SS Glasgow Castle 15 Chapter Fifteen

Answer number one: Kross was an smart, efficient security consultant. He'd led me up the path very nicely - he'd literally had me crawling on the floor right before he slapped me in the face with his business card.

Two: he needed someone to go fetch the loot, and didn't trust any of his buddies. He could certainly trust me not to cheat him; I wouldn't know how to, for f.u.c.k's sake.

Three: I didn't really care where the treasure came from as long as there actually was one, and I got my share.

I was cautiously optimistic about staying out of an African jail. I was impressed by Kross's ability to fix things at instant notice; also, the amount of money reserved for bribes was rea.s.suring. I imagined that many African customs officers would look the other way in exchange for five thousand American dollars. It was a question of identifying the right guy, and after all Kross's job was largely about identifying people quickly when required.

Of course, everything had happened unexpectedly and suddenly. But in my experience, nothing ever happened as planned. I'd also learned that opportunities had a habit of popping up and disappearing quickly. I couldn't afford to lose or refuse any opportunity currently on offer. It all boiled down to that.

And so the very next morning, having shaved and showered and breakfasted, I went to cash Todd's cheque. I knew it wouldn't be put on hold for the required five days; the manager at my branch of the bank didn't know I had been fired, or that I was about to get divorced. I checked the exchange rate while at the bank, and it was depressing. Five American translated into seven-plus Canadian dollars.

I was short of five thousand dollars of the inferior Canadian variety, and I cursed the fact that I'd already made a pa.s.s at Todd. I could have hit him for five grand instead of two and a half, and I was sure I could get another three from my parents. After all, cash as needed is the glue that binds most families.

I kept trying to think how to raise extra money all the way back home. I was still trying to solve this problem, as common and pleasant as the flu, when I turned the final corner and saw a familiar black BMW parked in front of the meat magnate's house. Modelling my behaviour on the late Bartholomew Roberts, I smoothed my hair, gave my jacket a straightening tug, and walked on with a purposeful step.

As I pa.s.sed the car, I heard the ticking of cooling metal; Donna had just arrived. I turned towards the house and was maybe ten steps away from the front door when it opened, and an elegant Donna emerged. She didn't see me at first - she was talking over her shoulder to an unctuous Mr. Natarajan - his teeth were bared in a permanent grin as he bobbed and nodded, shoulders rolling as if he was wringing his hands behind Donna's cashmere-clad back. He was both awe-struck and delighted; his world didn't include a lot of beautiful, elegant women driving expensive cars.

"h.e.l.lo, Donna," I said, and stopped. I ignored Natarajan; he was just a mustache wriggling on the periphery of my vision.

She recovered from her surprise very quickly. Donna is good at that. That's why she's a successful lawyer.

"Oscar," she said. She touched my forearm with her gloved fingers and dismissed Natarajan with a regal nod. The moustache dissolved; the front door thumped shut. Donna said:

"I'd like to talk. Could we go somewhere?"

A frisson of dread ran down my back. I wasn't looking forward to any conversations with Donna: they were unlikely to be pleasant. I glanced over her shoulder while fishing for an answer, and saw that the grinning Natarajan was eavesdropping right behind the door: I could clearly see his teeth and moustache through the frosted gla.s.s. I said:

"Okay. Lead the way." But even as I turned, Donna slipped her hand around my elbow, gently tugging me into formation. I really hated that. It happened every single time we went out together; she held on to me as if she were blind even at lively parties. There was something atavistic about it, and it awakened my own animal desire to break free of restraint.

As we were approaching the car, Donna said:

"I've been trying to reach you for the past two days. I must have called at least twenty times."

"I've been pretty busy trying to find work, Donna. It's not easy."

"You're looking for work, but you aren't collecting messages?"

That was it: game over. I said:

"Well I did spend some time farting around with Tad. There's a slight chance someone will hire us as a team, and I wanted to make sure he was in the right frame of mind."

"You drink too much, Oscar." Donna leaned forward to unlock the door and got into the driver's seat while I was busy unclenching my jaw - all of a sudden everyone was telling me I drank too much. She pressed the b.u.t.ton for the pa.s.senger door; the lock coughed dangerously.

I didn't want to go for a car ride with Donna. I stood by her window until it slid open, then leaned down with an elbow on the roof.

"You didn't tell me why you've been trying to reach me," I said.

"I asked you to call, in the letter. You got my letter, didn't you? I sent it by courier to make sure you did." Of course, she'd have already checked with FedEx.

"I did, but that item must have slipped my mind," I said. "I'd just found out that Todd was in town, and I was in a hurry."

She stiffened; as I might have mentioned, there's no love lost between her and Todd.

"You were too busy to call me," she said. "You can't call me once in four months even when I ask you to. Okay. I came here today hoping we could talk. Go somewhere and have a long, meaningful conversation. But you're probably too busy for that, too."

I flinched and said:

"Talk about what, Donna? You said it all in your letter. Didn't you?"

She was silent. She let her hands slide off the wheel and folded them in her lap. She sat like that for quite a while, and I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. But I'm a determined guy, and I outlasted her. She looked up at me, squinting curiously, and said:

"Have you got five hundred dollars?"

It was a beautiful shot, but it missed. She should have thought about it more. She should have guessed I hadn't been seeing Todd just for the fun of it.

I straightened up and dug the roll of hundreds out of my pocket.

"As a matter of fact, I do have five hundred," I said, counting. "And I also remember I owe you another seven hundred. Here."

I bent down and dropped most of my wad into her folded hands. She didn't pick it up. She reached down beside her seat and pulled out a grey envelope.

"Here," she said, and thrust it at me. I took it reflexively, and she leaned forward and started the engine.

"Goodbye, Donna," I said. She shifted into gear and pressed down the rocker switch for the window. I stepped back and watched her drive away. Then I turned round and went home, tapping my thigh with the grey envelope.

I regretted my grand gesture bitterly the moment I returned to my room and to my senses. Twelve hundred dollars! It practically wiped me out; given next month's rent and everyday expenses, I basically had zero of the seven thousand Canadian dollars that I needed. I stomped around my cage for a little while before redirecting my attention to the grey envelope.

The envelope hadn't been glued or fastened shut, and I impatiently spilled the contents onto my bed. They included, to wit: one single-page letter from Donna to myself; one Pet.i.tion for a Divorce; and finally a receipt from an inst.i.tution called Hercules Security and Storage. This last doc.u.ment listed all the items I had left in Donna's garage, and informed me the said items were safe in a luxury, air-conditioned cubicle, on premises patrolled by Dobermans with diplomas in biting people.
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Donna had paid nearly fifteen hundred dollars for a year's storage, including a hefty insurance premium, and she hadn't asked me to refund that money to her. I felt briefly grateful, then I realized that she'd really wanted my stuff out very badly.

I turned to the letter. It had been carefully crafted: it began with an expression of regret that we could not have a face-to-face talk. It understood my hostility, and forgave me for it. It informed me with great pain that it was time to move on so that we could both progress with our individual development, and it detailed the various practical arrangements involved, including the role played by Hercules Security and Storage. The letter ended with the hope that I would take good care of myself. I nearly shouted with anger, and tore it into confetti.

I spent a long time tidying things up, and an even longer time sitting on the edge of my bed and thinking about money. Then I sprang into action.

I called my doctor's office and set up an appointment for noon the next day. I talked to my father and advised him I'd be visiting him in the immediate future (he didn't ask why - he just emitted a series of affirmative grunts). I also dialled to collect my messages and erased all of them without playing them back. I had no desire to listen to Donna getting shrewish. I had no desire to listen to Donna, period.

I ventured out once more that day - an excursion to purchase some art supplies and eat plenty of calories fast at a McDonald's.

Then I spent the rest of the afternoon and the whole evening making ads.