Stan Van Hassle hated learning new languages, but it had fascinated him to hear the language being spoken, still, in real life. He stopped his pacing for a moment, looked back down at the book and began counting from 1 to 10 again.
"Un, daa, tree, kiare, queig...shey, shaight...shite," he said, putting on a British accent, as he checked his copy of 'Manx for Dummies' swiftly, "hoght, nuy, jeih."
He shook his head and continued pacing. Languages had never been his strength, but he was determined to impress the Bishop of Sodor.
He had never told anyone, but when he way young, and he almost died of TB, his parents took him to live in Ireland with his great-aunt. He lived there from less than a year old until after he was 3, and he spoke Irish like a 7 year old, as if he somehow knew his time there was limited, and spent all his time on the language.
For whatever reason, once he picked up English, he didn't seem at all interested in learning another. He didn't really know much Scottish or Welsh but he had traveled a bit and saw enough movies that he could tell which one was being spoken.
But the language that he had heard earlier wasn't either, and it wasn't Irish, but it was so similar, he just knew he was missing something. That something was the language known as Manx.
He thought back to his meeting with the Bishop, the words he had accidently heard him speak.
He still didn't know what they meant, but he had a strange feeling it was important. Beacause one word he was sure he knew. In Irish is was "bás", but it was basically the same thing in Manx, "baase".
And if there was a chance it was his death, he wanted to know about it.
He shook his head. He had made his deal, and now he had to play his hand. The disc wasn't worth anything to him besides what he could get for it, anyway.
But if the Bishop of Sodor spoke secretly in Manx, to messangers wearing the signet of the House of the Keys, then he knew he'd better know it too.
[I made notes on this story line a while ago, here http://copperpot.livejournal.com/95876.html ]
Still, a stable job during these uncertain times was a cause for celebration, even if he wasn't entirly certain what it was he was being hired for.
ReplyDeleteTheir website was exactly forthcoming with details and the only thing that their name implied, "Megacorp", is that they were big; real big.
The waiter at the LA cafe he was having lunch was an out of work actor who bothered Stan long enough to learn that he wasn't a producer or anything. He left him with iceless water with way too much lemon in it. He hadn't seen the man in over 10 mins.
Perhaps, Stan thought to himself, this moment would feel more significant if he hadn't burned his bridge with Betty so many years ago. Back in his days of being a con artist.
The disc in his pocket burned red hot briefly and he found himself fingering it absently. Where was that damn waiter?
He decided, while he enjoyed the dish he invented from combining a few different entrees, that the only thing for it was to meet with the man who knew the most about the world of anyone he knew. It was merely a conincidence that this man was a pimp.
ReplyDelete"Stan-Van, my man, what's crackin'?" asked the greasy looking man hovering in the back of the Viper Room. His skin was of a medium shade, he could have been a member of any race, from any country, though right now the slicked back hair and suit with a t-shirt underneath made him look vaguely Latino, at the moment, and in this light.
The Viper Room wasn't nearly as cool as it used to be, but people who would pay to associate themselves with the idea of cool were still to be found, talking a bit too loudly about the glamourous drug they were doing in the bathroom, or right in front of you.
To be sure, it was even harder to find a waiter here, and Stan didn't even bother looking for one.
It took 20 mintues just to convince 'Mike', who had already admitted to him this wasn't his real name, that he was really here just to get information about Megacorp, and he was vaguely put off.
"They do a lot of business around here, what, I gotta tell you that?" he asked brusquely.
"What sort of business, anything...interesting, different, to be concerned about? I'm...thinking of working for them."
Mike gave him a queer look.
"Not full time, just a contract, I'm not going to be getting the full security run down, drug tests, jeez, don't worry, okay?"
But Mike had a look around anyway, though no one new had come into the back room of the club.
"Look, I'd rather talk about this somewhere more private, some other time..." he said, looking suggestively at Stan, who immediately understood and took out his wallet and offered a small sum.
"Follow me, let's go into the back room," Mike murmered as he turned his back and walked away, an unmistakable pimpness to his walk.
"I thought this was the back room," said Stan.
But they walked through 3 more rooms and down some stairs before Mike found the one he was looking for. He nodded to a man in sunglasses and a black suit at the end of the hall, who gave a single nod back.
"Look," Mike said, settling down on one of the red leather sofas, "when I say they do a LOT of business, I mean it, they're into everything, and I shouldn't have to tell you that. So whatever it is you're worried about, you prolly gotta reason, 'kay?"
"Its nothing like that, I'm not getting into anything illegal, at least I don't think so. I have...something I'm sure they'll want. Something they would give me almost anything for, and I want a job. But, it could be anything, so I want to know what I need to worry about."
Mike laughed, "Worries are worries, my friend, and the higher you go, the more you'll find. If you got a specific question, I can get you a specific answer. So why don't you come back when you've had a chat, and see what they have to offer. But Stan Van," and he sat up looking serious, "don't think these guys took over the business world by playing nice."
Edit: [Like everyone else in LA, Stan didn't order anything straight of the menu, but...]
ReplyDelete