turned as gold as an angel’s. The full lips were transformed – pouting, Raphaelite . Just an illusion. Like most things the sun shines on. ‘What do you want, old man?’ he said.
He didn’t have to hustle for his applause. They gave him a standing ovation. Ugly teenagers’ ugly laughter shattered the silence of the forest.
‘I’m looking for the kindergarten. Heard it was here.’ I lacked his charm. No one laughed.
His tongue explored the decaying stubs. ‘The old folks’ home’s down the hill. Maybe we should send for a wheelchair?’
More guffaws. That was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
‘Why? Do you need one?’ I said. And added while I still had a little headway, ‘I came to pick up my bike.’
‘Your bike?’ He looked around as if he’d just discovered the others. ‘Any of you guys seen a bike?’
The clowns looked around, shook their heads. Tasse looked as if he’d explode with suppressed laughter. Joker said, ‘Send your auntie instead, grandad. Or one of the nurses. Then we’ll see.’
I thought they were really going to split their guts this time, and then I realised that I was going to make a speech. Whenever I’m scared I have to make a speech. I’m going to stand at death’s door and make a speech. I’m going to stand at the Pearly Gates and talk St Peter into a coma before he has a chance to send me to the Complaints Department on the first floor.
I began with the lanky kid. Looked him in the eye with what I hoped would remind him of all his childhood bogeyman experiences. We’ve all had them. The cigarette began wobbling in the corner of his mouth.
I said, ‘Maybe I don’t look so dangerous at first. Not when there are seven of you and you’re fifteen or twenty years younger. But a lion who’s spent years in the zoo doesn’t look dangerous either to an idiot who’s about to step into its cage.’
I moved to the next. He was nearly my height. He had a sweaty upper lip and a large inflamed pimple by his left nostril. ‘The Norwegian Alps looking poetic at sundown don’t impress me,’ I said. He blushed. I moved on.
This one already had a beautiful grey-black stubble. Thick black eyebrows. Clearly myopic. I waved my hand in front of his eyes and he didn’t know where to look.
‘Hello. Anybody home? Here I am. No. Here. Go home andget your glasses, pal. You look like a bug-eyed refugee from outer space.’
Joker was next. I skipped him. He didn’t like that. Tasse was on his right.
‘Hello, Porky Pig,’ I said. ‘You look as if you could use a bike.’ I waited a minute. ‘Exercise, Fatso. You’ll find “exercise” in the dictionary. If you can read.’
I took the last two together. ‘And who have we here? Abbott and Costello?’
I went back to the centre of the line and checked them over one by one. ‘You lot know who I am? I’m Veum. Heard of me? I’m in the phone book under M for Monster. I make the papers. Every time I beat somebody up. So I wouldn’t advise climbing into my cage. Or look at it this way. I play for the national team and you squirts are backwoods Little Leaguers. You’ve only got one thing going for you. I’m not crazy about creaming anything smaller than I am. But I’ve never been religious about it, so you’re welcome to try.’ I continued while I had a head start: ‘I came to get my bike. Any objections?’
I locked glances with Joker. You handle psychos the way you do bears. The best way to tame them is to look them right in the eye. ‘When we real men play poker, we never waste time with the Joker,’ I said.
And I walked by him, took the bicycle by the handlebars and swung it around.
Turning your back on a wrought-up psycho is one of the stupidest things you can do, but I had a spellbound public and not many choices. As I passed Joker on my way out of that charmed circle, I turned and held him with my gaze. ‘Better bring your boss a clean nappy, boys.’
I kept my head as still as if I had lumbago.