NEW SHOES
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First Published in 2009 by YouWriteOn/Legend Press ISBN 13 9781849238823 1849238820
Copyright © Text R.D. Le Coeur First Edition
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Thanks to my readers, Fiona and Charlotte and also to YWO/Legend Press Partnerships.
Look for me online www.rdlecoeur.net
New Shoes
R.D. Le Coeur
CHAPTER 1
It was a cold grey day. The rain lashing on the window seemed to mirror the relentless sadness of the young woman looking out. She could see the reflection of the single bar heater cut out, meaning that the electric had gone again.
Something for the weekend around here meant tokens for the electric or gas, not a packet of three.
She was so depressed it was an effort to be bothered to breathe. Her mate had told her to nick some St Johns Worts up the health food store. But she didn’t fancy it. She didn’t know anything about religion, or about St John, but eating his warts did not sound like a good idea. She had enough problems to cope with now. She didn’t want warts as well...
I’d better get some ‘lectric, before I freeze to death, she thought. She strapped on her false leg.
God she hated it, but as her friend said, it stopped her from falling over. It had been nothing but problems since the motorbike accident two years ago, when she was sixteen. They were only having a laugh, her and this boy. Stole the motorbike for a joyride after coming out of the club earlier than normal, looking for some serious tongue action. Admittedly they were a bit pissed, but she didn’t expect him to crash the bloody thing under a lorry.
She was a pretty girl, but she now looked a lot older than she was. The progeny of a pissed up Filipino sailor and her Afro Caribbean, illegal immigrant mother. She was dead now, and good riddance as far as Constance was concerned. She had no right to have a baby and bring it into all this shit.
The hospital had been kind enough, and they fed her well, but they only had a white leg in stock. The black ones were on order. She never went back. Her and her mate had stolen a tin of Hammerite paint, from the hardware store, Black it said. They painted the leg with nail varnish brushes and it looked shit. Her other mate had told them they got the wrong stuff and they needed the smooth finish not the textured finish. And then they found out that just ‘cos they was black didn’t mean nothing. Paint they needed was brown, ‘cos that’s what they was, brown. People just called them black, it was confusing.
She walked to the corner store. She was soaked, her hair was dripping and she handed over the fiver for the ‘lectric.
`Bin working today has you?” asked the shopkeeper.
`Nah, workin’ tonight.”
`Cofusin’ seeing people in dere night clothes in de afternoon.”
`Couldn’t be arsed to get dressed, yet.”
`You’ll catch a cold in dis weather, young madam.”
`I’ll shove it on de list of what else’s is wrong with me den.” replied Constance.
She shuffled home again and put the token in the meter. The hall light came on and she could hear the sparking of the old electric fire as it scrambled into life. There was a rap at the door.
“Who dat?” she shouted
“Only me… Izzy.”
She shuffled to the front door and let her best friend Izzy in. She was carrying a large black bag.
“Wot you doing bringing your rubbish in here? Dere’s enough shit in here already.”
“Brought you a prezzy.”
Izzy laid the bag down on the damp and well worn carpet.
“Tarraa!” she said as she revealed a svelte artificial, natural brown looking leg.
“Where’d you get that girl?”
“Asif found it up the back of the trading estate. You know where all de needles is.”
“It’s spooky up dere.”
“Try it on.”
“It looks too real.”
“Shut your gob and put it on girl, its free innit?”
“Ain’t got no fixings.”
“You can nick ‘em off your old ‘un. What you got to lose?”
“Nuffin, s’pose.”
Constance studied the leg carefully. It seemed to match her skin colour perfectly.
She removed the old leg and presented the new one to her stump. Something whirred and clicked. She looked down and shrieked as tendrils rose out of the artificial leg and entered her body locking the new leg seamlessly into position.
“Get dis fuckin’ ting offa me.” Constance screamed.
Izzy pulled hard but it refused to budge an inch.
“Fuck me Iz, its got a life of its own. How’s I s’posed to get it off?”
“Dunno, beats me. Looks good mate. Nice fit n’ everything. Try ‘im out.”
Constance stood up gingerly and allowed full weight onto the artificial limb.
It felt just like her real leg had done. It felt like it wasn’t there, like normal legs do unless you hurt them. She tried walking a few steps and the leg behaved like a normal living leg.
“Fuck me! Dis is great. I could run a race wid dis.”
“I’ll take you down the dog races tonight and enter you in the seven thirty!”
“Knowing my luck dey would piss down my leg.”
“You workin’ tonight?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Nah. Big Brian’s got a new tart in the club now, needs to find me a new gig.”
Constance had done all right for the past few months, armed with industrial strength Clingfilm, olive oil in an old perfume bottle and a pair of Marigolds doing hand relief for a twenty in the Gents at a local nightclub. Friend or not she wasn’t going to let Izzy in on her patch.
“You tried Dave at ‘No Virgin’s?’ ”
“Nah. Dunno ‘im.”
“I does. Was a regular of mine a few weeks ago ‘til he landed this new job. I’ll introduce you.”
“Why you not work for ‘im?”
“Three freebies a night don’t earn you shit.”
“Dat man’s got a problem.”
“It’s ‘cos I is so good. You shouldn’t have no problem.”
“You saying I is crap or what?”
“I is just saying you need some money and you is an educated girl.”
“I only got GCSE in RE.”
“That’s why you wear dat tee shirt ‘Oh Cum all you faithful.’ ”
“Better dan your mother. She
was De Missions to semen.”
They both laughed until it hurt.
***
“Captain, we have a lock on the missing instrument.”
“Thank you Commander. Begin proceedings to bring it aboard.”
The commander hovered across to his workstation and spoke into the control panel.
The space vessel Ampjulia was on a designated mission to scout this quadrant and investigate life forms. Having secretly observed undetected for some time they had sent a two person mission to visit the planet. Great steps had been taken to conceal their true identities. They had identified the dominant specie as bi- pedal. This was a tricky problem for them as they had no legs and moved entirely by kinetic hovering.
The science team had produced artificially intelligent limbs for attachment to their torsos. The team had been despatched and after a violent altercation on the outskirts of the town they were concealed above, one member of the team had returned minus a limb. They dared not break the mission directives and the device had to be recovered either intact or obliterated. No chances were to be taken of accidentally permitting advanced technology into the hands of the morons on this planet. In the Captain’s opinion they were just far too violent to be trusted with formal first contact procedures yet. They did not understand much of the jabbering language and it would take ages just to understand the structures enough to communicate coherently. A suggestion was presented to attempt communication through mathematical means. This was discounted on the basis that after some research they found that anyone on this planet who was any good at maths was only interested in building weapons, either that, or they were dribbling madmen incapable of interaction even with members of their own species.
“Captain we have a problem, the instrument is on the move.”
“Don’t bother me with technicalities, Commander, bring it up now.”
***
“Now don’t forget what I told you. Get dat T-shirt off and show your tits.”
“It’s too cold, Con. Me nipples will be like nails.”
“Dey like dat sort of ting. Dey think you turned on by them. It’s good for business.”
“You really knows your stuff, Con.”
“I may not know fuck all else but I knows me trade. Trust me, Dave’ ll lurve it.”
Izzy was stunned and blinded by a dazzling bright light.
“What de fucks dat, Con?” Con… Con, stop pissing about, where you gone girl?”
***
Constance was in shock. One minute she was talking to Izzy on the way to get her a new job with Dave and now she was in a huge empty echoing metal lined place. It reminded her of the inside of a shipping container that she had once used for punters, only it was a thousand times bigger. The lights were very bright, but it smelled of absolutely nothing, which was weird. A large screen was displaying words on a huge wall in front of her. The words moved along like a tickertape.
HELLO… STOP… DON’T WALK… HELLO…STOP…DON’T WALK…
***
“The instrument is aboard, Captain. Unfortunately it is attached to something.”
“Attached to what exactly, Commander?”
“A mono-pedal inhabitant, Captain.”
“This situation just gets worse. What”ll happen if we remove the instrument?”
“The mono-ped will fall over.”
“I suppose I could have guessed that, thank you. Can we remove it and send the mono-ped back?”
“No, captain. Unlike our physiology theirs is semi organic and the instrument will have fused into the system. It will have to be cut off.”
“Is there no end to the misery of foul ups on this mission?”
“I have an idea, Captain. We can take it back to Command with us and after we decipher the language properly, it can be our Ambassador to this planet for formal first contact.”
“Lay in a course for command headquarters, Commander.”
***
Constance felt very alone.
“I ain’t never done nuffin to you…Where am I? … Bastards!” Constance shouted.
Her words echoed around the chamber.
Involuntarily her new leg took a giant step forward. She had no option but to follow.
“Hey what you doin’?” she screamed.
A bright light on a stem appeared from the floor and whirred into position before her. It unnerved her, not just because of the suddenness, but because it was the same whirring and clicking noise that attached her new leg.
The light moved up and down in front of her.
“I don’t wanna be Photostatted.” she shouted. There was no response.
“Did we step on a needle
Iz?.. Is we trippin’? You knows I don’t do shit.”
Silence.
“Iz, I’s had enough of this! Stop pissing about. Dave if it’s you, I’ll bite your dick off next time, you bastard!” she screamed.
The leg moved a giant step backwards.
Constance noticed that the electronic tickertape message had changed.
YOU ARE SAFE… NO WORRY….ON AMPJULIA…NO WORRY…
“Where de fuck’s Ampjulia?” she screamed at the tickertape display
“COMMUNICATION ANAL SOFTWARE UPLOODING…WAIT….
“You ain’t touchin’ my ass, whoever the fuck you is.” she shouted.
Just then Constance’s mobile phone beeped. She read the text.
Con where u is? Its fkg cold here. Stop pissing abt. No crdt can’t call.i z. X
Constance knew now for sure that she was alone. She didn’t have enough credits for a call either, only text.
I is on me own. Scary shit. On Ampadampa sum ting. Dunno wot de fk going on. X
She pressed send and a bright light illuminated everything to oblivion. When her eyes recovered the cell phone was gone.
“Hey! You nicked me phone.” she shouted in alarm, although without the normal venom.
She was not as feisty now that she knew for sure that she was all alone.
WHICH ENGLISH SPEAK…WHICH ENGLISH SPEAK…Ran the electronic display.
“Fucking normal English, you twats.” she shouted.
“Loading…..Loading……Loading…..
Constance had definitely never felt so alone. She began to be very nervous. She did not know where she was or what was going on.
IDENTIFY… EARTH INHABITANT…
“I is Constance.”
WELCOME EARTH INHABITANT CONSTANCE YOU ARE SAFE. DO NOT BE ALARMED.
“Where is I?”
YOU ARE ON SPACE VESSEL AMPJULIA 9. WE ARE AMPJULIANS.
“What de fuck do you want with me?”
WE WANT YOU TO ANSWER SOME QUESTIONS AND BE OUR AMBASSADOR TO EARTH.
“Why you here? Why you not in America?”
WE CAME SEEKING THE PRESIDENT OF EARTH
“What fucking president of Earth?”
BERNARDO BOHEMOTH BEELZEBUB
“Where’d you get dat from?”
WIKIPEDIA
“Fuck me!”
“THANK YOU FOR THE OFFER. BUT WE CAN’T.”
“ What?”
WE ARE HERMAPHRODITES. WE DO NOT NEED ANOTHER TO BREED
“Boring as fuck.”
PRECISELY.
“Why you not show yourself?”
YOU ARE NOT YET READY TO SEE US.
***
“Have you finished constructing this chair thing the Earth inhabitant wants?”
“Yes, commander. What does it want with this contraption?” asked the ship’s engineer.
“It needs to sit on it.”
“Why? It has legs.”
“From the basic physiology of the scan, I believe it is to stop the body effluent from constantly leaking out. Sitting on it must help contract the orifices.”
“Bizarre.”
The engineer had been called away from conducting experiments on the new artefacts brought aboard by the expedition. A radio and a television, they now knew. It had taken ages to understand the prehistoric technology. How any species could have developed such arcane workings was beyond imagining. The sets were fully operational and receiving signals from the ground emitters. Any technology based on specific planet atmospherics was doomed in the larger galaxies where the basic concepts of this technology simply would not work.
The engineer had someone of the department in the expedition to the planet. The internet café they had visited for research was easy to understand and setting up modular integration in isolation of an internet port was simplicity itself. Why this species did not use light for transmissions, like everyone else, was beyond their comprehension.
“Captain we have a problem.”
“What is it now, Commander?”
“The Earth inhabitant has so many bacterial infections that it will kill any of us that come into contact with it.”
“Well isolate the bacteria and kill them.”
“The medical advice is that the Earth inhabitant cannot remain alive without them.”
“We cannot intentionally kill new species, you know that, Commander.”
“They have an ancient space vehicle in orbit for tourists, we could deposit it there quickly before the planetary trajectory is satisfactorily aligned for dimensional transfer. They will never notice.”
“What about the leg?”
“It’ll have to come off. We cannot leave any evidence.”
“Make it so.”
***
Constance felt very groggy. She felt as if she were floating. She opened her eyes and nearly wet herself. She was floating. She was in a metal tin can and she was floating. She could see planet Earth through the porthole. The sign above the porthole read International Space Station.
“Wot de fuck ?” she said aloud.
She glanced down and saw that her new leg was gone.
Bollocks she thought.
She was very confused, very hungry and she needed a pee. The tin can had an array of switches and small flashing lights set into black consoles. Using the hand bars she edged her way closer to the console marked COMMS. She flicked a big switch and spoke into the microphone.
“Houston, you got a big fuckin’ problem….”
CHAPTER 2
“This is Houston, who is this? Please identify.”
“I is Constance, who is you?”
“This is supposed to be a secure comms line. Hacking into NASA secure comms is a state offence. Please desist before we are forced to take action.”
“I is on your poxy space station and I wanna’ get off.”
Leroy Leonard was very perturbed. He had handled all comms at his station for years and had been awaiting the day when some fool hacker would crack the security and break in.
He called his supervisor before releasing his tirade of well rehearsed vitriol against the hacker.
“There’s one easy way to stop this dick right now, Leroy. We’ll track the signal and get the Feds to arrest the perp, sap.”
He pressed some buttons on the console and awaited the result.
“Is you still there? Why you not answer me?” enquired Constance.
“Bugger me, Leroy, this signal is actually coming from the space station.”
“No way, let me recheck…… Oh shit!
“Just one moment M’am, I am going to wake one of the crew.”
“What crew is dat?”
Leroy placed his hand over the microphone. “This has got to be a wind up, sir.”
“Turn the video cams on Leroy. Put it on the main screen.”
Leroy did as he was ordered. There was some static and then the face and one legged floating body of Constance came into view.
“Who the fuck’s that?” shouted the supervisor.
“I guess its Constance.” said Leroy without a trace of humour in his voice.
“Sweet Jesus! Someone’s gonna” have a field day with this.”
“Do you want me to leave it on main viewer sir?”
“No-siree! Get it off there now. Wake the Command Captain. We need him to personally identify this interloper. You may be right and this may well be a very elaborate TV hoax.”
Leroy sent the alarm signal
to Captain Jeffers.
Captain Jeffers was an experienced astronaut. This was his third stint on the ISS. The alarm had worked and he awoke from a deep sleep. He was very tired after an extended space walk yesterday. He checked his watch. He had only had four hours rest. He slowly orientated himself and made his way to the comms station proper to respond to Houston.
He opened the hatchway and floated through.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouted at the floating Constance
“I is de Virgin Mary, who is you?”
“Captain Roger Jeffers, USAF. How the hell did you get on here?”
“I was in de street wid me friend Iz, then I was in dis container talking to a tickertape machine, den I waz here sleepin’, Oh and some bastard nicked me leg.”
“You’ve had a busy day.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
“Kinda. Now young lady back
to the plot. What or better still how, did you get aboard the
International Space Station ?”
The captain was right. It was a
good question. It also required an answer that Constance did not
have. She thought about for a bit and then remembered a TV series she
had watched the other week.
“I demand the right to remain silent.” said Constance.
“Anything else?” asked the Captain.
“Yeah, where’s the shitter?”
I don’t believe any of this is happening, thought the Captain, I must be hallucinating and this must either be a dream or space sickness.
“Well I is here and I needs a shit. If you don’t help me soon you’ll be turd dodging.”
The captain pinched himself and when nothing happened he slapped his own face.
“Why you do that? You stupid or someting?” asked Constance.
“If you would like to follow me I will show you to the closet. I warn you however that it works with air rather than water. It takes a little getting used to.”
“You mean you blow dry turds?”
“No M’am. We eject them into space.”
“You mean dis tin can shits shit into shit?”
“Kinda. We eject effluent into space and then it burns up as it re-enters Earth’s atmosphere.”
“So you is de cause of global warming then?“
The Captain thought about this for a millisecond before dismissing the ‘alien’s’ logic as flawed.
Having instructed Constance on the workings of the closet, he returned to the comms station.
“Houston, this is, Jeffers ISS.”
“Jeffers, this is Houston. Can you confirm existence of an alien body aboard the ISS?”
“Depends on you definition of alien.”
“Cut the semantic crap, Jeffers.”
“I can confirm the presence of an extra unaccounted for… person.”
“Shit!”
“Where the hell did she come from?”
“No telemetry on that. In fact no nothing on that whatsoever. It’s a complete mystery. Have you questioned it?”
“Affirmative.”
“And?”
“Says she’s the Virgin Mary, but I doubt it.”
“Oh, what makes you think that, Jeffers?”
“Wrong race, wrong language, wrong number of legs.”
“And you a MIT boy! Jesus wept.”
CHAPTER 3
Izzy was very worried. One minute she had been walking and talking to Constance and the next minute, Con was gone. Then she had that crappy text about Ampadampa and that she was scared.
She was faced with a dilemma. Should she tell someone that Con had jut disappeared or not?
In the cold light of day it all sounded a bit crazy. After Con had whooshed to God knew where, she had looked everywhere for her and then returned home. She never got to see Dave and therefore never got the gig. Con didn’t have any relatives or close friend’s other than Iz, only punters and it would probably be them that missed her more than most, oh and the cut that she gave to the club she worked at. She made her mind up to retrace last night’s steps and if she found no clues, then she would call at Con’s club. If no luck there she would summon up the courage to report it to the dreaded police. They were a nightmare as far as she was concerned. They either wanted to arrest you for soliciting or have a freebie-preferably both just to prove their omnipotence.
Offski’s did not have anyone in it until mid afternoon when the cleaners and the manager came in. She paced her day to this agenda and having found no trace of Con, appeared at the club mid afternoon. She knocked on the door for an age before the cleaner let her in.
Night clubs were horrible with the lights on. Her feet stuck squelchily to the carpet as she made her way as directed, through the stale aired main room to the managers” tiny room at the back, behind the bar.
She knocked at the door and went in before anyone answered. There were thousands of pounds spread across the desk in neat piles.
“And you are?” he said without really glancing up, being so engrossed with the money.
“Izzy,” she said meekly and in total awe of all the money.
“And?”
“I come to see if’n you seen, Constance?”
“Little bitch didn’t show last night. Pity. We were stuffed full with two stag nights and she could have made a killing.”
“She’s kinda disappeared. I been looking everywhere for her.”
“She’d better be here tonight, we’ve got a big lesbian hen night.”
“I didn’t know Con done hens.”
“Cum one cum all is her motto.”
“I does blokes, never done wimmin.”
“Con has it down to a fine art. Get’s dressed up an’ all. Wanna see her in action? Got some tapes from the security cameras somewhere.”
“Why’d I want to see them for?”
“Cos if she don’t show tonight, you can cover her shift.”
“Dunno about that. It’s Con’s gig.”
“Business is business, darling and you look fit enough to do a good job.”
Izzy looked at all the
money on the table again and said “If’n I don’t find her by six
I’ll call by and maybe look at the tapes for ideas.”
“That’ll be fine, your side of the business don’t busy up ‘til gone midnight when the punters are really smashed.”
“Wot’s the rate?” she asked.
“£20 minimum and I get 30% for rent and protection. You pay staff prices over the bar.”
Izzy moved closer and shook hands with the manager. It was then she noticed the handgun in the open draw nestling on a stash of packeted pills. It suddenly explained why he was Mr Cool with all that money about.
“Later, babes.” he said.
“Didn’t get your name, mate?”
“The name’s, Andrei, but most people call me, Fook.”
Constance now had another dilemma. Could she or should she take her best friend’s gig?
Well, she thought, if Constance didn’t want the money she sure as shit did. She wasn’t sure about watching her best friend on the tapes though. After all they was mates and it seemed somehow rude to be watching your best mate servicing punters. She kept to her original plan however and with heavy footsteps trudged to the local police station to report Constance missing.
“Good afternoon, Miss. How can I help you?” asked the desk sergeant.
“Need to report someone missing.”
“Don’t we all?.. Pardon my sense of humour Miss, busy shift. Name?”
“Who’s mine or the missing person?”
“Yours, to start with.”
“Izzy Green.”
“I won’t ask the obvious. Address?”
“1, Earth Terrace.”
“That’s between Venus Avenue and Mars Street innit?”
“Yep.”
“And the name of the missing person?”
“Constance Brown.”
“Do you colour code all your friends?”
It was going to take ages with this comedian, thought Izzy and wheezed a deep sigh.
“And when did you last see Constance Brown?”
“Last night ‘round seven. One minute she was there and the next she was gone.”
“Gone where?”
“That’s what I is here for. Duh!”
“No need to take that tone, Miss Green.”
“What fuckin’ tone does you want me to take then?”
“Using foul language will get you nowhere, Miss. The missing person has not been missing for long enough for us to be ‘interested.’ She could well turn up someplace soon and she won’t really be missing at all.”
“And that’s it?”
“For the moment, Miss.”
“So she could be dead in a ditch and you won’t be fuckin’ interested “til some dog sniffs her arse out?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it as bluntly as that, Miss.”
Izzy felt like punching the self righteous twat in the face. She controlled her innermost feelings and asked, “If you would just make a note in your records then, so that if she turns up dead, they can hang you for indifference.”
Pleased with her stunning riposte, she turned smartly on her heels and stomped out of the police station. That git had wound her up and she needed a drink.
The pub was too expensive so she bought a half bottle of Vodka in the supermarket and headed over towards Asif’s place for a number of reasons. One was for someone to talk to, two was a mate to drink with and three to see if he had any pirate lesbian porn CD’s so she could do her homework before tonight, if Con didn’t show up. Oh and four, to see if he had any dildos that’d fallen off the back of a truck otherwise it would be stuffing “Big John” condoms with dried peas, as jelly wouldn’t have time to set.
CHAPTER 4
“Comrade Commissar, There are additional life signs on the ISS.”
“Vot do you mean?”
“There are only supposed to be three astronauts on the ISS. I have life signs for four.”
“Vot? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Comrade.”
“Get me the Kremlin.”
The ground station operative dialled the number and handed the telephone to his boss.
“Security customer advice hotline, what is the nature of your enquiry ? Press 1 for national security breach. Press 2 for Kidnapping requests. Press 3 for election fixing advice. Press 4 for assassinations. Press 5 to sell your daughter or niece abroad.”
The Commissar pressed 1 and was told he was in a queue.