that antsy, little Muslim kid on reception, hes muttering. Short-arse. Wonky teeth You know the one
He kicks out his leg and idly prods at a nearby pawn with his toe. In the distance (approximately thirty or so yards away, due south) two men may be seen emerging from the residential segment of the hotel. After Ransoms third, desultory prod, the pawn rocks, topples and then rolls. Both men witness this act of low-level vandalism with what can only be described as looks of violent discomfiture and break wordlessly into a spontaneous trot.
One of them shorter, heavier-set, in his shirtsleeves, possessed of a dramatic, dark blond comb-over which flaps up and down like a pedal-bin-lid as he runs clutches a navy blue, gold-buttoned blazer in his hand. The second gentleman is taller, handsome something of a dandy wearing cream loafers, cream trousers, cream trilby (a maroon ribbon circling the brim), an expensive, lavender-coloured polo shirt and heavy, arty, dark grey Yves Saint Laurent-framed glasses. He moves with an exaggerated angularity (knees high, arms thrown out) like a stick figure in a poorly executed flicker-book animation.
Oi! the first man bellows, gesticulating, wildly. Oi! You! Stop! That games still in progress!
Ransom gives no indication of having heard him. His ear remains firmly pressed into his phone.
Apologize?! he suddenly snorts, indignant. Im not ringing to apologize it was his weed for Christs sake! He virtually foisted the stuff on me. Got it at bloody Christian camp! Nasty shit it was, too almost blew my friggin head off. Totally maxed me out
He takes a final puff on his cigarette and then crushes the remainder beneath his heel as he listens. The analgesics are for a repetitive strain injury, he says, with just a touch of hauteur. What the hell else was I expected to do? We were bouncing off the fucking ceiling! The situation was critical. Hed started thinking his fingers were edible kept gnawing away at his thumb! Said it tasted like Wrigleys Juicy Fruit. It was a disaster! A bloody nightmare! I mean he gazes up at a neat, little bank of cumulus in the sky above him I mean Im not calling myself the hero of the hour or anything far from it but you should just count your lucky stars a sensible adult was on hand to try and keep a lid on things
A brief silence follows, then, two seconds later, Jen? Jen?! The little minx with the ponytails? The chippy blonde? What the hecks she got to do with the price of fish?
A sightly longer pause. Well Sheilas barking up the wrong tree. Stans a good kid, a solid kid. Very discreet. Very mature. Youve got absolutely no worries on that score
As Ransom talks, the two men rapidly cover the thirty or so yards distance between the hotel and the chessboard, drawing to a sharp halt on its outer margins, from whence they commence to address him, at volume.
A game is still in progress! the blue-blazered man honks.
This board is fully booked until three! Arty-glasses adds (officiously inspecting his watch its half past twelve).
Well I guess were just gonna have to agree to disagree Ransom shrugs, blanking the two men completely. Comme ci comme ça, as the French like to say. Did he get off to Krakow okay?
Its booked. This board is fully booked until three, the blue-blazered man repeats (some of the aggression leaving his voice as the true identity and eminent stature of the personage hes currently addressing slowly starts to register), by Knott/Beevers Holdings plc chief sponsors of this weeks event. My names Chris Padgett, he adds (with a soupçon of swank), Im the company MD.
Ransom merely swishes a peremptory hand at him, indicates, self-importantly, towards his phone and turns away so that he might better concentrate. Well thats gotta be a good result by any calculation, eh? he observes (with a generous if profoundly unconvincing measure of faux-jocularity).
He then listens intently for a second, scowling. The Hummer?
He winces. I dunno. Its all a bit of a blur And if I can be completely honest with you, Gene he winces again I dont actually have the luxury of dwelling on all this stuff right now. Its old history kinda surplus to requirements, if you know what I mean. The cruds really hitting the fan at this end. Im up the proverbial gum tree. Ive found myself short of a caddie. Thats partly why Im ringing. Theres five per cent of my overall fee in the offing, five per cent of any prize money And lets not forget the work Im hoping to do for local charities while Im in situ the oxygen of publicity and all that
He pauses for a second, listening. No. No. I dont think youre quite grasping what I
He listens again, frowning. Im offering you the opportunity he interrupts. Another pause. Aw, come on, Gino! Its not rocket science! Its just lugging a friggin bag around
The blue-blazered man gawps at the artily bespectacled man, as though perfectly astonished by Ransoms arrogance. The artily bespectacled man promptly strides to the other side of the chessboard to engage with Ransom himself.
My names Charles Del Renzio, he starts off, Head of PR for this weeks event. Im afraid there seems to be some kind of confusion here
Then sort it out, will ya? Ransom snaps, glancing up. Isnt it obvious Im in the middle of something?
The artily bespectacled man is momentarily flummoxed by Ransoms high-handed approach.
Youre in the middle of something all right! the blue-blazered man harrumphs. Youre in the middle of our game, you bloody imbecile!
Ransom turns to appraise Blue-blazer, incensed. Thats arrant, friggin bullshit! The board was abandoned when I arrived here. The game was clearly over.
The board had been temporarily vacated, Artily-bespectacled corrects him. A gull messed on Mr Padgetts jacket, so we were obliged to step back into the hotel for a second
A gull shat on your jacket?! Ransom guffaws (his voice getting louder and more northern in a bid to attract the attention of a random couple of passers-by). It takes two, grown men to clean off (he falls into insulting baby-talk), an ickle-wickle smudge of bird poop, now, does it? He pouts out his lower lip. Aw, Diddums!
I actually popped up to my room to fetch a hat, Artily-bespectacled explains, indicating (slightly embarrassed) towards his trilby. It was brighter outside than Id anticipated
Good God! Ransom expostulates (thrilled as his new audience a father and son golfing combo realize who he is and are thus compelled to draw closer). I got clawed on the neck by a broody gannet once, up at the Nairn Dunbar course third hole, needed five stitches and still I played on! Had a jab of penicillin on the ninth and managed to finish third four under par in a low friggin gale! Thats competitive edge for you. He swings out his arm, dramatically. Thats sportsmanship in action. Call yourselves contenders? A little fleck of bird shit and youre running for the hills? Its a scandal! What are you, men or friggin mice?!
Ransom turns and poses for a photograph (the father snaps away, delightedly, the boy is beaming), then returns to his phone call, disgusted. Nah. Nothing important, he mutters, just a couple of MOPs, arguing the toss. If I ignore them for long enough they might just
He clicks his fingers. Nothing happens.
Either you vacate the board now, Mr Ransom, or youll leave us with no option but to call in Security, Artily-bespectacled informs him, eyes darting back and forth, nervously, between the golfer and his new audience.
Bring it on, Dick-weed! Ransom tenses his muscles, exultant. Yeah! Bring it friggin on! Make the call! Lets do this!
Yeah! Make the call! the kid echoes.
Woo-hoo! The dad punches the air.
Artily-bespectacled loses his momentum, somewhat.
Ransom dutifully returns to his phone conversation. Experience isnt necessary, he insists, in fact experience is actively unwelcome. Experience is exactly what got me into this friggin mess. Ignorance is bliss, Gene. Im getting back to basics. Im getting back to whats real; tuning into my awareness continuum
Bring it on, Dick-weed! Ransom tenses his muscles, exultant. Yeah! Bring it friggin on! Make the call! Lets do this!
Yeah! Make the call! the kid echoes.
Woo-hoo! The dad punches the air.
Artily-bespectacled loses his momentum, somewhat.
Ransom dutifully returns to his phone conversation. Experience isnt necessary, he insists, in fact experience is actively unwelcome. Experience is exactly what got me into this friggin mess. Ignorance is bliss, Gene. Im getting back to basics. Im getting back to whats real; tuning into my awareness continuum
Thats it! Ive had a gut-ful of this idiot! Blue-blazer turns to Artily-bespectacled, imperiously. Call Security!
Artily-bespectacled takes his phone from his pocket, but hesitates.
Whatre you waiting for? Blue-blazer demands, irate. Make the call!
Well Im very sorry you feel that way, Ransoms muttering. Its a great opportunity. I mean its Hang on a second
Ransom removes the phone from his ear and starts inspecting the chessboard, critically.
Whos white? he asks, after a short pause.
White? Blue-blazer squawks, paranoid. Whats it to you?
Oh-ho! Ransom chuckles. On the defensive, now, are we?
He turns and mugs at his small audience.
Ill say he is! the father promptly volunteers.
Look at him! Hes shitting his pants! the boy crows (and receives a sharp cuff around the ear for his trouble).
Ransom guffaws, delighted.
Defensive? Thats ridiculous absolute rubbish! Im not remotely defensive! Blue-blazers huffing. The games patently still in the balance. You kicked over my pawn. Ive still got
Playing for cash? Ransom turns to Artily-bespectacled, brow cocked.
A small pot, Artily-bespectacled concedes. I mean just to keep things interesting
What business is it of yours? Blue-blazer brusquely interjects.
So heres the deal. Ransoms suddenly businesslike. Ill quadruple whatevers currently in the pot if Pygmy-boy there hasnt got a stick of Touche Eclat tucked into his blazer pocket which he nicked out of his secretarys handbag after last nights obligatory, conference bunk-up