Gabrielle Taylor's "Cockluck"
January 31, 2002
Bertram fumbled around under the bar. "Where's the damn remote? The lunch crowd will be here soon and if I don't have CNN on they're likely to egg me at Halloween.
He found the remote and turned on the three 19" teevees above the bar: one at each end and one flanked by chocolate schnapps and South African bourbon.
Each one flared orange.
After a while he waved his hand between Judith's face and the teevee.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Right. The job... It feels ghoulish to be doing this right now, but I was already planning it, and it does need to be done, so I..."
"Fine. What exactly is it?"
"I have this problem with one of my rentals. They haven't paid me in two months and they were behind, they're still catching up, so they really owe me three. I want you to evict them, change the locks, get any rent you can, take pictures of the damage they've done in case I have to take them to court, which I probably will have to. I'll pay ten percent of whatever you collect plus expenses, although I don't know what expenses there would be. Film I suppose."
Bertram said, "I get twenty percent on collections plus my per diem, plus expenses."
"That's outrageous!"
"I don't like doing collection work. I like process serving. It's quick and it pays about a hundred bucks an hour. It'll cost me around a hundred a day to put someone in the bar to replace me while I'm gone and I may not be able to do any process work."
Auntie said, "a hundred bucks?"
"So I'm taking a pay cut. If you don't like it, and you probably shouldn't, I can recommend someone else. I do know people who do like doing evictions, although I don't like those people."
"You should be paying me to encourage your detective lifestyle. Honestly."
"I'm not even sure where I can get a temporary manager on no notice. It's not like I can leave the night shift alone. They'll drink _everything_."
Auntie said, "for a hundred bucks a day, I can keep your night staff from going to the bathroom."
"You've run a bar before?"
"Aw, who hasn't?"
"Are you sure? Has she run a bar before?"
"Christ, how should I know," I said. "She's probably run rum up the Hudson."
"I am pretty sure I did."
"I guess we could give it a try. I won't get anybody else on this notice."
Auntie said, "it's this or work."
"Well," Bertram said, "there's a stag party tonight. If you can handle that you can handle anything. I'd better be here for it. I'll make up my mind then. I'm not leaving the bar unless I'm sure it will be okay. Plus I really hate doing collections."
"Why don't I come by tonight after the stag and drive you home, Bert, by then you'll have had a chance to think about it."
"You mean I'll be tired and worn out and I'll agree to anything?"
"Well," Judith said, "I don't know about that."
That night, twenty men sat in Cockluck, hunched in their trenchcoats, drinking beer and staring grimly at the teevees. Bertram and Auntie ran the drinks. They had long since sent home all the other staff.
"I have to have my buddy's bachelor party on a Wednesday to save a few bucks. It sounded like a good idea, you know, nobody drinks on Wednesdays, good way to keep the costs down and still have a good time, give a few days before the wedding to put ol' Charlie's head back on, you know? Sounded like a good idea at the time."
"It was a good idea at the time," Bertram said. He flaked a water stain off a pint glass with his thumbnail.
"Never thought I'd be watching the news at my own stag," Charlie said.
The stripper stood up and shook her silver striped ass tentatively.
"Sit down, Candy," Charlie said wearily. "You'll catch a cold." He slumped back into his chair and rubbed his face. Auntie poured a line of jaegermeister.
"I put twenty years into this country," he said loudly over the news anchor. "Twenty fucking years and a million bucks easy. Every goddamn day I get asked 'where are yooouuuu from?' by some bureaucratic long nose with watermelon seeds where their eyes should be, watermelon seeds shining into my poor little American, yes, American, soul and I'd say 'I live in Ottawa' and they'd say 'yes, but where are you FROM?' and I'd cave, and I'd say 'I was born in California' and they'd say 'ahh,' as though it explained everything."
Planes exploded on the teevee screen.
"Now it turns out they only ask that if you've got money -- you're some so-called refugee from the Middle East and they don't give a damn even if you sit in Montreal and build fucking bombs all day long they'll still give you welfare. They don't care if you're Saddam's war minister. They don't give a damn if you're a traitor from Quebec as long as you can get elected and you weren't born an American."
He drank half a shot and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Doesn't matter how much damage you do as long as you've got no money -- but look at the Tories and they do some damage and everyone hates them because they've got money. Because they're interested in making money. But Quebec, let them do whatever they want, let them call referendums every ten years and take the dollar down ten cents every time and that's fine because they're not interested in making money."
"There are more important things than money," Bertram said.
"Sure there are! Sure there are! Life, love, and beauty! You think I'm a machine? You think I don't want to be happy? But you gotta admit things are easier if you've got money, and fuck, there's nothing wrong with making money! There's nothing wrong with being pissed off every time some self-righteous pack of Quebecois have a tantrum and suddenly your investments are worth ten percent less than they were a couple of days ago! And you can't bribe those people -- the more you give the more they want! They want everything their own way until it's inconvenient, then they want the Feds to take over -- they can't take on the Hell's Angels alone so they want us in Ottawa to set things right! And if I suggest such a thing in any Southam-owned paper I'll be out on my ass! If I want to get censored, I could at least work for the BBC!
"I've tried so hard... I've tried so many different things here. I can't get the distributors to carry anything that might upset anybody. There's virtually no alternative reporting -- two right wing national papers and a tabloid! Hell, they won't even stock Adbusters and that's all over the States!"
He leaned over the bar toward Bertram. "So I wasn't born here, so what? I love Canada. I love it here. I remember the first time I covered Parliament -- I thought they were going to beat the shit out of each other! It was great! I just can't understand how you can accept every foreign attitude but mine! How can you take in illiterates and refugees and terrorists but reject me? Answer me!"
"You've had enough to drink," someone said, pulling Charlie back with a tight smile. He took out his wallet and handed some folded bills to the stripper. "Sorry to call you out for nothing, miss. You can go home."
Candy counted the bills with her mouth moving. She shrugged. "Thanks. Tell your friends." She took her coat from the hooks near the door and vanished outside.
The man with the money said to Auntie, "here's something for being patient with us. It's been a pretty... hard couple of days. His fiancee is from New York, and he's supposed to be getting married this weekend, you see."
Auntie stuck the cash in the till without looking at it. "That's fine," she said. "How could he be expected to know better. He's from California."
The man with the money laughed uncertainly. Auntie started closing up.