Espresso Tales

“So,” said the fat man. “So you’ve been looking at my motor.

You fancy it?”

“Not at all,” said Stuart. “We had no designs on it at all.”

The man smiled. “I should introduce myself,” he said, glancing at Bertie briefly and then returning his gaze to Stuart.

“I’m Aloysius O’Connor. But you may call me Lard O’Connor.

Everybody else does, don’t they, Gerry?”

Gerry, the man who had brought Stuart into the room, 176 Lard O’Connor

nodded. “Aye, they do, Lard. Nae respect these days. People have nae respect.”

Lard O’Connor raised an eyebrow. Turning to Bertie, he said:

“And you, young man. What’s your name?”

“I’m called Bertie,” said Bertie. “Bertie Pollock. I live in Edinburgh and I go to the Steiner School. And this is my daddy.

We live in Scotland Street. Do you know where that is, Mr O’Connor?”

“Could do,” said Lard. “Is that a nice street?”

“It’s very nice,” said Bertie. “It’s not far from where Mr Compton Mackenzie used to live. He wrote books, you know.”

Lard smiled. “You don’t say? Compton Mackenzie?”

“Yes,” said Bertie. “He wrote a book called Whisky Galore about some people who find a lot of whisky on the beach.”

“That sounds like a good story,” said Lard. He turned to Gerry. “You hear that, Gerry? Some people find whisky on the beach. Fallen aff a ferry mebbe!”

Gerry laughed politely. Lard then turned to Bertie again. “I must say I like your style, young man. I like a wean who speaks clearly and shows some respect. I like that.” He paused, and looked inquisitively at Stuart. “So what are you doing in these parts? Why have you come all the way from, where is it, Scotland Street, all the way over here? You sightseeing?”

“I left my car here,” said Stuart quickly. “I left it some time ago and now it seems to be gone.”

“Oh,” said Lard. “Walked?”

“So it would seem,” said Stuart dryly.

“Well, well,” said Lard, stroking the side of his chair. “Can you tell me what this motor of yours looked like? Model and all the rest. And the registration number.”

Stuart told him, and Lard signalled to Gerry, who wrote it down laboriously in a small notebook which he had picked up from the top of a display cabinet.

“Gerry,” said Lard. “You go and make inquiries about this matter and see what you can come up with. Know what I mean?”

He turned towards Bertie. “And you, young man, how about a game of cards while we’re waiting for Gerry? You and your dad A Game of Cards and a Cultural Trip 177

might like a game of cards. I’m very partial to a game of cards myself, you know. But I don’t always have company of the right intellectual level, know what I mean?” He nodded in the direction of Gerry, who was now leaving the room. “Good man, Gerry,” Lard went on. “But not exactly one of your Edinburgh intellectuals.”

“I like playing cards,” said Bertie. “What game would you like to play, Mr O’Connor?”

They decided on rummy, and Lard rose slowly from his chair to fetch a pack of cards from a drawer.

“You’re very big, Mr O’Connor,” said Bertie brightly, not seeing a frantic sign from his father. “Do you eat deep- fried Mars bars like other people in Glasgow?”

Lard stopped in his tracks. Without turning, he said: “Deep-fried Mars bars?”

Stuart looked frantically about the room. It would be possible to make a run for it now, he thought. Lard would be unable to run after them, with that bulk of his, but he had heard sounds out in the hall and he had assumed that there were other men, apart from Gerry, in the house. These gangsters rarely had just one side-kick, he remembered.

Then Lard spoke again. “Oh jings!” he said. “What I wouldn’t do for one of those right now!”

54. A Game of Cards and a Cultural Trip It was an interesting game of cards. Lard had started off making every concession to Bertie’s age, offering friendly advice on tactics and making one or two deliberate mistakes in order to give Bertie an advantage. But it soon became apparent that such gestures were entirely misplaced as Bertie succeeded in playing even his more mediocre hands with consummate skill. Lard had suggested playing for money, a proposition to which Stuart had agreed only because he felt that it would be impolitic to antagonise their host. He had given Bertie five pounds to start him off and had 178 A Game of Cards and a Cultural Trip explained that that would be his limit. But after an hour’s play, Bertie had won sixty-two pounds from Lard O’Connor and was now sitting behind a high pile of one-pound and two-pound coins.

“I’ll give it back to you, Mr O’Connor,” Bertie said generously. “I don’t want to take all your money.”

Lard O’Connor shook his head. “Not a chance, Bertie,” he said. “You won that fair and square. Just as I earned that money fair and square in the first place.”

Stuart threw Lard a glance, and then looked away again quickly.