and stiffs had turned

up for the show. Harrison picked up the bottle and without so much as


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sniffing at the contents took a massive swig. But before I had a chance to

nag him about it the stage curtains executed a series of jerks and

lurched open.

In the middle of the stage Scabs was squatting in a nest of drums,

cymbals, and gongs. More flaming brands blazed behind him. Suddenly,

without so much as a four count, he launched into a blitzkrieg avalanche

of drum beats so painfully loud my breath caught in my throat and my

inner ears started nailing boards across my eardrums. Horrified, I looked

round at Harrison, but of course he was grinning and somehow

managing to nod his head, tap his foot, and swig from the bottle all at

the same time. I looked back at the stage just in time to see Narc fly quite

literally at a height of ten feet horizontally across the stage. He twisted in

mid-air to land on his feet, one hand planted firmly on his hip, the other

waving a microphone before his contorted face. He opened his mouth and

began to scream. The Last Day could have been blaring judgment

trumpets out in the street for all I knew, as every sound in the universe,

including Gods farts, was buried beneath the relentless thunder ofScabss onslaught and Narcs caterwauling. For what seemed like hours,

but was probably closer to forty minutes, Scabs pounded his drums and

Narc prowled and howled, pouted, wiggled, bumped and ground his way

through what he evidently thought was a stupendous set of self-penned

rock n roll classics. Between onslaughts he told us the song titles and

boasted authorship. This was the only time we actually heard words,

which as far as I was concerned was just as well. Even the song titles

were a litany of perversion that Torquemada, Hitler, Stalin and Glitter

would have been hard pressed to top. Silence, blessed though it was

when at last it came, still managed to somehow thunder in my ringing

ears.

Not bad. Quite rhythmic, I read from Harrisons lips.

He proffered the bottle.


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You need to relash, thass your trouble, he slurred, his voice

barely making it through the tidal wave of white noise roaring between

my ears.

Narc and Scabs danced and bobbed back on stage, taking elaborately

rehearsed bows to imaginary thunderous applause. Harrison swayed to

his feet and began applauding as enthusiastically as his uncoordinated

hands would allow. I reached up and tugged at his sleeve.

Harrison, I really think we should be making a move.

The curtain jerked closed and Harrison sank back into his seat. He

squinted at the bottle.

Hmmm. he said appreciatively, and his face went blank. I

reached over and shook his shoulder.

Come on Harrison. Nice breath of fresh air. On our way back to

the building, eh?

The sweat-spangled duo that was Brain Damage suddenly appeared

either side of the table. Their arrival seemed to snap switches in Harrison

and he jerked back to life.That was that was some show. Harrison managed, as if

speaking from a great distance.

I glowered disapproval but no one no one took any notice of me. My

anger, while quite ferocious, just couldnt seem to find the door marked

exit.

Here, come backstage. Lets have some fun, Narc said.

Yeah fun, Scabs leered, You can meet everyone, our fans.

Angela.

Angela? There was someone else here? A girl? I mentally rubbed my

boots on the back of my suit legs and hoped my breath didnt smell as

bad as it tasted. Harrison lurched to his feet and bounced on rubbery

legs between Narc and Scabs as we made our way backstage to the

dressing room.


12/16

The dressing room was only slightly less cramped than a coffin with a

fitted couch. Narc bade us make ourselves at home, while Scabs flopped

down onto the stained, battered couch and threw his arm around a

mummified corpse. He hugged it close. The mummy was wearing lipstick.

This is Angela. he said. Shes a bit dead, but she means well.

Harrison looked as if he was about to try and engage the corpse in a little

chitchat when the truth dawned on him. Halfway through his hearty

howdy maam he screeched to a halt and frowned.

Shes ah, yknow shes he babbled.

Dead, I supplied, And so are all the others.

I pointed out the other stiffs that littered the room, propped here and

there.

These are our biggest fans, Scabs said proudly.

I can well believe it. I said.

Yeah, dead, thassit, Harrison said. He peered blearily at Narc,

Whassa big idea goin on here?

The pistol Narc was suddenly pointing at us was so black it seemed to besucking light out of the room.

Now then, he smiled nastily, Why dontcha tell us what you

thought, what you reallythought about the show, eh?

Yeah, Scabs growled, Angelas all ears, aintcha Ange baby?

He rattled his petrified paramour.

You. Fat boy, you go first. Narc ordered.

Harrison was staring entranced at the perfect tiny round mouth of the

end of the pistol barrel. I realized that there was no way he was going to

answer Narc. He was not only wasted, he was totally hypnotized by the

gun.

Perhaps I should go first. I said, with as much enthusiasm as I

could muster.

The gun stopped wagging for a few seconds. Narc thought about it, then

wagged his consent.


13/16

Well, ... , I began, the rhythmic cascade of cadences were at one

and the same time complex and yet basic. They managed to underline

without in the least compromising the angst of uh the survivor. The

performances powerful sexual themes perfectly highlighted the er,

bleak um, existential nature of well, existence really while

managing to never quite sacrifice the basic, yet sophisticated, primal

optimism evidenced by the powerful sense of humor, of joie de vivre

that was flung defiantly in deaths face. It was a complete triumph of

metal over grunge and ah, vice versa.

I was bathed in sweat.

Well now, Narc swung the gun away from Harrison and waved it

at me, That was really kinda good. Yeah, that was all right. Sounded

like some shit from Strolling Bone or The Enemy. Basically. Wouldnt you

say Scabs, old chum?

What? Oh, yeah I could almost hear the gears grinding

between his ears, Only only whats he fuckin mean, humor,

huh?He struggled with what passed for a fore brain.

Is he sayin he thought we was funny? Is that what he just said?

Cos I dont like bein laughed at. I aint funny, see? There aint the least

little fuckin thing about me thats funny. Got it?

I nodded like a woodpecker on amphetamine and Harrison joined in with

an accelerating stream of yeshes.

--yesh-yesh-yesh-yesh-yesh-yesh--.

Shaddup! Narc snapped, And you, stop that bleedin noddin.

Makin me bleedin dizzy. As it happens old Scabs here has hit the nail

right on the fingers. You two wallies didnt understood our show, you just

didnt get it didya. So

He beamed generously.

me an Scabs are invitin you to watch tomorrow nights show.

And the one after that, and the one after that, and so on until we reckon


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you appreciate where our musics really comin from. So you two music

lovers get to stay right here tonight and tomorrow night well do rock

n roll part two.

Scabs kissed his mummy on the side of the skull and stood up.

And just to show you what a nice guy I am, he announced, Im

gonna leave Ange here to look after you.

He winked lewdly at us.

Shell see you right.

They left, locking the door behind them. There were no windows. I tugged

a couple of times at the door handle, all in vain. Harrison was slumped

on the couch, snoring happily, his head against Angelas shoulder.

I shook him awake.

What are we going to do? I asked.

Dont worry, Harrison yawned, I have a plan.

Oh good. I hope its as brilliant as all your other ideas so far!

Several of Harrisons plans later we were still Narc and Scabs prisoners.Face it, Harrison, I said, Your plans are how can I best put

this ? Useless!

The trouble with you, he said, is you have no faith.

Something I do have faith in is that if I have to watch that

deafening, spectacle just one more time I am going to go stark, staring

mad.

I shoved Angela aside and slumped down on the couch.

How many times do you think weve watched it so far? I asked.

Hard to tell.

Its not as if it gets any better. Youd expect some bits of it might

grow on you.

I just had an idea. Harrison said.

He had that far away look in his eyes, the one that made me wish that he

was far away.


15/16

When the moment came Harrison timed his move to perfection. I have

many opinions about Harrison and nearly all of them are in some way

derogatory, but this was his supreme moment.

We were seated at our usual table. Narc and Scabs were about ten

minutes into the show. Narc had his head thrown back, mouth agape

birthing feral howls. The gun dangled harmlessly at his side. Scabs had

his head turned to one side, focused on cannibal blood beats, teeth

clenched, arms flailing, legs pumping. The last few nights Harrison had

requested and been granted a bottle of hundred and fifty proof Polish

vodka, the better he said to appreciate the finer nuances of the show.

Yeah, I can dig it. Narc said when Harrison had asked for the

rum, Knock the old conscious mind for a loop, eh? Let the subconscious

have a go at things for a change.

Exactly. Harrison said.

Now he snatched up the bottle and swigged an enormous mouthful.Then, his cheeks bulging with Polski rocket fuel, he jumped from his seat

and snatched up one of the torches from the front of the stage. The

vodka erupted from his mouth as if bursting from a surfacing whales

blowhole. It passed in a semi-vaporised stream through the torch. A

jagged arc of flame swept over Narc and set fire to his head. And still

Harrison spouted circus doom at the ignited singer. The flames washed

down over his body and he began to windmill his arms, making

occasional attempts to swat out the flames. As Narc went supernova, the

gun spat sporadic burst. Scabs thundered on, although he was now

staring in open-mouthed admiration at his singers unrehearsed

pyrotechnic special effects. At least until a couple of stray bullets caught

him in the throat. He sat, arms raised, sticks poised in mid-assault, and

a look of great surprise spread over his face. With the drums suddenly

silent Narcs screams filled the room. He sounded not unlike Janis Joplin


16/16

trying for high C. This was definitely the best he was ever going to sound.

He lurched backwards, stumbled into Scabs drums and ignited his

funeral pyre. With a last desperate effort Narc ran forward and launched

himself from the lip of the stage. His final stage dive. He flew at us like a

comet. Harrison and I hit the floor either side of our table at about the

same time, as Narc bounced off the table and cartwheeled like a flaming

Catherine wheel into the mummified corpses who had up until that

moment been enjoying the show from the table directly behind ours. I

pressed my face into the stench of the floor and heard a splintering crash

followed by that particular whoofing noise mummified corpses make

when they burst into flames. I rolled over and sat up. Fire was spreading

rapidly through the bone-dry, fossilized nightspot. Harrison was already

on his feet.

Out! Out now!, he bellowed.

I scrambled to my feet and looked wildly around. What few avenues of

escape still remained were fast disappearing behind sweeping curtains of

flame.This way!

We spilled out onto the street, emerging like deep sea divers from the pall

of smoke boiling out of the door.

It worked. I said and actually grinned at him.

Hah! A fat lot of use you were! he said

My grin collapsed and in a fit of imitation the burning building across the

street did likewise. We back-pedaled to the safety of the other side of the

street.

Well come on then, Harrison said. We cant hang around here all

night watching the fire. Fred knows what itll attract. Besides, weve got a

long night ahead of us.

He set off down the street toward the rubble. I sighed, but having no

other choice, I set off after him.

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Narc 'n' Scabs Last Gig