Tricksters by Norman Maclean Read Free Book Online Page A

if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really got to finish this script.’ Murdo turned his back on her and resumed his writing. He looked up as Morag gathered her cleaning materials and prepared to leave. ‘May my god give his blessing’ he intoned, ‘as I hatch this lying story, a story that will get me out of this fix and deliver my beautiful girl to me.’ He checked his watch. ‘Shit, nearly twelve o’clock already. Light of my life, the unrest of my spirit will depart when the skull and brains of Mr Etive Television go in splatters.’
    â€˜Cheerie,’ Morag said.

7
A secret meeting in Room 3
24 August 2010, 11.45 p.m.
    Sam was sitting on the bed surveying a dozen or so cases. He looked at his watch, picked up a brown leather case. He opened it and with evident pleasure viewed the contents.
    Morag shuffled into the room. ‘Mr . . . er, Mr Etive Television? Sorry to bother you. Can I tidy your room for you?’
    â€˜What are you doing here? You were going to send a fax to your boss, right?’
    â€˜Fax?’ Morag said. ‘I wouldn’t know a fax from the leg of a cow. I just wanted to clean your room.’
    â€˜Uh, who told you that Sam Kerr’s accounts were up here?’
    â€˜Nobody! I’m the housekeeper!’
    â€˜Mmmm . . . Sam Kerr has many enemies. When you’re King of the Castle in the world of Gaelic television, there are a lot of people who want to sling you on to the rubbish tip.’
    Morag moved towards the bed. ‘Well, I’d better get on with cleaning this tip up. I’ll just put your briefcase . . .’
    â€˜DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT BRIEFCASE! HAND IT OVER!’
    â€˜I just want to . . .’
    â€˜GIVE ME THAT BRIEFCASE!’
    Morag clasped the briefcase against her bosom. ‘Won’t you let me help you?’
    â€˜LET GO THAT BRIEF—’
    Sam grabbed the briefcase. As he grunted and Morag squeaked a tug-of-war ensued. The unlocked briefcase opened and was dropped. Bundles of banknotes cascaded to the floor.
    â€˜Goodness me!’ Morag said. ‘Where did all this money come from?’
    Sam screamed, ‘FROM EVERY OUNCE OF FLESH, OF BLOOD, OF BONE AND MARROW IN MY BODY!’
    â€˜Now, don’t get excited,’ Morag said. ‘I’ll help you.’
    â€˜When you . . . almost kill yourself . . . making programmes like
Our Land
. . . you’re worth every penny.’
    â€˜Our Land . . . Our Land
. . . Oh, Mr Kerr, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that programme! Our own ancestors . . . people without flaw or blemish . . . deceived by greedy men . . .’
    Sam looked at her and realised he had a real fan before him. ‘Mmmm . . . maybe you’re not telling lies.’
    â€˜No! I swear I’m not telling lies!’
    â€˜Well, in that case, maybe you can help. I’ll give you a contract. How would you fancy four hundred pounds at the end of every month?’
    â€˜Oh, bless you, son! Yes, I’ll help you all you need! I’ll put all this stuff away first.’ Morag quickly packed the money in the case.
    Sam looked at her approvingly. ‘That’s more like it.’ He arranged himself on the bed in languid pose, watching as Morag closed the case. She deposited it by his side. He wriggled over to the end of the bed, taking the case with him. He patted the vacant space with the palm of his hand. ‘Come here,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you.’
    Morag didn’t hesitate. She scooted over to the bed and listened attentively.
    â€˜You know I’m about to be married, don’t you?’ Sam said.
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜And you know that we intend to have the espousals in the Tartan Pagoda?’
    â€˜Oh, I was so pleased to hear that!’
    â€˜Well, if that’s to happen, I need you to help me.’
    â€˜Me?’
    â€˜I want to buy the hotel.’
    â€˜If . . . if you do buy