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be dealing in cocaine.”
    â€œIs there a definite type?”
    She laughed, and put a hand on his arm.

12
    â€œLike some more snow?”
    â€œNo thanks, I only ever take a very little. To the Incas, coca was a gift of the gods, and now we’ve made cocaine of it. A business.”
    â€œWell, we can’t be expected to turn into Incas.”
    â€œThat’s why I try to see more in the powder than just an expensive pleasure. What about you? Don’t you use it at all?”
    â€œYes, but even less often than you. And not at all while I’m dealing in it.”
    â€œDo you think you’ll succeed?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œDrugs aren’t like vegetables, Blum. They’re magic. They’re connected to force-fields beyond our control.”
    â€œTell that to the Mafia. They’ll fall about laughing.”
    â€œBut you’re not the Mafia. I don’t want to discourage you, far from it – I think it’d be fantastic if you can bring it off. But you have to adjust to the magic, or the stuff will destroy you. It’s more powerful than any of the people who sell it.”
    â€œMm. So this character in Frankfurt is a friend of yours?”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, no. All I know is that he’s quite big in the trade.”
    â€œHow big?”
    â€œLike I said, quite big. Just how big you may find out. I’ll call him tomorrow morning and make you an appointment.”
    â€œHe’s someone you have to make an appointment with?”
    â€œBelieve me, it’s best. Then you can call him at the number I’ll give you now.”
    He had her write the number on the back of Hackensack’s business card.
    â€œThat’s really nice of you. What’s your name?”
    â€œI need a glass of champagne now.”
    She did not come back. He didn’t even know her name. The brunette: that would have to do. Hermes was right, some things were memorable, and as a rule they weren’t great fucks or the sound of Niagara Falls, but fleeting moments, twilights, dark eyes, the ball settling on number 17 after all.
    He went into the garden. By now real snow was falling again. The flakes hovered down to settle on the garlands and melted on the brightly coloured lights. The trees were black with crows. Party guests were strolling about underneath them. Many were unsteady on their legs, and some of them fell over. You’d have to be a masochist or pissed as a newt to get any fun out of dancing on the gravel drive, which was now full of cars, and on the slushy lawn under the scornful eyes of the punks and to their damnably simple music. The drunks danced in the dirt, the punks threw shards of broken champagne bottles and snowballs containing gravel at them, and the crows sat on the rooftops and in the trees waiting – tourists of darkness.
    Blum was going indoors again when two men barred his way. One was grey-haired and wore a white suit, the other was younger and clad in leather garments of some kind.
    â€œYou the one with the nose candy?” asked the elder man.
    â€œYou mean me?”
    â€œOf course he is. See that blazer?” said the younger man, who had moved rather close to Blum. “Bring it out, will you? We fancy some.”
    Not cops, then, private initiative. Blum shifted his weight to his other foot.
    â€œIf you’re in funds, sure.”
    â€œLet’s have a look,” said the elder man, who did not seem quite to have made up his mind whether to join in.
    â€œCome on, bring it out.”
    â€œWell, I can show you . . .”
    Blum made as if to put his hand in his jacket pocket, and as the younger man watched his movement he kicked the toe of his boot into the man’s soft parts as hard as he could and grabbed the older man’s arm. The man tore himself away and kicked out at Blum, but made contact only with a plaster statue. It fell to the ground. Blum jumped off the steps and forced his way