Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Saturday, May 3, 2008

The Number One Under Heaven (29)

Once Kate had left to link up with the group of school Mums, Blake pondered his options for the rest of the day. He glanced at the kitchen clock: it was still before twelve. If I hurry, I might just be able to get over to Hong Kong side in time for lunch with John, he mused. Blake checked the ferry schedule he kept in his wallet. 12:40. Right, that’s it. In any event, I need to tell him what’s happened, face to face, he thought. Blake wanted John to hear the news of his retrenchment directly from his own lips, before the wagging tongues of the market began to invent their own exaggerated and, in all likelihood, untrue version of events.

He picked up his cell-phone to make the call. “Yes?” “John, it’s me. Adam.” “Christ Adam, what’s happened? The news is all over the market!” Shit! “Lunch?” Blake quickly interjected. “Done. Where?” “How about the Red Pepper, Causeway Bay? Haven’t been there for a while.” “Sure, what time?” “I’m still over in the Cape at the moment. Could be there in an hour or so, I guess. Get yourself there, order a bottle of President’s Selection and wait for me.” “OK,” affirmed John. Then: “Adam, are you OK, mate?” “I’m fine, John. Don’t worry about me. It’s hard to keep a good man down, and I’m not about to let that Septic cunt ruin my life. See you there.”

He rang off and quickly moved through to the bathroom for a shower, before dressing in business casual attire. Looking ruefully at the row of Hermès ties that he had assembled over the years he sighed, a feeling of vulnerability beginning to creep up on him, perhaps for the first time since his sacking. It’ll be a while before I wear one of you again, he reflected, mouthing his thoughts almost in an address to the row of rich blue, green and red silks that were arrayed neatly on a purpose-built hanger. Blake was unaware of how prescient those words would prove to be.

Within the hour, he was gazing out of the big catamaran’s window, Central-bound. It was an odd time to be making the journey and he noticed that the composition of passengers was different to that in the early mornings, when the majority of suited and booted commuters would be noisily flapping the business pages of the Morning Post. Out of nowhere, the screeching of a small child from just behind suddenly interrupted his reverie, forcing a curse: Fuck! I’ve got to get out of this cunting place. I’m gonna go fucking mad here, if I’ve got nothing to do! He got up briskly from his seat and marched to the rear of the large passenger compartment, where he entered the toilet to squeeze out a pee he did not really need. The heavy bump as the ferry then hit the pier’s black tyre fenders jolted him sufficiently to cause a splash of urine to drip down a leg of his carefully pressed slacks. “For fuck’s sake!” he objected, noticing the dark streak that was now running down the tan-coloured trouser. There was a sudden rap at the door and a rough bark in Asia’s Glaswegian equivalent: Cantonese. It was time to disembark. “Yes, I know we’ve docked, you cunt!” Blake yelled through the door as he zipped up his trousers. “Now fuck off!”

He opened the portal and walked through, to the bewildered stare of the chastened crewmember. For Blake, it was already proving another frustrating day and he needed a drink.


posted by Kirk at 11:56 pm  

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