This is the fifth part of a fiction serial, in 845 words.
Just when things had calmed down over the car park fire, someone came knocking on my door late one afternoon. That meant it had to be someone who lived in the block, or they would have had to buzz me on the entryphone first. I looked through the peephole, and saw it was Sammy Lee. As I opened up to see what he wanted, I saw the drips of blood on the shiny linoleum floor. Sammy put some tissues back up to his face to stop the drips, and walked in without invitation. I kept him in the hallway, so he wouldn’t drip blood on the rugs in the living room.
Sammy Lee was one of the few people I knew the name of these days. I had held the door open for him when he was moving in some stuff, and he had formally introduced himself. He was also the only person who used my name, which few of the others knew or remembered. “Mister Jeff, that man hit me. The man with the van who wears vest”. Sammy was a student from Hong Kong. His parents had to be minted, as they had bought the flat for him two years earlier, and paid cash, so he told me. He would live there until he finished at university, then they were going to rent it out when he went home. His dad paid all the utility bills and the service charges, as well as depositing fifteen hundred a month for Sammy to use as spending money.
It was obvious he was talking about Fat Bald Bloke, so I went and got him an old hand-towel for his nose, and he told me what happened. It seems he had been waiting for the lift earlier, even though he only lived on the third floor, above The Loud Couple, and opposite Possible Junkie. When it came, Fat Bald Bloke’s wife was in it, so Sammy rode up to the next floor where she lived, before pressing G to go down again. When he got back from uni, Fat Bald Bloke accuses him of stalking his wife, and head butts him in the face, before driving off in his van.
Now Fat Bald Bloke’s other half, they may not have been married, is a hard woman to miss. She always wears denim jeans, and they look about five sizes too small. It’s as if she has nicked a pair of Possible Junkie’s drainpipes, and had her curvy lower half poured into them before she set solid. The seams creak under the pressure, making a sound like the masts of old sailing ships when she walks. And the rivets worry me, to be honest. Like in those old submarine films where they sink too deep, and bits start to fly off and ricochet around. I was always convinced she would take out someone’s eye one day, when one finally shot off the jeans like a bullet.
Her top half is no less remarkable. She favours low-cut vests that might even be from the same shop where Fat Bald Bloke gets his. But each of her tits is the size of a ripe watermelon, and no vest made by human hand can contain them completely. Her face is never seen without make-up so thick it would not be out of place in a Rocky Horror Show theme night, and her hair is piled up on her head in a bouffante that would do justice to Madame Pompadour. Then she has it all dyed a strange blue-black colour, so as she approaches, it looks as if a huge nest of blowflies is living on her head.
As I said, she’s hard to miss.
My name for her was Elvira, from the film Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Actually, that was pretty unfair on the actress who played Elvira, as she was better-looking, and had nice clothes. She had never spoken to me, and I had restricted my contact to her to a polite nod. Knowing full well she always expected me to look at her tits, I went out of my way not to.
So Sammy goes up one floor in the lift with her, and she gets it into her head he made the journey for no good reason, so must be stalking her. That’s all Fat Bald Bloke needed to know, before handing out his own form of street justice.
I told Sammy that his nose was broken, and he should get a taxi to the hospital and have it looked at. He asked if he should tell the police, so I gave him the possible outcome of that. They would arrest the guy, charge him with common assault, and he would go to court. That was all providing he admitted nutting Sammy, as there were no witnesses. If he didn’t admit it, nothing would be done, and even if he did, the likely result would be a fine, or a community order. My advice was to put it down to experience.
A bad experience.
And to use the stairs next time.