Breaking frames

The man in the blue suit lifted the window frame in front of his face. He leered through the glass down to where Henzell was sitting. Then he hoisted the frame higher, above his head. The wood glowed pale and bare in the light of the caged lamp hanging from the warehouse roof. The shoulders and biceps bulged, stretching the fabric of his suit. He looked down with contempt sneered over his face. ‘Do you know what it feels like, fucker?’ He took a step towards the chair so the blue wool of his trousers rubbed the rough slacks they had forced Henzell to wear. ‘Do you know what it feels like to have a plate of glass smashed over your head?’ Henzell returned his gaze, said nothing. His eyes were open wide with a look more like shock than fear. His lips were forced back hard against his gums where the roll of bloody cloth was tied round his mouth. The man in the suit kicked out at Henzell’s leg, staggering slightly. ‘Do you know what it feels like?’ He spat down onto the face below. Still Henzell made no attempt to respond, but he recoiled from the spit, twisted his face and tried to rub it off on his shoulder. The restraints stayed firm behind his back, pulling his mouth up short, a couple of inches from his arm. A foamy blob of saliva trickled down his cheek. The sinews on the man’s neck tightened. His arms swayed with the weight of the window. But still he held it high, like a trophy. His white shirt was tugged up from his waistband, taut against his stomach. ‘It’s your neck you should be worried about, arsehole. Not your head. The shards round your neck, slicing the ripe old arteries. Take it in the jugular.’ The nerves along his own neck were quivering in anticipation, filled flush with hot blood, like over-inflated inner tubes. Henzell watched them intently. ‘But you won’t know about that. The window’s gonna knock you out, if you’re lucky. By the time your throat’s cut you’ll be sleeping like a little baby.’ He smiled at his joke and hefted the window higher still, stretching his arms fully above his head, as if he needed the extra force. ‘Let’s find out shall we?’ As he started to swing the window forward on the axis created by his arms around his shoulders, Henzell rocked the chair back onto its hind legs.

The plasma screen went instantly black, a dull matt surrounded by the glossy black of the frame. There was a peremptory click. Henzell, the suited man, the window frame, the warehouse: all gone.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ said Jonny.

‘Let’s not watch this crap,’ said Shula.

He lunged towards her, tried to grab the remote control, but she held it behind her back and arched her shoulders away from him. The rounded neckline of her thin brown top pulled tight against her breasts. He grabbed her round her narrow waist and tickled with the ends of his fingers, digging them gently into the soft bony flesh, working his way under the cotton. ‘Ooh, you could warm your hands up first,’ she giggled as she dropped the remote onto the carpet. Jonny put his hands up, ready to pounce.

‘Stay! Don’t you dare,’ Shula said.

‘I was watching that.’

‘A girl needs a little attention too.’ She smiled her knowing thin smile. The one that was a remote control for Jonny.

‘It’s watching that stuff, isn’t it. Makes you horny. All those tough guys. Six packs and sweat,’ he said. He lunged again, throwing his weigh forward so that his shoulder reached the armrest at her end of the sofa. She fought him back, holding his wrists, struggling to stop him from reaching the remote. He started to crawl over her body. His chest came down against her small breasts. She squirmed underneath him but he forced her legs apart with his knees and drove the hardening mound at the front of his jeans against her crotch. She released one of his wrists and put her hand to his jeans. As she unfastened and slid out the belt he inched higher on the sofa, nearer to the remote. He shifted his weight onto his knees so that she could slip the jeans and pants down over his erection, his hips and along his thighs. His head was heavy against her neck, breathing in her perfume and skin. His eye was close to hers, and he could see how the narrow corner of that perfect eye swept down to meet the crease from her knowing smile. Shula always looked pleased with herself, never more than when she was fucking.

She held him and rubbed him for a few seconds then moved the hand to her own zip. Again he lifted his weight so she could drag her own jeans and knickers down to knee level, joining his in a tangle of partly undressed clothing. He was biting and kissing her neck as she eased him into her. Then he started pushing against her, working his way along the sofa further, inching towards the remote control. ‘I’ll teach you to turn off the tele like that,’ he said, grinding into her harder. ‘Come on then, let’s see if you’re man enough.’ she said, never losing her clever smile. With one hand he pinioned her, with the other he stretched out towards the carpet. All the time he thrust his weight up the sofa, moving them both slowly towards the prize.

***

Then the end. There was just a line of three ridiculous dots. The reader felt a frisson of annoyance. It had been a con. There was no story to be had. It shouldn’t end like that. It was wrong.

Who was watching the reader?