Vince Noir – Prostitute
Category: The Mighty Boosh
Characters: Howard Moon, Vince Noir
Pairing: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Genre: Action/Adventure, AU (Alternate Universe), Crossover, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Drug Use, Violence - Heavy, Unspecified Warning
Status: Complete
Length: 5-10k words
Notes: Sort of Boosh/Mint Royale cross over. Not the Vince and Howard that we know and love.
Un BETA’d
Vince Noir – Prostitute by TheCatInTheTree
Chapter 1 – A Solution
Author’s Notes: Rated high not because of the slash, but because it deals with prostitution and drug taking, its not a pretty sight.
It was cold that night, not that he felt it anymore. It had been a long time since trivial things like weather and temperature had been able to keep him indoors. He couldn’t afford to for one thing. But now he was aware of the cold, because the chill of the pavement slabs was seeping into his bones, and making gooseflesh rise all across his body. He wondered idly how he had got to be there, it suddenly seemed so very long ago, maybe it was.
Finding a job hadn’t been as easy as Vince had assumed it would be. With a handful of poor GCSE grades he had thrown himself at the mercy of London, and it had promptly dropped him face first onto the floor. So it was, that after only a week his money had run out and he was left walking through the streets of Dalston, too late for safety, carrying a small holdall. He had entertained the idea of walking across to Hyde Park, crossing the city would keep him busy and being near to other people might make him less likely to be raped and murdered in a gutter. But in the end pride kept him away, and he wandered the back streets, adjusting and then readjusting a string of plastic pearl beads that hung about his neck. Lost in thought as he was Vince had no idea where he had wondered to, so when he began to notice boys dotted about the pavement he did start to wonder what was happening. Certainatly most of them were around his age, maybe younger. Some were definitely younger, sporting the line of fluff on the top lip of which he knew they would be immensely proud. Vince ran a hand reflexively across his own face, no five o’clock shadow yet. He was on the point of stopping to ask for directions, or at least to enquire what these boys were doing, when one gave him am almost pitying look. “If your lost luv, then you’re better off takin’ the next right and then the third left. You’ll get more custom.” Vince stopped to stare at the boy dumbfounded, then his brain shot into overdrive. “I ain’t no woman!” He said, louder and more crudely than he intended, but the boy just shrugged with a ‘suit yourself’ kind of look, and slouched away.
Vince walked a little further, but stayed hovering near the odd group. At least if he was mistaken for a woman on a male prostitutes patch he might have half a chance of staying alive overnight. The cold was starting to get to him, and he vowed that when the sun came up he was taking the first job that he was offered, no matter what it was. But then a car slowed and the window rolled down; against his better judgement Vince stepped nervously forwards, the heels of his silver Chelsea boots clicking on the pavement. A man leant out from the passenger seat, filling the window and obscuring the view of his friend in the driver’s seat. “You’re a lad?” The question was short, brisk. The kind of question that only had one answer to it. “Errr, yes?” came Vince’s response, and somehow he phrased his answer as a question too, stalling for time and wondering whether anyone would help him if he sprinted back the other way, somehow he doubted it. “What do you charge?” The man asked again, and Vince heard his heart beat in his ears as he replied. “€50, half now, half later.”
And so Vince had fallen into a strange kind of prostitution, one that involved strange and perverted old men, most of whom would pay him to dress as a woman and go to hotels with them. Some didn’t even bother with hotel’s, just driving to the nearest deserted side alley and crawling into the back seat. Somehow it was as though Vince’s female appearance helped them to feel better about themselves, it wasn’t gay, if it looked like a woman, right? Vince did not much care, he finally had the money to get a flat, and it was a fairly regular income so he just lazed. It was only a bedsit, so with their not being much space he watched a lot of daytime TV and colobus the crab re-runs. Occasionally if he was in late or up early he watched peacock dreams too.
Because he was spending his nights out, wearing dresses and heels, being hit and hurt he felt better about some of the things he did to occupy his time. He knew he ought to be searching for a real job, but having done that for two weeks when he first began he had discovered that no-one seemed to want him, and had consequently given up. Besides, his reputation had spread by word of mouth so it was hardly as though he had no money. Mostly he liked to paint in his downtime, although sometimes he would lie on the bed and take drugs. It depended on what mood he was in, sometimes he did both. The drug paintings were always more fantastical and bright than anything his unaided imagination came up with, but they were also incomprehensible, so it was something of a trade off. That was how Vince divided his money: art, drugs, rent, and food. Sometimes he played music when things were desperate.
He had become vaguely aware over the passing of time that the drugs took more of a precedent and the art less so. Food he had sidelined a long time back, he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something more substantial than toast. Mostly he ate sweets, because Vince liked sweets, and who was there to stop him? He didn’t even see the dentist. But mostly he took drugs, because they made everything seem far away, a game to be played and seen through to the end, like his life was just a film. Certainatly it made everything seem more romantic, and so he often took both Ecstasy and Poppers before heading out to work, anything to make it easier for himself. Certainatly it didn’t stop and of the physical harm he suffered, but it helped him to distance himself from mental harm, and it made time go by more quickly.
Chapter 2 – The Night
Author’s Notes: A little bit of a filler i guess. There is action soon. Try to guess who the “nasal american” is.
It was another average day for Vince when things changed. He had stopped to read the papers, fascinated by the front page picture of three masked figures and something about a bank heist, he lay on his bed for a long time after he had taken his hits, imagining what it would be like to be a real life bank robber, Vince shot at phantasms with his lolly, imagining it was a gun. For whatever reason the day seemed shorter than usual, heroin did that he had found, most other drugs forsaken now in pursuit of this goal, he knew he was a junkie, but what did it matter? It was colder now that December had crawled around to meet him, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt cold, he normally only felt cold when he was craving; mere weather no longer held him in its sway. It was by pure virtue of not feeling it anymore that allowed him to prostrate himself on the street, barely dressed and certainatly able to display more pale flesh than any of his counterparts. They mostly took it in good humour; they had a different kind of clientele, who would still come even if you were bundled up in a parka. Vince didn’t know their names and they didn’t know his, it was really a very odd relationship, but then everything around Vince was odd now.
About five o’clock that day Vince did his best to shake off the worst of the haze and headed into the shower, standing for too long under the hot jets which eased the worst of the kinks and the bruises from his tired body. The toll of working nights was starting to show. Towelling himself dry Vince dressed in the silky black kimono type affair that served as his dressing gown and headed back up the hall to his room. A shared bathroom was not one of the perks of living in a bedsit. Letting himself back in Vince moved to his wardrobe, abandoning the robe he began his usual process, dressing from nudity upwards. First was a pair of black and rather lacy women’s underwear, it wasn’t a particular necessity to custom; he just liked the way it felt. Then he selected a pair of fishnet stockings, clichéd but then people were paying for the cliché, he attached them carefully to the suspender belt, fishnets ripped so easily. He stopped to consider his next step, cold it was, but that didn’t matter, what would get him the most money? That was the question. He eventually settled on a red blouse, open most of the way down his chest, and a leather mini, topping it off with a pair of spike heel’s he had the cliché down to a fine art.
The next hour was taken up with doing his hair and makeup, covering the worst of the bruises and more importantly the dark circle’s that had formed under his eyes. Carefully straightening the hair until it would have shamed a ruler. Painting on glitter, eye shadow, lipstick. It was more like war paint than makeup. Scaring away enemies whilst letting his own know he was safe. Or at least that was how he saw it, most people just thought he was a bit mad. It was nearly 7 o’clock when Vince was finally satisfied with his appearance and headed out, at this time of year it went dark early and so he could afford to head out early in the hopes of being able to get back and maybe catch some sleep before 4 am. But what he didn’t know was that tonight was: The Night Where Everything Changed.
Flaunting himself as usual the cold had not bothered him, and as usual a car had pulled up, a big, expensive looking car. Vince mentally altered his prices; big cars meant idiots who paid well. A back door opened and a man in a well cut suit stepped out; looking Vince up and down and taking in the wrongness of his proportions that marked him out as male rather than female. He spoke in a slightly nasal whine which suggested he might be American, for all it mattered. “My ahh, associate,” he began, and Vince’s interest peaked instantly, “Is prepared to offer you the sum of one thousand of your English pounds in return for your services.” Vince thought his jaw might have hit the pavement, but there had to be a catch, there was always a catch. “What’s…” He began, but the funny voiced man was there before him; “Role-play. Interested?” Vince thought it over quickly, how bad could it be? Then he shrugged and nodded. The man stepped aside showing Vince into the car, and he quickly slipped inside, aware of the warmth when his goose bumps went, but more grateful to take the weight off his feet. It was dark inside the car, and almost cosy in a strange way. Like being in a hideaway place Vince thought. But the moment the door was closed the car shot off, and Vince found himself sandwiched between two suits, starting to wonder what he had let himself in for. One of the suits laid a hand on his knee, but Vince tried not to respond. He was being paid for this, and paid well at that.
They hadn’t driven for very long before the left hand suit produced a packet of cigarettes; he offered one to Vince who accepted through force of habit. He wasn’t usually a smoker, but he’d have anything that was free. One of the back windows was cracked ever so slightly open, allowing the combined smoke to drift out, clearing the air, literally if not metaphorically. The drive continued so Vince tried to take in his surroundings, the man to his right was smallish with a slightly flyaway sweep of brown hair. The man to the left of him looked to be slightly tanned but with straightened black hair. Vince noted idly that it was probably naturally very curly, not that it mattered. None of it really mattered. Almost like an afterthought a hand belonging to one of the hidden people in the through reached back, it was clutching a handful of ten and twenty pound notes. Vince accepted them; pulling off one of his stilettos he unscrewed the heel, tucked it in and then screwed it back on. It was a modification one of the “girls” had made for him, and had come in handy numerous times. Carefully Vince levered the shoe back on, feeling himself starting to shake. He really needed another hit before he did anything. But it looked like he was going to have to go without. The car turned sharply into a side street and stopped, Vince suddenly forgot his shakes.
Chapter 3 – Pain
Author’s Notes: Please don’t judge my mental state based on this chapter. It was originally worse, but if you dont want to read it, i think the story does sort of work without it.
The engine’s purr stopped abruptly. Vince heard the click of doors and allowed himself to be helped out of the car by the left hand suit; it made him feel like a real lady. He was as good as bundled from the door of the car to a door in the wall, but in a strangely delicate way, so it didn’t feel like it at all. He struggled not to stumble on the stairs, 6 inch spike heels weren’t ever meant for moving much faster than a seductive stalk. And even then that seductive stalk has to be, front door to bed. But now he had appeared in the hall way of what could only be a very over the top penthouse, facing the front door. The suit with the bad hair and the slightly nasal whine reappeared, touching his elbow lightly for attention; “Whatever he says, just go along with it.” Vince nodded, no point in asking, he’d had weirdo’s before now. The door opened with a soft snick, and Vince followed the odd party into the room. The two suits who had sat with him in the car peeled off to stand behind one of the sofas. The two from the front of the car had settled themselves on one of the sofas, so Vince took his cue to settle, somewhat shakily, on the opposite one. The other two were now revealed to be a strange pointy woman in glasses, with an excess of dark hair piled up on top of her head, and an odd man with a rather oversized moustache and a questionable sense of taste.
The man clicked his fingers and one of the suits moved suddenly, before reappearing bearing a silver tray. On it was three glasses of a noxious looking green liquid, and an assortment of matters entirely more illegal. Vince let his eyes flicker across the tray, as his inner junkie stuck its nose in the air, inhaling deeply. The moustachioed man pushed a glass towards him before saying; “What’s your drug of choice? You can have any, just take your pick.” And with as much dignity as he could manage whilst shaking like a leaf Vince picked out the heroin, everything he needed was there, which was as well since he was carrying nothing of his own. It didn’t take long and the shakes were gone, Vince was ready for anything. As calmly as was possible, he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped at it. Everything was ok, or so it seemed. Absinthe burned a warming channel down his throat as he deliberately crossed his legs, bouncing one ankle. The man opposite him was regarding him in a manner that could only have been described as hungry, it should have unsettled Vince there and then, but he was too drugged to care. A gently hand descended on his shoulder, and suddenly his vision went dark. A blindfold? Vince fought to keep his breathing calm, money was the important factor here, the first opportunity he got he could easily make a run for it. At least he thought he could.
With his eyesight gone Vince decided that his other senses must clearly be sharper, even if his mind was somewhat fogged. But even Vince in his dazed state could not misunderstand what came next. Almost without warning, for he had heard no-one approach, very cold steel pressed it’s self into his temple. Vince stiffened, terrified; he was no fool. Then the voice spoke very quietly right next to his ear, the facial hair brushed it in a manner that almost made Vince want to laugh, but somehow he managed to swallow the utterly ridiculous impulse. “Now,” the voice began in a manner that was at once hoarse and yet silky smooth, “You’re going to behave, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact; Vince squeaked almost incoherently and tried to nod without actually moving his head. The cold was withdrawn and this time Vince did hear the footsteps as the man walked away. Vince breathed a soft sigh of relief, but the terror didn’t stop, and then there was a loud bang and a searing pain in his shoulder. As the world went back and he doubled up Vince was vaguely aware of some ones approach. “Next time it’s between the eyes.” the voice barked harshly before laughing. Vince on the other hand had never been more glad to pass out.
By the time Vince awoke his shoulder still hurt, but nothing else did. He felt thankful for small mercies, but his good mood abruptly vanished when he discovered he couldn’t move at all. Not that it stopped him trying. But a quick assessment told him that he was still blindfolded, and that someone had tied him very tightly to a bed. He tried to groan quietly, such a cliché and his shoulder was still lancing with pain, but he couldn’t even do that. His jaw locked half open with the acrid taste of rubber in his mouth. With a half sigh he just flopped his head back down into the quilt. Best to just get it over with and run. He promised himself a very hot bath once he got back, and then maybe a trip to A & E. A cold hand settled on the base of his spine and Vince started to list items of clothing. Best he didn’t think too much, about anything at all really. Tank tops, Vince thought, jeans, espadrilles, tee shirts, feather boa’s… And then a sharp pain from somewhere in the vague region of his backside distracted him from his list. It came again and again, sharp and cutting and it didn’t appear to be letting up. Vince was almost glad he could make no noise, because if he had been able too he would have been making some utterly embarrassing ones at that particular moment.
But then the sharp stings let up and Vince felt his blood run cold, from his experience whatever came next it wasn’t going to be good. A different hand settled it’s self on the small of his back, running up and down, lightly grazing his spine with fingernails in a manner which was almost pleasurable. But then they dug sharply into his skin and he arched his back. He wasn’t sure whether it was meant to feel better now it nearly hurt or not, but he was long past caring; all Vince wanted now was for the night to be over. The cool hands disappeared to be replaced by an altogether warmer set, these hands ran gently right from his ankles all the way up his body. Ghosting gently until one fixed around his throat. The pressure on his jaw suddenly released Vince swallowed and ran his tongue across his dry lips. He knew better than to expect this to be the end of anything that night. “You can leave anytime you like.” The voice taunted, “But forgive me if i don’t help you…” and then the fingers forced their way into his mouth, pushing for the back of his throat. He didn’t fight it, starting to shake from pain and shock, heading into a come down Vince felt utterly retched. The fingers, suitably slicked, were removed, and Vince knew without a doubt where they were headed next.
It felt odd at first, like nothing he had ever experienced before, and not in a good way. Half painful, half oddly pleasurable. Then something that wasn’t a fingernail raked his back and Vince hastily reassessed. Just painful; utterly, utterly painful. He buried his face in the pillow and swore loudly. The act seemed to take no time at all, Vince gaining nothing more from it than a trail across his back to blend with the blood that was there already. He had reached a stage where he felt sick. He felt the blood rushing back to his hands and feet as the man pushed him off the bed and onto the floor where he lay still and shook. The footsteps left the room and, steeling himself, Vince pushed the blindfold off. This however only served to give him a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes where the light rushed in and a distorted view of the room from the floor. Rolling himself very carefully over he was presented with a view of an open doorway. His brain was screaming at him to run, but his legs simply did not want to obey him. Vince remained sprawled on the floor. He spotted a pair of boots walking towards him and wondered briefly if he could drag one of his stiletto clad feet high enough to cause significant damage, but then the booted foot of one of the suits connected very sharply with his body in the direction of his ribs and all the breath whooshed out of his body. For Vince it went downhill from there.
Vince tried to lie still, breathing hurt, moving was excruciating. Vince half wanted to pass out again, it would be more comfortable, he could die peacefully. Eyes shut Vince tried to assess what hurt most, his shoulder was still throbbing violently, he felt bruised all over, and his eye was glued shut with yet more blood. Vince half wondered if he had any blood left so much seemed to have leaked out of him. He felt as if he was sticking to the pavement. Somewhere over to his left he heard the sounds of a car stopping and his mind alternated between praying it was some hidden rescuer or someone willing to finish him off quickly. He was cold now, cold and oh so aware of every sound even though he shook with cravings. The footsteps stopped, and an impossibly light tough ghosted his shoulder. “Hello?” A voice, soft and yet harshly accented at the same time, and Vince thought suddenly what an utterly ludicrous thing it was to say to someone, lying on the side of the road, smeared with blood and half naked. He tried to laugh, to respond at all, but he just managed to gurgle quietly and spit out some blood. Without removing the hand the owner of the voice was suddenly barking into a mobile phone for an ambulance. Vince relaxed a little, perhaps he wasn’t going to die. The voice stopped suddenly and Vince felt breath on his face as a question was asked. “What’s your name? Please, if you can answer you really need to tell me.” Vince couldn’t see why, but it was the nicest thing anyone had said to him in a long while, “Noir.” He rasped, “Vince Noir.” And then he choked up some more blood. The hand alighted very carefully on him again as the voice spoke; Vince still did not attempt to open his eyes. “This is going to hurt Vince, but hold on.” Suddenly a firmer grip was taken as Vince was transferred into what he knew to be the recovery position, but it did not stop him crying hoarsely in pain as he was moved.
He vaguely heard the scream of sirens before the darkness finally and mercifully claimed him again.
End Notes: And for those who’ve been playing my name the “suits” are bainbrige, Fossil (slimmed down), Saboo and Gideon. Just because im too lazy to think of character descriptions.
Chapter 4 – Good Samaritan
Author’s Notes: Just a shortie, sort of filler. Makes sense in the grand scheme of things.
“Are you family?” They had asked, and he had lied, “Partners.” It had been nothing, just a simple act to get him in, to make sure this stranger he had rescued was okay. And now he sat at the bedside, twitchy. His gun felt heavy against his thigh, secreted underneath his jeans as ever, the small flick knife in his sock irritated him, but he hadn’t yet had opportunity to adjust it. Leaning back against the chair he shrugged off his suit jacket and dragged on the bottom of his tee shirt. Closing his eyes Howard took a deep breath in, then let it out. If the press could see him now, jewellery thief turned Good Samaritan. To calm himself he worked on plans for the next heist. A bank this time, a big one. It would be well worth the pay off if they managed it, not managing wasn’t even worth considering. He massaged his temples with his finger tips, and then pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose; the young man was still out cold, wrapped in bandages practically from head to toe. He was about to leave the room again with the intent of buying another polystyrene cup of something masquerading as coffee; but then the young man, Vince, woke suddenly, with a gasp of breath as his eyes flicked open and cast around the room at speed.
Unthinkingly Howard automatically reached out and took the young man’s hand, stroking it with his thumb to calm him as he said, “Hush there, its okay.” His breathing returned to normal, and, evidently deciding that Howard posed no immediate threat he seemed to calm immensely. Howard suddenly noticed to his own mortification that he was still holding the man’s hand, one thumb running softly across the back of it in circular movements. It was obviously having a calming effect, since he had not yet withdrawn his hand. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?” He asked, a breath between every word and an increasingly pained look on his face. But to this Howard had no answer, “I just found,” he admitted, “You looked pretty beat up. Hell i couldn’t just leave you.” Howard shrugged; it seemed a pretty flimsy premise himself. He didn’t think he would have stopped if he hadn’t half fancied the delicate pale shape slumped on the pavement. Vince however seemed pleased with the answer, perhaps he was in too much pain to care. “I’m Howard by the way.” Howard added as an afterthought, “Howard Moon. I told them i was your partner so they’d let me in.” Again Vince just accepted it like it was the most normal thing in the world. As though A & E was a regular occurrence for him. Howard didn’t want to think about it too much, so instead he rambled on, the words tripping over each other to get out. “They took the bullet out of your shoulder,” he said, “you’ve had nearly a hundred stitches, to your chest, back, head and leg. Extensive bruising burns and they’ve splinted two of your left fingers.” He stopped a minute, almost thoughtful. “Saying you’re lucky to be alive doesn’t even begin…” But then Vince spoke, his voice was rough and it took Howard by surprise, but not unpleasantly so, he still had Vince’s hand. “Then I guess I should be saying thank you, Howard Moon. Thank you for saving me.” Then his eyes flickered shut again and he said, “Don’t suppose you could make one of those useless floozies they call nurses to get me some more morphine do you?” And Howard smiled, reaching for the call bell.
Ten minutes and a considerable amount of morphine later Vince was smiling somewhat merrily, and Howard was tempted to ask the nurse if he could have some too. He had lost Vince’s hand whilst the smiling nurse bustled around, and he felt a little bit lost without it. But now the room was empty again, he had sought himself out another sham cup of coffee and there was a peaceful air in the room. Vince half turned so that Howard could see him properly now, and he was grinning madly. As Howard watched Vince moved his arm, questing about for something as his hand grasped only air, hopefully Howard moved his hand subtly to an easier to grab spot and waited until the cold slim fingers grasped his warm hand firmly. “I hurt Howard.” Vince said firmly, and Howard half smiled, he wanted to say, “Well that’s hardly surprising.” But he held his tongue. Vince stiffened suddenly and then let out all his breath in a gasp, “Don’t leave me. “ His voice was suddenly strained, “They might come back. I don’t want them to come back.” And Howard felt compelled to stroke Vince’s arm gently until he calmed down again. “It’s okay,” he crooned. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s all okay.” And Vince seemed to relax, possibly it was just the morphine kicking in. Vince’s eyes flickered closed again and his breathing settled into a relaxed rhythm.
Chapter 5 – Expectations
Author’s Notes: Vince is in hospital, Howard is there too. Is this the beginning of something?
“Are you family?” They had asked, and he had lied, “Partners.” It had been nothing, just a simple act to get him in, to make sure this stranger he had rescued was okay. And now he sat at the bedside, twitchy. His gun felt heavy against his thigh, secreted underneath his jeans as ever, the small flick knife in his sock irritated him, but he hadn’t yet had opportunity to adjust it. Leaning back against the chair he shrugged off his suit jacket and dragged on the bottom of his tee shirt. Closing his eyes Howard took a deep breath in, then let it out. If the press could see him now, jewellery thief turned Good Samaritan. To calm himself he worked on plans for the next heist. A bank this time, a big one. It would be well worth the pay off if they managed it, not managing wasn’t even worth considering. He massaged his temples with his finger tips, and then pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose; the young man was still out cold, wrapped in bandages practically from head to toe. He was about to leave the room again with the intent of buying another polystyrene cup of something masquerading as coffee; but then the young man, Vince, woke suddenly, with a gasp of breath as his eyes flicked open and cast around the room at speed.
Unthinkingly Howard automatically reached out and took the young man’s hand, stroking it with his thumb to calm him as he said, “Hush there, its okay.” His breathing returned to normal, and, evidently deciding that Howard posed no immediate threat he seemed to calm immensely. Howard suddenly noticed to his own mortification that he was still holding the man’s hand, one thumb running softly across the back of it in circular movements. It was obviously having a calming effect, since he had not yet withdrawn his hand. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?” He asked, a breath between every word and an increasingly pained look on his face. But to this Howard had no answer, “I just found,” he admitted, “You looked pretty beat up. Hell i couldn’t just leave you.” Howard shrugged; it seemed a pretty flimsy premise himself. He didn’t think he would have stopped if he hadn’t half fancied the delicate pale shape slumped on the pavement. Vince however seemed pleased with the answer, perhaps he was in too much pain to care. “I’m Howard by the way.” Howard added as an afterthought, “Howard Moon. I told them i was your partner so they’d let me in.” Again Vince just accepted it like it was the most normal thing in the world. As though A & E was a regular occurrence for him. Howard didn’t want to think about it too much, so instead he rambled on, the words tripping over each other to get out. “They took the bullet out of your shoulder,” he said, “you’ve had nearly a hundred stitches, to your chest, back, head and leg. Extensive bruising burns and they’ve splinted two of your left fingers.” He stopped a minute, almost thoughtful. “Saying you’re lucky to be alive doesn’t even begin…” But then Vince spoke, his voice was rough and it took Howard by surprise, but not unpleasantly so, he still had Vince’s hand. “Then I guess I should be saying thank you, Howard Moon. Thank you for saving me.” Then his eyes flickered shut again and he said, “Don’t suppose you could make one of those useless floozies they call nurses to get me some more morphine do you?” And Howard smiled, reaching for the call bell.
Ten minutes and a considerable amount of morphine later Vince was smiling somewhat merrily, and Howard was tempted to ask the nurse if he could have some too. He had lost Vince’s hand whilst the smiling nurse bustled around, and he felt a little bit lost without it. But now the room was empty again, he had sought himself out another sham cup of coffee and there was a peaceful air in the room. Vince half turned so that Howard could see him properly now, and he was grinning madly. As Howard watched Vince moved his arm, questing about for something as his hand grasped only air, hopefully Howard moved his hand subtly to an easier to grab spot and waited until the cold slim fingers grasped his warm hand firmly. “I hurt Howard.” Vince said firmly, and Howard half smiled, he wanted to say, “Well that’s hardly surprising.” But he held his tongue. Vince stiffened suddenly and then let out all his breath in a gasp, “Don’t leave me. “ His voice was suddenly strained, “They might come back. I don’t want them to come back.” And Howard felt compelled to stroke Vince’s arm gently until he calmed down again. “It’s okay,” he crooned. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s all okay.” And Vince seemed to relax; possibly it was just the morphine kicking in. Vince’s eyes flickered closed again and his breathing settled into a relaxed rhythm.
Left to the relative silence of his own thoughts Howard sat with Vince’s hand lightly linked with his. He was supposed to be a gangster, and here he was holding hands with a beat up prostitute he didn’t even know. He would have perhaps mused that love made people do strange things, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to slip any further. Idly he noticed the smaller man’s hand was shaking slightly, then he started to worry slightly, what if shaking meant something? He had never yet shot a gun in his life, let alone been responsible for some ones death and now wasn’t going to be the first time. Carefully he extricated his hand and went out into the corridor to look for someone. He collared the next nurse and dragged her into the room and then stood fretting whilst she poised herself at the end of the bed, arms crossed and face sceptical. “Does ‘e take any drugs?” She asked her accent strangely harsh in comparison to what Howard expected. Howards mind blanked, and then he tried to think logically. “Erm,” he bluffed, “He tries to keep it quiet, but i think he probably does Heroin?” That he had found was the drug of choice in the underworld. The nurse nodded with her eyebrows raised, “I think you’ll find that’s your answer then. There’s some posters on the notice board.” And then she drifted back out of the room tutting quietly to herself. He took hold of Vince’s hand again, he would just have to wait.
Chapter 6 – Lasting Peace
Author’s Notes: The last chapter, im afraid i kind of ran out of steam for it, so i wanted to wrap things up for people. Feel free to prod me via livejournal/email if you want to take up the baton.
Somewhere along the lines a month had passed. More times than he cared to think about Howard had wished he’d never stopped, or that he could be more detached like the others, but inevitably it never worked. Because Vince would make a comment or tilt his head just so, and he would remember all over again what it was that had compelled him to pick the broken creature up off the floor. Vince had healed well, although his once pale body was criss crossed with horrible, ugly scars that would never fade. He had started growing his fringe a little more, just enough to hide the silver tracery above his eye, the rest he found he could hide under his clothes. Scars were not Vince’s thing, not war wounds to invent a story to explain away, just a presence that he’d far rather forget about. He had managed to get rid of everything else, abandoning most of his work clothes in the bedsit when they left, taking with him the everyday things, jeans, tee-shirts, boots and eyeliner. It was ok now, living in Howards house, but there was something funny about sharing a house with a career criminal, especially one with morals.
Vince had been thinking, almost since he woke up that he had to get a proper job, once where the worst that could happen would be to trip over a cable rather than to get knifed in the ribs, so as soon as he had been able to leave the hospital he started scanning the papers. There was one that caught his eye, and opening at a local Zoo, so he had convinced Howard to go with him, the man was always complaing about not liking lying to his mum and dad. So as a job for Vince and a cover for Howard it was perfect. Two zookeepers, with secrets and history that no-one else needed to know.
