The Number 8. Joel Arcanjo
still felt a tightness in his throat whenever he thought about it. Asmir saw this and quickly intervened.
“No, this is not happening. I’m not letting you sulk this whole holiday. Where’s that girl with my champagne?” Asmir swiveled from left to right trying to catch a glimpse of her in the crowd.
“You know, you should probably wait for someone to bring you your order before you tip them. It gives them incentive to do a good job. That girl is probably telling her friends right now about this young, rich, Indian guy who tipped her two hundred dollars right now.”
“You think I look Indian?”
“You definitely don’t look Russian. You could pass for Iranian, but I would still say Indian.”
“Yeah. Well I know I don’t look Russian. Now Dad looks Russian and Mum looks like she’s from the Middle East, but how can that create an Indian-looking guy?”
Dante raised his hands as if to say “Don’t ask me.”
He took another beat and then said, “Hey.” But Asmir was preoccupied with his search for the missing waitress.
“Hey!” he said a little louder.
This time Asmir heard him.
“I just wanted to say thanks for this trip.”
“Don’t thank me yet, mate.”
“I know, I know, but I really appreciate this. I couldn’t afford this trip on my own…”
“Stop, D. I’ve got it, I understand.”
Dante nodded and left it at that. Asmir hated to talk about money, but he loved flashing it. His family was incredibly wealthy. His father was a partner at a well-renowned legal firm and his mother was from Iranian oil money. Asmir had paid for this trip out of his own pocket and despite his current mood, Dante was grateful.
“I bet you a new girl comes out with the champagne,” Dante said glancing around the bar.
“Why?”
“If she’s smart she’s gone to tell her friends there’s a big tipper and he’s waiting for his bottle. New girl comes out with the Dom and gets the same tip.”
“Pff, yeah right.”
Sure enough, two minutes later a new girl came to the table with Asmir’s champagne and a look that told Dante that she knew all about “the money at table four”.
Asmir reluctantly tipped her the same as her friend and looked at Dante who was wearing an “I told you so” smile.
“And that, my friend, is why you tip afterwards.”
“Here it is!” Asmir yelled as a large, white and green bus pulled into the Auckland bus station. On the front someone had painted a large number eight.
“Not so loud,” Dante winced. He was wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from the blazing sun. It was early morning, but the sun was already fierce. They had both drunk way too much the previous night but the difference was, Asmir was used to it, Dante was not. He was feeling the full effects of his bad decisions this morning.
Dante groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose where it met his forehead, hoping it would halt the endless throbbing. It didn’t.
“Help me with this, would you?” Asmir puffed as he dragged one of his two massive suitcases towards the trunk.
“Why would you bring two suitcases and a carry-on? I’m pretty sure they expressly said you could only have one,” Dante groaned as he forced himself upright.
“They did,” Asmir admitted.
“And?”
“I didn’t listen.”
“You’re gonna try and pay someone off aren’t you?”
“It’s sorted, mate. You know me,” Asmir laughed.
The bus driver came out to give them a hand.
“Hey, I’m Asmir. Are you with us for the trip?” he said shaking the guy’s hand.
“No, just dropping the bus off. Someone else will be along in a little while. You guys are pretty early,” the driver said, a little surprised.
Dante didn’t say anything. Instead he pointed an accusatory finger at his best friend.
“I didn’t want to miss this trip. We both need this. And I figure that if we’re early now, we have some leeway later when we’re late.”
“Because you will be late.”
“Yup,” he said almost boasting.
“Jump on, guys. It’s a while before you leave so you have some time to get some snacks or take a nap before the rest arrive.”
They thanked him for his help and climbed the stairs to see their home for the next three weeks. Inside it was a lot roomier than it looked from the outside. The chairs were red and thankfully not leather. In this heat, sitting on leather would’ve been unpleasant to say the least. Instead it was a high wool content moquette fabric and it was soft.
Dante crumpled into a corner seat right at the back. Asmir had decided to try every seat to determine which was the most comfortable.
“I can deal with this,” Dante said as he tried to find a comfortable position.
Asmir didn’t speak until he had tried every seat and was sat in the seat next to Dante.
“It’s between that one, that one and that one,” he said pointing to three chairs further forward.
“You’re gonna end up sitting in the seat right next to me and you know it, save yourself some time.”
Asmir shrugged. He knew Dante was right so he got comfortable.
But minutes later, the other passengers began to board. As he always did, Asmir threw himself into the crowd and began to get everyone talking.
“D, get in here,” he said beckoning Dante over.
Reluctantly Dante unwound himself from his comfortable corner and slowly made it towards the group who were congregating on the seats near the front.
“Marco, this is Dante. Dante, Marco,” Asmir smiled as he moved aside to reveal a small, pale, bespectacled guy that looked like he was having a nervous breakdown just being in this group.
“Hey, how you doing?” Dante asked politely.
“Good, thank you. You?” he replied, his voice deeper than Dante had imagined.
They chatted politely for a little while. Mainly small talk, nothing too personal or deep. Marco was also from the UK. He was in his third year at Cambridge University studying Physics and he was only twenty. A real wunderkind. It seemed Marco hadn’t come with anyone, his reason for the trip was purely academic. He wanted to see and experience New Zealand, the sights, the culture and on top of that, he was a huge Lord of the Rings fan.
Asmir walked over to him, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a smaller guy. Small, but quite menacing looking. Tattoos all down his right arm and an eyelid piercing. He had minute, beady eyes that were fixed on Dante. A shaved head with the pattern of a triangle shaved into the left hand side, but it was poorly done. It ended up looking like more of a circle. On top of that he had a thick untamed mat of facial hair like someone you would cross the street through heavy traffic to avoid.
“Dante, this is Viktor. He’s from near us,” Asmir explained.
“Oh yeah. Where?” Dante asked.
His voice came through a lot higher than expected for such a big guy. Dante had to hold back a laugh. “Favingham, just moved there recently.”