No one makes a fool of the Rosser, roysh. Time to call in the big guns
THEY’RE SAT in their usual spot in Shanahan’s, the old man and that solicitor of his, thick as thieves – which, according to one High Court judge and at least one tribunal chairman, is exactly what they are.
"They've got a Basil Blackshaw," the old man's going at the top of his voice. "It's of a turkey or some such. Anda Camille Souter, which I'm told on very good authority is an extraordinary piece. Buy it, was the advice I received – sight unseen."
He sticks his fork in his steak and enough blood spills out to transfuse the Rotunda. I catch the eye of a passing waiter and tell him I'll have the same, plus a bottle of Malbec, the most expensive one in the house, because I'mnot the one paying for it.
It’s only then that the old man notices me, even though I’ve been stood there for, like, 10 full seconds? Too wrapped up in himself, see.
“Hello there, Kicker,” he goes, suddenly trying to give it the old pals act. “Are you going to join us?” I pull out the chair next to him. I’m there, “Er, yeah, like I need an invitation from you,” which he chooses to ignore.
“Your godfather and I have just been discussing art.”
“Ort?” I actually laugh in their faces. “What do you two know about ort?” I’m remembering the painting I did when I was a kid for, like, the Texaco competition. It was of, like, a little boy – he was working class – staring into the window of Brown Thomas on Christmas Eve with just, like, tears rolling down his face. Then, above it, it just said, “Why?” Miss Nelson – as in, my ort teacher – said it was “a searing indictment of social injustice”. The old man said it was “seditious” and burned it in the fireplace. The old dear wanted to send me to a child psychiatrist.
“So go on,” I go, “what do you all of a sudden know about ort?”
It’s Hennessy who ends up answering. “Just that Bank of Ireland is selling off its collection. They got a lot of nice shit – and it’s going for a song.”
"My learned friend is correct," the old man goes. "The only question is, do we buy or do we wait to see will AIB follow suit? They'vegot a Jack B Yeats, if you don't mind. Anda Roderic O'Connor." I just, like, shake my head.
"You're unbelievable," I go. "You've already got Anglo Irish's corporate box for the rugby. AndQuinn Insurance's corporate membership of Druid's Glen. God, you're like a couple of vultures." This just, like, rolls off him.
“Did you know, Ross, that the words crisis and opportunity, when written in Chinese, are represented by the same letter?”
“No, I didn’t. I can check it, though – my daughter’s learning it in Montessori.”
“You check it, Kicker. It’s true. You see, the Chinese understand what I’ve been trying to tell you since this whole current economic whatsit began. You can embrace it or you can be cowed by it. Real fortunes are made during recessions, Ross.”
I’m like, “Yeah, whatever.” My steak suddenly arrives and I’m into it like a released hostage.
“I hope you don’t mind my commenting,” he tries to go, “but you haven’t seemed yourself these past few days, Ross. Even at work, you haven’t been shredding documents with your usual – quote-unquote – elan.”
I reach across the table to steal a handful of the focker's onion rings. "Of course," he goes, "I wouldn't be the father I am if I didn't have someinkling as to what's going on in that famous mind of yours." I suddenly freeze. There's, like, no way he could know? How would he find out that I've fallen for a bird who's playing me like Jenga? He looks across at Hennessy.
“It’s this Eamon Ryan business,” he goes. “The 12-county army on free-to-air television – the idea of it!” Hennessy sort of, like, grunts.
"That party. Ah – talking about rugby like it's a basic human right – same people who want to charge us for the water we use." The old man laughs – I think you'd have to say bitterly?"Exactly! I mean, how are people going to watch this free rugby anyway when the Greens get around to banning electricity?" He looks at me then. "But fret you not, Ross. Your old dad, as you call me, is on the proverbial case. Yes, I've decided to make the issue a central plank in my campaign for mayoral office. Full point, new par!"
I’m there, “Why does everything have to be about you?”
“I’m sorry, Kicker. I just noticed you’ve been walking around with a slightly heavy train these past few weeks. Well, I know how concerned you are with national and international affairs. I simply wanted to assuage your fears, as it were.”
I blank him and stare straight at Hennessy. I’m there, “Do you still use that private detective agency?” and he looks back at me like it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. “I’m in business, ain’t I?”
I’m there, “Okay, I need you to find someone for me. Her name’s, like, Daniella.”
“That all you’re giving me?”
“She’s one of the Hunky Dory birds.” The old man can’t help himself, of course. “Oh, I nearly drove into the lamp post outside Kielys when I saw that poster. I said to Hen – didn’t I, old chap? – I said, ‘She can’t scrummage with her shoulders held that way – she’ll tear her bloody rotator cuff muscle.’ Any forwards coach would tell her the same.” I just continue to blank him. It’s the only way.
“Anyway,” I go, “I want you to find out everything you can about her – where she lives, where she works, where she’s originally from and why she’s changed her phone number since the night two weeks ago when I brought her back to my place and had her screaming hosannas loud enough to wake the entire aportment block. But mostly what makes her think she can just, like, use and abuse Ross O’Carroll-Kelly?”
rossocarrollkelly.ie
