Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Entering the dining car, I see the back of his head, motionless, turned to stare out the window. Christine walks in front of me, touching Alec’s shoulder as she passes by. “Hey,” she says to him. “Whatcha doing?”
He turns around to look at the two of us and follows us with his head as we settle into the seats across from him. “Sitting here,” he says, “enjoying the finest water I believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of sampling.” He takes a sip.
I notice a half-drunk tumbler of something in front of where I’ve just taken a seat. I have half a mind to say something to him like, “What’d you two talk about?” or whatever, but I don’t. None of my business, and if he wants to volunteer anything, he can. It’s not like I’m not withholding information from him at the moment.
As I’m mulling this all over, and from out of nowhere, a kid appears. Dressed just like Nigel but without as many buttons on his jacket. I assume the buttons are how they distinguish seniority or whatever? Dunno. I don’t fuckin’ care.
“Hello, sir!” he says, way, way too chipper for whatever the hell time of night it is.
“Hey, uh…” I say, prompting him to give me his name.
“Nigel will be fine, sir,” he says.
I look at him, then at Christine, then at Alec, then back at the kid. “What?”
“The conductor mentioned that you have taken to referring to him as Nigel, and so, for ease of communication and to avoid you having to commit energy to retaining names attached to individuals you will likely never encounter again… Nigel will be fine. Or Nigel 2, perhaps? If you are concerned about disambiguation?”
My eyes narrow and I once again look to Alec and Christine, then back to the kid. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Very good, sir!” he chirps. “What may I retrieve for you, sir?”
I find myself suddenly without as much of an appetite as I thought I had, as I am reminded that we’re not on vacation and that this entire situation is FUBAR. “You got any Scotch?”
“Of course, sir. We have—”
“Bring me whatever,” I interrupt. “Straight.”
“You mean ‘neat,’ sir?”
I huff out a sigh. “Yeah. Straight, neat, all of it. Two fin—no, just fill it to the lip.”
“Yes, sir!” He beams. “Anything for you, ma’am?”
“I hear you’ve got some good-ass water on this train?” Christine says.
“The best, ma’am!”
“Let’s go with that,” she says, and Nigel 2 smiles, bows, and scurries off.
We sit for a moment, the semi-quiet rocking of the train like a lullaby in my ears. After a second, Christine says to Alec, “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, nunu,” Alec sighs. “Nothing and everything all at once.”
He looks back out the window and Christine turns her head to me, nudges my knee with hers. I shoot her a look like what? She looks at me like do you think we should tell him after all? I shoot her a look like I dunno, you’re the one who—
“What’s with all the pantomime, my dears?” Alec asks.
We are saved from having to answer immediately by the impossibly fast return of Nigel 2, who I just decided to think of as Nigel the Second.
“Here you are!” he declares, placing down our drinks. “Will there be anything else right now? Perhaps more water, Mr. van den Berg?”
“No, bru,” Alec says, “I’m aces.”
Nigel the Second smiles once more and starts to dart off again when I stop him to ask, “Hey, do you know who you’re working for?”
I didn’t plan to ask. It just occurs to me in this moment. But the question snaps both Alec and Christine’s heads in Nigel the Second’s direction.
“Well, you, sir,” he says. “And Mr. van den Berg, of course. And Ms. Keene. And—”
“You know what I mean, dude.”
His smile becomes more strained and is belied by a kind of… regret?… in his eyes. “Unfortunately, Mr. Fortnight, I am not at liberty to say.”
“At liberty to say if you know? Or you do know and you’re not at liberty to say who it is?”
He closes his eyes, still smiling (toothlessly now), opens them again, and says, “Exactly right, sir.” And then he bows to us and is off again.
I watch him go and then I turn back to the table, pick up my Scotch, and take a huge gulp. I’m not sure what brand it is, but it’s fuckin’ good.
“I don’t like this shit,” I say. “I don’t like any of this one fuckin’ bit.” There is an agitation in my voice that is, I know, out of proportion to the moment. Alec squints at me.
“Don’t like what, my china?” he asks.
“I dunno, this. All of it. It’s fucked,” I say, swigging down more of the sweet, slightly smoky liquid.
Alec, eyes still narrowed, looks at Christine, who turns away. Then back to me. “Everything all right?” he asks. “You seem particularly agitated all of a sudden.”