Findo called at my flat the next morning around seven. When I answered the door, he looked surprised. ‘You’re up?’
‘So are you.’
‘Had to force myself out the pit. Fucking hate mornings.’ On closer inspection, there were black lines under his eyes. His lines were cut deep into his face. Had been since his early twenties. Old face, young body. And even though he was a gym freak, he hadn’t yet given in to full-on male vanity. Moisturiser was for ‘wankers’, apparently. I wondered what he’d look like in twenty years. If he lived that long.
‘Yet here you are,’ I said,
‘You going to piss me about?’
‘What do you want?’
‘How about you start by letting me in?’
I relented. He came in, went to the living room, looked about. Something of the dog in the way he moved. The way that a canine will sniff around an unfamiliar room to make sure there’s no danger waiting. It was the first time I’d let him over the threshold.
‘The fuck is it with you and the Spartan life? And what the fuck, man? No fucking new films here? Jesus, haven’t you seen Avatar? Anything past 1995? Fucksakes!’
I was in the kitchen, getting him coffee. Black, two sugars. I didn’t shout back a reply, just prepared the coffee and then went through. I said, ‘Most films after 1995 are shit.’ I didn’t add: especially the ones by James Cameron.
‘And music?’
‘Same thing.’
‘Yeah?’
‘A few exceptions.’
‘The old dinosaurs still kicking on?’ he said, sniffing round the CD rack like a cat with the scent of litter. ‘Nick fucking Cave, man? Jesus. What you want is some fucking beats, man. Like, oom-cha-oom-cha, know what I mean?’
Unfortunately, I did. He controlled his car’s radio like a prison guard controlled his keychain. Afraid it might be contaminated by anything they wouldn’t play at Liquid on a packed Saturday night. You knew when Findo was coming down the street. Hell, you knew when he was three streets away. The ground shook like Godzilla was stomping his way drunkenly down the Marketgait.
The human beatbox turned away from the CDs. ‘Besides, no one has discs, now. All digital, man.’
I was glad he hadn’t noticed the vinyl. ‘Guess I’m behind the times.’
‘Gotta get with it. Can’t be left behind. Dinosaurs, man, you know what happened to them?’
‘They went extinct.’
‘See what I’m saying?’
‘Sure.’
He looked at the bookcase. ‘Like this shite. Fucking books, man. Even the nerdy bookworms know you don’t read paper any more. Get the Kindle on your mobile, whatever, take this shite with you wherever you go.’
‘I like the covers.’
He picked a book off the shelf. Leered, and said, ‘Can see why.’ The cover of John Lange’s Zero Cool looked back at me; the girl on the beach with the gun. Lurid in the best pulp fashion. Of course, Findo didn’t see the history of pulp fiction in the hand-painted cover. He saw the girl with legs up to here. Thank God he didn’t pick up Christa Faust’s Money Shot. The title alone might have given him a heart attack.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Pleasantries over. You’ve seen the cave. You know I’m an out of touch old man. So what is it you actually want?’
‘Reckon we start the way we mean to go on. I got a lead on some of Craig Nairn’s places. He runs a couple bars, like. We go in and give the bartenders a wee message, aye?’
I shrugged. ‘We’re the early birds.’
He looked at me like I was mad.
‘Catching the worm?’
His brow creased. I tried again.
‘When you were a kid, you went fishing, wanted worms for the hook?’
He shook his head. Should have figured Findo wouldn’t have the patience for fishing. I used to try all the time down at the Dichty as a kid. But the pickings were slim, of course. Took me a few years and the first signs of maturity to realize if you wanted fish you went for deep water. By then, of course, I’d lost interest in the idea of fishing at all. Mostly because I’d discovered girls. Even if girls hadn’t discovered me.
‘Earthworms only come up to the surface when it’s raining. Attracted by the vibrations of the rain hitting the ground. You wanted them for bait, you’d stomp around and wait for them to come up before grabbing them. Like a bird.’
Still not getting it.
‘By hitting Nairn’s places, we’re stomping the ground so he’ll show himself.’
‘Right. Whatever.’ He slugged back the coffee. ‘Let’s get a move on if we’re going then.’
‘Fine. We’re taking my car, though.’
‘Aye?’
‘I’m going to teach you about music.’
‘Aw, man! Jesus fuck!’