Ragged Company (12 page)

“You can do whatever you want.”

“But I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Well, I think rich means that you can learn how to do things different.”

“But that’s what scares me. I don’t wanna do things different. I like how it is. Like how we’re always together. Like how we always go to the movies an’ talk an’ stuff,” I said, getting more scared by the minute.

“I guess we can always do that too,” she said.

“Hope so,” I said. “I really hope so.”

G
RANDMA
O
NE
S
KY
used to tell me about the Trickster when we picked berries. They were very funny stories. Sometimes the Trickster was a raven, sometimes it was a coyote, other times a man named Nanabush. The Trickster travelled around the world getting into all kinds of adventures with animals and people. I remember laughing lots. But Grandma One Sky said that the stories were very serious and that one day when I was older and had seen more of the world myself, I would recall those tales and go back into them and learn from them. The Trickster was a teacher, and the lessons the People needed to learn were buried within its adventures. The thing was that you didn’t need to be afraid when the Trickster appeared if you believed that it was only around to help you learn what you really needed to learn. In its way, booze was a Trickster. Only when I went back and looked did I see what it had to teach me. This money was a Trickster. I saw that right away. The things about these teachers is that they can appear on the sly so you never know they’re among you, or they can make a big entrance that stuns you and catches you unaware. This second way is the Trickster’s best way. The big entrance. Digger blasting past us with two guys from the store in hot pursuit reminded me of an old Nanabush story about a footrace, and I knew the Trickster was among us. Finding out about the money was the next clue.

All the way down to the office where we needed I go, I looked around us. The city seemed suddenly more real. There was a speed to it that I hadn’t seen before, an energy, a frenzy, an antsy, frantic kind of motion. It was like the edge of a hangover. A paranoid, scared, but not yet terrified way of seeing what used to be normal. The Trickster weaving a spell.

The boys could feel it too, in their own way. None of them was comfortable and I worried for them.

“That looks like the place,” Digger said after blocks and blocks of silence. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, then passed the pack around to Timber and Dick. He pointed to a small green space between buildings and we moved to it. The boys took a few drinks and we studied the office we needed to go to.

“Looks pretty shiny over there,” Dick said.

“Looks like money,” Timber replied. “All shiny like big loot.”

“Wonder why they call it that?” Digger asked.

“What?” I asked.

“Loot. Why do they call money
loot
?”

“It’s a pirate word,” Timber said. “When pirates used to board another ship and take everything they wanted—the gold, the jewels, hell, even the women sometimes—they called what they did looting. Taking. Pillaging. Getting by overthrow. So they called what they gained loot.”

“Well, thanks there, perfesser,” Digger said. “I like that. A pirate word. Makes scoring all this loot a bit closer to my heart. So I guess we better do this thing.”

The boys looked at each other and then at me. Behind us I could see shadowed ones gathering. There were a lot of them. They filled the empty space leading back to the sidewalk, moved restlessly back and forth, waiting for us to move. “Okay,” I said, finally. “Let’s get this done. There’s a movie I want to see.”

“Me too,” Dick said. “
Field of Dreams.
”

“Okay, then. Let’s do it,” Digger said, and crushed out his smoke with the toe of one shoe. “Let’s fucking do it.”

We moved out to the sidewalk and toward the building. It was a business area and the people were all dressed smartly, so when we walked toward the office there were a lot of stares, whispered comments, and shaking of heads. The boys walked with their heads down, hands stuffed deep into their pockets. We reached the doors and walked through.

The lobby was impressive. All deep red carpet with pictures of smiling people holding cheques with big numbers on them, lots of plants and bright, bright lights. There were a lot of people working there, all seemingly very busy, talking on telephones and
moving papers back and forth, but with an atmosphere of cheerfulness that made me feel a little more at ease. We stood there just inside the doors, uncertain where to go or what to do. Finally, a woman behind the counter noticed us and moved across the room.

“May I help you?” she asked. She had one of those open faces that told you that whatever she said you could take for gospel and that her particular gospel was one of kindness and respect.

“Don’t know,” Digger said. “I got this ticket.”

“Oh,” she said. “Did you want me to check it for you? Normally you just go to the vendor but I can run it through for you.”

“I guess,” Digger said. “The guy at the store said it was a winner.”

“A winner? Well, that must be very nice for you.”

“I guess,” Digger said again.

“Come with me and I’ll just do a quick check on it, then we’ll get you your money.” She gestured for us to move up to the counter.

She took the ticket and went back to a machine, typed in the numbers and waited. People began noticing us. Workers looked up from their desks and the ones moving around craned their necks to get a better look. The boys shifted nervously from foot to foot while we stood at the counter. I just looked back at people and gave small nods. It seemed like forever.

The woman gave a small gasp and it seemed like everyone in that office looked over at her. She had her hand up to her mouth and sat there staring at the screen in front of her. Finally, she got up, looked at us, and walked into an office at the back. She was gone a long time.

A man came out with her and began pulling on his suit jacket while he walked. They both seemed very excited. The woman leaned her head toward him, covered her mouth with one hand and pointed at Digger with the other.

“Well, hello there,” he said, reaching out a pinkish-looking hand across the counter to Digger.

Digger just stared at it.

“Ahem,” the man said. “Margo tells me that you are a winner. A big winner, it seems.”

“I guess,” Digger said.

“Do you know how much you’ve won?” he asked.

“Thirteen something?” Digger asked, looking up at the man finally.

“Yes. That’s right. Thirteen million, five hundred thousand dollars in fact, Mr…. ?” He looked at Digger, his hand still stretched out over the counter.

“Digger.”

“Mr. Digger. Well, Mr. Digger, I’m Sol Vance. I’m in charge of prize allocation and if you and your friends will just—”

“Not Mr. Digger. Just Digger. That’s my name. Digger.”

“Oh, well, er, Digger, will you please come with me?”

“Where?” Digger asked with a nervous look over at me.

“I’d like to take you to our VIP lounge where you can have a coffee or tea, or whatever you like, while we get ready,” Vance said.

“Get ready for what? I thought we just pick up the loot and take off.”

“The loot?” Vance laughed. “No. No. There’s some process involved, Digger. It won’t take that long. Please come with me.”

Margo stepped around the counter and over to Digger. “It’s okay,” she said kindly. “It’s what everyone has to do when they win. We just want to treat you special, that’s all.”

“Special?” Digger asked. “Whatta ya mean, special?”

“Well, you’re a millionaire now. You’re special.”

Digger looked at her hard. “Just like that?”

She smiled. “Just like that.”

“Well, fuck me,” Digger said, looking at us. “Let’s go and get treated special.”

We walked through the office.

“Tim. Lisa. VIP lounge right now,” Vance said as he walked, and two people leaped from their desks and joined the small parade.

The VIP lounge was a huge room with a bar, a couple of leather couches, two armchairs, and a fireplace. Vance gestured to the seats but we were all too nervous to sit. We stood there, waiting.

“Would you like a drink?” Vance asked.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Digger said. “Whatta ya got?”

“You can have whatever you like.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Our pleasure.”

“Oh yeah. You drinkin’ too?”

Vance laughed. “Oh no, Digger. I mean it’s our pleasure to offer you whatever you’d like.”

“Whisky,” Digger said. “Boys?”

Timber and Dick kept looking at the floor.

“Them too,” Digger said, and the man named Tim went to the bar. He returned with three glasses. The boys all drained them in one gulp. Vance cleared his throat and Margo pursed her lips and looked out the window.

“Tim here is our media guy. All of our winners need to meet the media and he’ll make the arrangements. Lisa is our public relations officer and she’ll help you make arrangements to get to a bank, make travel arrangements, whatever you need,” Vance said. “Now, I’ll need to see your identification. All of our winners need to be identified properly.”

“Say what?” Digger asked.

“Identification,” Vance said. “It’s one of the rules. It’s spelled out on the back of your ticket.”

“Don’t have any.”

“You don’t have any? What happened to your ID?”

“Well, fucked if I know. Guess if I knew that, I’d have it. Never mattered before. I always knew who I was.”

Vance, Margo, Tim, and Lisa exchanged puzzled glances. Vance hitched his head to one side and they moved toward the fireplace where they had a short talk, heads close together, gesturing helplessly with their hands. Finally, they came back to us at the bar.

“Digger, are you sure you have nothing? No driver’s licence, no card of any sort?” Vance asked.

“Nothin’.”

“What about your friends? Maybe one of them can claim the prize for you?”

We looked at each other.

“I don’t have any either,” Timber said. “Haven’t thought about it for years.”

“Me neither,” Dick said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re not your regular kind of people, I guess. None of us has any papers. It’s not the kind of thing that usually matters.”

Vance looked troubled. “Well, I’m afraid that without proper identification we can’t issue you the prize money. It’s a rule.”

“Let me get this straight there, bud,” Digger said. “You’re trying to tell me that I got a winning ticket here but that there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“Not without identification.”

“So I’m standing here with thirteen million nothing?”

“Well, no. The ticket is a winner but unless you can provide me with the necessary information I can’t process it.”

Digger shook his head. “Fucking Square John bullshit,” he said. “A moment ago we were ‘special.’ Now we’re just a buncha fucking loogans with a useless piece of paper.”

“What happens if we can’t get papers?” I asked.

“Well, you have a year,” Vance said. “There’s a period of one calendar year from the draw date to process the ticket. After that, the unclaimed money goes back into the prize pool.”

“Wait just a freaking fucking minute here, pal,” Digger said. “Now you’re saying if we don’t get our act together somebody else has dibs on our money?”

“If a prize is unclaimed it’s available for other winners, yes.”

“Jesus. How fucking perfect. Just another set-up for the regulars, eh? Just another Square John waltz around the fucking block.”

“Is there anyone you can call? A lawyer, maybe? Someone who works with you? Anybody?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that’s got a, whatta ya call it? A Rolodex? There ain’t anybody.”

“There’s Granite,” Dick said softly.

“What’s that there, pal?” Digger asked.

Dick looked up. “Granite,” he said. “We know Granite. He looks like he’d have the right kind of stuff we need.”

“No offence there, D,” Digger said. “But tossing another fucking Square John into the mix ain’t exactly the kind of solution I’m looking for here. These guys already wanna keep our dough.”

“We don’t want to keep your money, Digger,” Vance said. “We’d like nothing more than to see you walk out of here with the ability to change your life, to make your dreams come true.”

“But not enough to just give up the cash.”

“Even if we did, how would you cash the cheque? I’m assuming you don’t have a bank account?”

“Correct.”

“What about this person your friend here mentioned?”

“Fuck. We don’t even know how to get hold of this guy. He’s just a guy we meet now and then at the movies.”

“You have to do something.”

“How about you? Why don’t I give it to you and you cash it for us and just slip us the bucks? I’ll even tip ya.”

“Oh, no,” Vance said with a chuckle. “That would be totally unethical.”

“Unethical?” Digger said. “Thirteen million and change is enough grease to buy a whole lot of unethical, pal. How about you, honey?”

Margo blushed. “I can’t.”

“There’s Granite,” Dick said again.

“Yes,” I said. “There’s Granite.”

Digger shook his head. “Even if I did wanna trust that guy, how’re we gonna get hold of him?”

I looked at him and there were shadowed ones hovering close by. The room was suddenly filled with them. “We’ll just find him,” I said. “There’s no rush. We’ve got a year.”

“Sitting on a pile of dough for a year will drive me fucking nuts,” Digger said.

“Then I guess we’d better get busy,” I said.

“Busy doing what?” Vance asked.

“Going to the movies,” I said.

“Movies?”

“Yes. That’s how we know our friend. That’s where we always meet.”

“But there’s a lot of movie houses in this city,” Vance replied.

I smiled. “Yes. Yes, there is. But I have a feeling we won’t be looking very long.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“What can you be sure of, Mr. Vance? We were sure this morning that this was going to be a day like any other day in our lives and look where we are now.”