Read Online The Crime Studio by Steve Aylett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Aylett
Ads: Link
readers’ fascination with the perils of his work. The lady host of a literary soiree once found her absent guest-speaker burgling her bedroom and brought him downstairs in a din of delighted applause. Leon , flattered and bashful, removed his mask and accepted their toast, presenting the host with a crowbar and searing his admirers with a volcano of modesty.
Leon ’s idea of a perfect crime was one during which he enjoyed himself. How could he be so selfish? Crime was supposed to be a necessity - the cops didn’t want people to think crooks were enjoying it, and crooks didn’t want the cops to think so either. Leon was blowing the gaff like there was no tomorrow. He’d never been popular on the west coast, where bigtime hoods have the souls of accountants. But now even the Beerlight mob was brooding and Dino Korova the hoodboss hauled Savage in by the legs. Savage was not unconnected with the mob and so by association Leon was not unconnected any the more. Dino Korova did not like to hear Leon saying he was having the time of his life as a burglar in Beerlight. Night and day Leon was on chat shows stating the benefits of not having to pay, and it was placing mob rule in a bad glare. As the keeper of the Beerlight mob it pleased Dino to pretend it was fragile, and alluding to Leon ’s cool calculated cheek he stated with a yell that he’d oblong the bastard with an ammo-guzzler.
Savage found himself arguing on Leon ’s behalf with an almost forensic intensity. What with the hazards of drugs, sex and spiritual quest, crime was one of the few activities a young man could undertake without fear of the consequences. Leon ’s lack of unconnectedness with the mob was as slender as a bug’s fetlock. The boy could walk down Chain Street picking both nostrils simultaneously with a tuning fork and no one would give a thought to the mob or anything else. And as a burglar, nobody was more punctual.
‘Never was a truer word spoken,’ said Dino Korova. ‘At least not around here. I’ll have you know what I intend to do with this skulking paragon, Savage - you two will enter a premises on my behalf, and if Leon begins chanting, impersonating a crash dummy in slow motion or braying with laughter during the job, I assure you he’ll depart the world like a greyhound out of a trap. This joker of a nephew of yours grows more floridly conspicuous every time I look away. I cannot allow the national media to perceive the moral angularities of my enterprise.’
Savage tracked Leon down at a squash club and tried to impress upon him this opportunity to redeem himself or face the boneshattering music. Leon distractedly agreed during a slamserve and turned up cheerily on the night with only the dimmest notion of what was riding on it. Gasping with hilarity, he shuffled into the dark alley and began to mime an encounter with an invisible wall. Bristling with common sense, Savage watched as the evening developed into a fiesta of song and balloon animal mayhem. Leon proceeded as though there were no such thing as a burglary. The premises was quickly filled with semi-inflated dogs and volleys of abuse. Savage stood slack-featured and regarded the fading afterimage of his integrity. And then, as Leon began playing a trumpet, years of sedentary, strolled burglaries exploded like a fumbled egg. Savage saw with a pellucid clarity the notion that would transform his previously dreary career. Leon was bringing him on. Leon wasn’t into misery because it lacked the element of surprise.
Neighbours were banging on the walls and cop sirens began to wail. Leon and Savage were on the roof, releasing balloon creatures and bellowing quotations from Poe at operatic volume. The cops arrived gung-ho for justice and hauled them yanking and flapping to the state pen at such speed their yells underwent a Doppler shift. The arrest produced baffling headlines which had to be qualified and explained at length, and then the issue sank like a U-boat. Savage was
Leon ’s idea of a perfect crime was one during which he enjoyed himself. How could he be so selfish? Crime was supposed to be a necessity - the cops didn’t want people to think crooks were enjoying it, and crooks didn’t want the cops to think so either. Leon was blowing the gaff like there was no tomorrow. He’d never been popular on the west coast, where bigtime hoods have the souls of accountants. But now even the Beerlight mob was brooding and Dino Korova the hoodboss hauled Savage in by the legs. Savage was not unconnected with the mob and so by association Leon was not unconnected any the more. Dino Korova did not like to hear Leon saying he was having the time of his life as a burglar in Beerlight. Night and day Leon was on chat shows stating the benefits of not having to pay, and it was placing mob rule in a bad glare. As the keeper of the Beerlight mob it pleased Dino to pretend it was fragile, and alluding to Leon ’s cool calculated cheek he stated with a yell that he’d oblong the bastard with an ammo-guzzler.
Savage found himself arguing on Leon ’s behalf with an almost forensic intensity. What with the hazards of drugs, sex and spiritual quest, crime was one of the few activities a young man could undertake without fear of the consequences. Leon ’s lack of unconnectedness with the mob was as slender as a bug’s fetlock. The boy could walk down Chain Street picking both nostrils simultaneously with a tuning fork and no one would give a thought to the mob or anything else. And as a burglar, nobody was more punctual.
‘Never was a truer word spoken,’ said Dino Korova. ‘At least not around here. I’ll have you know what I intend to do with this skulking paragon, Savage - you two will enter a premises on my behalf, and if Leon begins chanting, impersonating a crash dummy in slow motion or braying with laughter during the job, I assure you he’ll depart the world like a greyhound out of a trap. This joker of a nephew of yours grows more floridly conspicuous every time I look away. I cannot allow the national media to perceive the moral angularities of my enterprise.’
Savage tracked Leon down at a squash club and tried to impress upon him this opportunity to redeem himself or face the boneshattering music. Leon distractedly agreed during a slamserve and turned up cheerily on the night with only the dimmest notion of what was riding on it. Gasping with hilarity, he shuffled into the dark alley and began to mime an encounter with an invisible wall. Bristling with common sense, Savage watched as the evening developed into a fiesta of song and balloon animal mayhem. Leon proceeded as though there were no such thing as a burglary. The premises was quickly filled with semi-inflated dogs and volleys of abuse. Savage stood slack-featured and regarded the fading afterimage of his integrity. And then, as Leon began playing a trumpet, years of sedentary, strolled burglaries exploded like a fumbled egg. Savage saw with a pellucid clarity the notion that would transform his previously dreary career. Leon was bringing him on. Leon wasn’t into misery because it lacked the element of surprise.
Neighbours were banging on the walls and cop sirens began to wail. Leon and Savage were on the roof, releasing balloon creatures and bellowing quotations from Poe at operatic volume. The cops arrived gung-ho for justice and hauled them yanking and flapping to the state pen at such speed their yells underwent a Doppler shift. The arrest produced baffling headlines which had to be qualified and explained at length, and then the issue sank like a U-boat. Savage was
Similar Books
