smiled and nodded.
‘I promise, Manga,’ and this time Manga didn’t correct him.
They fell silent again.
He tried to think. Could he really promise Manga that he’d whip the Game Master’s backside? Sure, he was fucking upset with the way they were treating him, and this latest move on his friend had definitely crossed the line.
But still. What a couple of wankstas they must have sent to do the job! A couple of cretins who didn’t even check the area before they set to work. He’d seen a can of spray-paint in the gutter a few metres away. The cops didn’t seem to have noticed it, or if they had, they hadn’t linked it to the break-in.
But HP got the message, loud and clear. First set light to the shop, then write the message. All of it filmed. That sort of assignment would be worth a thousand points or so, maybe more. Not a job for newbies, in other words.
Give the job to Luca Brasi.
And yet they’d still managed to fuck it up, even though there were two of them! He could have handled something like that solo, but good people are hard to find, even for a Game Master, apparently.
After all, he’d been first Runner-up for a reason, number 128, the man that not even all the king’s horses could stop. If he could just talk to the Game Master, get a chance to explain himself.
He saw Manga cast another anxious glance in the rear-view mirror and decided to park any thoughts of that nature for the time being. Manga was looking completely paranoid now, as if he was going to burst any second, and his foot was on the floor of the battered little Polo, even though it had already had to work hard on its way into the city. It was shaking like it had Parkinson’s and HP quickly pulled on his seatbelt, even though it didn’t actually make him feel much safer.
The Ford was still some fifty metres behind them.
Their slip-road was getting closer, but Manga showed no sign of turning off.
Instead he stuck in the right-hand lane, slowing down a bit so that the Ford almost caught up with them.
Just as they were about to pass the slip-road he changed down a gear and suddenly wrenched the wheel to the right, making HP grab the door-handle in horror to stop himself flying out of his seat. The Polo’s tyres protested loudly and they missed the barrier at the end of the slip-road with the smallest possible margin, swerving up the road and flying through a red light, all without Manga so much as touching the brake-pedal.
‘Calm down, for fuck’s sake!’ HP yelled, trying to make himself heard above the pained howl of the Polo, but Manga didn’t seem to be listening. The knuckles clutching the wheel were white and he was grinding his jaw like he was on acid.
HP twisted his head to look for the Ford, but the road behind them was completely empty.
‘You can calm down, Manga,’ he said in a gentler tone of voice. ‘There’s no-one behind us.’
This time Manga seemed to hear him and, after checking and double-checking in the rear-view mirror, he eased up slightly on the accelerator.
HP sat up in his seat and took a couple of deep, relieved breaths. Manga wasn’t much of a driver at the best of times, and the Jason Bourne manoeuvre he had just pulled could have ended really badly.
The Ford seemed to have been completely halal, the driver hadn’t even swerved in an attempt to follow them, but Manga didn’t seem to have noticed that. Instead he seemed to be looking for new pursuers to flee from. They still had a way to go, and HP had to find a way to snap Manga out of this paranoia if they weren’t going to end up in Huddinge Hospital.
‘Listen, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask …’ he managed to splutter.
‘Shoot,’ Manga muttered, without taking his eyes from the rear-view mirror.
‘This whole carpet-seller routine of yours.’
‘Hmm …’
‘Well, I suppose I’m wondering why, really? I mean … you’ve tried a whole load of different stuff over the years. The vegan thing, local politics, Amnesty … You never stuck with any one thing for too long. Like that screen-saver you’ve got in the shop: If you don’t change …?’
‘… then what’s the point of anything happening to you?’ Manga concluded, and suddenly took a break from staring in the mirror. ‘Fuck, HP, sometimes you do listen to what I say!’
The trick worked, Manga’s jaw stopped grinding and his rigid grasp of the steering wheel relaxed slightly. A bit of practical philosophy and a few Couplandisms, that was Manga’s bag, he was considerably better at that than street-racing in the suburbs. Best to keep him in his comfort zone …
‘So why did you get hooked on Islam in particular?’ he blurted out, and found himself, to his own surprise, genuinely curious to know the answer. He didn’t really have any idea why Manga had converted. Bloody hell, what sort of a best friend was he, he’d never even asked …?
‘I mean, there’s a whole load of religions out there to choose from …’ he went on rather vaguely.
‘Well, giving to the poor, putting spiritual concerns above worldly ones, helping a brother in need … what’s not to like?’ Manga smiled wryly as the Polo’s speed slowed to a more normal level.
‘Women covered up, suicide bombers, holy war, there are quite a few options, aren’t there …?’
Manga sighed wearily.
‘Most of that has very little to do with religion, if you look below the surface … There are fanatics everywhere, but here in the West we get much more worked up about men in beards burning flags in Damascus than we do about smooth-shaven weirdos with bad haircuts blowing up abortion clinics in Detroit.’
‘So you mean the whole jihad thing is mainly a question of bad PR …?’
‘Something like that,’ Manga grinned, almost back to his normal self again. ‘Just like the Bible, the Koran is ninety per cent about living your life in a decent way, focusing on love and mercy and being a good person. The other ten per cent is stuff that might have been important for the survival of the tribe in the desert a fuck of a long time ago, but these days it’s basically nonsense. Unfortunately not everyone seems to have worked out that we’re living in the twenty-first century, or else they choose not to for a variety of reasons. That’s hardly unique to Islam. We’re good at focusing on the wrong things here in the West as well. Just look at the war on terror …’
He shook his head unhappily.
‘Fear is a strong instrument of power, brother, extremely strong, in fact. If you pluck the right strings the population stays docile, concentrates on idiotic rubbish and doesn’t complain about the things that are really important, like freedom of expression and thought and other fundamental human rights. It works both ways.’
‘So a lot of our lack of trust is a sort of mutual power trip? Each country’s Big Brother stands to gain if we stay scared of each other?’
‘Exactly, brother, you’ve hit the nail on the head!’ Manga hit the wheel with one hand.
HP
