Miserable, was a less than adequate adjective to describe how Maurice Scott was feeling. Coping with his loss was akin to bereavement. He castigated himself over his treatment of Black. Turning to the mirror he glared at his deflated reflection, ‘You might as well be dead,’ he snarled. The only time anyone shows a morsel of respect you spit in his eye. Fucking duty. Fucking loyalty to the crown. When has the almighty RUC ever shown you loyalty,’ hissed Scott contemptuously, at his own reflection. Thirteen years on the force. Hardly ever missed a day in thirteen fucking years and what thanks do you get eh? Promotion to a lousy sergeant and not one civil word form those bastards at the station. Civil word, that’s a laugh!Christ they can hardly greet me without smirking.’ He rampaged around the house snarling. Frustration bubbling inside like the ingredients of a schoolroom physics experiment. The telephone’s irksome ringing was an unwelcome interruption. Angrily Scott glared at the instrument. ‘Who can that be?’ he roared in frustration. ‘If it’s some bastard from work I’ll tell them where to go,’ Still bellowing he snatched the implement from it’s cradle. ‘Yes, who is it?’ he snapped.
‘Maurice is that you?’ the voice was unmistakable.
‘Yes, yes its me Nick, are you back in town?’ answered the policeman excitedly, striving to regain some semblance of composure.
‘Too true old man. Look I feel a bit bad about last week, you must think me terribly rude.’’No, not at all Nick. It is I who should apologise,’ replied Maurice, almost too hastily.
‘Absolutely not, It is definitely I who should do the honours. Let that be an end to it. I hope it’s not too much of an imposition but I was wondering if you were free this evening.’ Maurice Scott was ecstatic. Transported from the jaws of desolation to instant euphoria. ‘No, no I mean yes,’ he stammered. ‘Of course Nick,’ his heart rate was approaching normal proportions at last. The mood swing was dramatic. What did you have in mind?’ he enquired, virtually purring.
‘Oh, nothing special, just a spot of dinner. I had hoped you would come, so on the off chance I booked a table at that chap Rankin’s place, you know, the one on the television with the charming wife. I hope that the venue is agreeable.’
‘Of course I agree, actually I thought that my officious manner had frightened you off completely. Rankin you say, that’ll be grand Nick just grand.’ enthused the policeman, making a mental note to find out, who exactly, the man Rankin was. ‘God, you really should watch TV Maurice,’ he chided himself mildly.’ He found it hard to believe that a celebrity from television actually owned a restaurant in Belfast.
Having arranged to meet at the Stormont they sipped Guinness while waiting for a taxi which Black had organised earlier. ‘I’ll get these,’ gushed Scott.
‘Wouldn’t hear tell of it Maurice. My apology, my treat remember?’
‘Sure I’ve already said to forget the whole affair Nick. It was just a misunderstanding. Let’s hear no more talk of apologies. That is definitely the last word on the subject, now let’s have a pleasant evening,’ ordered Scott, raising his glass.
‘Agreed,’ beamed the Englishman.
‘Here’s to a rare wee night.’ Scott was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he raised the glass to his lips. The restaurant was everything they had hoped it would be. As well as the excellent cuisine, the restaurant complimented its guests with a simple yet intimate ambience. No reference was made to the policeman’s hobby during the evening. Neither did Black bring up the subject of Scott’s employ. Extreme care was taken to insure that the sergeant’s suspicions were not aroused. Nathan was a patient man and now was the time to use the attribute to the fullest. Playing host had never been a hardship to the Englishman. In fact he considered it a vocation. Even a guest such as the buffoon he now pandered to, was regarded as a challenge. Under the circumstances it was one he relished. After all the fruits of his labour may bear record harvest. The policeman was captivated. Nathan treated him like a king. He tried to recollect an evening that he enjoyed more. Impossible there simply was nothing to compare in the poor man’s miserable existence prior to his meeting Nathan. He felt like a boy again excited, ebullient and for once pleased to be alive. This stranger had rekindled his self-esteem. The idea that Maurice Scott could command the respect of an individual whose affluence was so apparent, fuelled his euphoria. Black had listened eagerly to the few stories that the Irish man had to tell. Never interrupting or displaying boredom with the policeman’s revelations. Seemingly dwelling on the big man’s every word. Asking the appropriate questions at the relevant time. Every inch the perfect host. A real gentleman. ‘Yes indeed,’ said Scott, as he studied his reflection with a new perspective. ‘Maurice old chap,’ he giggled like a schoolboy at his mimicry of Black. ‘You’re not as bad as you thought.’
Nathan Black was amazed. He had known that Scott was eager for a close friendship. Had he not planned their relationship to that very end? He had not bargained for what was taking place. Despite himself Black was beginning to feel something for the big Irish policeman. There was no physical attraction. They had nothing in common. No, it was more the man’s honest naivete. Scott had talked of his childhood. The loss of his mother at an early age. His inadequacy to form social contacts. Finally how he considered himself a figure of ridicule. Black was not inclined to take the life of a person who had trusted him enough to impart his most intimate secrets but alas prudence demanded that there was no other course of action. The man has no friends or relatives, he reasoned. Not one soul will appear at the man’s interment. He had been used one way or another for his entire life and his final days will be spent playing the proverbial patsy. An impish smile crossed Nathan’s lips as he thought of a fitting epitaph.’Maurice Scott Used Baggage.’