chapter 11.

Jesus Christ settles in with Lipton on his roundabout hide away

If Lipton was honest he had no expectation that JC would be able to resurrect so profound had been his latest death. He had no reservations, he knew the messiah well and knew that he was who he said was. Nevertheless he had witnessed arguably his second closest friend after Skree blown in to easily a dozen pieces by the deranged copper who had followed them. It was possible that the mission they were committed to would have failed were it not for the intervention of a lunatic ex policeman, armed to the teeth and hell bent on killing the crew who had forged their links at the Bury Ditches hill fort rave. The loss of his shaman brother hurt the most. He doubted that he would ever get over his loss. As he carefully observed the aftermath of the destruction of Rupert Bunsens crazed attempt to leave the planet he had kept the yacht he had taken from Porlock Weir just out of distance. Bunsen would have his minions out searching the waters, just as he was to finish off any remaining terrorist warlocks and after two days it was clear that just himself and Brock, a Druid lad from Clun were the only survivors. Brock had lost two brothers and three sisters and to allow the pain of his personal grief to mar the pain the poor Druid was going through was not in his character. So they’d collected up the meat that had once been Christ in a builders sack and had shared the silence of the seas as they returned home. By the time they were close to Porlock Weir Lipton had lost his mind. He had given the Druid directions to return Christs parts to the traveller site and from there had slipped into a deep psychosis. But now, having the debauched hippie back had raised his spirits. Following the first night together on the roundabout Christ had mocked the pathetic amount of drugs Lipton had been able to share.

“Come on man! Stop winging about Skree! He would have thought it a good death. He certainly wouldn’t want you moaning about it. If I wallowed in the grief for each and every friend I’d lost I’d be fucked! People come and go. It’s the nature of the game.”

Lipton considered the advice he was being given and had to concede it was true. Skree would have been proud to have had one over on the grey bastards. He was probably the one who was most committed to the project. Lipton recalled how he was just about to commit suicide to test out the archangel bollocks when Skree had turned up. He hated the way people said that things happened for a reason. Of course they did but the reason invariably preceded the event and never foretold the future.

“You’re right! Let’s celebrate his life and the times we shared.”

Christs eyes lit up and he knew he had made his point.

“I’ve got a plan. The lads you scored off? Can you see them again?”

“Aye! I’ve got their number. I’ve no money mind.”

“Leave that to me. We’re going to buy everything they’ve got and have a session here tonight that would do Skree proud!”

Lipton kicked a little earth on to the embers of the fire and throwing his arm around his mates shoulder led the way from the roundabouts concealed centre to the edge of the two lanes of the roundabout where traffic was now quietening as the night began to fall.

“Take me to a corner shop. The dodgiest looking one you’ve seen in this shit hole of a town.”

Lipton had noticed a few 7-11 type shops run by Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi people during his mooches in to town. He’d used his shoplifting skills for the last few nights but it was only a matter of time before he would get noticed. Consequently he had registered the kind of establishments that sold cheap, strong lagers and ciders. The type of drink he preferred.

“Nip down Lidl and get a half dozen shopping trolleys. You’ll need a quid each.” Christ rummaged in the pockets of his filthy looking jeans and came out with easily thirty pound coins which he handed to Lipton.

“Go try that one. There’s a premier store round the block if you can’t get him to bite.”

Christ grinned back at Lipton. “Come on brother! How long do you think I’ve been at this game.”

Lipton nodded. The bedraggled freak, whose greasy hair formed a semi curtain through which he could see eyes that were on fire and the smile of the expert hussler. Fuck! Lipton almost wanted to put a bid in on what ever he was selling so seductive was his manner. With the most sophisticated of conmen the punter was fighting to be taken in.

He can’t have taken ten minutes to procure the shopping trolleys and in that ten minutes the stack of wine bottles the messiah had conjured up looked like it would fill a skip. New world reds, whites, champagne and a couple of bottles of every kind of wine that Lipton had ever seen were stacked in crates on the pavement. While he began to load the hawk in to the trolleys Christ slipped away and soon returned with not one but three brothers who ran a chain of off licences in the town. Bridgewater would not be short of a drink tonight. While the hussler who looked like he had not seen a bath or shower in at least a year did the deal, Lipton selected a half dozen choice bottles and tucked them in to a basket he’d grabbed along with the trolleys.

“Fucking sorted!”

Christ was in his element. He’d already popped a cork and sunk a half bottle of Moët et Chandon. He wiped his soot blackened hand across his face leaving a dark stripe that to Liptons eyes took on a feel of war paint. He’d had many a session with the king of sessions and despite his own immense tolerance to all drugs and alcohol had never come close to appearing less than a light weight when up against a man who could literally drink himself to death and wake up with a smile and reach for another bottle.

“Who’d you score the shots off last night?”

Christ waved a fistful of some two thousand pounds. “ Let’s get fucking slaughtered!”

Lipton was already on his mobile.

“Beamer? It’s me, Lipton. I saw you last night. I’m looking for a bundle .”

Beamer considered it for a while. Perhaps he could offload his stock, reload and punt it out.

“How much you after?”

“Look, it’s not my money but it’s four figures. Any chance you could come out to the roundabout? You know, where I said I was staying?”

Beamer had been burned before but the crusty just didn’t look the type. Lipton heard some negotiations in the slang that was now a national language spoken by all the shooters in towns and cities across the country.

“Yep! I’m bringing my proby. Magno! Ok?”

“Yep! No problem. Just bring your stock. We’re not going to rob you. We’ve had a touch and….well the mate who’s turned up…he doesn’t have much value for money. It’ll be worth your while. I guarantee you’ll make twice what you would just shotting out bits in the car park. You might even enjoy it. We’ve got a fire. My mate will pay for the drinks and weed you smoke.”

Fuck it! Beamer thought. It was a Tuesday night and they had barely covered their costs last night. Could be a laugh.

“You’re on then bro. See you on the roundabout.”

“Magno! How much have you got?”

“I’ve got five half teenths weighed out. About a dozen twenty’s of light and dark and a load of powder. What about you Beamer? Have you got enough to cover it?”

“I reckon so. I’m sick of feeling bait, waiting for the 5O. We can make more with these crusties.”

“Did you see that guy he was with? Fucking tramp! He hadn’t seen soap in years. But if he’s got the reddies. Who gives a fuck?”

Magno was looking down at his phone. Laughing at something he’d seen on instagram.

“Hey Beam? Check out this knobhead. I’ve been following him for a couple of days. The guys a fucking nun or something! Proper prick. Slaphead! How do they do that haircut man? Last post he was smiling next to a homeless bitch. Corpse there smoking and the idiots smiling selfie with a sad emoji! Fucking unreal.”

“You ought to leave that shit alone. Them fucking priesthood have proper connections.”

“Nah man! You ought to check him out. Brother Tobin him called. Piss funny man!”

Beamer rumbled through his pockets. Various ten shots and bags of other powders were there. They’d take these two hippies for all they had.

Christ stood in his classic pose. Cruciform. His bare feet were protected by a leather like sole that could crush glass bottles with ease. His jeans had not left his legs since the chunks of flesh had reentangled and blended once more. The stench of putrefaction still hung around him as his reanimation was not fully complete. His bare torso was clothed only by a long faded denim jacket. His outstretched palms still showed the stigmata that were his mark of authenticity. His greasy shoulder length hair and thin beard led up to his convoluted grin and beaming eyes.

“Come on then Lipton, and any other fucker who wants to come aboard! Let’s fucking have it!”

Soon Beamer and Magno were with the messiah and his shaman brother, all hell bent on raising hell.

“I am the resurrection! I am the one!”

Lipton couldn’t help but smile at his mate’s passion for life. He bid the pompous prick hand over some cash, grabbed a fistful of dollars and told the two shotters to stick close. Come back to his roundabout home and join in a session the like of which they would be telling of for the rest of their lives.

Back at Liptons roundabout encampment the fire blazed though passing traffic were oblivious to the session now taking place. Christ was in his element. He’d provided more wine than could possibly be consumed and having invited the shooters back was handing over money for a further five stones to the bundle they’d already smoked.

“Come on Magno! Let’s get wasted.”

Lipton looked on as did Beamer and his young apprentice. Ripping open the clingfilm Christ soon had the rock which he split in half handing Lipton the smaller of the two stones.

“Load up your pipe Lipton! This one’s for Skree. We miss you brother!”

Jesus placed the white rock, the size of a petit poir pee on to the improvised Karpackie can, bent and punctured in the centre of the dip with a mass of tiny holes. The ash from the cigarette he’d just smoked sat in a small heap above the holes. Lipton had his glass pipe, now thick with brown oil he’d scrape once the crack was gone. A mass of burnt off pan scowerer served the same purpose as Christs cigarette ash; to hold the crack once it was liquified by heat. Both struck their lighters.

“Slange!” Lipton said as both men took a huge inhalation of the crack before holding it down deep in their lungs and then exhaled two clouds of white smoke that met above the fire and was carried up skyward by the heat.

Both Lipton and Christ sat in silence as the massive rush from the pipes hit them.

“Fuck me! That’s some decent stone!” Christ complimented Beamer on the quality of his product.

Once the hit diminished Jesus bought a couple of dark. Lipton ripped from his roll of foil, two 8 inch by 10 to run their beetles and two smaller pieces to make their tooters.

“I like it man who plays a tin foil flute.”

And soon both were running lines of brown and inhaling the soothing heroin to take the edge off the white.

Magno could not resist and took a sneaky photo that he posted to his instagram page.

“Fuck me! Pass me that wine”

The two shotters shared a bottle and sparked up a spliff to share.

“Takes me back to when I had my gang of followers who left their wives and jobs to join me in the street drinking.”

Lipton had heard the story many times but it was a fresh one for the young lads and he wouldn’t spoil it.

“Is that the Judas cunt story?” Lipton encouraged Christ to get it rolling. He might be a proper wreck head but he span a good yarn. “Most of the gang were lightweights to be frank and after a gallon of wine a piece and a whole bunch of Lebanese bifters they crashed out. My best fucking mate! Or so I thought was the only cunt still awake. He looks at me, all shifty like and said he off down the all night garage to get some skins. I said there’s a load of skins; green, blue, small and large size kicking around. But he says he wants some munchies. I said I can summon up some bread if you want. He says he wants some snickers or something. I said I can come with you but he tells me to chill out, have a lie down, I’ll bring you something good. Then he slips off. I should have seen it coming but I genuinely considered him my best mate at the time. See, Lipton here, and Skree when he was alive, I know they wouldn’t grass me up. Half an hour later he comes back , offers me a star bar and the cunt kisses me on the cheek. At first I thought I’d read him wrong, perhaps he was a shirt lifter, but out of nowhere about a dozen Romans appear and had me against the wall. I swallowed the hash, about a quarter which proved to be a big mistake when they took me to their boss who had a whole bunch of questions. By now the hash was starting to kick in, big time!”

Beamer was distracted by a call.

“Yes bro! I’m on that roundabout just outside Bridgewater. If you’re coming down from north it’s the one that has a road off to Hinckley Point and the other off into Bridgewater. Tell him we’re round a fire in the middle of the bushes.”

“Are you listening to my story or what?” Christ asked.

“. It’s just another punter who can’t score anywhere.”

“That’s cool! The more the merrier.”

Lipton knew now he was in for a party and his privacy on the roundabout was done.

The messiah took a swig of wine and got back to his story.

“Pontias Pilate! Pompous pollock more like!”

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