Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

Called Jeff, said, ‘How you doin’?’

‘Good... I enjoyed our evening so much.’

‘I may be able to help you get to America sooner than you think.’

‘Pray tell.’

I laid out the scenario and waited for his response. Damp... way down the enthusiasm scale.

I asked, ‘Jeff, you’re an actor, right?’

‘Erm... yes...’

‘Then act grateful. I’m helping you out here.’

‘Sorry Tony, it sounds iffy.’

‘Iffy... what’s that, an Equity word, is it?’

‘Don’t be horrible.’

‘Just be on time, son.’

And rung off.

I was crazy for him but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t put the wrath of be-jaysus his way. Keeps them focussed.

As I headed out, the guy at reception asked, ‘For how long you be staying... Mr...?’

‘Hackman.’

‘Like the film person?’

‘Acrivos.’ (exactly).

He was delighted, near orgasmic. One Greek word and you’re family. I learnt it at the Oval Kebab joint. I had some more but I figured I’d ration them.

He said, ‘You speak Greek. I am Spiro, welcome to my home. This evening you will take a little ouzo with me.’

Shows my simmering paranoia but I thought he said ‘Uzi.’

And took a moment to re-focus. Could have said, Oops, beware of a Greek bearing gifts.

What I actually said was, ‘Thank you.’

And I was outa there. Needed to find Ben, the Big Issue vendor and while he was still sober. That wouldn’t be much longer, if I knew Ben. I was, as the Americans say ‘pushing the envelope.’

When times got very tight, Ben would drink surgical spirit. He called it ‘An urge for the surge.’

Who was I to argue the toss?

On remand one time, in the psycho-wing of Brixton Avenue, they’d pumped me full of L. For days I did ‘the largaktyl shuffle.’

That’s like Frankenstein with DTs.

I found Ben sitting outside Kennington Park. On the bench reserved for winos. He had on the Big Issue uniform — warm coat, mittens, layers of sweaters, three scarfs and a blasted face. His hair was matted and thick. Like African com-rows, save it was a result of sleeping rough. He was attempting a roll-up.

I said shrewdly, ‘Ben...’

‘Aw, jaysus ... Brady... here, will you roll this whoring thing? I’m shakier than a Tory promise.

His brogue was thick as Sally Army soup. But the eyes were alert, blue and bright with a sadness of infinity. I did the cigarette, rather a neat job. Time in prison is not entirely misspent. Ben, like most Irish I knew, had an encyclopedic knowledge of startling information. Most of it useless and thus prized the more. I handed him the rollie.

He said, The blessings of God and His Holy Mother on you and yours.’

Roughly translated this means, ‘Gis a tenner.’

I’d come prepared and produced a flat half-bottle of Paddy. I wanted him oiled but aware, said, ‘Some uisce bheata?’

‘Jaysus, you re a miracle on feet and you have the gaelic too.’

‘My mother was Irish.’

‘I knew her well.’

Ben was twenty-five. The chances of him knowing her were slim to none. But, I know how to play and answered, ‘She always spoke highly of you.’

‘And me of her — Leitrim woman was she?’

‘Galway.’

‘Ah... Nora Barnacle country.’

‘Who?’

‘James Joyce’s missus.’

He probably knew her too. Every one in Galway did. The Paddy was reverentially uncorked and he drank deep and open... waited... then a thunderous shudder racked him and he croaked, That’s better now.

I watched as his eyes bulged and sweat torrented down his face. Then the eyes peaked and fell back to melancholy. He took a chaser and drew mercilessly on the cig’. We waited as the various poisons queued in his system.

Then he said, ‘You know Brady, there’s a theory that most of the world goes around asleep. Completely unaware of what’s happening. Imagine that!’

I pondered then said, ‘I’ve just come from Stockwell and can endorse it.’

He laughed.

‘Jaysus, it’s so dangerous there, the muggers travel in pairs.’

‘I know them both.’

The bottle was finished and he said, ‘Anyway, there’s maybe five hundred people in the whole world who are awake and know what?’

‘Erm... they don’t pay their TV licence?’

‘They’re gay!’

I had no reply to this. So I figured I’d best get down to business.

I asked:

‘How’d you like one hundred pounds? Buy the homeless a bit of time, if nowt else.’

‘Who’d I have to kill?’

I laid out the details.

He listened then gave me a look of total concentration, asked, ‘Is this dodgy?’

‘Course it is, that’s why you’ll be getting a wedge.’

‘Two hundred, so.’

‘Hey, Ben... I thought we were friends.’

‘Sure what’s that got to do with the price of onions?’

‘Okay.’

‘I won’t get hurt, will I? I wouldn’t want to be beaten.’

‘I give you my word, Ben.’

I was set to go when he said, more to himself:

‘Joyce was always poring through dictionaries and Nora B asked him, “Aren’t there enough words in the English language for you?” She’d a mouth on her, comes with being from Galway and he said, “Course there are, they just aren’t the right ones”.’

‘You’ve read Joyce, have you?’

‘Don’t be coddin’ me.’

I thought I’d swing by my home, see if anyone was keeping tabs. On foot, I cautiously approached the top of the road. An Audi swung in beside me, the window rolled down and Jack said, ‘Get in.’

He was in the driver’s seat and I slid in beside him. I said, ‘ Vorst sprung dorch technic.’

It wasn’t even noon and already I was into my third language. Then I noticed two huge men in the back. As fine a pair of thugs as you’re ever likely to see. The type who run Bouncer Academe. Identical in their suits, silence and animosity.

I said, ‘Lads.’

They said nothing.

Jack kept the engine running, it made a hum of real comfort. He was wearing a mohair top coat. An ugly garment and he had leather driving gloves. You have to be some pretentious fuck to carry that off.

He said:

‘I hear you’re a poof.’

Follow that.

I asked, ‘Seen any Hackman films recently?’

Surprised him.

‘No... I watched The French Connection last Wednesday, or was it Tuesday? Why?’

‘The Birdcage , with Robin Williams... ol’ Gene gets to drag-up.’

Jack coughed and then I felt an almighty wallop on the back of my skull. It bounced my face off the dashboard and it hurt, it hurt like hell. As my vision cleared some, I turned round to eyeball Thug Number one. His expression hadn’t changed.

Jack asked, ‘When is it I get my daughter?’

‘Two days, it’s in hand.’

He tapped his teeth with a gloved finger, said, ‘I was reading up on kidnapping. The FBI’s behavioural unit have been studying the relations of victims.’

‘Quantico.’

I got another ferocious bang to the side of my head.

Jack said, ‘I told you once, don’t interrupt me. They found that once a person agrees to pay a ransom, that person has learnt something he didn’t know. That he has a price, that he can be bought. Once he realises that, he becomes a very dangerous individual. I’d like you to consider this theory. You can now speak.’

‘Why are you playing hardball. Aren’t we on the same team?’

‘Well, let’s see... Firstly because you re a queer and I don’t like queers. They’re an abomination. Secondly, I want you to know where you rate on the food chain. Do you know?’