Clearinghouse

Paolo and I were hanging out in his room

discussing women. It was the only topic he cared

about at all and his dream was to be a

photographer for Playboy. Our Japanese housemate

Koji came running in frantically telling us how

his friend’s landlord was beating the crap out of

her. Without hesitation, Paolo rummaged through

one of his camera bags and got out a gun. We’d

just eaten dinner. It was Paolo’s birthday, so

we'd drunk way more wine than usual. My tongue

felt thick and everything around me seemed to be

happening more quickly than I could react to it.

Koji had made progress but his English was still

rudimentary. He needed me to go along to speak

to this man, as his friend’s English was very

poor. Now I had an alternative if the speaking

broke down. Koji watched all this transpire, but

ignored it as if it were an unbelievable but

necessary unpleasantry. That shocked me more

than the gun itself. I’d grown up around guns.

They were long barreled and black and you took

them into the woods to kill birds and deer. They

weren’t small and silver, and you never looked

through them. They had presence.

I could tell Koji was in over his head. He was a

quiet man who spent most of his free time reading

Japanese pro wresting magazines, cleaning his

room, and going to Heathrow to watch the Concorde

take off and land. I doubt he’d ever considered

assault and battery and concealed weapons charges

in his life. This was all too much for him and

he kept drawing hard on his cigarette. He

excused himself and went downstairs to get his

jacket.

Paolo didn’t volunteer to go along. He sent his

weapon as proxy. He showed me how to insert the

clip and cock the gun.

“You got it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you do it. I pulled back the top of the

gun to cock it. Then, very carefully, I let the

hammer down so that it wouldn’t fire. Paolo

grabbed the gun back and pressed the lever on the

side, popping out the clip into his waiting

hand. Then, he shoved it back in. He gave me an

extra clip, fully loaded, as if I might need it

for the extended gun battle, crouched down and

reloading behind one of the low brick walls that

border the sidewalk in front of nearly every

London house. He put the gun on safety and gave

it to me for good.


It was already warm and slightly

damp to the touch. I shoved it into my jacket

pocket and stood still in the middle of the

room. The liquor had risen warmly inside me and

the air itself felt soft, with the floral prints

on Paolo’s walls fading into blur at the corners.

I stood and waited for some last minute

encouragement. Paolo just sat back with his

photo magazine and tapped his ashes into an empty

film canister.

“See ya,” I said.

“Yes, ciao.”

I marched downstairs to Koji’s room. He was

seated on the edge of his bed staring at the

doorway, and got up immediately when I appeared.

We went out into the damp night air.

The tube station was five blocks away and I

needed the walk. My drunk was not yet at high

tide, and the mist on my face slowed the rising

waters enough for me to try and take hold of the

situation.

“What did she say?” I asked him, trying to

comprehend the circumstances a little more.

“Uh, as a matter of fact, she said there was a

conflicting…”

“A conflict? A confrontation?”

“Yes, yes. A con fron ta shun.”

“Do we need to take her to the hospital?”

“Hospital?”

“Yeah. Is she cut up and stuff?”

“Cut up?”

“Injured? Wounded?”

He was silent for a moment, digesting all of the

words.

“Perhaps. She did not say.”

We passed under the small glowing bulbs of

streetlights. The thick air made me sweat inside

my jacket. House after house was dark, gates

closed up. We passed our sparsely populated

local pub. I felt a great urge to drag Koji in

and calm him down, but he was walking too fast.

By the time we got to the station, he had to

piss. We bought our tickets at the machine and

walked down the stairs to the platform. We were

the only ones, surrounded by ads for musicals and

the national lottery. Color emerged from the

gray night, and I stared at the tube map as Koji

relieved himself in the bushes. He handed me a

cigarette when he came back, and we sat down to

wait for the train in silence. I rubbed the gun

with the tips of my fingers and stared forward.

My head lightened from the smoke and my heartbeat

pulsed through my hand and into the gun. Koji

kept shifting around in his seat. I was sure he

was going over scenarios that would have been

impossible for him to take from his head and put

into English. My mind was clear for a moment, as

if I had reached the broad plateau of my buzz.

There was silence, broken by a pigeon flying

upward on the other side of the tracks. I was

quite calm.

The train appeared, the white headlight and

rhythmic clanking growing in the distance. We got

on the empty car and sat down next to each other

as we had been on the platform. We kept smoking,

sharing cigarette after cigarette until we got to

the city center.

The swaying of the train lulled me down from my

drunken heights and I too began to picture scenes

in my head. I sat arrogantly, knowing full well

the other guy wouldn’t have a gun. I clearly had

the upper hand. If he chose to challenge me he’d

probably fall in one shot. I’d never get to pop

out the clip and reload. I wasn’t going to shoot

it out with the police and create some kind of

scene with negotiators and all. A pool of blood,

but no struggle. I’d empty the gun. Set it

down, wait for the cops.

We made two station stops but took on no

passengers. The momentary glow began to leave me

and implications began to crowd my head. I’d

have to see some lawyer from the embassy. He’d

be some arrogant bastard who wouldn’t understand

that I knew from the word go every step I took

was a wrong one. He’d be slightly balding,

wearing English business casual. I’d have gotten

him out of bed, of all things. Then I’d go back

to prison and there wouldn’t be a soul to feel

sorry for me. They’d all say I should have been

there in the first place since I was a con from

America hiding in their city. I’d lose my girl

Sally forever.

We got to the central city to change trains and

walked a long cement tunnel, clear all the way to

the end. The air smelled old and worn after the

long day and it sickened me. Koji was sweating.

He kept wiping his brow with his handkerchief.

We wound around, took one flight of stairs, and

arrived at out terminal. The Northern, the black

stripe on the map, would take us where we needed

to go.

I kept my hands stuffed deeply in my pockets as

we stood waiting. I got a little paranoid and

looked around for any cops. I thought getting

caught before the act would be worse than begin

arrested after. There would be too much to try

and explain.

Koji walked back to the wall and leaned against

it. I turned to him, hoping to make small talk,

but he was far ahead of us already. A groaning

grew from the black tunnel and our train arrived

in a rush of dead air. We got on.

We got out at Camden Town and began to hike

north. Her street wasn’t far, but keeping up

with Koji’s pace was difficult for me. I grabbed

him and held him still for a second and he seemed

to understand. We walked more slowly then, a

deliberate and nervous gait.

When we got to her street corner we turned and

began to climb a long hill. The cement

embankment next to it was filled with graffiti,

but the streetlight was out and all I could see

were shadows of spray paint.

I felt like a gangster for the first time in my

life. I held onto the gun in my pocket as we

walked. One finger on the safety, powerful,

ready to go. Walking up that street, suddenly

sober, I knew I was playing a role. The real me

was sitting in the room with Paolo talking about

nude women. However smoothly I slid into this

new me I’d have to return to face the

consequences as my old self. I might end up in a

horrible place, but that happened. The street

lifted to us and we walked together with quick

paces.

Koji began to look at the numbers on the houses

and motioned to me that it would be on the next

block. The road had a small bend to the right.

He threw down his cigarette and stepped on it.

He wanted to run, and as he quickened to a trot I

followed. He’d been patient this long, but now

the proximity was killing him. As we crossed the

street and entered the next block I took out the

gun and held it down by my side. We’ll kick down

the door, I told myself, and it will be time.

That was when she called out to us. She stood up

on the stairs, dressed entirely in pink, and

waved a gloved hand at Koji. We slowed to a walk

one house from her and I shoved the gun back in

my pocket. We approached and stood in front of

her expensive, neatly stacked luggage. She

greeted Koji in bright and energetic Japanese.

He replied and began to ask her question after

question. She answered in short sentences.

I couldn’t grasp what I was seeing. I paced back

and forth behind Koji. I’d gotten myself so

pumped up I couldn’t shut down. Heart pounding,

I looked up at a face that was smooth and

delicate, perfectly made up.

She began to talk and Koji nodded at her every

pause. Her tone was matter of fact, nothing to

suggest trauma. She just needed help moving all

her shit to a new apartment she’d found. Koji

looked relieved. She went inside. He turned to

me, eyes looking downward.

“Perhaps there has been exag…”

“Exaggerating?”

“Yes.”

“Fuckin’ a right.”

“Pardon?”

I stood silently and took my hand off the gun.

It had grown rigid in anticipation and ached

slightly. My arrogance was rapidly deflating.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “possibly she is

a bit rotten.”

“Rotten? You mean spoiled? She does this cause

she’s a spoiled brat?”

“Brat?”

“Shit. This is shit.”

“Perhaps.” Koji was silent for a moment. “She

has found new residence.”

“So she calls you to be the lackey?”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Fuck it. Forget it.”

I turned around and faced the street, looking

across the way at the darkened houses. I could

see a few faces in windows, trying to figure out

what the commotion was. My role had evaporated

and suddenly I felt lost and very sober, the pawn

of some elite Japanese London. I sat down on the

curb and got out a cigarette.

She came back out with more bags and quick talk

to Koji. He was jumping at her commands,

organizing. After she went back inside he tapped

me on the shoulder. I turned around to face

him. He held out a twenty-pound note to me.

“Perhaps there are more cigarettes at the pub?”

“Yeah, you bet.”

I took the money and started walking down the

hill.

“We will come to you. Short time,” Koji said to

my back.

I felt the gun in my pocket and hated it. I

wanted to chuck it somewhere, but I knew Paolo

must have had a reason for possessing it in the

first place and needed it back. A light mist

fell on me under the glowing streetlights.

There was worn green carpeting in the pub. The

paneled walls looked warped beneath the chipping

white plaster ceiling. The bartender was

watching a game show. The sign on the door said

the restroom was for patrons only, so I went

straight there. Not that I had to go. My

arrogant feeling was almost gone and I didn’t

want it to end. Most of the time I was lost in

fears and impossible dreams and this

clearinghouse of all logic felt good for a

while. I looked in the mirror at a man who had

briefly known power. I washed my face. Leaned

against the sink. Waited.

The bartender was staring at me when I came out

and looked surprised when I approached the bar

and ordered a stout. He drew it and said nothing.

Some men at the end of the bar were talking about

a rugby game. A man and woman were seated at a

table not looking too thrilled about being

together, but interested in being out anyway. A

couple of guys were playing pool. It was a smoky

place and when I lit up a cigarette it almost

felt like I was back in Farwell. Everyone

killing themselves with beer and cigarettes and

greasy food while talking football and watching

game shows. My arrogance was gone. I was

sickened by myself and every detail of my

surroundings. A pain flared up inside of me and

I realized that for a short time it had

disappeared. The newspaper on the bar was open

to a story about another IRA bombing. My

fingernails were dirty. To reminisce was to

remember blatant and inexcusable self-destruction.

I downed my pint quickly and ordered another.

The bartender watched TV as he drew it and

overflowed the beer onto his hand. He flicked

the foamy liquid onto the floor and handed me the

drink. My head quickly grew light. The brown

tones of the place began to emerge, and the crisp

glow of the lights became soft and round. The

bartender laughed at the screen, grabbing my pint

and wiping off the bottom with a stained rag.

Koji came in on my fifth drink. I downed it and

followed him out to an old black taxi that was

packed to the gills. He shoved me into the back

seat next to sacks full of shoes. We drove off.

Akiko, in the front seat, would talk but not turn

around. She spoke in a steady stream and Koji

replied with one word every now and then. I

wanted to grab a shoe and beat her on the head,

but started laughing at the thought.

My insides felt warm again and I felt safe.

Armed and drunk, I wanted to lean forward and

tell the cabby he had nothing to fear from the

street on this ride. I didn’t. I sat back and

watched the lights go by, realizing at some point

that this was my first cab ride in London.

We took a twisting road around a large park and

ended up on Baker Street. Nighttime London

sparkled from the inside of a cab. I felt in

touch with the city. I wanted to cab around

London forever. We passed the Sherlock Holmes

pub.

“Fucking Baker Street!” I blurted out. Koji

leaned around a fan to look at me.

“Ha,” said the cabby, “a yank.”

“Yeah, you bet.”

“The yanks. I love the yanks. Shoot ya for the

change in your pocket. But all in all, good

chaps.”

I laughed as he continued.

“Florida, Miami. Now there’s a place. Beats the

fucking Costa del Sol any day.”

“Koji, this is our man.”

“Pardon?”

Akiko started to speak rapidly and Koji directed

the cabby where to turn. It was onto a narrow

side street. We stopped in front of a large

brick apartment building.

Akiko and Koji got out. I sat for a second,

numb, catching up.

“Don’t leave,” I told the cabby.

“You bet mate.”

Akiko walked to the front door and talked through

the intercom. The door popped open as I

staggered out of the cab. Koji told me to begin

unloading, but I leaned a little and had a

cigarette before I grabbed some bags. We took

everything out and stacked it next to the door.

Koji paid the driver and I nodded at him to stay

put. He leaned back and adjusted the radio. I

didn’t have enough to pay for a cab ride all the

way back to my room at Mrs. Powell’s, but I knew

tonight someone was going to pay for me.

The world changed into pastels and textured walls

when we began to carry the bags up three flights

of stairs. Everything was posh. I began to

sweat inside my jacket again. Akiko, now

shoeless, took the bags from us when we delivered

them to the apartment. We carried up the last

bags on the fourth trip. I was dripping in sweat

and ready to leave.

“Koji, get cab fare. Let’s split.”

“No. We go inside.”

“What the fuck for? She can’t unpack?”

“We need have polite for Akiko’s host.”

“Polite?”

“Yes, maybe? For in tro duc shun.”

“Nah, nah. We’re gone.”

“Is very important. I’m asking for you please.”

I couldn’t handle Koji begging. It was too

pathetic and it pissed me off. I sat down in the

hall and unlaced my boots. My socks were dirty

and the fact that this now mattered made me

furious.

The place was clean to the point of anal. A

small Japanese man shook hands with me and led me

to a leather sofa. Spread around the room were

pictures of the English man who was clearly his

lover. He asked if we would like something to

drink.

“Whiskey,” I said.

He paused for a moment and looked at Koji, who

nodded politely in agreement.

“Neat?”

“Yeah.”

Koji nodded as well.

Akiko came out from the room she was going to

occupy and sat across from us. She looked around

the room and spoke to Koji every once in a

while. Modern art, most of it metal, surrounded

us. In every nook and cranny there was some

rusty piece contrasting with the ivory walls and

cream carpet.

The man came back with crystal tumblers and a

half empty bottle of whiskey, which he showed to

us. It was the most expensive whiskey I’d every

seen. He poured us each two fingers.

Sitting down across from us he looked really

pleased. He spoke in rapid Japanese to Akiko and

Koji and the three of them had a small laugh.

“What’d you say?” I asked.

“I told them it has been quite a while since I

have had the opportunity to speak Japanese. With

my work I am surrounded by the English. I told

them I may be rusty.”

I understood at that point I was supposed to ask

him what he did, and then probably compliment his

articulation and fine digs. But I wanted to get

out. I kept my coat on.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to the left.”

I got up, drunk and unsteady, and followed his

directions. The toilet spun as I stood over it.

I heard them speaking joyfully in bursts of

Japanese.

They fell silent as I walked back into the room.

I was ready to leave.

“Koji, tell her to give us cab fare.”

Koji stared down at the table.

“But you must stay for a while,” said the man as

he stood up. “I have very many questions about

America.” He cupped my arm and tried to lead me

back to the sofa.

I slid my arm away. “Nah. Time to go. Koji,

get the fare.”

Koji sat still.

The man grabbed my drink and thrust it at

me. “But please, you haven’t even touched your

drink.”

I took it from him and drank it in one swallow.

It was watered down, weak. Barely warm in my

throat. I threw down my glass.

“Goddamn it! Trying to fuckin water me down?”

In the next instant I had the gun out pointing

right at him. I felt a pain in my back and my

legs gave out. Koji and I fell forward and his

tackle propelled us onto the glass coffee table.

There was a loud crack as we broke through the

yellow tinted slab and another as the gun went

off into the carpet. I could see the black spot

so clearly, the melted fibers around it curling

up and smelling like burnt hair. I wish I

could have watched the whole scene from above.

Akiko screamed and began yelling hysterical

commands at Koji. He jumped up and dragged me

across the floor. I was cut on the leg and a red

streak colored the carpet in my wake. Akiko

screamed some more and then began to talk to her

host. I looked up at him as we went through the

door. He was pale, as if he might faint. There

was nothing at all behind his gaze.

“Go,” said Koji above me, pointing down the

stairs. He grabbed shoes and boots and rushed me

down to our cab. He shoved me in the back seat

and jumped into the front. I still held the gun,

trigger pulled on an empty chamber.

“You boys in a hurry?” asked the cabby, startled

from a nap.

“Cab fare!” I screamed.

“Yes, you best have that.”

Koji ran back in and came out with twenty

pounds. He was spinning.

“More. Get more. Get a hundred.”

He went back in, oblivious, and came out with the

money.

“Go now. Please.” He said to the cabby.

We went. Neither one of us told him where to go,

so he just drove. Koji looked back over the seat

at me. He leaned back and grabbed the gun from

my hand, shoving it into my pocket. He got out

his handkerchief and told me to put it on my

cut. Then, with shaking hands, he got out a

cigarette and smoked it.

We were silent for a time. The inside of the cab

seemed to be rocking back and forth. I couldn’t

tell if it was my drunk or the motion of the

car. I sat up, and the light of the city rocked

back and forth, ever so slightly.

The cabby began to talk about Florida. He talked

in circles, a lonely monologue that needed no

answers. His voice soothed me. I listened and

let the cab rock me. For the first time since we

left the house I felt relaxed, cradled in the

warmth of the car. From Florida he talked of

Europe and then kings and queens and old wars and

colonies. The colonies led to settlements and

then nations and then vacation spots. I sunk

deeply into my seat and watched the city go by.

He drove and talked. Koji sat silent next to him

and smoked.

“Give me one,” I said.

Koji looked back at me, into my eyes, and held my

gaze. Then, he tossed me the pack and the

lighter.

The cabby got to the topic of British character

and insisted we accompany him to his local pub,

which we just happened to pull up in front of at

that very moment. Inside, he said, we would

learn more about this wondrously elusive topic.