Where Lloyd hits Andy; the two junkies strip Jesus of all his possessions and dump his body in the street.

For a moment  everyone in the Blackhouse fell quiet. Now and again a scream of celebration would filter in from outside, a firework would whizz off and explode across the sky or  high pitched female voices would pierce the brittle air of the  night. The wind scoured up the stairs and along the balcony. It rattled the front door and letter box and and gave off Arctic sounds. The three men in the room said nothing, just stared at the dead body of Jesus, laid out on his back on the filthy floor in front of the dying embers of the fire.

"We gotta call an ambulance," said Jude, to no-one in particular.

"It's a bit  too late for that," said Andy. "That poor cunt's way beyond hospital help. And anyway, the ambulance would bring the police and they'd probably drag us all in."

Lloyd approached Andy. He had moved so slowly and the two junkies were so pre-occupied with the death that no-one had paid him any mind. Lloyd now stood in  front of Andy, towered over the smaller man, his eyes dangerously out of focus and an afro comb planted in the side of his hair?

"Ya give dhat man wha, huh? Ya Pussy clot!!! Wha skank food you fill im d'ere wiv? I sees you not gone tuh no ground, cha! I sees you in fine fettle."

"I didn't give him nothing! He came here desperate to have a shot. I don't know where the fuck he got it from. tell him Jude... ain't that right."

Before Jude could confirm Andy's story Lloyd was then screaming the words "BLACKHEART MAN. BLACKHEART MAN!"

"Your lie stink! You a sells dhat man dere ten pounds O pure filty death. I's a ear you plain as sight... as plain as dat white nose on ya  face. Yous kill a man in Lloydies yard... Make mess for I!" Lloyd suddenly struck out. A drunken slap which caught Andy upside his head. Andy darted back holding up his hands, obviously terrified of Lloyd and not willing to fight back. As Lloyd got within striking distance again Andy cowered into a standing protective ball, his hands up in defense like guarding himself against a whipping. Lloyd began slapping him like he were a woman, reddening his face and knocking his hair out of place. When Andy finally fell to ground Lloyd  kissed his teeth and gave him a dull boot in the side.

"You clean dat mess up and get im and you outta 'ere, ya'ear? I's not having no beasties round 'ere. Pussy clot ya lie rank!"

The violent figure of Lloyd made its way back to the bed where he cracked open a fresh can of brew and sat staring wild mad at Andy. Andy, having taken a beating now transferred some of the humiliation he felt onto Jude, shouting at him, telling him to get up and help sort the situation out. But Jude was sad. This was not just any old addict who was lain there dead, it was Jesus, his old friend who he had grown up with, had got into heroin with. As chronic drug addiction took its toll, put strains on the friendship, they finally fell out after Jude  fulfilled his historic role and stole the last bag of smack from their pooled reserves and left Jesus dying from withdrawals through the night and half the next day too.

The two junkies now stood over Jesus, looking down at his inanimate form. For a second they were both struck dumb by mortality. It was Andy who broke the silence. As he spoke he kept  one eye on Lloyd to make sure that he heard his words and approved.

"We're gonna have to scoop this cunt up and dump him someplace."
"dump him? Fuck off! That's Jesus... that's my friend, OUR friernd! It ain't right. Let's just take him  to the stairs and say we found him there?"
"If you wanna do three years a clucking we can do that. The police ain't gonna fucking accept that with no questions. And once they start fucking sniffing about, poking their fucking snouts in, the slightest hesitation or nerves and they'll fucking have you in on a murder or manslaughter charge. Roxy, r'member 'im? Din't he get  five years for the same thing? Fuck that. They'd love to put us away. Nah, mate... We'll put the cunt in the street and let em have him as a fucking statistic... he's dead no matter and has no family to care whether he died in a clean king's bed or  was found raped and quartered in some fucking dumpster." Jude thought in silence over Andy's brutal words. Dumping Jesus' body seemed so callous. And yet, he was dead. Nothing from then on could affect him either way. So Jude didn't agree but he didn't protest, and so the idea hung in the room and dissipated into the silence and it was then decided, by sheer lack of opposition,  that that was what would happen, that the two men would carry Jesus out and lay him to rest in the night.

Jude once more cast his eyes at Jesus, laying there under the shadows of the smouldering fire, his left arm flopped out with the hand open and the index finger pointing like in some religious painting.  "Oh God," said Jude, "the needle... it's still in his fucking foot!"

"Fuckin' pussy clot blackhearts!" came from across the room.

Andy now looked at Jesus's foot. The needle dangled over, caught by the pin probably still in the vein. He knelt down and carefully extracted the syringe. Holding it cautiously buy the plunger he looked over the small table for the orange cap. When he located it he stood it up on the table and put the needle into it and pushed it secure. Then he gave the needle to Jude and told him to hold it, that they'd need it later.  Jude took the syringe, he studied it, could hardly believe such an instrument could end a life. It was just a needle. They'd used tens of thousands of them between them. The pin was so fine that it often didn't even draw blood on withdrawing it. Jude put the needle in his trouser pocket.

From across the room a match was struck and a small fizzing sound was heard and the room opoened bright for a second and then descended back down. Lloyd shock the match dead and inhaledaudibly from his cigarette. He upended the last of his can of beer, squeezed in the tin and chucked it at Jude.

"Yous a get dhat chief outta here! I see's dhem evil spirits congregating now an Is want no death in ere with me. I warning yews... be outta here here yous all, cha!"

Jude lifted his hands up, a sign for Lloyd to hold on that they were taking care of it. He turned to Andy to know hat to do. Andy was now kneeling before Jesus,  riffling through his pockets. He removed some loose change, a lighter, a moblie phone and a wallet with nothing in save for a list of barely lisible handwritten phone  numbers and a photo of Jesus' recently deceased mother. For some reason Andy kept the numbers but tossed the wallet and photo into the fire as if it were something which could affect him disastrously if he kept possession of it for too long. Jude watched Andy stripping his dead friend of anything of any worth. If anything it made him feel kinda fraudulent. There was no doubt he was watching Andy and seeing something despicable in his actions, judging him, yet the truth was that Jude had done just the same and far worse to living men, to Jesus himlself. He  had had no scruples about it and a living man would have to suffer the consequences of such thefts.  Now , how he felt about someone doing it to the dead he couldn't quite understand, and yet , all the while he was overly interested in what Andy recovered. Andy saw him watching and the condemnation in his face.

"What?" he asked. "The man's fucking dead. He won't need this stuff where he is! And anyway, if he was any kind of a friend at all he'd want us to do this. He'd certainly not want his money por possessions being buried with him or fucking auctioned by the state. The cunts got fuck all anyway! You couldn't have planned it much better. And i'd have loved to see you turn down his drugs i he had any or a wallet full of notes? Fuck that. Don't get all moralistic. The dead need fuck all <

Word count: 566