Gurriers (27 page)

“I know tha’ yer callin’ me stewpi’, ye cunt, bu’ you’re the fuckin’ gobshite here ‘cos I knew wha’ ye were tryin’ to say bu’ sayin’ someone’s hair is wearin’ ou’ doesn’t paint the big picture, does it? People doin’ this job suffer a whole lo’ more wear an’ tear than jus’ losin’ their hair bu’ tha’s all ye mention ‘cos it’s the only way to ge’ it to rhyme, isn’t it?”

“Artistic licence, Raymondo!”

“Yeah rie, I suppose ye ge’ tha’ in the post office every year. Whaddaya do, buy stamps every week an’ stick them in yer little book so tha’ at the end o’ the year, yer artistic licence is paid for, yeah?”

“That’s it exactly, brother!” John didn’t do a good job failing to laugh at Ray’s wit but managed to get out his reply before giggling.

“I think it’s great to create a verse of poetry so quickly without writing down any words. You definitely have a talent, John, you should write that verse down. Maybe you’ll develop a whole
poem around it.”

“Why, new kid, you flatter me so! Carry on.”

“I’m really impressed that you created poetry in the time it took me to make tea.”

“Ah Jaysus, new kid,” Ray interrupted having just returned the cup to the table after his first sip of tea. “Tha’ cup o’ tea is a fuckin’ work of art in itself. Tha’s so nice tha’ it’s almos’ a shame to drink it.”

“Thanks Ray.”

“Tread softly there, new kid, you are well on the road to becomin’ tea maker for the whole company.”

“The man has a gift, John.”

I could see the mischievous glint in Ray’s eyes as he went to take his next sip. I certainly didn’t want every courier in the place demanding tea from me every time I was in the building. This had to be nipped in the bud now. I waited until there was tea in Ray’s mouth before loudly announcing,

“The secrets in the snot rocket, Ray!” I said, as I held my left forefinger to my left nostril to accentuate the image of me forcing a nostril full of snot into his tea. Ray joined the two of us in laughter at my retort as soon as he finished choking and spluttering.

Ray produced some foil wrapped homemade sandwiches and set about devouring them at speed while John gathered his things in preparation to depart. I returned my full attention the tasty bap that I was enjoying so much.

“I’m off to the bank, Mein Herr and then perchance a quick burger unless you’ve burdened me with a plethora of westward work by then.”

“One of those Tallaght jobs is a bit old at this stage, John.”

“Don’t fret your unpretty little head about it, my man – they’re both going to private addresses.”

“You mean like tha’ one goin’ to LED the other week?”

“Not in the slightest, old boy. I’ve taken extra care reading addresses since that teeny tiny little slip.”

“Good ‘cos you came close to gettin’ a teeny tiny P45 for that one!”

“Me? Fired? Hardly! I bid adieu gentlemen.”

Neither of us answered him due to vast quantities of food in both our mouths, but I pointed my right hand at him twice, made a writing mime with the same hand and then nodded to him to emphasise that he should write his verse down. He nodded back and then left. I felt as if I had made a real connection with John that lunchtime.

The noise of John leaving the yard had hardly faded into silence when a cacophony of high rev motorbike engine noise erupted down the lane from the Leeson Street end, increasing in volume to such a crescendo that both myself and Ray were looking towards the gate even before the combined squeal of two separate tyres complaining in unison at immense breaking forces being applied to them, made the hairs on the back of our necks bristle.

I jumped, startled at the bang of a front wheel colliding noisily with the gate.

It was one of the two front wheels jostling to get through a gap that was only slightly bigger than the minimum required to fit one bike through. It was the loser of the two that hit the gate – having been forced into it by the leading front wheel that carried on to bring its bike through first. The noise of the two riders firing abuse at each other now joined that of their toiling machines, as Vinno manouvered his bike through the gap under duress from Paddy who was scraping along the gate he had just bashed into while hanging onto Vinno’s right arm with his left hand. Vinno broke free, however, and made it to the window first – albeit wobbly with Paddy having pushed his top box hard as soon as the left hand had been displaced from Vinno’s arm. Vinno kicked down his side-stand and leaned the bike over but stayed on the bike, putting all his weight on his left foot while turning to his right to face Paddy, as he pulled up beside him. Paddy was so full of adrenalin that we could hear him from the canteen as he roared.

“Ye oul’ bollix ye! I thou’ I had ye on the brakes there! You fu…aahhhh!” As he was saying this, he flicked down his side-stand and was leaning the bike over when Vinno, with perfect
timing, in the fraction of a second between his foot moving away from the stand and the bike’s weight leaning on it to secure it, flicked the stand back up, sending Paddy wildly off balance and his bike careering over towards Vinno’s. To make matters worse, Vinno grabbed Paddy’s left arm and pulled it towards him – the exact opposite way he needed to exert force to keep him upright. The FZR would have smashed into the XBR and sent them both crashing to the ground but Vinno saved it with his right knee against the petrol tank. As soon as his bike stopped falling over the still off balance Paddy, lifted his left leg rapidly off the ground to flick the stand once more but Vinno hindered him by swinging his right leg beneath the knee obstructing the efforts to stabilise the bike. He simultaneously pulled and tugged ferociously at the arm he still held, causing Paddy to return his foot to the ground as a matter of extreme urgency.

Satisfied at having stamped his authority over the entire situation, Vinno then pushed his workmate and his machine back into balance before dismounting himself.

He was already in the canteen with his helmet off by the time a slightly ruffled Paddy got to the door having taken two shaky attempts to get his sidestand down before dismounting slowly.

“Piss on yer stinkin’ two strokes an’ V twins!”

“Gowan, number one,” Ray continued his position as number one’s number one fan.

“Dangerous old bastard!” exclaimed Paddy.

It was obvious to see that both were exhilarated by the excitement of racing down the lane.

“You jus’ keep ou’ of me way, kiddo, an’ you’ll be alrie.”

“At your age ye should be pullin’ over to let the next generation past ye.”

“Noh while I still have the strength to wind the throttle open to the max, youngfella.”

“An’ then he nearly wrecks me bike instead of lettin’ me ge’ off the fuckin’ thing.”

“That’s another important lesson for a pup like you tha’ ye’d be well advised to learn an’ remember. Youth and energy will
never, ever be any match for age an’ sneakiness.”

We all laughed at his remark. The atmosphere in the base was now electric. I caught myself shifting my weight from buttock to buttock like an excited schoolboy, as I finished my bap, totally entertained by all the commotion.

Paddy produced a greasy bag of sausage and chips from his courier bag and sat at the table, as Vinno went to the hatch for his wages.

“Did ya pinpoint where tha’ oil was leakin’ from, Ray?” “Yeah.”

“Did ye?”

“Yeah, it’s comin’ from the engine.”

“Of course it’s comin’ from the fuckin’ engine! D’ye know where exactly?”

“Ah, the fuckin’ machine is runnin’ grand. If it’s not broken don’ fix it, man.”

“But its leaki-”

“I know there’s a little bi’ of oil comin’ ou’ of it so I’m keepin’ a good eye on it, checkin’ it every day an’ toppin’ it up an’ tha’. It’s grand. Don’ worry about it. Thanks for yer help an’ glafy an’ all.

“Glafy?”

“Yep glafy.” He said before shoving his last piece of sandwich into his mouth.

“What’s glafy?”

“Und eck end un nuck neh” was all that could be made out through the food.

“That makes a lot of sense, ye bad mannered little shite.”

“Um abin eh uckin unch eh unt”.

Paddy gave up and concentrated on hungrily attacking his own food. Vinno left the hatch laughing at some exchange that had gone between himself and Aidan and headed straight for the door.

“See yiz later, lunch munchers. Some of us have real money to make.” And with that, he was gone.

“Next,” Aidan called from the hatch. It was me.

There was an air of tension in his voice as Aidan told me he
had two for me.

“Yeah, go ahead.” My pen was poised over the signature book.

“Counihan and Counihan accountants, 75 Fitz Square have one going to Churchtown.” He paused to give me a chance to react. Churchtown was south but it was far enough west to be unknown territory for me and he knew it. I knew it also but didn’t have a problem with it. I was eager to master the whole city and happy to trust him to help me. There was silence until I had finished quickly scribbling the details.

“And the other one?”

“Young’s on Leeson Street for Rathfarnham.”

Even further west. His apprehension was even more pronounced despatching that one to me. I got the impression that he half expected me to turn on my heel and stamp out on him. I had enjoyed my lunch so much that there wasn’t the slightest danger of me leaving now, but I paused for a second while maintaining eye contact just to worry him a bit.

“Fine. I’ll call you when I have them both on board.”

“Roger.” I took great pleasure in the obvious amount of relief in his voice.

The receptionist was on the phone when I entered Counihan and Counihans office. She turned away and lowered her voice as I strode across the room toward her but I still heard the end of her sentence.

“Not your problem, Leanne. I would never let a man away with that.”

I stood patiently at the reception desk while Leanne poured her heart out from the other end of the phone line. I felt kind of intrusive and awkward but I knew that I had to stay there until I got my package for Churchtown. I felt trapped and longed for her to just tell Leanne to hold on a second that she had something to do. Why didn’t she take care of me, who was here for company business, before yapping on the phone with her mate? The more I thought about it as the seconds agonised by, the angrier I became.

Should I say something?

Her body language and general demeanour displayed a tangible reluctance towards contact of any sort with me but it was totally unfair to leave me standing there like that.

What if I was under pressure?

If there was somebody on the phone to Aidan looking for something that was in my bag stuck here at this reception, what would I do?

I’d have to force the issue and interrupt her – it’s as simple as that! But now there was no hurry so I just stood and waited, angrily cursing this Leanne bitch for having so many stinking problems in her stinking little life.

Then the ignorant receptionist was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom beside her. Sadly it was on the other side of her so she could answer it without acknowledging my presence.

“Hang on a second, Leanne.” (Ahhh those sweet words, if only I had been the cause!)

She turned to answer the intercom. “Hello?”

The muffled voice on the intercom was little more than a couple of distant incomprehensible syllables to me with the receptionist between me and it.

“Okay,” she said while pushing the “door open” button. Then she returned to the phone.

“I’m back, Leanne. Go on.”

What a bitch! I thought. How dare she ignore me like that.

I was just about to interrupt her and give her a piece of my mind when the door burst open violently and I could hear Aidan’s voice in stereo coming from my radio at low volume and Charlie’s radio at high volume from the doorway. The receptionist jumped slightly and she glared at him as he barged across the room, radio blaring and helmet still on, and past me – totally ignoring her – to the opposite side of the reception desk. He leaned over the top of the desk and produced a blue plastic A4 sized tray, which I could see held several brown envelopes. Her gaze had followed him, causing her to turn through 180 degrees, and she glared at him (still holding the phone to her ear), as he dragged the tray loudly on the desk and proceeded
to root through the envelopes with both hands. He found the one he was looking for and held it up pointed towards her as if for inspection.

“Blackrock,” he declared loudly as he made eye contact, causing her to wither back to her original position.

“Where you goin’?”

“Churchtown.”

He took the top envelope from the pile and handed it to me.

“C’mon,” He gestured with his head that we should leave together. He didn’t say another word to me until we had marched outside. “See tha’ one, man? She’s a snotty little cunt! She’d keep ye there all fuckin’ day while she yapped wi’ her boyfriend.”

“Er…it was actually her mate.”

“It’s always the mate, the boyfriend or the mother, man, an’ a whole fuckin’ load a’ these receptionists think their personal calls are more important than you. If ye jus’ stand there an’ wait ye’ll end up wastin’ too much time. Ye’ll have Bollicky Balls thinkin’ that ye’re slow as fuck an’ givin’ ye fuck all work, costin’ ye fuckin’ money.” He had thrown his envelope into his top box, got onto his bike and put the keys in his ignition while delivering his speech. “Tha’ tray is always where I go if I’m in there, yeah? Ye don’ ever have to go near tha’ cunt, especially if she’s on the phone, an’ anywhere else tha’ they ignore ye jus’ have a look aroun’ the reception. If ye don’ find it yerself ye’ll bug the bitches into gettin’ it for ye.”