Y Darts ch 23

Chapter 23

It was later. It was dark. We were moored up for the night and we were
sitting around the table that turned into a bed, me and my friends. We
were on a boat, still.

Something was on my mind. I looked at AkiMat. "AkiMat," I said, "you
don't talk much, do you?"

"Oh," said AkiMat in that Japanese way of his, sucking in air instead
of expelling it. "What do you want me to say?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw The Poet beginning to slide off his
seat. I took the bull by the horns. Moreover, I carried on, regardless.
"Tell us about Japan," I said.

16 nodded. "Yes," he said, edging closer to Captain Vegas, (he had
been edging closer to Captain Vegas all night), "that's what we want to
know. We want to know about Japan."

"Oh," said AkiMat. "OK. I tell you."

"Japan is quite rarge country," he said. "It is in Asia. It has about
120 millions of people. We have cherry brossom." AkiMat smiled and gave
a little bow of his head. "We drink Japanese saki and eat Japanese
food. It is nice."

"Great," said 16. "Anything else?"

The Poet was now half on his seat and half on the floor. I recognised
the signs. I didn't know what he was worried about. After all the
recent drama AkiMat's story was like a breath of fresh air. I wanted to
hear more.

"Carry on, AkiMat," I said.

"OK," he said. He smiled and gave a double bow. "In Japan we have very
fast train called shinkansen. Pokemon come from Japan."

"That's good," I said.

"Anything else," said 16 quickly. His eyes were wide.

AkiMat clapped his hands and laughed. He was really getting into it
now. "We have four seasons. Yes. Four seasons."

"Fantastic!" said Seven.

"Brilliant!" said Captain Vegas.

AkiMat sat up straighter and shouted out the words. "Tokyo is
capital."

"Outrageous!" said Captain Vegas.

"I've never heard such a thing," said Seven. "More. More!"

"Japan very crean country," yelled AkiMat. His eyes were sparkling and
he had folded his hands into a crane.

"You're killing me," said 16 and he laughed. He gave Captain Vegas a
nudge. "Go AkiMat," he said, "go!"

"I have an idea," said a voice from under the table, cutting off
AkiMat just as he was about to speak again. The voice belonged toThe
Poet.

"Yes?" I said, looking at AkiMat and then at the spot where The Poet
had been. "What is it?"

"Wait," said The Poet, "I'll show you."

Moments later The Poet appeared on all fours out from under the table.
We watched as he went, on all fours, to the door of his room.

"In Japan we sleep on futon," said AkiMat. "It is very
interesting."

"Really?" I said, but the spell had been broken. Somehow The Poet had
broken AkiMat's spell. I didn't know why. I didn't know if it was to do
with The Poet himself or with AkiMat. But something was going on. The
Poet and I had been friends long enough for me to know that.

"Look," said The Poet. He had come from out of his cabin. I was glad
to see he was bipedal again. "Look what I have here."

Then, like he was Moses with a certain tablet of stone, The Poet put
the latest edition of the Radio Times down on the table.

"It's a tv guide," I said.

"Yes," said The Poet, and he added in his best poet's voice. "It is a
tv guide and if you turn to page 63, column 4 then you will see that
tonight is the night of the Word Darts Championship final."

"Whoopee!" said 16, apparently forgetting that until recently he had
been hanging on AkiMat's every word.

"Can we watch it?" said Captain Vegas.

"Sure," said The Poet. "That's what I'm mentioning it for."

Like a musketeer hand in hand with his musket The Poet stood up and
took dramatic steps over towards the tv set. He pushed a button on the
front of it and the image on the screen flickered for a second and then
became clear.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed AkiMat. He was no longer sitting
up straight, he was slumped back, and his hands weren't a crane any
more, they were just hands, long slender hands. There was definitely
something going on there.

Meanwhile all other eyes were on the screen. There was a large
auditorium; tables and chairs. On the tables were beer glasses, on the
chairs were people. At the front of the auditorium was a stage. It was
brightly lit and on it was a round man in a black suit and white shirt.
He was shouting into the head of a microphone and his voice was booming
about around him. The crowd were cheering. They were drinking their
beer. Then the man in the suit went quiet. The audience went quiet. The
man coughed. It boomed out around him and someone laughed.

Then he said it was time for the match. The audience went wild. He
introduced the players. The audience went wild. Hankey and Walton. Wild
and wild. The finalists in the Embassy World Darts Championship.

"Hang on," I said. I was still thinking of Akimat whose hands were no
longer in a crane. "Hadn't you better fill in AkiMat on the players? A
final is no good if you don't know anything about the players."

"OK," said The Poet. "Good idea." He looked at me and then he looked
at AkiMat. "Good idea," he said. "I should have thought of that.
Sorry."

"That's OK," said AkiMat. "I'm sorry too."

"Apology accepted," said The Poet.

"Get on with it," said 16.

"The two finalists are John Walton and Ted Hankey," said The Poet.
"John Walton's nickname is John Boy and Ted Hankey's nickname is The
Count."

"The what?" said AkiMat.

16 was laughing. "I thought he said something rude," he said.

"Me too," said Captain Vegas, giggling.

"The Count," said The Poet very clearly.

"OK," said AkiMat. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Ah," said 16. He smiled. "The Count." Captain Vegas smiled too and
put an arm around 16's shoulders.

"So it's Hankey and Walton in the final?" said AkiMat.

"That's right," said The Poet. "The Count and John Boy."

"Goodnight John Boy," said 16.

"Goodnight Mary Lou," said Captain Vegas.

"Who do you want to win?" I said to AkiMat.

"I don't know," said AkiMat. "Maybe Hankey."

"Me too," said 16. "I don't like that count. He's not been the same
since he left Monte Cristo."

"Shhh," said The Poet. "They're starting."

He was right, they were.

Hankey was to throw first. He stepped up to the oche. He looked back
at the crowd and quietened their loud cheers to a hush. He threw. One
dart. Two. Three. He scored 22. It was a disaster. As an opening even
the Titanic did better. Hankey's shoulders went down.

Next, up stepped Walton. He didn't look at the crowd. He aimed his
first dart. He chucked. He chucked again. And again. One hundred and
eighty. The crowd went mad. The blokes were up out of their seats
holding their lagers in the air. The women were ecstatic in their perms
and make-up.

"Good, isn't it?" said 16.

"Great," said Captain Vegas. "Quite a final."

"Shhh," said The Poet.

Hankey threw again. Then Walton. Hankey never got over his bad start.
Walton won the first set easily, almost without a fight. Walton was 1
set to 0 up. Walton was in the lead.

In the second set it was a different story. Hankey streaked ahead. He
was like a greyhound out of the blocks. He was 2 games up in minutes.
It looked like it was going to be one set all. But then Walton broke
him. He got one maximum and then another. He went two sets up.

We were on the edges of our seats.

The next two sets were shared. It was 3-1 to Walton.

"Who do you think is going to win?" said 16 to AkiMat.

"I don't know," said AkiMat. "I don't know at all."

"Shhhh," said The Poet. "It's getting good now."

He was right.

Set five was a thriller. It was kind of set that sets darts apart from
other sports, makes it special, unique.

Hankey went one game up and it looked like he was going to take the
set. But then Walton nicked a game he should never have won with a
brilliant throw-out. He got 60 60 double 18, a total of 156. The crowd
went mad again. Captain Vegas leapt up and wiggled his hips. The set
was in the balance. It was all down to one game. One game would make
the difference. It was life in a nutshell. The slightest mistake could
make all the difference, like our destinys, defined by hair's bredth
choices.

First Hankey missed an easy double, then Walton, then Hankey. Finally
Hankey clinched it. He got the double he needed. He wiped his forehead
with a hankie.

"That's how he got his nickname," said Seven.

"Don't be an idiot," I said. "Hankey isn't his name. His nickname is
The Count."

"What a stupid nickname," said Captain Vegas.

"Yes Captain Vegas," I said. I put special emphasis on the Captain and
the Vegas.

It was now 3 sets to 2 to Walton. The winner would be the first to 6.
It was the best of 11. It was getting serious.

The next set was crucial. It would either be 3-all or 4-2 to Walton.
Walton won it. He was 4-2

"Good darts," said AkiMat.

"Classic," said 16. "I'm enjoying this."

We all were.

Walton won the next set as well. He was just one set away from
completing his dream. One more set and he would be Embassy World Darts
Champion. The biggest prize in the sport. Almost the biggest prize in
any sport.

Hankey was now walking around the stage disconsolately. There was
defeat written across his face. He needed to win every single set.
Despair showed in his every step. It looked like Walton would win. But
then Walton missed his check out.

Hankey had a chance. He took a deep breath. This time he didn't need
to look at the crowd. They were already quiet. It was just a question
of steeling himself. He steeped up to the oche. He lined up his dart.
His hand went backwards and forwards. He released the dart. And the
next. And the next.

He blew it. He had had his chance and he blew it. That was life.
Sometimes you had to take the bull by the horns and twist. And if you
didn't, that was it, it was over.

Walton stepped up. He walked with a cocky step. He knew he had it. He
threw two darts. He almost didn't even look at the board. He won. He
lifted the trophy. The houselights went on. The camera panned out over
the crowd. They were hysterical. As were we.

"Well," said The Poet. "What did you think?"

I was on the point of answering when the image on the screen cut away
from the auditorium and was replaced with an image of a small man
standing in a white room. He looked important because he was wearing a
dark suit. In front of this man was amother man, he holding a large
microphone with a large head like an uncut Afro.

"And before we head back to the main event," the man with the
microphone said to the man in the grey suit, "I would like to hear what
you think of a charming little story we have heard from the county of
Derbyshire." The man with the microphone gurned slightly towards the
camera and then pushed the microphone closer to the man in the dark
suit. "A gay darts team. Do you think that one day we will have a gay
darts world champion?"

The man in the grey suit looked uncomfortable; like a cat dressed in
red PVC and forced to pose for a Japanese novelty publisher next to a
mouse dressed as a Madam.

"They're talking about us!" said 16, leaping up and down like the
teenager in motion that he was.

"Shh," said The Poet, "and stop jumping. It's unlucky to jump on a
boat."

"It isn't," said 16. "Unless the boat is very small and likely to
capsize."

"BE QUIET," I said, for once asserting my authority as the true leader
of the band. "I want to hear what he's saying."

"Sorry," said 16.

"Sorry," said The Poet.

"A gay dart's champion," said the man in the grey suit. He ran a
finger nervously over the top of his head. He held the finger up to
heaven as if testing the wind. "You have to understand darts is at a
tender stage. We have a certain core audience. TV is just coming back
on board. There is a particular image we have to maintain or we will
risk having only a novelty value."

"So you wouldn't want a gay darts champion? That is the crux of the
matter." In the room the man with the microphone edged closer to the
man in the suit. The man in the suit glanced directly at the camera and
then looked away. He laughed like a hanged man. "Oh, I wouldn't say
that. As long as they abide by the conventions of the sport. We have
very strict rules, you know? A lot of people who are doing well often
find themselves suddenly disqualified from throwing another dart for a
simple of breaking of the rules." The man in the suit looked at his
watch. He surreptitiously touched his cock. "I think it's time for the
trophy to be given. Thank you." And he walked off the edge of the tv
screen and the image cut back to the auditorium.

"Suddenly disqualified?" said The Poet. "What does he mean?"

16 had stopped leaping. Instead he had sat down dividing his buttocks
across Captain Vegas's knee. In other circumstances it would have made
a nice picture but not in these.

"It sounded like a veiled threat to me," I said.

"There was nothing veiled about that threat," said Seven. "I've heard
veiled threats before. The fruit selling business is very cut throat.
'I'm not pleased to see you and this isn't a banana in my pocket. Now
get your hands off my melons.' That's a veiled threat."

"I think we should get home," I said. "That man on the tele. I think
he's the bastion you've always gone on about Poet."

"The veiled bit was the banana," said Seven. "You see it might have
been a gun."

The Poet clapped his hands. He seemed pleased by the challenge. "I
couldn't agree more," he said.

"I think I understand," said 16 removing his buttocks from Captain
Vegas's knee and waving his hands in the air. "That man. He's out to
get us. We're not like him and he hates us for it. But because of the
prevailing social wind his hands are tied and he has to act by
underhand means."

"Exactly," said The Poet.

"Prevailing social wind?" I said.

"Or it might have been a banana," said Seven. "That's it, you don't
know; a gun or a banana. Or maybe even an erection. They can be
threatening in some circumstances. Ask a nun."

Captain Vegas leapt up. He wiggled his hips. "I say we go home now. I
say we go back to The Castro now. I say we beat those bastions where
they stand."

"Agreed," said everyone together, except Seven who was pointing a
finger in the inside of his pants in either the approximation of a gun
or a banana or even an erection.

"Pull your finger out," I said to him, "we've got other fish to fry."
And then we were off. We pulled up anchor and sailed throughout the
night, sailed until we reached the boat yard. Then we got in Seven's
van and headed home. We were on a mission. We had bastions to defeat.
Only I wasn't sure how we were going to do it.