The Homeless Millionaire - Volume 1 Chapter 85 November 2nd 1972 Afternoon Evening

Seeing that car really got me wondering, because there was no way Harry could have driven to the guesthouse in something like fifteen minutes. And that was assuming he jumped in the car the moment we’d finished talking, instead of back in the crapper.

When I got closer I realized that it wasn’t Harry’s car. It was a Volkswagen all right, same color and front end, but it was a station wagon, not a hatchback like Harry’s. As I approached the entrance to the guesthouse Richard came out, looking very combative in an old flying jacket.

“Hey there,” he said. “Like my car?”

“I thought it was Harry’s,” I said.

“Yeah, we bought them together. Only mine’s a station wagon. Better suited to my needs. I’m going to the supermarket to get a few things. Want to come along?”

“No thanks. I’d better hang around here. Harry’s coming soon.”

“I’ll be back before he shows up.”

“Uh, I think I’ll lie down for a bit before he does.”

“Suit yourself.”

He sounded slightly disappointed, and I wondered about that as I went back to my room.

It was f.u.c.k.i.n.g cold in there but at least it was properly aired out. I sat down still wearing my outdoor jacket and proceeded to fill the room with smoke again. As I was finishing my third cigarette, I heard the characteristic gravelly rattle of a Volkswagen approaching. It stopped in front of the guesthouse, so I decided to check if it wasn’t Harry.

When I got to the front of the house, I saw it was Richard. I also saw why he’d been so keen to have me along: he was struggling with two big bags of garden soil. I opened the door and asked:

“Would you like a hand?”

“Thanks, I’m fine,” he said. He didn’t come inside; he went around the house. I stayed by the front door, going through one of those useless you-should-have-helped-him inner dialogues. Then I heard that rattle again, and saw another Volkswagen coming to stop in front of the guesthouse.

This time, it was Harry. He was wearing a brown leather car coat and he seemed tense. He threw me a ‘hi’ as he entered and went straight to the kitchen. I heard Nancy tell him that Richard was out in the back.

“Hang on, we’re going soon,” he told me on his way out. Something was definitely off, he was so preoccupied he didn’t even glance at me as he went past.

I thought it would be wise to stay prepared for an immediate departure, so I went to the kitchen and said goodbye to Nancy and apologized yet again for causing a ruckus during the night. She was seated by the table reading a paperback and smoking and told me not to worry and that she hoped I’d had a good sleep. My paranoid pal was wide awake by then, and whispered that she meant she hadn’t had one, thanks to me. I told him to f.u.c.k off but he was grinning and I knew it was going to be one of those days where I worried all the time.

I checked my room one final time, and closed the window. As I was doing that, I heard Richard and Harry talking at the back of the house. They kept their voices low so I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they sounded angry. I quickly left the room and went to the kitchen to put my key on the kitchen table and said goodbye again to Nancy. She didn’t even look up from her paperback, she just nodded and said bye.

I left the house and walked down to Harry’s car. I’d finished smoking a cigarette by the time he showed up. He walked out from behind the house with Harry following a few steps behind. They didn’t look happy.

Harry stopped when he got to the front entrance and turned and said:

“All right then. I’ll give you a call in the afternoon.”

Richard nodded sadly and looked in my direction and gave me a little wave. Then he said see you to Harry, and ambled back inside the house.

I gave Harry my best questioning look when we were inside the car, but he ignored it. He started the engine and we drove off and it wasn’t until we were on the bridge headed downtown when he said:

“I’ve got a couple of people to see before we go home. It would be better if you stayed in the car, okay? It won’t take long.”

“Sure,” I said, putting as much disappointment as I could in my voice. It worked. Harry said:

“Had a little tiff with Richard. The silly ass called half the town last night that I’m sitting on a harvest of great pot, and that I’m staying at my Mom’s. The phone started ringing at seven this morning. I must have taken at least half a dozen calls before yours. My mother kept asking me what was going on. F.u.c.k! A grown man, and he goes babbling around like a little kid. So now I’ve gotta put out a couple of fires.”

“I didn’t tell him or Nancy anything,” I said, just to set the record straight.

“I know you didn’t.”

We kept silent after that. We drove through what seemed most of the city before Harry parked in a residential street and told me to wait and went inside a house. I noticed that the door was opened by an evil-looking guy, with long hair and beard and a jean vest worn over a black leather biking jacket. He looked like of those serious biker guys that like to think it’s them against the world.

I lit a cigarette and smoked, looking at the house Harry went in. I nearly dropped my cigarette when one of the front windows suddenly flashed with bright light and there was a loud bang. It was the bang of a shot being fired.

I f.u.c.k.i.n.g froze in my car seat, staring at the house while my paranoid pal screamed at me to get out of the car and run. The front door opened, and Harry came out. He approached the car walking a little oddly, as if one of his legs was stiff, and he held one arm halfway behind his back.

He came around the front of the car and got in and it was then that I noticed he was holding a gun. It was one of those stumpy small revolvers undercover cops used on TV shows. I’d often wondered why they were called belly guns; maybe it was because you couldn’t hope to hit anyone with that gun unless you pressed the barrel right into their belly.

It took all my willpower not to ask Harry what had happened. He put the gun into the side pocket of his coat and started the engine and we drove away, briskly but without high-speed theatrics. I kept on being silent, and it was increasingly hard. But after we’d driven a few blocks I got my reward.

“What you heard back there was a shot,” Harry said, throwing me a quick glance. “Someone pulled a gun on me, so I had to pull mine and put a hole in the floor to show that I meant business. No one got hurt, so no worries.”

I stayed quiet. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit two and passed one to Harry.

“Thanks,” he said. “You see, I promised those guys back there ten pounds of pot. They were to get the skunk. But you know what happened to the skunk. I was thinking of figuring something out, I know a couple of guys who grow skunk up north. But Rich really blew things by telling everyone I was sitting on a fresh harvest of dynamite smoke. So I had to go see those guys today and tell them that the harvest was much, much smaller than anticipated, on account of some assholes that discovered my plants and ripped me off. It didn’t go down well. Shots were fired, and so on. But relax, no one got hurt and the guys we’re going to see now are a different sort. College kids.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’ll just sit in the car and wait patiently.”

“That’s the stuff.”

This time, the door to the house we stopped at was opened by a girl who didn’t look like she had anything to do with guns. The business took longer too, and when Harry finally emerged he was actually smiling. He got in the car and told me we were going shopping before returning to the island. He said he would be spending a long weekend with his mum, and that this was my chance to make sure I had everything I needed for the next five days or so.

I told him all I needed were charcoal sticks so he obligingly stopped in front of an arts supplies shop before parking at a supermarket. I had less than sixty bucks left by then and I really shouldn’t have even gotten out of the car. But I did, and spent five on stupid stuff like snacks and newspapers and a small flashlight. Next time I was spending the night in a strange house, I’d be all prepared for emergency visits to the can.

After that, Harry stopped by a liquor store and I went in there as well and got a big, muscular Johnnie Walker plus a bottle of Seagram’s V.O. rye whiskey. The V.O. was supposed to mean it was Very Old, six years in fact. It was a regular bottle, smaller than the Johnnie Walker, but I hoped that the six years of training made Seagram equally capable of dealing with my paranoid friend.

It started to rain before we got to Lion’s Bay, and the boat trip to the island was pretty miserable. The wind was cold and so was the rain and I was getting the shit kicked out of me by my paranoid pal over my financial situation. I had under forty dollars left, that was my whole f.u.c.k.i.n.g fortune. My pal advised me that given recent gunplay and all that shit, I most likely wouldn’t be receiving any payouts from Harry. People who fired guns were pretty sure to get fired at sooner or later, and it was pretty much impossible to get paid when the person supposed to do the paying was lying on the ground with a hole in the head.

I tackled Harry about it the moment we were all done with the boat and back inside the house. I did a bit of prep work, of course. I put the water on for coffee and got out the severely injured Johnnie Walker from the kitchen cupboard and killed him off by pouring two very large drinks. Harry truly appreciated that, and told me everything I wanted to know in short order.

“Don’t worry about the money,” he said. “It will all work out in the end. I’m gonna go and see one of those guys up north and score some skunk I can sell on to the Vipers. With any luck, I’ll even make a couple of bucks, too.

“The Vipers?”

“They’re a biker gang. Pretty low-profile as biker gangs go. No parades or public brawling. They believe in this Russian proverb: go quietly, and you’ll go far.”

“Russian proverb?”

“Something like that.”

“So you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if the weather permits.”

“And then you’ll be going on to stay at your mother’s?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back middle of next week. Can you handle it here for so long?”

“Five days? Sure,” I said. “You’ll leave me the boat?”

“If you take me down to Lion’s Bay.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Great.”

The silence that followed wasn’t all that great. It was a moody, brooding silence. When we’d finished our drinks, Harry got up and said:

“I’ll go and lie down for a little while. Listen, I promised you an ounce a week, right?”

It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the terms of my employment, which specified food and board as well as an ounce of free pot every week.

“Yeah,” I said. “But don’t worry about it. Although a half or even a quarter right now would be nice. I’ve got almost none left.”

“Cool.”

He returned after a while with more than a quarter, but much less than a half. Then he f.u.c.k.i.e.d off to his room while I got thoroughly stoned and very hungry.

I couldn’t be bothered with proper cooking: I just heated a couple of TV dinners, and wolfed them down with some bread. I wished I’d bought a few bottles of Toby ale, and brought them with me. I wasn’t worried about my finances any more, what with all the food and booze and smoke.

Things were going to work out all right, I told myself as I was arranging myself on the sofa for a nap. Yeah, things were going to work out just fine.

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