Gurriers (16 page)

“I don’t know….I just wondered if it would bother him.”

Ray seemed to have realised something all of a sudden. “Oh, Jesus yeah! I forgo’ Barry was like tha’. Ye be’er watch yourself ou’ there – he’ll come sneakin’ up on ye and kick yer handlebars for ye. Rie fuckin’ psycho is Barry – I’d hate to be given his number!”

I wasn’t buying it for a second. The realisation he’d had wasn’t that Barry was a nutcase – it was that I was brand new and therefore an easy target. I held his gaze, unflinching until he cracked.

“Ah, I’m only messin’ – a numbers jus’ a number – doesn’t mean a thing…..” There was a thoughtful pause and then, “.except maybe number one – I don’t think Vinno would be too keen to swap his number wi’ anyone. Is this yer first job as a courier?”

I nodded, having refilled my mouth with the baguette.

“Wha’ d’ye do before this?”

I held my mouth shut as much as possible as I answered to avoid spraying him with crumbs.

“Program computers.”

“Program computers? Wha’ the fuck did ye’ giv’ tha’ up for?”

Because I lost everything that made my life liveable. Ray lost me for an instant as the emotions involved in that thought stomped all over me. It seemed like an age before I came back to myself enough to force an answer past the ever-decreasing volume of food in my mouth.

“Boredom.”

I could feel myself slipping into the depression that never seemed to be too far away from me these days.

“Are ye fuckin’ mad or wo’?”

I seemed to snap back to reality in an instant. My gaze went from far away pointed at the wall to focusing straight on Ray with all of the intensity I could muster up.

“Totally and absolutely, Ray, 100 fucking percent!” That was delivered with more intensity than I had employed in a long time. Ray was startled, and even recoiled backwards in shock. His reaction caused me a pang of guilt. I had no right to snap at
him like that no matter how much pain I was in. Both my gaze and my voice softened as I continued.

“Sure, don’t you have to be to do this job?”

“Roger that one, Sean – how d’ye find it so far?”

“I’m just learning bit by bit. There’s a lot more to the job than I thought. It’s really horrible not to know exactly where you are going.”

“Take it easy; keep her rubber side down! Yeah, it’s a bitch of a job to start with bu’ once ye ge’ the hang of it, ye can start to make proper money.”

I remember noting to myself that money was always an issue with these men. Couriers appeared to be rated according to their earnings. Every time the matter was discussed, it strengthened my resolve to make my way to the upper echelons of this profession.

“How much do you make, Ray?” The question came out before I even had a chance to think about it. I became acutely concerned of hurting his feelings with such a direct question but this concern dissipated almost instantly as Ray’s eagerness to divulge details of his earnings became apparent.

“I clear four most weeks bu’ sometimes ye jus’ don’ be in the mood for hard graftin’ an’ take i’ easy. I never earn less than three an’ a half on a full week an’ I’ve made over six a few times. I suppose if I went balls ou’ at it I’d clear five every week.”

Five hundred pounds a week! I had no idea couriers made as much as that. That would do me nicely, thank you very much.

Ray’s head jerked around to allow him a view through the window at the sound of an approaching small bike. He smiled as the CG 125 pulled up right at the window and waved at the driver, who replied with a big slow nod in Ray’s direction before dismounting. The newcomer had a long look at a particularly scruffy red 250 CC that was parked beside my bike before entering the canteen.

“It’s still leakin’ a bit, Ray!”

I recognised the voice immediately but couldn’t put a name to it until the helmet came off. It was Naoise, the small man with the big voice.

“Nah no’ tha’ much man – nuttin’ like last week!”

“Ye’d need to be towin’ a fuckin’ oil tanker around after ye by now if we hadn’ done them gaskets, bu’ I was hopin’ it’d stop altogether.”

The courier who had nodded to me happened to overhear this as he made his way towards the door behind me.

“The only fuckin’ way he’s gonna stop tha’ bike leakin’ fuckin’ oil is if he stops puttin’ oil inte the fucker!”

Naoise looked thoughtful. “Ye know wha’, Mick, that’s the finest example of lateral thinking I have ever heard! Did ye jus’ think tha’ up this minute?”

Mick paused and pondered for a brief moment before replying. “Have you been smokin’ the funny stuff or wo’? What the fuck are ye talkin’ about?”

Mick seemed suspicious, wary that he might be the brunt of a joke that he didn’t get but Naoise was genuinely fascinated by his train of thought. “Lateral thinking man; thinking outside the box. Question: how do ye stop a bike leakin’ oil? Answer: stop puttin’ oil into the fucker! It’s perfect.”

“But the fuckin’ thing’d seize up in no time.”

“That’s not the point – the main thing is that we’re lookin’ a’ the problem from a whole different perspective!”

“Perspective me bollix! I’m no’gonna stop puttin’ oil in me bleedin’ bike no matter how clever anyone thinks it is!”

“Nobody’s tellin’ ye to stop puttin’ oil in it, Ray – the genius lies in the different approach to the solution.”

“There’s no fuckin’ genius in neglectin’ to pu’ oil in yer bike no matter how fuckin’ excited ye ge’ abou’ it. See yez later.”

Mick grabbed a helmet from the windowsill and made his exit before somebody else got the last word in. Naoise seemed exasperated.

“It’s an approach to problem solving, Ray – nobody’s sayin’ it’s a good idea to stop puttin’ oil in yer bike bu’ when he said it, Mick gave us a perfect example of lateral thinking!”

“But I have to put oil into me bike!”

“I know that! The clever bit is the approach to the prob
lem.”

“There’s nuttin’ fuckin’ clever abou’ lettin’ a bike seize!”

“Jesus Christ, will ye forget abou’ yer bike seizin’.”

“Okay.”

“Now how do you stop an engine leakin’ oil?”

“Take i’ apart and replace all the gaskets like we did a’ the weekend.”

“Or?”

“Or fuckin’ nuttin’! I’m no’ goin’ to stop puttin’ oil in me bike!”

“I know tha’…but if ye did?”

“Forget abou’ it...it’s bleedin’ stupid!!!”

“If there was no oil in an engine would it leak oil? Answer yes or no.”

“It’d fuckin’ sei…”

“YES or NO!”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

“Screw you.”

“Moron.”

“Stress case.”

“Do you know what I mean?”

I was too busy being entertained by this fascinating exchange to realise immediately that the last statement was aimed at me. It took a prod by Naoise to bring me up to date.

“Well?”

“Oh, er yes; lateral thinking – I understand, like – how do I keep my teeth clean – stop eating!”

Ray seemed irritated with me.

“Nobody’s tellin’ you not to put oil in your bike, Ray, but when Mick said the only way to stop it leaking was to stop putting oil into it, he was – without realising it – giving us an example of this method of problem solving that is called lateral thinking.”

“But that’s no fuckin’ good to me!”

“In this case, the solution won’t work because the engine needs oil and that’s that but it’s still looking at it from a new
perspective and sometimes that helps us find new answers.”

The silence was deafening, Naoise looked at Ray intensely, waiting for him to concede to his reasoning. Ray’s face, scrunched up in concentration, did little if anything to hide the huge amount of mental effort involved in being the only person in the conversation who didn’t get the point. He needed to see the logic involved in this crap about not putting oil into a leaky engine to catch up. He took several moments to apply words to his train of thought, then spoke slowly and uncertainly.

“So – when ye talk abou’ this lat-er-al thinkin’, ye’er sayin’ tha’a stew-pi’ idea is a good place to start cos it makes ye see things diff-rent…yeah?”

That was good enough for me and I demonstrated as much with a positive nod in Ray’s direction. Naoise paused before responding as if to demonstrate less than complete acceptance of Rays understanding but decided to put the matter to rest with an affirmative conclusion.

“Tha’s abou’ the size of it, Ray...rie!”

A big clap of the hands followed to signify the end of the discussion.

“Who’s for tea?” Naoise asked.

Ray relaxed, satisfied with the result. “Naw thanks man – have one here.” He gestured to his cup.

Naoise’s gaze turned to me. I had neglected to bring anything to drink with my baguette and had been considering a venture to the kitchen to avail of the facilities for the first time. Delighted as I was to have someone spare me the chore, I was hesitant and unsure as I answered although I had the presence of mind to prevent him asking how I took it.

“Er, yes please – I’d love one – milk and two sugars, please.”

After the slightest of pauses – either surprise at having his offer accepted or committing the particulars to memory – Naoise briskly made his way to the kitchen.

The roar of a powerful engine being driven at high revs claimed everybody’s attention in plenty of time to see a bashed up machine screech to a halt beside Naoise’s CG. The driv
er swung his foot at the side stand with such voracity that it bounced back up after he had kicked it down. He stamped his foot twice in fury before flicking it down with slightly less temper and leaning the bike onto it while simultaneously jumping angrily out of the saddle. If anyone could have doubted that this man was in a temper, the stomp to the door and subsequent bashing open of it, followed by slamming it shut, left no question: even before he opened his mouth.

“Bitch! Stupid, fuckin’ bitch!” he yelled.

As he ripped his helmet off, I was dismayed to see that this was the one called Charlie who had been so rude to me the previous day. I could almost feel myself shrinking down into the chair as he continued to rant about something that had just happened to him.

“I mean, that’s what mirrors are for - aren’t they? Fuc-kin’ hell!”

I studied Ray’s response carefully because I didn’t know what to do or say. Most of his attention seemed to be directed towards the cup of tea that he now held in his hand but when he did look up, he just nodded affirmatively in Charlie’s direction. The message was clear; just let him blow off his steam.

“Isn’t it just fuckin’ logical?”

Oh, shit, I thought as he was now looking at me. Nod, Sean and nod now.

“If you’re goin’ to open a car door into oncoming traffic, ye look in the fuckin’ mirror first! Not this cunt! Naw!” His voice changed to an impersonation of a snooty woman. “I want to get out of my car so I’m just going to open my door wide open and fawk them all! Aaaaargh!”

With that, he kicked the cheap plastic stackable chair that was against the wall to my right, sending it towards the corridor to the toilet amid the loud clattering noise that accompanied it. That brought a loud response from the hatch.

“Oi, Charlie! Take it fuckin’ easy!”

“I’m after crashin’ into some bitch’s fuckin’ door, Aidan. I’m fuckin’ freaked!”

“Yeah, but don’t take it out on the fuckin’ furniture.”

The outburst seemed to subdue Charlie from a temper down to a sulk and he reminded me of a chastised schoolboy as he picked up the chair and placed it at the table between myself and Ray before sitting down heavily in it.

“Fuckin’ stewpi’ bitch.”

I noticed that he was rubbing his left hand slowly with his right one and would have questioned him about it if I had felt more at ease, but I was able for nothing more than a tense silence. I thought Ray might have said something, but Naoise was the first to contribute from the kitchen.

“Cup o’ tea, Charlie?”

“Yeah go on; nice one, bud.”

“No worries, man. One sugar, yeah?”

“Roger.” Charlie was fully subdued now and in full sulk.

Ray chipped in with what I had considered saying. “Hurt your hand, Charlie?”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna ge’ a claim?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“Freaked the head on the car.”

“Damage?”

“Lots.”

“Ye should cool down, man – ye could a go’ a few bleedin’ grand ou’ of i’!”

“I know, Ray, bu’ I jus’ fuckin’ snapped; I did well no’ to boot her as well as her bleedin’ car, the cunt!”

“Coulda go’ a new bike!”

“I know, Ray.”

“Taken a hollyer.”

“I know.”

“Done up the gaff.”

“Rie! That’s enough, ye little aggravatin’ bollix.”

Ray, as usual, seemed delighted with himself at causing someone’s temper to rise. He even winked at me as he leaned back in his chair, grinning that broad cheeky grin of his. My bowels nearly emptied themselves on the spot as Charlie’s glare fol
lowed the line of the wink and landed on my taut blanched face with only inches between us. I froze – terrified that the slightest twitch would convey the wrong impression to this angry, scary man. It felt as if he just sat there staring at me for an hour or so but in real time it was only a second or two. The solitary bead of cold sweat which formed on the edge of my forehead in terror had only rolled as far as my cheekbone when he mercifully looked back at Ray.