‘That’s it, sir, unless that is of course you have anything else in your wallet that might, ahem, change matters.’
There’s always another option you didn’t think of, thought Erasmus. The world is full of surprises. Who would have though backhanders would be at play in a posh golf club? Austerity maybe. He pulled out two twenties and placed them on the desk.
‘Thank you, sir, and if any of the members ask you to leave tell them Tom has granted you dispensation on account of your war wound.’
Erasmus gave Tom a mock salute.
He heard them before spotting them. It was the sound of drunken braying and loud laughter. Wayne was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the bar by the snooker table accompanied by a loud and leery group of men. They were surrounded by empty glasses. Erasmus recognised Gary Jones and Kristos but none of the other three men. They didn’t look like they were built like footballers, more like body builders. Erasmus’s first thought was doormen. Erasmus hated doormen. He snorted unconsciously.
As he approached Gary Jones looked up from the snooker table.
‘All right look who it is! It’s Ted Wright’s very own arse wiper, Erasmus.’
Erasmus let a fake smile crawl up onto his face and stay there.
‘Gary, good to see you setting a captain’s example as usual.’
Erasmus could see that Wayne was asleep in the armchair. There was a long string of drool hanging from his bottom lip.
Gary noticed Erasmus looking at Wayne.
‘Play a drinking game and there’s always a loser. Talking of losers are you going to buy us a round? I have to warn you it’s expensive in here, a dogsbody’s wages might not stretch to it.’
Erasmus breathed in and concentrated on exhaling the anger instead of letting it transmit to his fists, which he felt twitching in anticipation.
‘I’ve come to take him home,’ said Erasmus nodding at Wayne.
‘He’s fine and he’s staying here, aren’t you, buddy? We are going to have a few more drinks.’
Gary placed his hand on Wayne’s shoulder. His head lolled forward.
‘A feeww more drinhks,’ repeated Wayne.
‘You think this is good for him, for the team, do you?’
Gary stood up and let his arms fall to his side, palms facing Erasmus.
‘Good for the team? You fucking lowlife, what do you know about the team or football? This is team bonding. Now get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.’
Kristos stood up and though Gary was at least six foot he was dwarfed by Kristos.
‘Iz good for you if you does as he sez, no?’ said Kristos.
Now the other three men stood up. Erasmus didn’t fancy the odds but he had been in worse scrapes.
‘Ted Wright wants me to look after Wayne. That’s what I’m doing. Wayne, stand up and come with me. Steph’s waiting.’
Wayne started to stand up but Gary pushed him hard in the chest so he fell back in his seat.
‘Whdda fuk?’ said Wayne.
‘I don’t give a shit what Ted thinks or wants. I’m the captain and he stays.’
Gary shoved his head forward in a quick darting movement that reminded Erasmus of a hungry rat he had caught chewing on his boot in a Sangar in Afghanistan. Erasmus had the same urge to do to Gary what he had done to the rat.
‘I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll make you a promise. Let him come with me now and I won’t break your kneecap and bring to a premature end a career that I’m reliably informed is coming to an end soon anyway.’
Gary flushed and there was a pulse above his eyebrow that told Erasmus that this was only going to end one way. Erasmus shot out his right hand and picked up a snooker cue. He would make good on his promise to Gary.
The three doormen types stepped forward. The one to Gary’s left smiled at the anticipation of violence. Erasmus decided to break his arm first before moving on to the others.
‘Gentlemen, gentleman, are we all not on the same team? What is this all about?’
Erasmus looked around and came face to face with the man who had been staring at him the day he first met Ted at the match and who had been sitting on his own in the Blood House: Babak. He was in his late fifties at least and had short, jet-black hair. He was dressed immaculately in a tailored suit and lingering behind him was Steve Cowley hoping from foot to foot and looking anxious.
Babak extended his hand.
‘Babak Badalian, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Jones. Ted has told me all about you and your role at the club. Gary, sit down, if you please.’
Gary looked uncertain for a second and then grimaced, but he sat down. His goons followed suit. Wayne had woken up and started laughing at nothing in particular.
‘Erasmus, Greek yes, it means “to love”, this doesn’t look like love to me.’ Babak chuckled. ‘Come and join me at the bar.’
Erasmus put the snooker cue back on the baize and walked to the bar with Babak. Steve Cowley followed but Babak turned to him.
‘I think Erasmus and I would speak alone.’
He didn’t wait for an answer from Cowley.
Once they had ordered their drinks, Babak a mineral water and Erasmus a Coke, Babak leaned in conspiratorially towards Erasmus.
‘I love athletes, footballers. They are like the very best hunting falcons but sometimes you need to put a hood on them, stop their more savage behaviour.’
‘I saw you at the match watching me,’ said Erasmus.
Babak’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
‘Ah yes, I always wonder when a client has a new “contact”, it’s my business to keep my clients happy and to do that I have to know what and who is important to them, yes?’
Erasmus sipped his Coke.
‘And what is your business, Babak?’
Babak rolled his eyes.
‘I am an Armenian. My country has been the pathway for invading armies for centuries. Some of us learnt that the best way to survive is to provide the invaders with what they want. My family has traded everything, precious metals, livestock, commodities and now we deal in talent.’
Babak nodded towards Wayne.
‘I thought Steve was his agent?’
‘Indeed he is, I am merely the means by which people who want something speak to those who have it. I bring people together. I make things work.’
‘Are you working for Real Madrid, I heard they wanted to buy Wayne?’
‘I work for no one but my family. If there is a deal to be done then I will always help the parties along, to come to a mutual understanding over the commodity. But Real Madrid, no. They are old money. There are new, more profitable markets.’
‘I think the commodity needs to come with me and go home.’
Babak’s expression was one of concern. He held Erasmus’s shoulder.
‘I like you, Erasmus. I can see that this is more than work, yes? Of course you should take him home to be with his family if that’s what they are.’
Erasmus wondered what he meant by the comment but decided not to ask. Babak clearly carried the authority here and he had given Erasmus the pass he needed.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Maybe