FATHERS EYES

IN MY FATHERS EYES

"Sweet Jesus..." I let the words out involuntarily. The stomach
contractions hit me immediately and curling around the doorframe, I
threw up. That could be someone else's problem. With what they had to
clean up here, I don't think it will add to their problems
"You okay Geoff?" Wilson turned towards me.
"Shit. Sorry about that Paul but I wasn't expecting it to be quite
this bad". I turned to look back down the passage towards the front
door. Poking out of the flock wallpaper I could see heads looking
expectantly towards me.
"Anybody want to give me a hand?" With a shuffling of feet I watched
the heads withdraw. All except one old grey headed man who started
forwards. "Piss off old timer. Don't you understand irony?" He stood
for a second, something unsaid hanging on his lips, then staring
straight at me, spat onto the floor. "Pigs!" He slammed the word across
the hall and half ran, half waddled, back into his room.
"Steady Geoff". Paul put his hand onto my shoulder.
"Why did you call me out into this mess. Christ Paul, you know my
shifts almost over?"
"When the call came in I checked out the name on the computer and
noticed that you were mentioned on the report. You don't think I was
expecting this do you?"
I stepped fully into the room. Paul following pulled the door almost
shut behind him. I took a shallow breath as I peered around. From past
experience I knew that I'd get used to the smell. Rotten flesh has a
very heavy sweet taste that clothes you quickly and there would be no
point in trying to hide from it. The body, or what was left of it lay
at an angle across the bed, one leg splayed onto the floor. He was on
his back. Naked. Even at this distance, I could see the stain that had
been his blood pooled on, and under, the bed. It was as black as any
night. The sight of movement startled me. I stepped back; slamming the
door fully shut, and let out a groan. Even with only the dim light
filtering through the blanket at the window, I could see the soft white
bodies writhing under him. I retched again, only this time there was
nothing for the clean-up squad.
"He slashed his wrists". Paul had moved over to the body. I watched
him walk on tip-toe, avoiding the creatures on the floor.
"If my name's on the file who the fuck is he?" I wandered slowly
towards the center of the room.
"Jonathan Miles. Ring any bells?"
I looked towards the face. Dark haired, and cut short, with what would
have been neat features. I saw a thousand faces a day. Why should this
one stand out? But then I recognized the stud in his now sunken
nose...

"...c'mon, shift your arse!" I shook the figure on the bench.
"I ain't doing anything wrong" he whined back. He was frightened. I
could tell his type straight away. A new boy in the big city and he had
to camp on my patch.
"What's your name kid?"
"Jon. Jon Miles".
God he was naive as well. The streetwise ones never gave a name; you
can always spot the hesitation of their voices. This kid came straight
out with it. May as well push my luck I thought. "Where you from
Jon?"
"Carlisle". Sulleness was taking over now. "Why do you want to know?
I'm old enough to do what I want."
"Whoa kid, let's not start off on the wrong foot here. I'm not your
father or your keeper. I'm only trying to help."
"No, you might not be my father but you wear the same bloody uniform!"
I took a pace back at the fierceness of his anger. This one had a bit
of spirit about him. How long would that last?
"Listen kid... Jon. You've landed on my patch and I don't want any
problems. See that lot over there", I waved towards the plastic sheets
draped between the trees, " they're the regulars. That lot of drunken
panhandlers will have the shirt of your back before the morning. To
them your just fresh meat ready for the taking and believe me they'll
pick you dry before you even see them coming. Now wise up and listen.
Two streets south of here you'll find Lombard Place. There's a hostel
there. Tell them that constable Pearce sent you and they'll probably
find you a bed."
"I'm sorry.... Thanks" He muttered into his chest as he sat there. I
waited for him as he reluctantly rose and grasping his pack moved of in
the direction that I'd sent him. The way he strode off confirmed
opinion, another gay lad escaping to the freedom of the Capitol.
And that had been that for a couple of weeks until the day I had been
moving on the boys from the Square. Christ but I hated the square! The
drunks and the scroungers I could handle but the boys of the Square
were a different matter! It was a duty nobody wanted, me included. They
would stand on the corners touting for business. The older hands
nonchalant, knowing who they could roll or couldn't, the younger ones
scared but desperate. The 'chickens' as they were known, a target for
the harder element among the cruisers looking for a bit of action. He
was there.
"You stupid bastard," I whispered it quietly into his ear, "what the
fuck are you doing with this lot?"
"Get lost you pig!" He shouted loud enough for the others to
hear.
So that was the way he wanted to play it. He'd found himself a group
and I knew it was too late to help him with any sort of kindness. That
left me with only one course of action before I started to treat him
like any of the others.
"This is a great way to get yourself booked you stupid little bastard.
Remember I've already got your name. This time tomorrow you could be up
before the court and the entire world will know your business. Think
about it kid."
.... And yes, he'd thought about it. The result was here in front of
me. The smell pressing all around me in this cramped, disgusting,
little hovel. I'd tried to scare him and it looked as though I'd
succeeded in a big way. Presumably I'd added yet another layer to his
pain.
I moved slowly, as though fighting the cloying atmosphere, to the
sideboard where a virgin white envelope lay invitingly. "Looks like
he's left a note Paul."
"Who's it addressed to?"
I strained in the half-light to identify the characters written in
pencil on the front. "The father.....Of course".