Ascension Day

Rodriguez shook his head, knitting his brow. ‘Now, you see, that’s where you can easily go wrong here. Sometimes the nicknames are obvious, sometimes not so obvious. T’give you a clue, I used to be a pimp.’ Rodriguez raised an eyebrow, but Hillier remained blank, none the wiser. ‘…An’ a few of the girls used to pay me a compliment.’ Rodriguez glanced down so that there was no remaining doubt, but still it took a moment for Hillier to catch on.

‘Oh, right… right.’ Hillier smiled hesitantly.

‘Yeah.’ Rodriguez shrugged off the accolade with a coy smile. ‘It was either that or Woody. Or Stallion.’ More smiles and chuckles from around the table. ‘Now let’s get to the guys you gotta be real careful about gettin’ their nicknames right. You see that guy two tables away over there. Guy with a mean look, shoulders like a line-back and skin colour somewhere between coffee and death?’ Rodriguez nodded towards Tally Shavell rather than pointed. Then as Hillier looked over. ‘Hey, don’t look too hard. He might think you’re tryin’ to read the tattoos on his eyeballs. Gets him real upset.’

Hillier looked swiftly away, then, as around the table a few chuckles broke out, he smiled crookedly. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Yeah, right.’ Deadpan, Rodriguez shaking his head in wonderment. ‘But let’s see how you do with his nickname. His name’s Shavell and he runs most of the rackets in here — and his nickname comes from the figures he’s always addin’ up to share out the take. Any ideas?’

‘I don’t know.’ Hillier shrugged. ‘Einstein.’

‘Einstein was a fuckin’ nuclear physicist, not a bean-countin’ prison-fixer.’ The chuckling heavier now, Peretti laughing so hard that he was holding his stomach. Rodriguez lifted his eyes heavenward for strength; though equally it was in thanks for sending him such a live one. ‘It’s “Tally”, from tallying up all those figures. And that guard up the end there wit’ the dark, lank hair, his name’s Sam Morovitz — but what’s your guess for his nickname?’

This time, though, Hillier just puckered his lips and shook his head.

‘“More-zits”,’ Rodriguez said after a moment, holding out one hand. ‘Sorta subtle word-play to fit his tenderized-hamburger face. Or maybe not so subtle: more “in your face”.’ Rodriguez eased a brief, sly smile. ‘He’s jus’ one of many lapdogs of head-guard Bateson — the main guy you gotta keep clear of here. “Bate-Boy”. I’ll point him out later. And the guard we call “The Dark One”, Torvald Engelson — he’s actually one o’ the good guys.’ Rodriguez shrugged. ‘Like I said, sometimes it’s confusin’.’

Rodriguez took a fresh breath and nodded along the table. ‘Now our good friend here that looks like Tyson’s mentally-challenged brother. Let’s do it the other way roun’. I’ll give you his nickname — BC, letter B, letter C — then by lookin’ at him see if you can work out how he got it?’

Hillier pulled a face, shaking his head after a second. ‘ Uh… it’s difficult.’

‘Look at the flat shape o’ the head… that Neanderthal look.’

‘That what?’

The smiles and chuckles rising as much in anticipation this time. It was going even better than usual.

‘You know… as in prehistoric. Like a cave man.’

Hillier chewed his bottom lip for a second. ‘I know,’ he said, stabbing a finger at Rodriguez. He thought he’d nailed it this time. ‘BC. Like in that film… Million Years BC.’

‘No, that’s not it.’ Rodriguez shook his head. ‘But to give you another clue — his surname’s Crosby.’

Hillier pondered for a moment, studying the table for inspiration before looking up again hopefully. ‘Okay. It’s his initials. He’s a Bob… or a Billy, like me.’

‘No, not it either. Though again, not a bad guess.’ Rodriguez left another pause, relishing along with everyone else Hillier’s bafflement before giving the final clue. ‘You don’t see it on him now, but when BC showed us some of his ol’ photos, he had more chains roun’ his neck and rings on his fingers than Mr T.’ Hillier’s eyebrows still furrowed, the chuckles starting to rise again around the table. ‘You know, bling. Bling Crosby. Then it became just BC.’

The group around the table had heard the punchline a score of times, but still it sent them into raptures of laughter, becoming heavier as Hillier’s expression remained puzzled and Rodriguez had to prompt.

‘Bling Crosby… you know, as in Bing Crosby.’

But Hillier’s eyebrows just knitted heavier, and as he said, ‘Who?’ the laughter became thunderous, Peretti bent over double as if he was in pain.

Rodriguez fired his audience a deadpan Jack Benny look. He should have realized that Bing Crosby to the rap generation was like Paul Robeson to his. Long-gone, no longer relevant.

Rodriguez was glad he’d done the routine, despite his concerns about the timing. It had certainly gone down well with his audience, and maybe at a time like this, with the shadow of Larry’s death edging closer, they needed their spirits lifting all the more. Even Larry was appreciative, nodding his way with a smile, eyes bright and the shadows that haunted them gone for a moment, as if to say, ‘Thanks. That might be the last time I’ll be able to enjoy that.’

Roddy, prison clown. That’s what he did best, Rodriguez thought wistfully, sneak-thieved some smiles and laughter from the doom and gloom where he could. And if he couldn’t do that, then he wasn’t good for much else. But as the laughter died, the grey walls and the dour routine settled back around them like a cloak, with only the faint clatter of their cutlery to punctuate the silence.

Jac had just come out of the shower and had started to get dressed when the phone rang. He thought for a minute it might be Alaysha asking him to bring something over, such as oregano, if he had any, or that dinner was taking longer to prepare than she’d anticipated, or, more worrying, cancelling completely. But it was Jennifer Bromwell.

‘You know I said I didn’t think we should date again… or, rather, we both more or less came to that conclusion. Well, I’ve been thinking… and maybe it is a good idea if we did.’

Jac paused halfway through buttoning his shirt. ‘But I thought you had a boyfriend. The rock musician that your father wasn’t keen on.’

‘What, Kelvin? Oh sure, I’m still with him.’ Jennifer chuckled lightly as she realized he’d grabbed the wrong end of the stick. ‘I didn’t mean date, date. I meant pretend to continue seeing each other as if we were dating.’

‘Oh, right. I see.’ Although he still had little idea.

‘The way I see it — my dad and mom don’t want me to continue seeing Kelvin, so every time I go out with him, I get grief. And they’re already pressing for when I’m next meant to be seeing you — because when they asked how our date went, I said great, fine. Not only because that’s what they wanted to hear, but because — the love and romance bit aside — that’s exactly how I think the date went: great! And I thought that was pretty much how you felt about it, too.’

‘Yes, I did,’ Jac said automatically. He still wasn’t fully up to speed on where she was heading, and he had half an eye on the clock. He’d left it tight as it was to get dressed on time, and, as if to remind him, next door he could hear the soft clatter of pans and opening and shutting of kitchen cupboard doors. The final minutes of preparation and setting the table.

‘So, the thing is, I can see that I’m going to continue to get grief from my parents every time I date Kelvin… and you’ve got a similar problem with your Aunt Camille.’

‘True,’ Jac agreed. He’d only had one call so far from Camille asking how it went, but since he’d said much the same as Jennifer — ‘Great, fine, nice girl’ — no doubt the enquiries would soon increase in intensity. His excuse that they hadn’t yet set the next date because of his heavy workload was only going to buy him so much time.

‘And if it wasn’t me, she’d only try to set you up with someone else that she considered “suitable”. So I thought… if we made out that we were continuing to date, that would take all the pressure off — for both of us. I could keep seeing Kelvin whenever I was meant to be seeing you, and you, well… at least you wouldn’t have Camille pushing every buck-toothed rich-kid in the state in front of you.’

‘That’d be fine, I can see the sense in that,’ Jac said, sighing gently as he prepared to let her down. ‘Only problem is, I’m starting to see someone else.’

‘My, my, Jac McElroy, you don’t waste much time. We only just started courtin’, and already you’re cheatin’ on me.’ Jennifer feigned a heavy Southern Belle accent which lapsed into a chuckle.