The Creation of Frankie Carrozza

The First Conquest

'Frankie, you are pivotal to all of this,' Hamilton hissed as they meandered through the dark cobbled streets of Eton together, swinging beneath the lamp posts. 'You possess a particularly necessary attribute needed for this to work—you are the keystone. You are the screen presence that draws the eye. First, you shall rise as the charming poster boy that I have scrupulously carved for all to look towards and admire, and I shall stand as an equal by your side and as the strategist, for I do not have that certain charismatic quality which you possess, considering I do not particularly enjoy most humans all that much or have the patience for them—only a select few, while the rest are fat blue bottle flies to me. I will play the Merlin and the Morgan le Fay to your portrayal of King Arthur, so to speak. Now, we initiate the second phase.'
'The second phase?' Frankie repeated as he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his navy pea coat. 'Good God, old fellow, you've certainly given this quite a bit of thought, haven't you? How many phases are there exactly? Tell me, have you been devising this plan since the very moment you'd set foot inside to darken the hallways and cobbled arteries of Eton like an omen?'
'Yes, actually. Being a perpetually restless individual, I had two choices: initiate a project to overthrow those in power or to join the badminton team,' Trevor replied. 'Mind you, my serve is impeccable in both activities. Now, quieten your incessant mouth, Carrozza, and listen to me, for the next part is as integral to the plan as ousting Gillespie. You mustn't carelessly shun the concept away without consideration ... no matter how depraved it may sound.'
'Depraved?' Frankie responded, pulling up the collar of his coat. 'Just how terrible is this next part that it caused for you to be forewarning me not to evade it?'
'You must now choose several worthy bunkmates to aid your rise, pun intended,' Trevor announced casually, 'and they must be prestigious pupils and influential individuals found within the grounds of Eton or the surrounding areas. We've unseated the throne, but it remains empty. Nobody is yet calling out your name for you to seat it. If you are to take it now, nobody will support your claim because not all of them know your name. You must plant the seed with your seed and let the reputation spawn like roots through the grounds of Eton, as scandal before glory is the quickest way to make an honorific image for yourself. They must sing of your praises afterwards, to make you sound like a monumental and magical occurrence. It is good fortune that I've taught you the ways and shown you the art of being a sensual and sensational lover all these years. At least there are quite a few somewhat intrigued by you once you joined several of the sports teams, which makes it all the more easier. Haven't you already received a handful of offers? I do believe this is evident in those anonymous love letters secretly shoved underneath your doorway or pillow every once in a while. All we need to do is use the power of suggestion to paint you as a pretty mystery, fringed along the edge by a gorgeous frame made of glamour. If we romanticise you like a poem, claiming you to be the sprog of a Greek warrior like Achilles and a goddess like Aphrodite, it shall be quite undemanding for you to obtain many a lover ... although, that is not the issue. You must only maintain plenty of stamina and be very wise when selecting those you plan to invite into your bed come the morose call of the evening bell. The more impressive the name, higher are the chance of it legitimising your cause.'
Exasperated and shocked, Frankie glowered at the other boy as he swirled around a post box and thrusted his hands into his grey jacket, chuckling to himself. 'Exactly what part do I play in this plan of yours, just the role of some few-bob whore?'
'Of course not.' Trevor snorted and winked at him. 'You're a glorious treasure, my handsome boy.'
'Isn't this going a bit too far? Never mind being expelled, there is potential for our being incarcerated! Listen to us, Hamilton. In a sense, we're discussing the idea of whoring my body out. I'm not some sort of rent boy smuggled in from Thailand. I'm no hustler wandering the streets of Tijuana, prowling beneath the lamp posts with multicoloured handkerchiefs in my back pockets to indicate just what sort of vulgar activities I offer to all of the johns.'
'Oh please, Frankie. Hustlers, whores, and courtesans have businesslike professionalism and savvy instincts. They barter for the coin when turning a trick. You're doing it for free.'
'That doesn't make it sound any better! What is the matter with you?' Frankie grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him around. 'What is the purpose of all of this? You're asking me to offer up my body as a vessel to be used in an enactment of all the desperate desires and filthy fantasies of just about any old Joe that comes my way... so as to play the object to which they can direct their deepest and darkest urges towards, dragged up from the shadowiest corners of their minds. Do you hear yourself? Do you understand how vile that request sounds?'
'Just as Jesus Christ offered up his body and died for our sins, you shall offer up your own and live for them. No martyrdom awaits you, only a kingdom to make an immortal of you. Listen, do this in remembrance—'
'If you continue to spout symbolic Christian references in regards to this foul mission of yours, Hamilton, I will clout you so hard you'll be digging bits of broken teeth from the back of your skull for weeks and your own children, if they've the misfortune to spawn from your acidic loins, will wobble from feeling the repercussions of it in the future.'
'What I mean to say is that ... of course you may choose from them, you bloody halfwit. I didn't mean for you to bed everyone who quivers at the crotch for you. How exactly would you riding some homeless man do either of us any sort of favours? Select the ones you enjoy the look of, but only—and most importantly—if they have an admirable reputation or something worthy to take in exchange, then you may writher beneath the sheets with them. However, there will be a few salient targets who will be necessary to take ahold of like crevices in the climb up this mountain, regardless of their appearance or charisma. Mind you, it won't always be venereal acts ... however, those sort of lewd performances make for valuable weapons when it comes to trying to gain advancement as quickly as possible.' Trevor's sneer followed a bus sliding behind Carrozza's head as he stuffed his hands under his armpits to keep the nippy September air from biting, bobbing his head and swaying on his boots. 'It isn't exactly being given away for nought though, is it? You shall receive just rewards and liberation and more. To be entirely honest, if it is any consolation ... personally, I believe you'd make an absolute killing with those talents of yours imbued by me in the bedroom, until torrents of coins poured spiritedly out of all your orifices ... or whichever field, or forest, or alleyway, or empty classroom, or public restroom, or red telephone box, or bathtub, or wherever you stumble your way towards and with whomever once the hungry beast between your thighs begins to grumble. After all, I ought to know.'
Trevor's smug grin was only encouraged all the more when Frankie shoved him against the cobblestoned wall. 'Listen to me,' Hamilton persisted. 'Make them scream from munificent ecstasy, and when their hoarse voices finally return to them, let them begin the whispers discussing all the boys and girls you have ... ploughed the field with, so to speak. Therefore, in doing so, you shall be exalted into some illustrious, great, and sexual being whom everyone shall be talking about. "Is he or isn't he?" they'll wonder, consumed with curiosity. It is a gimmick, and mystery is the best trick used of all others to inspire itself amongst the ordinary and the bored when too much is said or not enough. You shall be revered. They know your family and your face, it shan't take much effort or time for them to remember your name.'
'You're doing a very poor job trying to dulcify me. Yet, I am still in support of this ideology of ours that endeavours to reshape Eton ... but at what cost? The route seems rather sleazy. To give it away for nought but a whisper of my name in the ear of another at the expense of self-respect seems absurd,' Frankie muttered as they wandered down a dark alleyway, kicking stones. 'I feel as though I've got a bag full of sweeties and I'm just chucking handfuls of them around myself like bread for the pigeons.'
'Carrozza, if we are talking about instilling divine protection over your sacred virginity, you are aware that that little slice of virtue is now safely stored in my pocket after I pilfered it from you in the storeroom at the back of Professor Maguire's classroom when he ordered us to go and retrieve new beakers and burettes after we blew up the other set, aren't you? Do you not recall how we rocked those stacks of shelves until we smashed scientific apparatuses and vials filled with fermenting chemicals around her feet and stuffed our mouths with tartan scarves? I tend to do so on a regular basis when I'm extremely bored on my chaise longue and my hand feels like wandering downwards if I'm alone at night. I'm often rather fond of that memory.' Trevor tittered callously with his tongue between his teeth, dodging the swing of Frankie's foot. 'Bread for the pigeons, my devilish angel? I do believe you mean peasants.'
Frankie pushed him out of the alley and into a telephone box, infuriated by his grin. 'And what about Beth?'
'What about Beth? What Bethany Holiday doesn't know won't hurt her, considering that there is very little she isn't aware of. Besides, it isn't as though you are committing adultery against the girl. You haven't even yet reconciled from whatever silly means has split you apart again this time; some foolish idiocy on your part, I'd imagine, like that time you'd laughed at her for learning to knit clothing for the foxes and hedgehogs that come to her garden at night. The whole affair between you two is going to give me dreadful whiplash. Mind you, I do admire that neither of you ever say you're together like those old marital sort of people would. It's as though you've transcended beyond nonsensical human terms, grasping the bigger picture and becoming something entirely different altogether with no need to seek clarification. It makes you all the more significant and profound, becoming a grand pairing that recognises the importance of matters beyond the ties of the mortal coil, such as the endeavour to break the domestic shackles around the untamed soul to make it primitive once more. Therefore, with her understanding these cosmic philosophies about revelry and hedonism and all things paramount that we've all previously discussed to death, mutely, you have her blessing to seek this out ... as it, too, transcends beyond the measure of brainless human connections. You are not tarnishing her honour, since you are hers, as much as she is yours, as much as you are mine, as much as she is mine, as much as I am hers, as much as the other one equally owns and belongs to us, too.'
The boys strode towards the street corner, eyeing the patrons spilling through the tavern doors and piling into taxis whilst hurling cackles at the night sky.
'You want your name to be sung on for generations throughout the school, echoing long after you are gone, chanted and hero-worshipped until it becomes a legend, a myth due to never fade nor die, my little cherry to be plucked. I know you do. As an alumni, your father, the Etonian, would be incredibly proud of you ... as would that exceptionally beautiful and frosty mother of yours,' Trevor argued. 'I'd imagine she would spend Christmas boasting excessively about her youngest son's remarkable achievements and the renowned successes he has garnered from dominating the college as its pinnacle student. Patrick will evanesce into a beloved whisper.'
'Oh, come off it, Trevor. Yes, I'm sure they would be ever so pleased by the methods I've taken to achieve such an outcome. Also, don't ... don't talk about Patrick like that.' Deliberating, Frankie rolled his head and shuffled his shoulders. 'Oh fine, Hamilton. Very well. If this is what is asked of me and my part to play ... if that is what it takes then consider me wholeheartedly involved. Mind you, if there is anything asked of me that I don't want to do, I shan't be doing it. You can take that bullet ... or you'll be taking an actual bullet between the eyes.' Frankie glanced across the cobbled street to the pub as they stopped to light cigarettes, hopping on his feet to keep warm and looking to his watch. 'Speaking of the other one, where is she? She was supposed to meet us here by now.'
'Everything is already in motion. We have the prefects off our backs and slipped into our pockets like puppeteers and marionettes. Now you need only begin the ascent of your own reputation to attach strings to all that shall soon become our playground, our court, our kingdom, and our very own little dollhouse to switch about the furniture and inhabitants within as we see fit. You are already being praised in the college newsletter for your prowess on the football field, cricket field, and rugby field, not to mention your ability to charm the rivers in rowing. Jack of all trades, master of none, but soon to be of them all,' Trevor murmured enthrallingly, his grin glowing as he inhaled deep before disappearing behind a smog of smoke. Somewhere in the night, footsteps hurried towards them like a cantering horse. 'Trust me, nothing will deliver vast recognition quicker than creating a great enigma around yourself. Compelled by curiosity, they will flock towards you like rats as though you were the Pied Piper of Eton playing a pretty tune. If destiny truly exists, then it was foretold in the stars that we were due to walk this royal path. Judging by what we've accomplished thus far with half the dedication and ambition, we were born for it. It is intrinsic, in fact.'
'Hush your diabolical tongue,' Frankie warned from deep in his throat as the equestrian clip-clopping neared them, no doubt caused by high heels pounding the pavement. 'We will speak no more of this.'
Seraphina Rose emerged from around the corner, bursting forth and latching onto the lamp post at the corner before twirling around it into a courtesy, keeping one hand to her head to ensure the black pork pie hat didn't fall off. 'There you are, my darling cousin. I've been looking all over for you,' she cried, reaching forward to pull Frankie into a tight embrace and choking him with heavy whiffs of citric wine and floral perfume. 'I've only just trailed some poor lad back out of a taxi and across the road because I swore it was you; I thought you were abandoning me so as to head off to one of your dingy pubs in foggy London town, you see.'
'Seraphina Rose, you look as mouth-watering as ever.' Trevor sniffed as his listless eyes devoured her mockingly, scrutinising her black heels until his gaze drifted up to her dark leggings and her drab off the shoulder grey jumper before lifting away insouciantly towards the chimney pots.
'Must you always be repugnant and present, Hamilton?' she snapped, combing wispy blonde strands from her eyes as she reapplied her thick black reading glasses over her eyes.
'Of course. If I was not here, where else would I be?' His smarmy smile was like sugar mixed with salt.
'Oh, I don't know, perhaps visiting papa in Hell for a spell?' she called out as she linked her arm through Frankie's and dragged him across the street towards the bar. 'So, who are we tonight, boys?' she asked, slipping a passport from her handbag.
'Sweeney Ripper,' Trevor announced as he pulled out his identification so the three of them could compare their fake passports. 'I'm an apprentice for an undertaker.'
Seraphina rolled her eyes as she slipped her other arm through Hamilton's to prevent her toppling on the cobbles. 'Oh, but of course you are. And you, Frank?'
'Flash Jones,' he answered, pulling back on her arm to dodge the black taxi shooting dangerously up the road. 'I'm in the midst of training to become a budding astronaut. And you, dear cousin?'
'Helen Marsh,' she exclaimed. 'I have just recently matriculated as a student at the University of Cambridge to study in the field of criminology so as to go on to become a forensic scientist.'
'What a godawful, boring name.' Hamilton groaned his distaste. 'Not to mention that you don't exactly look like a forensic scientist.'
'Tell me, Trevor, what exactly does a forensic scientist look like then, since you seem to have obtained such vast statistical knowledge due to encountering so many of them, no doubt?' Seraphina asked brusquely. 'Matching cultish shifts, perhaps?'
'No, I just think that after spending her days surrounded by gallons of blood that Helen Marsh would have the wealth and wish to wear something a little more colourful instead of always being dressed so ... comfortable in all of that black. You look like a drab journalist who has the intentions to convert her measly readers to some tedious religion.'
'Well, shall we see what celebratory colours I wear to your funeral after I've spilled all of your blood out on this kerb?' Seraphina replied calmly, before she wobbled and toppled. They caught her around the elbows mere seconds from whacking her knees off the ground. 'Comfortable? My feet are in absolute agony wearing these things! You could at least be thankful that I strapped these torture devices to me after demanding so profusely that I do. High heels were most definitely invented by men as a weapon to keep women from running away fast enough from stifling cologne, cheesy chat-up lines, and unwise decisions.'
'High heels were initially invented by men for men to wear, actually,' Hamilton retorted monotonously.
'Well, I think I'll take my chances with what I'm wearing considering the advice is coming from a boy dressed in what looks to be a military jacket from the French Revolution that he has dyed black, worn over darker jeans so tight I can see his shrivelling nub pressing through and ... what's this? Another black greatcoat on top, of course ... revolutionary fashion sense. Bravo! Forgive me if I'd rather trust my own instincts than pay any heed to a boy telling a girl how to dress, which is not unalike a dog telling a cat how to meow.' Seraphina abruptly snatched the cigarette from his lips and took a long drag. 'Besides, the Parisians wear very little colour and minimalistic patterns, mostly black on white like chessboards, as they smoke cigarettes and pretend to look mean. That is an aesthetic arrangement that I can appreciate.'
'Yes, but you're not a Parisienne, are you? You're British, a race of people who have been imbued with the earth-shattering need to apologise for everything accidental or intentional, including what you're wearing. I told you to dress chic and provocative, not like a young school teacher who has just taught an unruly class before going on a bender.'
'Well, if that is the case, the doctor ought to apologise to your mother for pulling such a ghastly little beast from out of her womb.'
'For the record, I wasn't telling you how to dress, I was telling you how not to dress.'
'Well,' Seraphina begun testily, 'if you don't shut your mouth you're going to be wearing one of these heels when I ram it up your h—'
'Enough, you two. Give it a rest,' Frankie muttered sternly as they approached the bouncers. 'Rose, you look as lovely as one. Hamilton, stop being so domineering.'
This certain bar, The Carpenter's Arms, was renowned for its leniency, overlooking the ages of its customers or the conditions of their identification, so most of Eton College occupied the benches, booths, and tables come the weekend's calling. After repeating the false date of births that they'd memorised to the bouncers, the trio shuffled in, sweeping a studious gaze over the patrons before taking their place at a little table beside the fireplace and a large wooden pillar, with Frankie and Seraphina on one side and Trevor sitting opposite them on the other.
'Well, Seraphina, how is tutoring going for you at home?' Trevor enquired, after he'd ordered three hot whiskeys with his filled with a heart of ice and surveyed the crowd around them.
After pouring into three shot glasses from a bottle of white sambuca, Seraphina rested the glass near her lips and eyed him suspiciously, distrustful of his interest; after a moment of hesitation, she did not seem to sense anything unkindly in it as her suspicions gave away to her downing the clear substance. 'Wonderful,' she replied, raking her eyes over the other settlers in the Carpenter's Arms in search of a talented face. 'Indeed, it is marvellous. I have absolute buckets of free time in my hands to do whatever I feel like—be it write a poem, sing a song, or twirl in dance—rather than wasting my time attending that godawful place, which just didn't seem to know what to do with me or how to work around my terribly busy schedule. It was in dire shambles, anyway. Do you believe the audacity of them? To dare to think that I ought to shuffle around the antics of my life just to suit them and the rest of those snivelling, prissy, boring, godawful, and whoring bitches and witches. Can't you just absolutely not believe it?' Seraphina reached forward and took a long gulp from a pint of mead. 'Apologies, it's just that nuns are just ever so ... hypocritical. I mean, honestly, wearing black and white together. You can just imagine the sort of stockings and suspenders worn beneath that getup ... some in leather, I'd wager. Those are the divine Manichaeism colours that entice the art and act of lovemaking. It is why one must always wear fair white upon the surface and dark black garments beneath when the desire comes calling—or so my mother once told me. Not to mention that the costume's shape makes them resemble a phallic image. Symbolism is ever so crafty, don't you find? And don't even get me started on the appalling girls that attended. I've cut out livelier split ends from my head. Oh, and the uniform! The length of the skirt went on for days!'
'Yes, you positively screamed sex with your ankles. Well, I can clearly see that you bear no resentment from your past involvement with the sisterhood at Marjorie Devereux's Academy for Girls. You must be ever so glad to find yourself expelled from there once more. Actually, come to mention it, what incident called for such drastic actions again?' Trevor inquired as he lit a thin black cigar and eyed her over the smoke, gesturing towards her with a knuckle.
'Sister Hazel ... something short of a radical feminist, or so I've come to understand. Mind you, I'm more inclined to believe that that old fossil was a dildo for dinosaurs. She lectured to a group of girls and I for days about how degrading the line of work was in the magazines we'd been smuggling in—fashion rags full of supermodels and such things. She plainly put it that it placed girls on a podium to sexualise them, no matter if they weren't even glamour models, so as to carry out the bidding of the devil. The women became nothing more than an object to the male gaze, she had said, so much so that Joan of Arc would have lit the pyre herself if she'd come to learn of the atrocity of it all—the history of the media's portrayal of her gender, that is. Sister Hazel declared that all those women were basically frolicking around in bed with Lucifer himself.' Seraphina looked to the cuticles on the nails she'd painted black before she reached across to fix the shearling collar of Frankie's denim jacket and smoothened the wrinkles of his mustard-coloured t-shirt, glancing underneath the table to see that he was wearing tight black jeans that were small enough to bare his sockless ankles. 'So, of course, I couldn't be having anymore of that—the woman of the cross putting down careers which made women their own bosses. Little did she know of the two innate things which fuel me beyond belief: pettiness and bitterness. So, I informed her that those girls empowered females by posing in magazines for women to inspire them. I then told her that I'd have ridden Satan into battle until he was so enthralled that he would write me love letters and it inspired profound artistry out of him until he painted me to a point of madness ... before I cut her gown and pushed her into the pond. Dreadful woman.'
'Well, isn't she somewhat accurate?' Trevor asked, leaning forward over the table. 'Yes, women may purchase those magazines to motivate themselves or influence their fashion style, but it is men who keep those mags on racks in the bathroom for ... um ... pleasurable pursuits, after all. From the viewpoint of a woman, I'd imagine there is a power in that, also: the ability to vex the primal beast in a man's loins to a point of madness, causing his brain to overfill with chemicals and his groin to overflow with blood like malfunctioning machinery.'
'Oh, I've never thought about it like that before, Trevor,' Seraphina admitted thoughtfully as she rose to order another round of drinks, 'and I never will.'
As the drinks became more potent, the friends left the table to worm their way through the customers inside the rickey little pub, billowing like steam trains from cigarettes in hands in search of whomever the eyes found pleasing. At one long table at the very back of the bar, beside a blazing fireplace, they discovered the majority of Eton's seniors on the rugby team mingling with the cricket team and the oarsmen of the rowing team, calling to Carrozza, their fellow teammate, to come join them. Soon enough, the three placed themselves amongst the motley assemblage, discussing manoeuvres for charging down the field when holding the ball, tricks for striking with a cricket bat, stories of careening an oar amongst the folds of many of the country's rivers, or the scholarships received for their recognisable talents in their appointed field or sport. Only one other boy besides Frankie had delegated his time to dabble in all three primary sports available at Eton: Martin Healy, the captain of the rugby team. Carrozza was pleased to find that he was regarded as an equal amongst them; they did not treat him as a youth, being several years younger, for age did not matter when it came to whom you chose as company in a bar or as comrade on the field and river.
Seraphina Rose, no longer the shrinking violet, had assisted greatly in the convergence when she had thrown herself amongst the older boys like a buoyant bowling ball, scattering them apart to form comfortable sitting arrangements on the benches for herself and her own two boys. Beguiled, the three teams could not pry their eyes from her as she drained the contents of a beer stein as deep as a litre before kissing their cheeks to leave vibrant red lipstick prints behind and tipsily singing the English, the Scottish, the Welsh, and the Irish anthems, and all the other football songs she knew along with them.
Before Frankie could take his seat on a stool, Hamilton yanked him aside and glanced back at all those stationed around the long wooden bench on the other side of the bookshelves beside the pool tables, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with a mad glint in his eye. 'Remember what I said, Carrozza. I think it goes without saying whom we are targeting tonight. Although Seraphina is unfortunately dividing their attentions by somehow seeming like the incorrigible flirt, it still should not put us off ... in fact, it may work in our favour.'
'Why are you so certain he is going to go for the bait?' Frankie whispered, lighting a cigarette and spying through gaps in the books towards their mark. 'Your philosophy that a person is only so many drinks away from committing the sinful act of tasting the other forbidden fruits of the flesh hasn't always held up.'
'I may have slipped him a free ticket to the theatre before breaking into his room and rummaging through his possessions to learn of him what I could to see what sort of plan we were to devise against him. I discovered magazines full of half-naked cowboys, policemen, doctors, labourers, priests, a rather festive Santa Clause, and teachers in compromising positions hidden inside the more common pornography under his mattress.' Trevor grinned with a face full of mischief. 'So, he would barely need the courageous whiff of half a cup of shandy, if you ask me. Besides, I've already caught him taking a quick peek at your rear three times. Nothing would ignite your exceedingly seeding reputation to have it precede you like bedding the captain of the rugby team and dashing that crowned notch upon your bedpost.'
Frankie ducked his head down to look through the bookcase towards Martin Healy again. He was sitting in the middle of them all, laughing and singing loudly with the rest of the team as he constantly repositioned his gangly limbs so the knobby edges of his frame didn't dig into the table.
'Carrozza, you have it in you to be the seducer. I can attest to that,' Hamilton insisted, lowering his voice until he sounded dangerous. He hovered over his shoulder like a horned conscience that had just finished strangling the angelic one with his halo before impaling him with his pitchfork to deliver his finality. 'However, remember to heed these words: you must be the dominate one. Should you find yourself ... er, wrestling nakedly with him tonight, whichever role or position you may take, tackle him off the field as you would on it. What I mean to say is ... when it comes to you both benefiting from achieving mutual pleasure, it is paramount that you do so as the dominate alpha, the manipulative master, rendering him into the subordinate omega, the serving minion.'
Hamilton turned him around to make Carrozza face him and began to brush down his clothes before straightening them up again, fixing at the collar of his denim jacket. Hidden behind books, trusses, and barrels, Trevor combed his fingers through the brunette wave of lazy curls swooping over Frankie's forehead, taking ahold of his jaw with the same hand to lean across and slide a cold tongue between warm lips. 'And as you go forth, go forward remembering just who you belong to, and that he won't be able to make you make that noise that I like to make you make when I put ice cubes in my mouth and th—' Hamilton only laughed when when Carrozza twisted his nipple to hush him. 'Go on, my lionhearted cherub with a devilish heart and an angelic soul. Fluff your mane and board the captain.'
Shoved forward as they approached the table again, he was placed directly opposite Martin with a glass of whiskey and ginger ale in his hand.
'Carrozza, have you ever tried a White Russian?' Healy asked, breaking off mid-conversation with another boy and eyeing Hamilton when he asked what the Russian's name was. 'It's made of vodka, coffee liqueur, and cream.'
'I can't say I have,' Frankie replied, as he sat down opposite him. 'However, I'm resolved to trying everything once. I'm all about experiments, me.'
Trevor snorted at the end of the table, circling his finger around the rim of his glass. Frankie ignored Hamilton, who put a foot up on a stool and humphed again. Instead, he leaned forward and immediately engaged in conversation with Healy, commending him for his prowess in sports and acting quite cavalier as he glanced away from the older boy, as though for a more interesting sight somewhere amongst the crowd. He could feel it stirring awake, the thrill of the vampire lurking in him. He could envision it stalking the prey over smoky gutters and down alleyways choked with shadow, toying with them to treasure the taste before nicking a font in their neck to drain the crimson liquid from their veins like a chalice, spilling hot and sticky down his throat, a strong, savoury, and metallic taste to the blood of the meat, until he was, blissful, giddy, and drunk from the thrill of the kill. Trevor Hamilton could easily appeal to this beast in him, effortlessly manipulating the seething demon and dragging it out to play with his own. The overwhelming excitement in him forced him to recognise that he was capable of leading this immoral crusade and he knew he could shepherd it well, encouraged by the oncoming desire to conquer another and the exhilarating rush of a new game to play with higher stakes.
He turned back to Martin to catch him reading the outline of his features with his fingers interlocked around a pint. Carrozza enjoyed his eyes; they were youthful and bright; furthermore, judging by the cleverness in them, the older boy seemed to have a living soul dressed in substance and interests beyond mucking his legs and shorts on the field as he spoke of the oldest conspiracy theories, Moby Dick, and Pavlovian conditioning. Almost pitying him, Frankie offered him a smile—brief, so as not to spoil him with it—before he begun titling his head in all the right directions under the lighting to flatter his cheekbones and compliment his jawline as his lips glistened wet and invitingly, soaked with alcohol.
Trevor slithered his way passed Martin Healy like a sinister shadow and sat down on the piano stool and began to play a gloomy and gothic composition wildly like a madman, causing for the tails of his ash-and-coal-coloured jacket to flap gently like bat wings against a breeze. His cadaverous complexion caught the glow of the candlelight sitting behind the music rack, shimmering purplish tints under his eyes and cheeks. His eyes narrowed as a thin smile slowly tore across his cheeks and up to his ears as he glanced to Frankie, somewhat sensually, surreptitiously nodding his head to urge him.
Carrozza drained his whiskey in one go and slammed the glass down onto the table before producing a silver box from his breast pocket and offering a cigarette to Healy, who took it gratefully. The snare had been laid and the rabbit was hopping.
'Though ... would you care to join me outside? I'd rather a breath of fresh air about my maxilla to be entirely honest.' Frankie leaned forward across the table to fully engage him and to avoid eavesdroppers. 'It's rather smoky in here, which is very unhealthy ... too smoky to smoke out my lungs at an appalling rate, whereas outside is all the more suitable to become a human steam train. In fact, I'm not even certain of whom it is I'm making the appeal to as I can barely see you through fog that is as thick as Terence Edwards over there,' Carrozza joked, squinting his eyes and waving a hand in front of his face. 'I can only pray that it is Martin Healy sat before me in the mist.'
As Martin went to the bar for another drink, Frankie made his way to the yard out the back of the pub, shimming through the gregarious teammates cluttered around the table.
'Wherever are you off to, Frank?' Seraphina demanded, abruptly cutting through Trevor and Frankie's meaningful gaze as she barricaded his route towards the corridor that led to the back door with her body.
'Never you mind, Rose,' Trevor hissed, shooing her away with a fluttering hand. 'Back to your garden of pansies with you, now that you're no longer a shrinking violet amongst them when you've got a drink in hand. Go back to your boys and do what you do best, what you've been invited for: be a distraction.'
'Is it a game? Are we playing a game? Oh, I adore games! Perhaps, Hamilton, you oughtn't assume the measure of my cleverness by the colour of my hair. I have thwarted and won against both of you combined plenty of times. I know eyes. I know his eyes and I know your eyes. I recognise that invigorating spark of a game brewing in them. I demand you tell me all about it this instant or I shall squeal bloody murder!'
'Bloody Nora! I'll be back in a minute, Serph. It's nothing to concern yourself about,' Frankie assured her, before he gently pushed her aside to step under the stony archway. Stubborn, she had made to follow him, but Hamilton trailed her back by the elbow.
'Seraphina, if you don't return—'
'Go on, Hamilton,' Frankie heard her interject as he slipped away, 'make your threats. I fancy a good ole laugh.'
'Fine, if you do return to entertain the other boys, I'll give you my Story of Golden Locks painting by Seymour Joseph Guy that you admire so much, and that expensive three litre bottle of vodka I'd been saving for a special occasion ... say, your funeral,' he replied irritably.
'Guy and vodka? You ought to have led with that.'