Talking Dog
11 October 2009
I'm a nice guy.
It wasn't always that way. Even now the word that rhymes with banker hangs unspoken when I tell people that I used to be one, a banker that is. Being English and a banker in New York virtually made me the dark lord. After all, when Hollywood want a real villain, they turn to the English.
From my 42nd floor penthouse apartment the street looked like a long ear of corn because of all the yellow cabs. The odd black, white or coloured car made it look like one of those very colourful corns you see in Mexico. I'd never noticed it but then I'd never been in that quiet melancholy mood before. Carrying my possessions home in a cheap cardboard filing box instead of the days work I'd been looking forward to had put me right out. It wasn't the money, I had enough of that, God knows the good days had been gooood. But I still felt a little unsettled. I decided I wasn't going to snort, swallow and piss all the money up the fucking swanny at any rate.
I turned at a sniffling sound to see whatever-the-fuck-her-name-was behind me bending over the mirrored coffee table, sorting the spilt coke and then using one of my hundreds to snort it up. Strange but I didn't really feel like that shit right now, I felt angrier than that. "What the fuck you doing whore", I gave her a slap on the back of the head. She whimpered, fell and then staggered off to the bedroom muttering obscenities. Soon she came out again half dressed, clutching her cash and was gone. Last nights little indulgence. What else was I going to do after losing my job and becoming the worlds pariah overnight.
BING - 'Air India Flight 140 to Mumbai ...'
"Course I want champagne dib, dib, dib" I did my best Indian shaky shoulder impression. Fierce glares came from the stewardess. Those dark eyes flashed though so maybe I'd get a little First Class stewardess action in flight after all. Money talks baby.
In case you're wondering I hadn't picked India to 'find myself' or anything like that. I liked the person I was, I was fucking successful and just needed something to do. I didn't need money but I'd heard about some financial opportunities that were very attractive. I'd heard of Bollywood but didn't realise it was a serious rival to Hollywood by all accounts. Worth checking out and being out of New York right now could only be a good thing for me too.
"Fuck" the rickshaw driver swore to avoid a chicken. "Fucking hit it, fifty dollars if you hit the next one!" I roared. Fuck this was great. "Yes sir, yes sir" and BAM we hit the next one! Handing over the fifty I noticed someone run out from the nearest stall, scoop the chicken up and run back. Alive to table in half an hour? I loved this place, New York was busy and depraved but Mumbai! Nothing like it.
I'd had a few meetings with the Bollywood big-wigs and things were looking up. Like any big money industry there were some larger than life characters and downright scoundrels - my kind of people. Where the smell of money can buy you anything and stabbing people in the back comes as easy as wiping shit from your shoe.
The 'game' I invented did much to establish my reputation. I had no idea a slum could be so much fun. I quickly discovered backhanding the police meant you could get away with anything so I arranged 'hunting parties'. We'd drive into the slums on the back of a pickup truck with paintball guns that were modified so they'd break the skin rather than just bruise a bit. We all agreed bruising was for pussies. Besides it wasn't us that would be bleeding. Our pockets were stuffed full of change. Throw coins up in the air, slum kids run forward, splat, 'Acha!' jump back, run forward, spalt, blood, tears, splat - to see them try and grab the coins through our barrage was great. Very colourful too. How we laughed. My newfound buddies and I would take bets on who could get the most paint for the least money onto those dirty little shits. They needed cleaning up anyway. Nihal found a nail gun in the driver's toolbox on the back of the truck. That got the little buggers running but the beginning of my conscience might be found when he put that kids eye out with it.
The food in India is great too, well if you like curry, which I do. The most memorable meal I ever had was in a small street stall after a deal. Spreading money amongst some seriously nasty people is often the only way to ensure a film runs smoothly in some places. The kind of places where your Rolex stays in the hotel safe. Anyway, the deal was done, Nihal went off somewhere and I was on my own for a bit. A cool breeze was blowing and for once I didn't notice the smell. There was a crackle of expectation in the air, like before a thunderstorm. I didn't notice it at the time but I soon would.
"What the fuck is talking dog?" the chef at the street stall was doing the dib dib dib annoying shit but I'm sure he'd said talking dog when I asked him what was good.
"For you sahib, talking dog."
"But what the FUCK is it, what fucking meat" I picked up a fork and threw it at him. He ducked and his eyes twinkled. I hardly noticed but it really fucking riled me. I leaned up and grabbed him the by throat dragging him over the hot plates so we were eye to eye.
"Curry sahib, talking dog, very good for you, make you feel right, very good, very good" he still wasn't telling me.
"Fine, give me talking dog. It better be good or else."
It was the best looking curry I've ever seen. The smell was fantastic. The old chef, eyes twinkling still looked at me, gave me a thumbs up, "For you sahib, very good". I turned away and looked at the street, savouring the Talking Dog curry smell, the noise, the heat, the life! I took a spoonful... it was the best thing I've ever tasted before or since. I turned to say thanks to the old chef, he wasn't there. The whole fucking stall wasn't there. The panic set in at the same time when I just knew the words weren't going to come out. To the depths of my being I knew I'd never utter a sound again. Fuck I was scared!
The doctors, psychiatrists, consultants all say I'm fine. I am fine, I just can't utter a sound. Like I said I"m a nice guy. Now.