A New Head

New Head

"Could you just nip out and get me a new head?" shouted Jo from the
bathroom.

"Another one?" shouted back Pete. He was in the living-room. He was
watching The Premiership on video.

Pete had a can of Stella in one hand and the tv remote in the other.
He liked to go back over the best bits; goals, penalties, bad tackles.
He liked to do this in peace.

"Look," said Jo. He came into the room and stood between Pete and the
tele. "I've nicked this one with the razor. Just above the jaw
line."

"It looks fine to me," said Pete leaning to one side. It was the first
day of the new season. He didn't want to miss anything.

"We've got this presentation at work tomorrow," said Jo. "I need to be
at my best. I need the right head."

"It's fine," said Pete. "Honestly you'll be fine." He took a swig of
his lager, Desmond Lynham placed one hand on top of the other, the
adverts came on, and then he did look.

"Jesus Christ!" he said. "How in Beelzebub's name did you do
that?"

****

Pete pulled up the collar of his jacket. It was cold out. And he was
out. He took a right and then a left. The head shop was on the high
street between Dial-A-Spud and the Indian.

Pete looked at his watch. He had an hour before the head shop closed
and the Stella had made him peckish. Jo could wait for his new head,
the anticipation would do him good; he might even get attached to this
one. Pete turned on his heal and nipped into the Dial-A-Spud.

There was a young Asian behind the counter. He was standing on one
foot and his arms were out at right-angles to his body. He had one
straw balanced on his nose and another on his chin.

"I'm going to join the circus," the server said unasked.

"Is there much call for straw balancers?" asked Pete.

"I'm going to do it while riding a donkey. They're always crying out
for original animals acts. Now, what'll you be having?"

Pete looked up at flashing display. Dial-A-Spud's logo topped every
one of their numerous baked potato combinations. In the last five years
Dial-A-Spud had taken the fast food industry by storm.

"Tuna and chive," said Pete after some considerable thought.

"Finnish or American chives?"

"Finnish definitely," said Pete.

"That'll be one pound ninety-five," said the server. "And we hope you
enjoy your spud."

Pete handed over the money and the server slid a golden token across
the counter. Pete said thank you, picked it up and went over to the
bank of yellow phones. He inserted the token in the slot on one and
called in his order. Then he went and sat at one of the yellow plastic
tables to wait for the Dial-a-Spud taxi to bring his potato.

He was moments away from the incident that would change his life
forever. Only he didn't know that yet.

****

"Is there a toilet in here?" asked Pete. He pushed away the empty
potato cartons and burped silently.

The young Asian server was now balanced on one hand on the counter. He
had an apple on the flat sole of his left shoe a nose flute on the
right.

"Up the stairs and on the left."

"Cheers," said Pete. "That's pretty good by the way. I'm
impressed."

"You say pretty good now, but imagine it on a donkey. I'm thinking
spectacular. Oh, and a word of warning, the men's toilet has a goose on
the door. It's to stop the tramps using it as a washroom."

"Right," said Pete, "thanks for the information," and he made his way
up the stairs.

At the top there were two doors. The door on the left had the promised
goose on it, the door on the right a porcelain lady sitting on a China
potty. Outside the door on the right was a long queue of tramps; five
or six at least. They were muttering angrily to themselves.

"I'm going to speak to the manager."

"No men's."

"It undignified having to use the ladies."

"How many geese actually eat here, that's what I'd like to
know."

Pete made a honking noise and went through the door with a goose on
it.

In the toilet there were two urinals and one stall. It was all
brightly lit, like an underground football pitch before kick-off. Not
like on a football pitch however there was an old man. He was leaning
against the wall opposite the urinals. He looked like he hadn't shaved
in days.

Pete nodded to him in the way that men do in toilets and went and
unbuttoned in front of one of the urinals. Just as he started to go he
felt hot breath on his cheek.

"My son," said a voice.

"Do you mind?" said Pete. "I'm busy."

"I have a proposition," said the voice. Of course it belonged to the
old man who hadn't shaved. He had moved closer while Pete was otherwise
engaged.

"I'm happy with my cock," said Pete. "Now leave me alone."

It wasn't the first time Pete had been approached by a cock salesman
at a urinal. This is where they liked to get you. While the trade in
new heads had taken the high streets by storm there was still something
underground about the sale and purchase of new cocks. This was England.
Pete and Jo had been in France a year earlier and had been surprised
about the number of cock shops everywhere.

"My son, you are partly mistaken," said the old man. "I do have
something to sell. But it is not what you are thinking. Behold!"

The old man whipped out an attach? case from under his arm and pulled
open the lid.

"Cripes," said Pete.

He was genuinely surprised.

`
****

"I don't get it," said Pete, "why me?"

"I need the money," said the old man. "And fast. If I don't pay off my
debts then that's it. I'm a gonner. You're my last chance."

Pete and the old man were back downstairs in the Dial-A-Spud. The
attach? case was open on the table in front of them, its lid was
open.

"I'm not sure," said Pete.

He glanced down into the case. There were a number of very tiny people
there; five or six. It was difficult to tell as they were in such a
state of agitation, running backwards and forwards. One moment they
were at Pete's side of the box making supplicating gestures towards
him, the next they were on the other side of the box making crosses
with their fingers and baring their teeth at the old man.

"How much did you want for them?" said Pete.

The old man coughed, looked from side to side, and then looked
directly at Pete. "One thousand pounds."

"Sorry mate," said Pete, "I don't have that kind of money."

Pete stood up to go and in the attach? case the little people fell to
their knees and started beating their fists on the leather
interior.

"Then you have consigned me and them to death," sighed the old man. He
sighed like he meant it.

"Who is it exactly that is after you?"

"Head-hunters."

Pete looked at the old man again. His head was hairless, his skin was
wrinkled, scabby. It didn't look like the kind of head anyone would
want, let alone hunt.

"It's personal," said the old man. "These little people. They could
make you money. Just think. I'd keep them myself but I don't have any
time."

Pete sighed.

"I've got five hundred pounds. I was going to buy a head."

Outside there was the sound of a car screeching to a halt. A door
slammed.

"It's daylight robbery," said the old man.

"It's night," said Pete.

"Give me the money," said the man.

In the case the little people cheered.

****

The bell above the door of the head shop rang as Pete pushed it
open.

"You again," said the proprietor. "You're becoming one of our best
customers. Yet I always see you with the same head."

"It's my boyfriend," said Pete. "He's become addicted. A new face for
every occasion. Sometimes I don't know whether we're coming or
going."

"Perhaps you put the head on backwards."

"What?" said Pete.

"Just my little joke," said the proprietor and chuckled to himself. He
had big sides and a narrow waist, like a triangle on a point. "Now what
can I help you with this evening?"

Pete glanced around the shop. He knew its interior well by now, the
plush reds, the comfy lip-shaped sofa, the rows of heads.

"Jo said he wanted something different," said Pete. "He said Asian.
The neighbour went Asian last week. It suited him."

"There can be a problem with tone."

"Oh Jo's very dark."

"Then Asian it is. I might have just the thing. It's only recently
come in."

The proprietor bent under the counter and came up with a head in his
hands. It had almond eyes, ruby lips, a wicked grin.

"It's nice," said Pete, "but?"

"Yes?" said the proprietor.

"I'm a bit short this evening."

"Well," said the proprietor, "I don't usually sell legs, even long
ones, but I do have this cousin?"

"I meant I've no money," said Pete and then he saw the proprietor
shaking again.

"Just my little joke. Our credit facilities are extraordinary, you
know?"

"Oh I know," said Pete and he gulped. "But I'm kind of
desperate."

"You'd have to be," said the proprietor. He pulled a gold-topped pen
from out of his breast pocket. "Now if you'd just like to sign here
then the deal will be done."

Pete carefully put the attach? case on the counter and wondered if
this was to be his second mistake of the evening or instead the start
of something spectacular. He signed on the dotted line.

"Now," said the proprietor, "one question."

"Yes?" said Pete.

"The head, would you like it open or wrapped?"

to be continued?.