Tup

Prologue

The woman's alone inthe car and the car's alone at the lights. The stupid cow's got herwindow down. She's talking on the phone and checking her make-up inthe mirror. Her face isn't so pretty but her hair is like long blacksilk and her clothes look expensive.

The kid sees. He'ssmall and wiry. A stained, weathered, feral creature of indeterminateage, dressed in grubby white football shorts and a black and whiteCorinthians shirt several sizes too big and several seasons too old.His feet are bare and his hair's cropped short, except for asun-bleached tuft on his forehead. His eyes are a deep violet.

He can't resist thetemptation. He dumps the squeegee and the plastic bottle and picks upa shard of broken glass. A slap on the windscreen gets the woman'sattention and he snatches the phone from her hand. He thrusts his armthrough the open window and presses the glass to the woman's neck. Acry of fear and surprise croaks in her throat.

"Bag, phone andruh... ruh..." The kid's neck and jaw lock with effort as hefights with the word but the woman's looking for the bag on theseat behind and doesn't notice. "Ruh... ruh... ruh -radio!"

The woman drags the bagto her lap, dark eyes wide, knuckles white on the brown leatherstrap. Her nails are bright red. The kid grabs the handle of the bagand tugs, but the woman doesn't want to let go.

"Please, just letme get my documents. They're no good to you."

"Gimme the fuckingbag!" The radio is playing his favourite song. Britney Spears.Oops, I did it again. He taps the panel with the phone. "And theruh... ruh..." He's doing it again too. "R-r-r-radio!"

For the first time, thewoman looks at him. There's fear in her eyes, but anger too. Andcontempt. Maybe even a dose of pity. He knows that look. She'slooking at him like he's a bug. She'd run him down if she could, andgo on her way singing along to Britney feeling like she'd done theworld a favour.

The kid's lost theinitiative. He's fucked up and he knows it. The woman's realised hedoesn't want to hurt her or he would have already. Colour returns toher face as rage infuses her cheeks.

He sees her check thelights, analysing the traffic ahead, and knows what she's thinking.

"Bag!" Hethumps the door. "And the ruh... ruh... radio!" He releasesthe bag and shakes the shard. "Or... or... or I'll c-cut yourface off!"

"Okay! Okay!"The woman pops the radio's front panel and drops it in the bag on herlap and raises her hands. "There, take it."

One hand is holding thephone, so the kid uses the one holding the glass. As he reaches downthe woman grabs his wrist and floors the gas.

He isn't expectingthat.

The car lurchesforwards, almost breaking his arm as he wrenches it free.

Minus the bag.

"Bitch!"

The kid hollers,rubbing his arm, and flings the phone after the car. The car swervesto avoid another crossing the junction and veers towards the carsparked on the other side. It clips the first, severing a wing mirror,but does not stop. Rage and humiliation bubble up inside him as hewatches it disappear. His fists ball. He leans forwards, arms back,veins popping in his neck, and screams at the woman, at himself, atthe world.

"Sonofabitchinfuckinslag!"