Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Six

We arrived at an estate on the east side of the city where crumbling tower blocks reach for the leaden skies like ancient baobabs, formed of bricks and concrete, but held together by a thin veneer of apathy.

I'd have been worried about the locals making off with my beetle the second Ty and I were out of sight, if it were not for the fact there wasn't enough fuel in the tank to make it back to the ring road and none of the local scrotes would have the first idea how to operate the choke.

The lift was out of order, so we took the stairs. Fifteen flights of them.

Ty floated up the steps like a feather on an autumn breeze. I hauled myself up them like a wheezing sack of lumpy horse shit. At each turn of the stairwell our senses were assaulted with a cornucopia of delights, including but not limited to the acrid tang of urine, the glimmer of discarded foil wraps and the crunch of broken glass beneath our feet.

The Atkins residence was a flat near the top of the block, blessed with a panoramic view of the city centre to the west and a frigid wind that howled between peeling painted iron railings bordering a concrete walkway. I noted that the area outside of Finn's flat had been swept clean and a gnarly shrub of indeterminate genus, and no small amount of malignant intent, lurked in a cracked flowerpot guarding the door in a sort of high elevation ersatz front garden.

Compared to the rest of the block, this suggested at least a degree of home pride was present in the Atkins family.

I was breathing out of my arse, made worse, no doubt, by the lack of oxygen at this altitude. I motioned for Ty to do the honours door-wise while I tried to regain the power of speech and wondered whether we might dial-a-sherpa for the descent.

The door opened on a heavy chain and Finn's anxious wan face peered out at us, his expression showing genuine concern at whom might be hammering on his door. I clocked that his demeanour didn't alter when he recognized Ty and me. It might even have worsened a tad.

"Afternoon, Finn," Edge chirped breezily as he pushed his way inside, bundling the teenager away from the door as he did so, "We've come to give you a bit of an update."

The pallid boy melted into the interior with Ty and I in hot pursuit, as a woman's voice yelled out from an adjoining room "Who is it, son? Send them packing, whoever it is!"

"You should leave!" Finn whispered urgently, casting worried glances over his shoulder in the direction from which the woman had called.

"Not yet," Ty said in a calming tone. "My friend here needs a moment to recover from the climb," he jerked a thumb toward me. "Perhaps a glass of water?" Edge strode down the corridor and into the galley kitchen from which there immediately issued a shriek and a torrent of swearing.

"Good day, madam." I heard Ty saying and saw him bend at the waist in an odd little bow.

"Oh, fuck!" Finn leaned heavily against the wall and planted his face into his hands. "Here we go..." he groaned.

"Cheer up, how bad could it..." I began to reassure the boy.

"OUT!" the woman shouted.

I looked up to see Ty beating a hasty retreat out of the kitchen and back towards me down the corridor. He was being hotly pursued by a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties with short dark curly hair and a face on her like an entire monsoon season's worth of thunder. She was brandishing a frying pan in one hand and a very aggressive point with the other.

"Mum..." Finn began, pleadingly.

"You!" she spat, jabbing the pointing finger in his direction as if in an attempt to skewer her son. "Shut up! I'll deal with you later!"