Kevin — July 8, 2006, 4:56 pm

The ever so clever Janus

Hey, so, you know Jay, AKA Janus?

He was in town a while go (actually, a long while ago, but I only recently found the photo). Jason now works back east, for a large investment company, and is very sensible. He doesn’t come out west very often – Toronto is more of the investment capitol of Canada, so that’s where he lives and works.

A couple of months ago, though, I get this random email from Jay; he’s heading into town for literally one evening. Turns out he’s been on a work trip “up north somewhere”, doing “some work stuff”. Seems a little vague, but hey, it’s J, and we don’t get to see him very much, and it’s a good excuse to go out for a drink (which is better than our usual horrible excuses to go drinking, like “it’s the end of week!” or “it’s almost a full moon!”).

So we met J and he continues to be vague. “What were you doing up north?” we ask. It’s a few rounds later that we get any information, and what info does comes in bits and peices. J is doing a study for work – he’s part of a team that is looking at a mining property.

Folks, I may not be very polite, or handsome, or fit; but the Gambler has one latent skill set. One little bit of “spidey sense” that, now and again, works pretty well.

See, the Gambler, he can smell MONEY.

It’s like “A Beautiful Mind”. I see the dollar signs falling from the heavens, the chior sings. Money. I LOVE IT. I love the way it smells, the way it feels, I love the things it can buy (boy, I REALLY love those things).

See, if Janus is up north, then there’s a mine, or some property that is looking to go public. Or perhaps it’s getting investment dollars. If I invest, and it hits, whammo. If I invest, and nothing happens in a couple months, well, it’ll hopefully stay the same, or if it dips, it’ll be just a little. See, J’s not going to TELL me, because he’s lose his license. So the Gambler will have to do a little research.
All I have to do is to figure out where the mine is and I’m good!

So it behins. Operation “Truth Serum”. Tequila shots. Vodka drinks. A couple quick rounds. “Jay, tell me about the North. Where did you fly in to?”. Here we go!

“aww, somewhere, you know, middle ish, or was it the left side, i can’t remember”.

LIAR! Obviously the dosage of my elixers is not enough. A tip of the hat to the Bartender, rub the side of my nose, the subtile nod. We’re moving on to doubles now, the Bartender nods back knowingly. Perhaps some Bourbon will loosen his tongue.

“J, this company you were visiting – is it (insert made up name here)? My old elementary school buddy from…uh… boyscouts (insert random guy name) works there, he told me that it was a good bunch of guys”.

“I’m not sure, you know, so many companies up here, who can remember all the names?”.

BASTARD!

I’m in full pour mode now; exotic Scotches, Brandies; the signs of a desperate man who’s at the end of his rope. The Bartender looks at me, shakes his head, and begins to cut up the Visa I’ve given him for our tab. Visa’s cut me off and so far I’ve got nothing. NOTHING!

From there, it gets blurry. All I remember is, like Whimpy, offering to pay tuesday for another Vodka collins today. The night was very fun, lots of drinking, but that Jay, he’s a fucking rock. The training program at his firm takes it’s cues from the CIA. J remains tight lipped, vague; he offers everything and nothing, and in the end I’m actually behinning to think he could well have been at a rubber duck factory in Shangai for all I know.

So here’s to you, J; if anyone from your company reads this, J is a fine, upstanding employee who never broke, never gave me anything, and left me with a fantastically large bar bill. I’ll get you next time, Marley!

Mining Janus.jpg

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