Read Online Tricksters by Norman Maclean - Free Book Online Page B

methodically going through suitcases and trunks, discarding wigs, dresses, Highland dress, Wellington boots etc. – all the props needed by a two-handed theatrical company on tour. When he had finished selecting items of clothing he went into his trouser pocket and slowly and carefully took out the small jewellery box. ‘Oh, ya beauty!’ he said.
    He closed the box, reverently almost, and placed it in the inside pocket of a beat-up old jacket. Quickly Murdo moved to a pre-selected pile of clothing and donned a wrinkled flannel shirt with a Salsa Grenade tie, an over-large Harris tweed jacket, shapeless lilac cords and steel-toed boots. Heavy framed spectacles with milk-bottle lenses completed the ensemble. He stood before a mirror and combed his hair from back to front. Satisfied, he moved over to the bed and assembled his handwritten papers. He patted the pockets of his jacket, producing a rattle that sounded as if he might be carrying lots of little bottles. He took a deep breath and read the words in the manner of an opera singer at rehearsal. ‘Zsa, zsa-zsa, zsa,zsa-zsa, zsa-zsa . . . A MUZZLE ON THEE . . . zsa-zsa . . . MY SANITY . . .’
    Murdo strutted and shook his head and hands at length, occasionally taking the box out, slowly raising it to eye level and gazing at it adoringly. Eventually he slumped on the bed and read his script in silence.
    Rachel, dressed in the scarlet cheongsam, split from knee to waist, glided in on stiletto heels. Raising her arms to pat her dark hair which was done up in a chignon, she vamped it up as she approached Murdo. He gazed at her, open-mouthed.
    â€˜Hello, sailor,’ Rachel said.
    â€˜It’s me, Rachel!’
    â€˜I know it’s you, fool. What’s with the get-up? Go over to the mirror there and take a swatch at how awful you look.’
    â€˜I’ve done that already. It’s okay. It’s all part of the plan.’
    â€˜What plan?’
    â€˜I’m resorting to deceit and cunning,’ Murdo said, ‘to get the dough.’
    â€˜Haven’t you sold the van yet? What have you been doing all morning?’
    â€˜I’m not selling the van.’
    Rachel dug the fingers of both hands under her hair at the scalp line, threw her head back and looked Murdo straight in the eye. ‘Oh, aren’t you?’
    â€˜No, I’m going to sell something else. Look, I’ve worked everything out in fine detail.’
    Murdo handed her the script. Rachel glanced at the first page only. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’
    â€˜Read it.’
    â€˜Well, well, well. What a busy little pumpkin you’ve been!’
    â€˜Busy enough,’ Murdo said. ‘This’ll work. I’ve pulled strokes like this before. Did I tell you about the time I sold my mother’s cow to Duncan Macdonald? I asked him for the head and I stuck it in the peat bog?’
    â€˜And when the poor old soul realised the cow was missing,’ Rachel said in tired tones, ‘you showed her the head and told her the beast must have drowned.’
    â€˜I’m telling you, if we follow this script all our problems will be solved.’
    Rachel put both palms down flat on the bottom of the bed, stiffened her arms, leaned forward and said, ‘But where’s the cow going to come from this time?’
    â€˜What are you talking about? What cow?’
    â€˜Whose head are you going to chop off this time?’ Morag asked.
    â€˜I know I’ve written a cracking script. And I know what’s going to happen when we act on it.’
    â€˜You’ve been so busy scribbling, you don’t even think about anyone else in your life.’
    â€˜Such as you, I suppose.’
    â€˜Such as me. Where do you think I got this gear I’m wearing? Why do you think I’ve made the effort to look glamorous? You leave me up here with seventeen pounds to my name? You promise to get three hundred and fifty pounds? I go