8

Come on, you need to get to work, you lazy lump of lard!
It was too early, it was still dark and I didn't want to go anywhere.
Fine, I guess you'll sleep through the protestations of your very full bladder.
You wouldn't.
Try me, bitch.
My eyes flew open. I had fallen asleep in a heap of pillows and blankets on the floor of the sitting room. Untangling myself, I got to my feet and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
That was foul play, I told my mind.
Nothing more effective.
I quickly washed up and stumbled out to check the time. It was about to be nine. I wasn't expected for my scheduled delivery until twelve o'clock. I had enough time to do the dishes, clean up my room and put the washing out to dry before getting ready and driving down to the Harbour. I stumbled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Not even a crumb in the biscuit-jar. There was a sachet of coffee however, and I set to work with the kettle and water. The kitchen was filled with a strange odour. Like charred cream. I collected the empty sachet and tossed it into the bin. There was a blackened soup tin in it.

And then it all came back. The crash, the dent, the water, the book.

I had already had a metaphysical crisis once, but I couldn't help thinking it was only a dream. I was single, with a shit job and I lived alone. My mind was bound to play a few tricks on me. I sipped my coffee and turned to the sitting room.

I scalded my tongue when I beheld the sight before me – the small space was crowded with a dozen or more men dressed in crumpled white shirts and black trousers.
"Good morning, Paton." They all said in unison and I proceeded to choke on my hot drink.
One of the men came up to me with an expression of annoyance and thumped me hard on the back. I hacked twice more and gasped for air. I watched the other men behind him dissolve into thin air. Loki raised his eyebrows at me as if to ask if I was alright.
"WHAT THE HELL."
"Not a morning person, then?"
"Tell me I'm just tripping balls, because I just saw a whole room filled of you."
"It seems my strength has returned to me. My magic is no longer limited."
"Fantastic."
Wake up and smell the coffee, Paton. You're still sharing your low-cost home with a Norse God.

The recollection of the previous night trickled into my head. Loki had gone from being my attacker to car-trouble aid in a short span of twelve hours. Unless he had tricked me into believing it – maybe I had just pushed my own ruddy truck back home while he sat in front, taking in the view of the woods at night. That was highly likely. And it would explain the dull ache in my feet and back.

Regardless, I felt it necessary to state my shortcomings as a host.

"Loki, I'm sorry there's no breakfast for either of us."
There might have been if he had chased those blokes down, he has the legs of giraffe and the chest of a nuclear war head, was it too much to ask?
"More a problem for you than me."
He was right. Loki was both immortal and destined to enjoy the comforts of my home while I was probably going to pass out in the middle of the delivery. Maybe I could Oliver Twist it at somebody's house. There was another pressing matter – the car was out of gas. I couldn't do my deliveries to South Dutton and beyond without a set of wheels.
"Maybe I'll call in sick," I mumbled, "but he might just fire me."
While I was contemplating ways out of my poor situation, the phone rang and it was about to change my luck, for the better.
"Mr Delacroix?" I asked the huffing voice on the other end.
"McAllister, don't bother coming in today!"
I almost burst into tears. Had I done something wrong? Did I deliver to the wrong house? Was he firing me?
Delacroix continued, "The waterways were cordoned off this morning, boating accident and an oil spill. Huge clean-up crew blockaded the route to the Harbour. Only the post came in this morning, so you can take a day off. But I'm cutting your pay for today."
"Yes, sir."

I turned to my houseguest, who was seated on the couch, trying to operate the telly without much success.

"Well, I reckon we're stuck here," I said, pulling the remote from his hand and turning the TV on. "With no food and no gas and nothing to watch either."
"So fix it."
"Fix what?"
"The circumstances, of course."
"Oh, sure, let me just grab some glue and my pinking scissors and get started," I clapped my hands in mock glee.
Loki ignored me and learnt to change channels pretty easily. He paused on MTV and watched a few minutes of some reality show.
"Do people actually enjoy this?" He asked as a woman on TV began to shed all of her clothes in a public place and gyrate on a table.
I snorted, "Only the worst possible kinds of people, which is like every second bloke or bimbo you meet on the street."
"You don't like people very much."
"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner."
Loki changed the channel to the news; a man with sort brown hair, stubble and dark glasses was answering an interview on the Sky Daily News Network. "Well, the war was one thing, but Stark Industries will revolutionize the life of the modern human and anyone contesting that ideology can direct their complaints to my behind, you know what I mean, Adam?"
"What were you looking for out by the woods?" I asked suddenly.
Loki was surprised by the question, but he turned the volume down to answer it. "I thought I'd dropped something when I fell."
"What?"
"A personal item of sentimental value. Nothing more," he skirted the issue.
"Do you think it's still out there?"
"If it is, I should like it back."
"Are you going to use your magic to find it?"
"That is the plan."
"Is Odin really your father, then?"
Loki turned the TV off and stood up. He walked away in a huff and slammed the door of my room.
"Touchy subject," I frowned.
I didn't understand why he was being a complete chav about it. Almost everyone had daddy-issues. I knew I did. If it wasn't for Gregory McAllister, I might have been halfway through my grad courses and university, instead of toiling it out at a dead end job and just about sustaining myself. Papa had always insisted I had caused my own undoing. Destined to fail, those were the words he liked to use. I had about as much faith in him as he had in me, so it hadn't hurt me when I left home out of choice, not without ransacking his drawers for whatever money he had around. I remembered what Loki said about being cast away. So that was the fundamental difference. He had had a place in his world once and he was then robbed of it. I never had one to begin with and letting go was just all the more easier.

But Loki was living on my turf and my terms. Sure, I was making him live like a pauper. But I thought he owed me some explanation at least. I wasn't about to look the other way on the whole 'god' issue without a fair trade, now was I?