SS Glasgow Castle 9 Chapter Nine

It was dark by the time I arrived outside the arena where Todd was making several thousands of dollars per hour for chasing and occasionally hitting a puck with a stick. I timed things so I would arrive about twenty minutes before the end of the match, and activated a long chain reaction by informing the doorman that I was Todd's brother, and had to speak to him about an urgent family matter immediately following the game (here, I prodded him with a driver's licence which identified me as a Hansen). Then I waited, watching.

The doorman – a tall, middle-aged guy with a crafty look – sauntered over to talk to a guy wearing a tie, a blue blazer, and a look of satisfied boredom. The blue blazer listened (intently) and nodded (reluctantly); his expression changed to that of displeased boredom. He looked around and bent an upraised finger to someone out of my field of vision. A sweeper in blue overalls appeared, broom in one hand, shovel in the other. The blue blazer briefed him on the situation and sent him scurrying away at a half-trot. I hoped that the message would get to the shower attendants by the time Todd stepped out from under his post-game shower, and into the usual maelstrom of favorite debaucheries that would keep him incommunicado for a couple of days.

I moved a few steps away from the big gla.s.s doors and stared at the nightlife outdoors. It was a warm evening for a change; the southern wind was rapidly whittling down the miniature icebergs lining the kerb to small black lumps of city dirt. The wet asphalt gleamed and glittered and there was a new shrillness in all the street voices, the spring shrillness shared by all animals.

"Tickets?" an anxious voice rasped right at my side. I gave a start.

The guy by my side was the ultimate in human weasels. He was barely over five feet, with thin bow-legged legs encased in crusty jeans. He had a leather jacket that was at least a size too small, with cuffs halfway up his forearms and waist flopping around his ribs. He wore a red baseball cap, and dirty sneakers at the other end; his pointed, whiskered mug was split in a wide smile - it was obvious he liked startling people, even though at his life level it could be a dangerous pastime.

"Tickets?" he repeated urgently. "Golds. Incredible deal. Just fifty bucks each."

I looked down on the two printed slips he was thrusting at me. He had long, cracked, dirty fingernails. His hand resembled an animal paw.
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"Golds," he repeated. "Best seats in the f.u.c.king house. A real trip."

I half-turned and looked at the entrance to the arena. There were unexpectedly many people behind the gla.s.s doors; some were coming out. I turned back to the Weasel.

"Look, pal," I said, "The game's over."

It was as if I had called his mother a bad name. He shrank away; his half-open mouth curving into a horseshoe of fear and loathing; he raised his shoulder as if he was expecting to be struck. Then he turned and walked away, muttering something, slapping the tickets against his leg.

"Made a new friend?" said Todd. I jerked round, slightly irritated – I had been crept up on yet again.

Todd looked every inch the sports superstar, with blond locks freshly coiffed into an insouciant lion's mane, the tips brus.h.i.+ng his shoulders. He was wearing a stylish, long black cashmere overcoat and a big boyish grin that revealed perfect teeth. I knew which ones were false; he'd lost a few while making a living. Nevertheless, there wasn't the slightest doubt who was the real Nordic G.o.d.

"You look great," I said.

"You don't," he said. You get the idea why I don't see Todd often, don't you? Of course I could have effortlessly demolished him with a couple of well-chosen words - I was his older brother. But I needed something from him that night, and as they say, it pays to be civil. So I remained silent, although sorely tempted - I'd remembered how I'd caught him trying to eat his own s.h.i.+t (my vigilance had been sparked by the absence of the usual bawling for someone to wipe his two-year-old a.s.s).

He looked left, he looked right, he looked back at me.

"Let's go and get a drink," he said. He started walking without waiting for an answer, and I fell in obediently.

"Did you guys win, tonight?" I asked, as we waited for the light to change. Todd grimaced lightly and made a small, dismissive gesture with his black-gloved hand.

"A tie," he said. After a pause, he added, "I scored one."

"Hey," I said, surprised and impressed. "Congratulations."

We didn't speak again until we'd sat down in the bar Todd had led us to. It was a ritzy gla.s.s-and-metal place called Stars and Bars. I told Todd I thought there was a book or a movie called Stars and Bars.

"A lot of Americans come here," he said, as if that settled everything. He got a double scotch for me (ignoring my request for a beer) and a double vodka and tonic for himself. He was on his third drink by the time we'd gone through the family small talk and got to the real issues. I updated him as to my professional status, financial status, and also the upcoming change in my marital status. It was tiring business.

"Glad to hear the news ain't all bad," said Todd thoughtfully. He was silent for a while, searching for the right phrase, the right compromise between what he thought and what he thought he should say.

"Look," he said eventually, "How much do you need?"

I reddened a little.

"I still haven't found a job." I said.

"You told me. But you know what? It's not the end of the f.u.c.king world." Todd toasted that thought with half the contents of his gla.s.s.

"The only enemy you've got is yourself," he announced pompously.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You wanted to be a painter, right? But you chickened out, and became a sort of sophisticated salesman of toilet paper instead." Thus spake Thor, I mean Todd, and finished his vodka and tonic.

"I've never done any ads for toilet paper," I said patiently, "Just face tissue."

"Let's not f.u.c.k around, Oscar. Point is, sometimes you gotta take a chance, you know?"

"Let's not f.u.c.k around," I agreed. "Point is, you just don't know how f.u.c.king lucky you are." Todd shook his mane determinedly.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," he said. "I knew what I wanted, and I went for it."

"Well, what I wanted was some security," I told him. Todd nodded agreeably, as if I'd just made his point for him.

"Cheers," he said, hoisting a freshly arrived vodka and tonic.

"You're not letting these get warm, do you."

"I've got two days off."

"What will you be doing?"

"Going to a cottage with a girl. She's supposed to pick me up."

"Boy," I said, "Some guys do live."

"Yeah," said Todd. "You should give it a try, too. Sometime."

"Maybe I will," I agreed. I was drinking my third free whisky, and besides I couldn't afford to be disagreeable.

Todd refreshed himself again with the remaining contents of his gla.s.s, then dug out a very large black wallet and started sprouting hundred-dollar bills. He ran out rather quickly and peered inside the wallet as if there was a stash of notes hidden in a secret compartment.

"s.h.i.+t," he said, slipped his fingers inside, and extracted a wrinkled, bent joint. He put it carelessly in his overcoat pocket. He had been wearing his slightly Draculstyle overcoat throughout the evening, unb.u.t.toned to show a ritzy cream silk scarf. Apart from that, he wore a simple white T- s.h.i.+rt and black jeans bottomed out by a pair of sleek ankle boots.

"Here's six hundred," he said. I noticed he'd kept a couple of bills back. "You still haven't told me how much you need."

"Just something to tide me over for a month or two."

Todd nodded thoughtfully, and produced a checkbook from the inside pocket of his coat. It was a bit of a magic cloak, this overcoat; he'd probably have another dozen items distributed among its well-cut, invisible pockets, ranging from condoms to cocaine. He wrote busily, tore the check off with one decisive tug, and handed it to me.

"Here," he said. "That do you?" He'd made it out for two thousand dollars. I knew it wouldn't cause him any particular pain – he'd told me he was currently getting six hundred thousand a season, plus bonuses and miscellaneous advertising deals on top of that.

"That's terrific, Todd," I said. "It's more than I need."

"Use it to live a little." Todd grinned and slapped me on the arm.

We had one more drink apiece before Todd said that he had to link up with the girl to whose cottage he was going the next day. He revealed that he'd been supposed to meet her earlier, put her off for a couple of hours in order to help out his older brother.

By that time, we were standing just outside the entrance to Stars and Bars. It was noticeably colder than when we went in.

"You gonna be all right?" Todd asked, sniffing out the street like an impatient dog.

"Thanks to you," I said. "I'll try and give it back as soon as I can."

Todd shrugged and winked, pulling on his black gloves.

"Wait a couple of years," he said and grinned, raising his black palm in farewell. I stared at his receding back for a while. Wait a couple of years. That was what I used to say to him, a long time earlier, when he was still a couple of years younger than me.