The Irish Lottery Series Box Set (1-3)

by Gerald Hansen

  Jed had been told he wouldn't know which of the cell members would be sat the table. At some stage during the game, Agent Matcham revealed, “After the cards are cut, Nigel will give you the sign. Oh, yes, you won't be scared. Nigel will be at the table with you. And I will be in the room as well, though in an ancillary capacity in the background. He will nod to let you know who you should try to let win the game. Obviously, we can only control so much, as there will be an element of chance due to the deal of the cards. The croupier is not a fellow agent. But Nigel will know, depending on how much the terrorists are winning or losing during a particular hand, how the important hand should play out. He will nod once if you are supposed to win, twice for the person to your left, three times for the person to your right, and so on. If he nods four times, you must let Nigel win.” Agent Matcham laid a hand on Jed's thigh here. “Don't miscount. Such a mistake would be...egregious, and might have disastrous international consequences. And when Nigel fixes his tie, you must leave the table and cash out.”

  Conditioner stung Jed's eyes. He let the water wash it out. The assignment seemed wildly improbable and even ludicrous, but that was real life, wasn't it? If anyone tried to explain it to you, it wouldn't make much sense. But was an MI-6 operation really real life? Jed couldn't think straight. He turned off the water and gripped the shower stall as the ship thrust to the side, Jed realized he was excited, but also scared. Before this, winning the lottery had been the scariest experience in his life; he had been pale for weeks after the balls had landed.

  But he had loved the trial run the night before. Jed and Nigel had sat at the poker table with 'one of the terrorists.' Agent Matcham had pointed out the woman with the floppy sunhat that had been on the Savage Islands with them. Jed was surprised; the old woman didn't seem like a terrorist. But Agent Matcham had told him that's why she had been on the Savage Islands excursion: to keep an eye on her. And then Nigel had done his nods.

  Many times it had worked, they had folded when they should have bid higher or stayed, and the woman had won. And sometimes Nigel had won when he had nodded four times. And, best of all, the biggest hand, Nigel had nodded once, and Jed had won it all. Then Nigel had fixed his tie. And, as an added bonus, though he would receive a paycheck later, of course, Agent Matcham said, they had let Jed keep the winnings. He was up $200 on the $1000 they had given him. The Brit government was certainly very generous!

  Still wondering what egregious meant, Jed toweled himself dry. He wrapped his bathrobe around him and left the bathroom.

  Ursula was glaring at him, a fistful of hundreds in her hand.

  “What,” she demanded, “is the meaning of this? Where did ye get it from?”

  “Wh-where did you—”

  “I was plumping the pillows, as ye do, God knows the housekeeping never does, when I found stacks of money underneath! So help me, Jed, if ye've been dipping into wer special account...!”

  “No, Ursula!” Jed said. “I swear I didn't. You can check it! Go to the ATM and see! I must've won it last night. I guess I had too many Bailey's. But now I seem to recall...I had a big jackpot on the Cleopatra Jones machine. Yeah, that's it. Cleopatra Jones.”

  “Sorry, love. I shouldn't've doubted ye.”

  Ursula looked guilty as she placed the money back on the sheets. And Jed felt guilty about her feeling guilty. He got dressed.

  CHAPTER 29

  “DEEMPAHNA!”

  Fabrizio inspected Dymphna with his gorgeous heroin-addict-type eyes. His muscular arm was so close to her lips she could nibble it. And she wanted to. He was pointing at Keanu and Beeyonsay, who were squirming uncomfortably against each other in the stroller, a mass of tiny food-spattered limbs.

  “Why you notta said to me befora about this...” he struggled with the vocabulary, “this things?”

  With shards of rain biting into their flesh, droves of ocean water shooting over the side of the ship and drenching their calves, clutching handrails and pipes for support as the ship lurched like a drunk trying to make her way up Shipquay Street, they were waiting for the activity to begin. One of the teams had still to arrive.

  Fionnuala looked on at the exchange between her daughter and her new victim, arms crossed. A good grandmother would have objected to her loved ones referred to as 'things.' A grandmother not saddled with half-Proddy bastards as grandchildren. She stifled a giggle. Dymphna stamped her foot, curls whipping through the violent air.

  “Keanu and Beeyonsay doesn't be things! Themmuns be's babies. I'm sure you've heard of them before? Small human beings?”

  Shoving through the throngs of spectators, Paddy clanked up to the group; at least they thought it was his face they detected beneath the helmet and grill of the face guard. At a look at the bulky shin guards, knee guards and football-style shoulder pads in which he was finding even the smallest movement a trial, Fionnuala and Dymphna threw back their heads and roared with laughter.

  “What do ye look like, love?” Fionnuala wondered. “A daft eejit, that's what!”

  “Aye, and so will youse and all,” Paddy said through the steel cage against his face. “Yer man the moderator over there told me we're all to gear up.”

  He was trailing a bag. He dumped it at their feet.

  “Yer uniforms be's in there. And then there's these doodads and all.”

  He tugged out poles, five foot long, with what looked like giant two foot marshmallows attached to each end.

  “It seems this activity's to be more involved that we were lead to think by yer woman Yootha. We're to hit the other teams with these things. No hands, apparently. Oh, and the fifth team has just gone and arrived. So it won't be long til they blow the whistle now.”

  Dymphna and Fionnuala dug with horror into the bag and pulled out their own protective gear, holding it up to their limbs to see how it fit. Paddy saw Fabrizio staring down at the babies. His nostrils flared like an enraged bull.

  “What's the matter with ye, man?” he demanded to know. “Are ye getting randy at the sight of them wee wanes' innocent bodies? Themmuns is me grandchildren, I'll have ye know!”

  “Daddy!” Dymphna called out, mortified.

  Paddy knocked away her hand.

  “Naw! It needs to be said, like! Are ye eying them infants up now, man, thinking how ye're gonny interfere with them before ye...how did yer granny do it now? I kyanny recall. Was it strangulation? Putting yer hands round their wee necks while ye unleash yer revolting desires on em? Or was it stabbing? Anyroad, she was a filthy, disgusting perv!”

  “Daddy, naw! Don't scare him off. He be's miles better than Rory!”

  Fabrizio's eyebrows were raised. He turned to Dymphna.

  “I not understand. Whata he say about?”

  “Nothing for ye to worry yerself about.”

  Dymphna patted his sopping back and ran her hands through the luxury of his black curls, which were now plastered onto his sodden skull.

  “Not to fear, Paddy,” Fionnuala said, with a nod to Fabrizio. “Yer man there was eying them two revolting creatures more with fear in his eyes than hunger, and God luck to him, I say. Wer Dymphna's never gonny be able to keep her claws in him, more's the pity. Never. Gonny. Happen. I told her nobody in their right mind would gladly take on the thankless task of raising another man's offspring, and half-Proddy ones at that. He comes from Italy, ye know, and them wops be's all Holy Roman Catholic like we does, that's where the 'Roman' part comes from, ye understand from Rome in Italy, like, and I'm sure his mammy would be as mortified as I am about having tainted bastards in the family. How could she ever send out Christmas cards or enter a house of God on a regular basis with a clear conscience? Lords knows the struggles I've had with it, like. Wer Dymphna shoulda kept them wanes a secret until themmuns was steps from the altar. Or, better, the reception afterwards, after all the vows that kyanny be broken had been uttered.”

  “Mammy, would ye shut yer bake?” Dymphna roared.

  “Och, he kyanny understand a word that comes outta me m
outh, so he kyanny!”

  After being enraged at his wife the day before, Paddy was now more inclined to let her spew her poisonous venom. Last night in the cabin, she had hiked up her tattered nightdress and allowed him access to her maidenly delights. He had been gagging for it.

  Dymphna tugged out another set of gear from the bag for her fancy man, and they set about configuring their limbs where they ought to go after inspecting the confusing masses of straps and buckles. Fionnuala, struggling into her shoulder pads, checked out the clapping, shouting passengers who lined the deck, cameras ready, to watch the carnage.

  They all looked American to her. She thought she could tell as they seemed, what with the medical procedures available in their land, as they had all been snatched by some black hole of eternal youth, and they all had exactly the same teeth. To Fionnuala, teeth gave people character, and cloned and bleached and straightened teeth stripped these people, these Yanks, of one dimension. They were two-dimensional beings. She grimaced as she forced the guards on her elbows. In their perfectly-toothed lives of content, she was sure, an outbreak of lice at the local school was considered a major catastrophe, and they had the luxury to treat the breaking of a drinking glass as a concern. Back in her hometown, she was used to windows being shattered by bombs. She hated them all.

  She eyed the two teams on either side of her. They were slipping into their guards and helmets and trying out their poles, smacking each other with the pads on the ends, which, from the yowls of pain she heard, still seemed to hurt. These were Americans of a different sort, hip-hop ones. They were the type of people who, if they got on the mini-bus taking her down the town to do her weekly shopping in Derry, even Fionnuala would've gotten off and boarded the next.

  The Queen of Crabs hit another massive wave, and Fabrizio toppled into her. Fionnuala barked at him to get off her.

  The fourth team looked like a gang recently released from an Eastern European prison, all shaved heads and menace in their eyes. She searched in vain for pierced earrings to yank during the game, hoping for blood. She couldn't see the fifth team, as they were way down the deck on the other side of the funnel.

  “Welcome to the Titanic Lifeboat Jamboree!” the moderator, in an off-white seersucker jacket, yelled into a microphone. There was a roar of applause. And, speaking of Rome and Italy, Fionnuala suddenly had a vision of Christians being dragged into the Colosseum to be mauled for the entertainment of the masses. She cursed Yootha.

  “Let me tell you all how this is going to play out. As I'm sure you've all seen, there are lifeboats lined up along both sides of the deck of the ship. Don't worry, everybody, unlike the Titanic, we at EconoLux pride ourselves in the fact that there are enough lifeboats for all in the unlikely event we have to put them to use. Some have holes, it is true, but there are enough for you all. Ha! Joke!”

  Laughter was non-existent.

  “Anyway, we've sealed off all the lifeboats, as you see, except for four on the other side of the deck. What the five teams of the Jamboree, one lucky team signed up this morning, what each team has to do is fight to get all their teammates onto one lifeboat. And, to make it more difficult, we will now reveal the exciting surprise. Everyone will be blindfolded!”

  There was a confused silence from the assembled masses. The people on the sidelines looked at each other.

  “How will we see if we're blindfolded?” someone called out.

  “Ah, ha ha ha! No, I meant the teams will be blindfolded.”

  Fionnuala turned to Paddy.

  “C'mere, that Yootha be's one pure cunt, so she does. The next time I'm called into her office, I'm gonny claw the fecking hair outta her skull.”

  “Aye, and I'll be tugging along with ye,” Paddy muttered.

  “You're joking!” someone from the adjacent team called out.

  “No, I'm not. And, fear not, if one of you falls overboard, we've a diver down there in the ocean ready to rescue you!”

  “Hellooo!” they all heard coming up at them from the side of the ship.

  “The same can't be said for the pool, unfortunately, which, as you can all see, our fearless warriors will have to get to the other side of. And now...introducing the teams! From Detroit, USA, we have Team Detroit!”

  The hip-hop people to their left played to the uproarious applause.

  “Dear God!” Fionnuala spat. “What does themmuns be playing at with their fingers? Contorting them in that foolish, goofy manner?”

  “Them be's gang signs, Mammy,” Dymphna explained. “I seen Snoop Dogg and other rappers do em in music videos, like. Eminem and all, if I'm not mistaken. It's their way of saying hello. Apparently.”

  Fionnuala knew, with Aquanetta as her new best mate, she should be more accepting, more tolerant, more inclusive of other cultures. She couldn't. To her, they were behaving like idiots. “Team Eejits, more like,” Fionnuala muttered under her helmet.

  “And Team Cleveland!”

  More uproarious applause.

  “And Team Czech.”

  Less enthusiastic.

  “And Team Golden Oldies.”

  That must be the team beyond the funnel. There were a few half-hearted handclaps.

  “And, finally, our own team devised of members specially chosen from your hard-working staff here on the Queen of Crabs, Team EconoLux!”

  As Fionnuala was bowing, the boos rang out in their direction. She fumed under her face guard.

  “Hateful bastards!” she snarled to herself.

  “And we've one more surprise for our five brave teams...to make it even more exciting, we're going to scatter some ball bearings on the deck! Just a few, don't worry, but watch out!” He poured a bucket of them on the deck. They clattered and rolled around. “And let me unveil the prizes for the lucky team!”

  He whipped away what looked like a tablecloth from the table beside him to reveal four little trophies, plastic, of a ship tilting. Presumably the Titanic, not the Queen of Crabs. It was anti-climatic. “And, of course, ten percent off their next EconoLux cruise! Jammy sods!”

  The applause was disappointing.

  “Where is the Lux in their name is what I wanna know!” Louella snorted on the other side of the funnel. “They should just call themselves Econo.”

  “Aw, come on! Gimme a break!” Slim said as he peered through the pelting rain to the other teams. They all looked young and fit, though he didn't know about Team EconoLux, as they were too far down the deck. “We may as well just give up now. How will we ever win?”

  “Themmuns be's but wanes,” Ursula said. “We've four lifetimes of experience on wer team and on wer side. And yer bulk and all, Slim. We can do it!”

  “And, don't forget, the US hockey team beat the Soviet commie scum during the 1980 Winter Olympics at Lake Placid!” Louella said, startling them all with her knowledge of this.

  Jed was shaking his helmeted head vehemently.

  “No way. We're all gonna end up in the dispensary. There's gotta be some safety code violations going on here. I know this ain't the US and life is cheap out here in international waters, but—”

  He was on the verge of pulling off his shin guards when Louella grabbed his hand.

  “We are doing this, Jed,” Louella spat through lips transfixed with determination. “It can be done.”

  And suddenly there were EconoLux staff members at their sides, instructing them to remove their helmets for a moment so they could tie the blindfolds around their eyes.

  As the knot was tied behind Ursula's head, as she hid her sopping bob inside the helmet and felt around, sightless, for her battering ram, she prayed to the heavenly Father that asparagus buffet man wasn't on Team EconoLux or, worse, Casino Woman.

  “Okay,” she heard the moderator call out. “On your marks! Ready...steady...go!”

  He blew the whistle, the crowd roared, lightning crackled in the sky, and the 'fun' began.

  CHAPTER 30

  AQUANETTA, A FACE ON her like she had just smelled shit, stood be
fore Yootha's desk. Her big black arms were firmly crossed.

  “I suppose you're wondering why I've called you to my office.”

  Better not've found my stash Aquanetta thought, though her lips were arranged in a smile. She had never seen a whiter face.

  “Don't worry, you've done nothing wrong.”

  This didn't placate Aquanetta, especially as the woman said it as if to a mental retard.

  “What's up?” she asked.

  “Two of the waitstaff suffered serious burns during the particularly severe turbulence a few hours back. Do you recall? They were in the galley, and a boiling pot, potatoes, I believe it was, toppled from the stove and scalded them. We will be compensating them, of course,” her lips stretched into a sick-inducing smile Aquanetta didn't trust for a second, “but now we're two people short for the five star service at the captain's table tonight. A meal, I don't mind sharing, I will be partaking of. Captain Hoe prefers waitresses. I know you're probably not well trained, indeed, perhaps you're not trained in fine dining at all, and I know you've worked your entire shift already today, but you and another woman from your section of the housekeeping division,” she rifled through a file, “a Fionnuala Flood, you are the only two female staff members who don't speak English as a second, or, indeed, third language who spring to mind. You both speak English...of a sort. So I'm asking you to step in this evening and serve us. And I'm working from the presumption that you know this Flood woman?”

  Aquanetta forced her head to nod, lips tightly pressed into their I'm-still-listening-so-get-on-with-it expression, one eye-brow raised in suspicion. The sounds the woman uttered as she said the name were different from how she said the name in her head, Feeohnoowallah, but it must be the woman with the bleached pony tails she had been thinking a lot about lately. Mistrusting a lot lately.

  “She's currently taking part in the lifeboat activity on the deck, so I can't approach her. And I have my appointment at the salon, and then my spa treatment to attend to. For the dinner, you see. I trust you will be able to get word to her?”