MS stretched out on his black, leather sofa, a glass of orange juice in one hand and a handful of aspirin in the other. The sofa was one of the few items of furniture in the open-plan apartment, alongside an enormous glass coffee table, equally enormous bed and kitchen appliances that hadn’t been used once since he rented the place. No photos hung on walls or nick nacks on surfaces. Just glass and leather and the occasional worn paperback. It was soulless. With a lazy movement he slung the pills into his mouth an took a tentative sip of the juice, emitting a groan that wouldn’t have shamed a wild boar. Over his face a damp towel was draped, completing the picture of the fragile invalid. The noise of footsteps up the stairwell outside his apartment provoked movement in the young man, tentative movement, as he slid into a seated position. Removing the flannel from his face he thumped one lazy, still booted, foot after another onto the coffee table and picked up the newspaper that had been popped through his door not so long ago. Turning to the ‘About Town!’ section he read the large article with glee, a malevolent and satisfied smile creeping across his face. Maybe the ape had been a little over the top, but it had been such an important occasion after all. Hadn’t his father said as much?

The footsteps clanged louder now, hurried and urgent, their noise reverberating throughout the corridor. MS leaned back into the sofa, taking a slow sip from his juice before quietly saying, ”Five...four...three...two...one...-”

”MS GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE THIS SECOND BEFORE I BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR AND FEED YOU THE SPLINTERS.”

MS smiled at that and making no effort to approach the door called, ”Oh really Pops, creating a public disturbance is hardly fitting for a man of your reputation-” Here he paused and looked down at the article laying in his lap ”-Or a man who used to have your reputation.” The next sentence that was bellowed from behind the door was too convoluted for MS to quite grasp, though he was quite sure the words ‘arrogant’, ‘disgraceful’ and ‘brat’ came up. These descriptions were probably fair given MS’s behaviour in recent years, all the drinking, the public faux pas after gala after charity event after police auction. Last night truly had been his pièce de résistance though. His father wouldn’t be able to show his face in good society for at least a few weeks. Possibly a few months. Good, MS thought, his smile turning bitter and limp on his face That’ll teach the bastard.

”MS. Let. Me. In. You made a laughing stock of me for the last time, kid. You’ve been a waste of space since that woman gave birth to you, even with all the opportunities laid at your feet. We need to have a talk about your future.” The voice growled through a few inches of faux wood.

How fucking rich. ’That woman’, ‘all the opportunities’...’future’? MS hoped the sound of his contemptuous scoff could be heard on his father’s side of the door. Scum like Angus March were what high society was truly made of. The man who was meant to be protecting the law and morality and all that crap teachers feed you, was equal to any pimp or con man you’d find on the streets. Sure MS had always been given nice things, he’d had enough things to last him a lifetime, to fill up the entire building let alone his apartment. When it came down to it things didn’t mean anything, they were just inanimate, cold lumps of matter. Sort of like his father’s heart. Though that would probably be being unfair on the things. No, MS had given up most of the crap he’d been handed over the years, though he’d never say no to cash. Money bought alcohol, alcohol bought a one-way ticket to what MS called the void. You don’t think clearly, or remember clearly, or feel clearly. Everything is numb. The void. Beautiful. The door rattled in its hinges and his furious father attempted to batter his way in, unfortunately (for Angus at least) the locks were stronger than the increasingly limp muscles of the 46 year old outside the door.

With a sigh MS got to his feet, running a hand through his dishevelled hair and began slowly pacing his way towards the door, dragging out his father’s humiliation in the corridor for as long as possible. He was still dressed in what he was wearing the night before, a black suit, white shirt and a thin black tie still knotted loosely around his neck. A corsage peeped out of his pocket, pink blossoms, to match his dates. His dates’, ha! Taking one last deep breath he began unlocking the door, sliding across deadbolts and removing chains. It may appear a little Odd, but MS doesn’t live anywhere without a little protection. The number of gang bosses and common criminals who’d like to get their hands on the Chief of Police’s son were numerous. As soon as the last latch was lifted the door slammed open, knocking MS back a few steps and his father strode inside, kicking the door closed behind him. ”About fucking time”. Angus spat, his face flushed red with anger and exertion, a trickle of sweat making its way down his cheek.

MS turned away with a shake of his head, his stride was cocky and self-assured as he made his way back over to the sofa. ”You face me when I’m talking to you MS” his father continued, following his son’s progress across the room. ”You crossed one hell of a line last night.” MS stopped where he was standing, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his skin white and taut as he fought the urge to lash out. After a few seconds his body relaxed, a forced smile returning to his face as he turned to face Angus. ”I don’t know what you mean, father. I did just as you asked of me. I turned up in a suit, with an appropriate girlfriend, and I spoke to plenty of people.”

Angus March seemed lost for words for a second, staring at the young man before him. They’d been close, once, or if not close they’d at least been on the same side. The March men sticking together and all that. Now when he looked at his son he felt nothing but disgust, not even the slightest twinge of paternal affection lurked in his heart. ”Date? You turned up to the department Gala, with an orang-utan. An orang-utan in a red dress, and a fucking corsage.” The words sounded ridiculous to Angus even as they escaped his lips. MS let out a bark of laughter, though his eyes remained cold and joyless. ”What, can’t you take a joke, oh father of mine?” Angus flinched in reaction to the words, his lips thinning into one compressed line, his jaw clenched so hard that his next words were little more than a growl. ”It had a police badge attached to it. You introduced it as one of my old girlfriends. You told the Goldman’s that you’d picked her up on a street corner and she’d been just begging to reunite with one of her old flames. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my reputation?”

MS experienced a momentary flicker of doubt as he watched the man before him, his father’s shoulders hunched in anguish, a hand already aged with thick veins and papery skin, pressed to his forehead. Had he gone over the top? And then he clocked the bright crimson lipstick smeared on the man’s collar. MS’s mother never wore that shade of lipsticks, she called it ‘whore’s red’. What was it, 9 am? And already Angus had managed to meet one of his women. Might have come straight from their house. Had he even gone home last night? Or had Loreli been sent back ahead with promises her husband would follow soon after, had spent the hours until dawn hunched in a dressing gown on the stool in the foyer? A bottle of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other as she waited, as she always did, for her husband to come back home? Probably. MS had seen it countless times after all. So many times that the smell of tobacco and the twang of scotch always brought forth a feeling of such overwhelming anguish that he avoided the drink all together if he could.