Dead Simple

holding him by the dewlaps with a clenched fist. ‘I’m in your face, know what I’m saying?’ Reynaldo Curtis snarled.
    Davey, in his baggy jeans, and baseball cap tugged tight over his head, lay back on his beat-up sofa munching a Twinkie bar from a supply that was delivered to him weekly from the States by mail order and shouted out, ‘Yeah, scumbag! I’m in your face, know what I’m saying?’
    The detritus of Davey’s quarterpounder and fries dinner lay on the curled carpet tiles at his feet amid the piles of junk – much of it salvaged during his work with his dad – that covered just about every inch of the floor, shelf and table space of his domain.
    Beside him sat the pieces of the walkie-talkie he had found a couple of nights back. He’d been meaning to try to fix it, but hadn’t got around to it yet. Idly, he picked the main body of it up and peered at it.
    The casing was badly cracked. There was a loose bit of plastic with flanges and two AAA batteries that he had retrieved from the road when he had dropped it. He’d really meant to put it back together but somehow it had slipped his mind. Lots of stuff slipped his mind. Just as fast as most things came into his head, they went out again.
    Stuff.
    There was stuff all the time that made no sense.
    Life was like a jigsaw puzzle where bits were always missing. The important bits. Now there were four bits to the walkie-talkie jigsaw. The cracked box, two batteries and the thing that looked like a lid.
    He finished his Twinkie, licked the wrapper, then tossed it onto the floor.
    ‘Know what I’m saying?’ he announced to no one. Then he leaned forward, picked up the burger’s polystyrene box and rummaged around through the mess of ketchup with his finger. ‘Yeah! I’m in your face, know what I’m saying?’
    He chuckled. There was a commercial break. Some smarmy media fuckwit talking about building society rates. Growing impatient, Davey said ‘Come on, baby, let’s get back to the show.’
    Instead, another commercial came on. On the screen a baby crawled across the carpet talking in a deep male adult voice. Davey watched for some moments, transfixed, wondering how a baby could learn to speak that way. Then his attention drifted back to the walkie-talkie. There was a telescopic aerial, which he pulled out as far as it would go, then pushed back in again. ‘Kerloink!’ he said. Then out again. ‘Kerloink!’
    He pointed it at the television screen, staring down its length, taking aim as if it were a rifle. Then the show came back on.
    He looked at his brand new watch, which his dad had given him for his birthday yesterday. It was for timing motor races, and had all kinds of buttons, dials and digital displays that he hadn’t quite figured out yet from the instruction book. His dad promised to help him read it, get through the tough words. He needed to have it all working OK for this Sunday, the Monaco Grand Prix, it was important he had it ready for that.
    There was a knock on his door, then it opened a few inches. His dad stood there, dressed up in a hunting cap with ear flaps, battered old windcheater and wellington boots. ‘Five minutes, Davey.’
    ‘Awww. It’s Law and Order . Could we make it fifteen?’
    Cigarette smoke drifted into the room. Davey saw the red glow as his dad took a drag. ‘If you want to come shooting rabbits, we have to leave in five minutes. You must have seen every show of Law and Order they ever made.’
    The ads ended, the show was coming back on. Davey raised a finger to his lips. Grinning in mock despair, Phil Wheeler backed out of the room. ‘Five minutes,’ he said, closing the door.
    ‘Ten!’ Davey shouted after him, American accent now. ‘Compromise! Know what I’m saying?’
    Davey turned his focus back on the walkie-talkie, thinking it might be cool to take it out rabbit shooting with him. He peered closely into the battery compartment, figured out which way they were supposed to go in, and inserted the batteries. Then he pushed one of two buttons on the side. Nothing happened. He tried the second button and instantly there was a crackle of static.
    He held the speaker part to his ear, listening. Just static. And then, suddenly, a male voice so loud he could have been in the room with him.
    ‘Hello?’
    Startled, Davey dropped the walkie-talkie on the floor.
    ‘Hello? Hello?’
    Davey stared down at it, beaming with delight. Then there was another knock on his door and his father called