left hook.”
To Catch a Thief 61
Fists fashing in the darkness saw his staggering back to the car, blood
pouring from his nose. I’m sure I heard him cry like a baby.
The boy with the bag started the engine, while the older boy got into
the back. I ran around the other side of the car, and wrenched the
door open, where my cue was. I tried to get it from him, but the car
started to pull away. I ended up running along side them as he picked
up speed. Just then, he swerved to make a right turn. The door went
it the corner of the wall with a thump, shattering the cue. I released
my grip, just before I was smashed into the wall.
They drove off with my watch and the rest of their bounty, leaving me
with pieces of shattered wood lying on the ground.
CHAPTER 22
Devil’s Advocate
Dave Noble eventually found me. He had taken the long way round. I
was still trying to pick up the splinters.
He looked and sighed. He knew what was coming.
In the hotel lounge, I announced that it was all over—no more snook-
er. That I couldn’t play without the cue. I played the OCD card sev-
eral times.
“Steiner … you’ll be ok. Trust me. You’ve had a bad day—the frst in
months. True champions learn to handle the bad as well as the good.
And it’s been pretty good. Do you know how much you are worth
now?”
“But … listen!” I rebutted. “That crazy woman today … what about
the things she said. I mean … how could she know these things about
me?”
“What things? She just recognised you from TV and spoke some gib-
berish about witches. None of that stuff is true. Everything is just
chance and coincidence—everything has a rational explanation. She
probably has mental health issues.”
“But she was bang on … those things are true.”
It was confession time.
I told him about everything—including the ceremony the chat with
Chris, what Murphy suspected—the lot. He looked embarrassed and
uncomfortable as I rambled on.
“Lots of teens go through a Harry Potter stage,” he responded, trying
not to belittle me too much. “It’s like a cry for power. That’s normal.
Using magic to get that power, isn’t. You create your own destiny. Re-
member Steiner:
62
Devil’s Advocate 63
‘One man’s magic
Is
Another mans Science.’
“Science is real. What we can see, hear and touch is real. There’s no
proof of the supernatural; so just forget it! There’s no God, no magic,
nothing.”
“But how did the Universe get here if there’s no God?” I asked, re-
membering the slogan on the RMPE classroom wall:
“Every Cause has its Effect.
Every Effect has its Cause.
There is no such thing as Chance.”
“It just happened.”
“What, by Magic?”
“No, by Chance. One day, Science will explain it, Steiner. We just need
to believe and have faith in scientists, and one day they will explain
it to us.”
“But what if we’re all dead before they explain it?”
“It doesn’t matter. Scientists are still right, even if they never explain
it. These religious people live in the past. They let some Bronze Age
book tell them what to think. We live in the Modern World and we
need to believe scientists. We must make our own decisions and shape
our own future. We are our own gods.”
“So, do we believe scientists or make our own decisions?”
“If in doubt, follow the scientist!”
Later that night, after hours of arguing, and without a scientist in
sight, I made my own decision alright and that decision meant not
returning to Tel Aviv to play snooker, and never to play snooker again.
CHAPTER 22
Memories of Istanbul
We crossed the King Hussain Bridge into Jordan early the next day,
with the intention of fying back to Scotland from there and not via
Tel Aviv, where our ‘business partners’ possibly lay in wait.
The organisers hadn’t actually paid us any money yet, but they had
spent cash promoting the event, and would be looking for payback
when we did not turn up. Most of these promoters were local mafa
and not to be messed with. We often breathed a sigh of relief when the
cash came in and we left the country.
David was raging at me for cancelling, but even in his rant at me that
morning, he still talked about taking a break and getting ready for
Q-School. He was also mad about having to leave his gear in Tel Aviv.
He could have had his luggage forwarded on, but he didn’t want any-
one to know where we were.
The journey South from Jerusalem to the bridge into Jordan is only
about a hour, but we had to wait for ages at the border control. There
were other buses queued up. Some of the religious people from the
day before were there as well. They weren’t singing now. I don’t think
the soldiers with the machine guns would have approved. Although, I
don’t think guns nor bullets would have stopped Sheila McLaughlan
if she put her mind to it.
Sheila spotted us and headed our way. One of the group followed her.
I was in no mood for talking. Picking up the hint, David cut them off
and started talking to them, no doubt feeling confdent in his atheism.
I watched him from a distance. Sheila reminded of someone—it took
me a while to work it out; then it hit me—Faye Dunaway. She had
played a mad preacher woman, who was kidnapped—Aimie Semple
McPherson was her name. I had watched it with my mother on TV,
years ago. She was also the Wicked Witch in Supergirl. Dunaway was
64
Memories of Istanbul 65
crazy, with wild, red hair and piercing eyes. I was only fve when I
saw that. She terrifed me and I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Sheila was
the spitting image of her.
He must have talked for almost two hours, before we were all shouted
back on the buses to leave. He shook their hands, and the hands of
a few others. They swapped business cards and gave him couple of
leafets. He never discussed with me what was said.
I never asked.
Over the bridge, we turned North and just over a hour later, we were
in the city of Amman, trying to book a fight. All the airlines were
based at the bus depot. There was nothing, we were told, for a couple
of days. School holidays and religious trips at Easter had conspired
against us.
The Crowne Plaza hotel was so close to the bus depot that we walked
there in less than fve minutes, being instructed that to drive there by
taxi would take about 20 minutes in the rush-hour traffc.
The next day, we went back to the airline offces to check for fights.
Nothing was coming up online. At the depot, everyone gave us the
same reply, “Come back tomorrow!”
We left the offces, and decided to have a quick walk around the area.
We turned right; walked about 100 metres and passed a Safeway, of
all thing
s, and there in front of us, was the sign on a building: JETS.
It had to be a joke! Those people were just a stone’s throw from the
hotel. The thought of seeing Sheila again for a third day did not excite
me at all.
Taking a hasty left, we walked up the road. There was only a slight
hill, but it was hot and the sweat poured off us. Searching for a taxi
to take us somewhere better, we ambled along and found ourselves in
a medical district. There were three or four hospitals on either side
of the road. Something caught my eye; something I had seen before.
Back in the early days of touring, in Istanbul, David had got us into
a slightly embarrassing situation with one of the hotel staff. We had
66 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
really gone to town seeing all the tourist spots—the palaces, the Blue
Mosque, the Covered Market, and in our travels we noticed there was
a large number of girls with bandaged up faces and black eyes. One
night we were talking to Jan, one of the hotel managers. He was trying
to impress us with his English and get David Noble to sample the lo-
cal beverage—Raki. After a few glasses, Jan asked us what we thought
of his country (how many times have we been asked that question?).
We told him it was great and that Dolmabache was the best palace in
the world. Then David brought up the subject of domestic abuse. Jan
looked very puzzled, until we told him about all the girls we had seen.
He laughed and added,
“You must understand—here in Istanbul lots of girls get plastique—
you know, they change the face.”
“What so many of them?” I asked amazed.
“Yes, yes … very popular here. Maybe girls come from the East, or
have, you know, a big nose. They want to look like girls on television,
you know look beautiful—Yes? Go to university and get husband. So
many times the family saves up and they get the nose fxed, like this.
It’s very normal here. You understand?”
We understood alright and had a right good laugh about our confu-
sion.
Just opposite me, I saw a girl leaving a hospital with her nose band-
aged and I had one of my fashes of genius.
CHAPTER 23
Face Off
David went ‘radge’ after I disclosed my ‘fash of genius’. I was a bit
disappointed, because I had spent ages gazing out of my room window,
looking dreamily at the lights of Jerusalem in the distance, creating
an irrefutable argument in my mind.
“Don’t be insane … It will take weeks for your face to heal. What
about your passport? Will they let you leave the country? Do you ever
think about anything?” he shouted.
He had a point there. Don’t think I hadn’t thought about it. There was
a problem with my passport anyway. It was three years old and every
airport questioned me. I had changed quite a bit. When challenged
again, I was just going to argue the toss with them.
“I’m wanting to get out of here tomorrow, if we can get a fight,” he
continued.
“Well, you go then! I’m staying. I’m going to get it done.”
“Don’t waste your money on this rubbish. Haven’t I always told you:
“A fool and his money
are soon parted.”
“Aye, but that didn’t stop you spending thousands getting all your
teeth capped when we were in Bulgaria, did it?”
I had my stubborn head on. He had seen this before and knew there
was no reasoning with me. But he tried for about a hour, before giving
up.
“I can’t leave you here, Steiner … you’re only 16. I promised Scott
and your family. You’re not safe in a city like this, alone.”
Two days later, I was lying in a hospital bed, my face covered in band-
67
68 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
ages and my wallet a few thousand pounds lighter.
The clinic was only too happy to take it from me. They just asked a
few scant questions about allergies; showed me some reconstructions
on a computer and booked me in.
Three weeks later, I was healed enough to leave the country.
In the meantime, David had become Mr. tourist and had travelled
everywhere—to that place they made the Indiana Jones flm, to the
Roman ruins at Jerash, to Moses burial place, to that place where
they flmed the Hurt Locker and even to the valley where they made
Lawrence of Arabia.
Meanwhile I had to hang around my hotel room getting bored stu-
pid—the TV wasn’t too bad, but I’m not the sort of person to just
watch telly all day.
Time passed slowly. I wished I was back in school—honestly, it was
that bad.
With the bandages off and the swelling down, I looked a bit different,
but not too much. I just hoped that when I was back in Scotland peo-
ple in the street would not recognise me easily. How could I go back
when everyone would be expecting me to be a star?
I couldn’t face people.
Remember my motto?
‘Embarrassment is a villain to be crushed.’
I also decided to dye my hair and make it a little blonder.
That was embarrassing.
Loads of boys at school had done it, though, and the Woodwork
Teacher spent a fortune on dye to look younger; so, although this was
not my style, I talked myself into it.
Epilogue
Well that’s that.
There’s actually much more than that. I’ve had a stack load of ad-
ventures. Who knows? Perhaps one day, Reader, I will tell you about
them.
Anyway, I did get challenged entering Heathrow. I argued tooth and
nail and they stamped my passport, eventually. I fnd that with adults,
they will do anything you want, if you argue with them enough.
It was hard explaining things to my family and why I had packed in
snooker and got plastic surgery. But I was very creative and very rich.
It’s easily to convince people when you’re rich, and you don’t need to
use magic words to do it.
These days people rarely recognise me in the street and I’m quite
happy. I’d made a fortune in a year, and my fortune increased due to
some careful investing thanks to David Noble. As he always told me:
“The Rich get richer
And the Poor get loans
from the rich.”
Returning to school after a year break was hard, but I got back into
it. I have done well in my continuing education, having a couple of
adventures on the way. I later secured a college place studying eco-
nomics. I wanted to be like David Noble, and work out my own invest-
ments.
Two months after my return, I phoned Chris at her shop, and told my
story. I went into great detail about that woman Sheila and how she
knew so much about me. Chris said that perhaps she was a powerful,
albeit misguided, psychic, and that if I came into the shop she would
cast some spells for me. I was tempted to go back and try to create
another hypnotic cue. But I haven’t got round to it yet.
69
70 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
Now and again I think about the witch’s offer, but as I
do I always see
Sheila’s face; her words ring in my head and it just puts me off. Be-
sides, who needs magic when you have lots of money?
Although I lost the cue, the thing is, I actually learned how to play
snooker quite well. I was taught by Stephen Hendry, no less, and
played the best players in the world and beat them. Almost a year
and a half later, I got over my shame, I got back into playing.
Sometimes you might fnd me in Rileys on a Sunday, where I meet my
old friend David Noble in the afternoon, once he has fnished attend-
ing Church with his wife and children.
Someday, I tell myself, I will join him.
I am Steiner Sanderson, and this is my story.
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