I stubbed out the twentieth of the day out on the corner of my desk as she walked in.
“You don’t believe in ashtrays?” she said, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
“I rented for a while but I couldn’t keep up the payments” I said, walking over to remove her hair from the fish tank. “You might want to take better care of that.”
“I condition. Now, enough small talk, let’s get down to business, Mister…?”
“Smith” I said.
“The name on the door says different” she said, holding out a cigarette for him to light.
“I inherited the door from my father.”
“Didn’t you inherit his name?”
“My brother got that, only seemed fair” I said, reaching for another cigarette and finding the packet empty.
“You’re not a man who inspires confidence” she said, batting those eyelashes like a kitten stretching its claws and offering me a cigarette from a silver case.
“I find it better not to make people confident, they’re less impressed when I crack the case… surprise keeps the tips up.”
I glanced at her legs, noticing for the first time that they went all the way up. I liked that in my women. I liked it even more when they went up a little bit further.
“I hope you’re as good at being a private eye as you are at eyeing a private” she said, pulling down her skirt a little.
“I’ve got two lazy eyes” I said with a shrug. “Two lazy hands as well.”
“I need you to find my husband” she said, flicking her hair again.
I watched the goldfish begin to swim through it and wondered why a woman like this would have to look for her husband. Still, a case was a case and my previous case was down to its final bottle.
“Describe your husband” I said, picking up a notepad.
“His name’s Bertrand. He’s six-two, blonde hair, body like a Greek god and the soul of a poet” she said, before taking a sharp draw on her cigarette.
“Surely he must have some redeeming feature?” I said, my eyebrow ascending.
“I do hope you’re taking this seriously Mister Smith.”
“I’ll find your husband lady. Then I’ll challenge him to a duel over you. I won’t win but I’ve been told I look damn dashing when I’m bleeding to death.”
“You’re not my type Mister Smith.”
“I’m every woman’s type” I said, “they just need a few drinks and a darkened room.”
The dame lit another cigarette. I could tell by the fact she didn’t take it out the case first that she was distracted.
“So, what’s your name lady… or should I just call you Later?” I said with a weary smile.
“You can call me whatever you want provided you find my husband” said the dame, lighting a third cigarette and looking away.
I reached underneath my desk and placed my hand on the handle of the .38 I kept taped there for awkward customers. Then I reached a little further to get my hand on the fire extinguisher.
“You want to tell me the truth or do I have to tell you to leave, never darken my door again, have a nice life and take me to bed?” I said as I put out the blazing cigarette case.
“You ruined my cigarettes Mister Smith” she said, working those deep blue eyes.
“In case you haven’t heard, there’s a smoking ban” I said, reaching back under my desk for the pack I kept taped there in case I felt like looking cool as I pumped a few slugs into those awkward customers. “Now tell me the truth and I’ll let you have one” I said, lighting two and taking a deep drag on both.
“I can’t tell you” she said, looking at the floor.
“Keep looking at that floor Sweetcheeks… and you’ll regret it” I said.
“You wouldn’t threaten a woman Mister Smith, you’re not the type.”
“No, but I haven’t hoovered.”
“You’ve been eating raisins?” she asked.
“The mice are obviously back and bigger” I said, checking the .38 was loaded.
“You can’t shoot the mice Mister Smith, I won’t allow it” said the dame, a flash of fire in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t even try. This gun only holds six bullets Honeyduck. Five are for me and the sixth is a spare in case I miss. Don’t want to go through that again.”
“Will you help me or not” she said, standing and getting ready to leave.
I let her see the cigarettes glow as I took another drag, I could see she was cracking.
“That’s the thing about cigarettes and husbands… when you haven’t got one to nearby you just don’t know what to do with your hands” I said and counted to five inside my head.
She snapped on four.
“Give me the cigarette… I’ll tell you the truth” she cried, sitting down and clutching her purse to her lap as if it was about to make a run for Mexico.
“Start talking, if I hear something that interests me before I hit the filter I’ll think about it” I said, the nicotine rush making me cocky and a bit sick.
“I got in some trouble…” she began, the first tear taking an inch of make-up off her face.
“I know that feeling,” I said, putting my feet up on the desk, “’cept the last lot of trouble I got myself in was solved by penicillin... Why do I get the feeling you’re in far deeper than antibiotics?”
The dame reached out pathetically but all I’d heard so far was the beginning of a sentence and that just didn’t cut it in this day and age.
“Go on.”
“I was weak… it was dark… I sent him out to buy some bread… I knew I shouldn’t have… I knew it was a risk… but…”
“But otherwise it’s just a hand full of lettuce…” I said, finally handing her the cigarette.
She sucked it down like I’d sucked down the glass of scotch I always left by the bed for the morning.
“He should have said no… I knew he was busy with his work… yet…”
“We all get a little weak sometimes” I said, loosening my tie and opening the drawer. “Scotch?” I asked and offered her the bottle.
“That’s Vermouth” she said.
“I was proposing a trade.”
She stared at me and I sighed, spinning the lid from the bottle and taking down a quick, horrible slug.
“He never came back… and that’s not like him.”
“What work does he do?” I ask.
“He writes haikus and submits them to competitions.”
“I hear that’s a risky trade to be in these days” I said and undid a couple of shirt buttons.
“He knew the risks… but he told me if he won we could leave this town… start a new life…”
The dame unleashed the full waterworks but seeing them cry never worked on me. Seeing them kick me did but she wasn’t the type and neither were her shoes.
“You know the Clydesdale Gang have the haiku racket sewn up tighter than a nun’s…” I paused, covering my contemplation with another sip of Vermouth, “...than a nun’s appendix scar” I finished.
She looked down at the floor again, quickly looking up when she saw something run past.
“I thought if we could keep low… stick to the smaller contests… never use the same postbox or the same stationary…”
“Let me guess… he decided to risk it just to keep his pretty wife happy… That Reader’s Digest contest has been big news all over town… even brought the big boys up from Vegas.”
I was starting to get the feeling this one would go so deep I’d never get my shoe back if it got stuck. I looked at the girl again. I kissed my loafer goodbye.
“Help me… I’ll do anything.”
“Would you… pay?” I said hopefully.
“I don’t have any money…” she said, looking at me with two eyes suddenly the size of saucers and full of enough milk of prettiness to keep this little kitten lapping at them for hours.
“Does my door say I’m a registered charity?” I said, attempting a sneer.
“Yes…”
“That’s what we like to call ‘tax-fraud’ Dollface… and nowhere in my charter does it say I have to get myself killed running after a poet who got his fingers caught in the syllabic cookie jar.”
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time” she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief before standing and walking to the door.
“I never said I wouldn’t do it” I said as she turned the handle.
“You pretty much implied it” she said.
“Did I?”
“Yeah.”
I felt a creeping sense of doom.
“You’d better hope he posted his entry” I said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to have to give me that carriage clock when I find him” I said and turned to face the window.
“You know your chair doesn’t rotate?” she asked.
“I like to sit this way, it’s good for my back.”
I heard the door slam and her thigh’s rub together as she walked out of the building.
“Well done Smith,” I said to myself, “can’t just learn to leave the sack of kittens in the river can you?”
There were two days until the judges announced their verdict. I’d have to work quick. Once the announcement was made her husband’s life wouldn’t be worth the paper it was printed on. Neither would mine if I didn’t get paid and couldn’t meet the payments. Never borrow money from your parents. They’ve spent your entire life learning what makes you cry and what you’re allergic to.
Several sacks of kittens required feeding before I left.
“You seen a guy around here… big guy… built like a brick shithouse… stupid hair… answers to the name Bertrand… probably in an effeminate way?” I asked the guy in the newsagents.
“I don’t speak English” said the man, his eyes full of contempt.
“You’re name’s Norman,” I said, “I’m guessing there aren’t too many bums in this world called Norman who don’t speak English.”
“Well I’m the exception” said Norman. “Now get out of my shop before I call the boys down to work that liver of yours into paté.”
“Your idea of customer service leaves a lot to be desired… much like your bread selection” I said and shot a meaningful glance at the empty racks.
“What can I say?” shrugged Norman. “A lot of people are bulking up for the contest… need their carbs. And I still don’t speak English.”
“But I’m sure you speak Euro…” I said and placed a handful of coins on the counter.
“What the hell am I meant to do with those?” asked Norman.
“Maybe you’ll go on holiday?” I shrugged.
“You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ shamus” said Norman.
“The name’s Smith” I said.
“It’s slang.”
“You’re slang.”
I woke up in the alleyway with my internal organs feeling like fish paste and the vague suspicion Norman knew more than he was letting on.
“You want to try again?” I asked, limping into the newsagents.
“You’re persistent… you got any other traits you want beaten out of you?” asked Norman, reaching for the small bell.
“I wouldn’t do that Norman” I said, bringing up the .38 and pulling back the hammer.
“What kind of man brings a gun to a knife-fight” sneered Norman.
“I haven’t seen The Untouchables so I don’t get that” I said and put one in his knee.
Norman yelped and hopped on the spot like a cold orphan on a hot George Foreman.
“You’re crazy…” he gasped.
“I may be crazy but at least I can dance the polka” I smiled. “Now, if you want to dance anything but the Spandau Ballet, you’d better tell me what happened to Bertrand.”
“The crazy kid came in here looking for wholewheat…”
Ah, Bertrand, such a rookie mistake.
“So you fingered him as a poet… then what?”
“I got orders from the Clydesdales… I see a poet… I let them know… they don’t break my legs…”
I put one in his other leg.
“I’ve just taken a great weight off both your mind and your ankles” I said and tipped my hat to him as I left.
“I’m here to see the boss” I told the barman, lifting the glass to my lips.
“You can’t take other people’s drinks” said the greasy slob.
“If he wants his drink back he can meet me in the bathroom in about six hours” I shrugged and shot a filthy look at the rummy propping up the bar.
“It’s a date” smiled the rummy.
I sighed. Sure I was making friends, but I wasn’t making progress.
“Just let him know I’m on the way up… wouldn’t want to interrupt him mid-haiku” I said with a wink.
“How did you know…” began the barman before catching himself.
“The things I don’t know could fill a book… the things I do know could fill a courtroom” I said, feeling quite proud of myself for that one as it sounded just like something a proper detective would say.
A large thug in a trenchcoat walked towards me.
“Let him through Jim,” said the barman quickly, “he looks like he can take a punch.”
“I can take as many as you can throw” I said, stealing another drink, “you’ll just have to excuse me if I pass out after the first one.”
I walked into the boss’s office and see him sitting on the edge of his desk, cigar in one hand, pen in the other.
“Ah, Mister Smith…” smiled the boss, scribbling a haiku without even looking.
“I see my reputation proceeds me” I said with a smile.
“Your name’s written on your coat.”
“I had a lot of trouble with people stealing it” I shrugged and walked over to the decanter.
“Feel free to help yourself to a drink” I said to myself.
“I’m meant to say that” said the boss.
“I was saving you the effort and myself the risk” I shrugged and knocked back most of the contents.
It’s always been said I did my best work drunk. I find it hard to disagree as I’ve never seen myself sober.
“What do you want Smith” said the boss, grunting in irritation as I tried to pocket the decanter.
“Well, an introduction would be nice” I said.
“My name’s Earnest Hemmingway and I’m the boss of this, highly reputable, establishment.”
“Named after the writer?” I ask.
“Who?”
I decide to skip it and move on to more important questions.
“Why’s the gang called The Clydesdale Gang if you’re called Earnest Hemmingway?”
“We figured it’d throw the police of the scent” shrugged Earnest, his hand still absentmindedly filling page after page of carefully counted syllables.
“I imagine it would in this town… the pigs are so slow they wouldn’t have gotten round to crucifying Jesus yet… I, on the other hand, am a little quicker… and I’m looking for Bertrand.”
“And who’s Bertrand?” asked Earnest.
“You know the guy… freakishly tall, probably uses hair dye and steroids, spews flowery crap from every pore…”
“Never met him.”
“Why is he chained to your radiator then?” I ask.
This catches Earnest off-guard… his pen slips and a tender description of a leaf’s fall is lost.
“It seems we have all underestimated you Mister Smith…” said Earnest.
“I’ve been practicing… the other day I found my backside with both hands…” I shrugged and walked over to unchain Bertrand.
“But can you kiss it goodbye?” asked Earnest.
“I’m not trying while you’re watching” I said, slowly turning round and raising my hands, knowing what to expect.
“Hand over the gun” said Earnest, aiming the blunderbuss at my chest.
“I see you’re a man who doesn’t take chances or care of his wallpaper” I said, slowly reaching for my .38.
“Keep your hands up.”
I sighed and eventually managed to hook my toe into the trigger guard of the revolver in my pocket. I flicked it onto the floor in front of him.
“So… before you kill me… how about telling me why you’re going to all this trouble over a carriage clock? You guys must have enough to rip a mantelpiece off the wall by now” I said.
“Oh, I was just going to let you go… but now that you mention it… killing you would be a better idea” said Earnest.
“Once again my ego writes a cheque my body can’t cash” I sighed, hoping he hadn’t seen Top Gun so I’d appear droll.
“From what I hear, you can’t write any kind of cheque and get it cashed.”
“Oh Christ, you’ve been talking to my mother haven’t you?”
“Do we have to do this in the woods? I have hayfever.”
Earnest kept the blunderbuss at me as I dug my own grave. Frankly, I felt I could have done a better job if he had provided me with more than a spoon.
“I’ve never shot a sneezing man” laughed Earnest and cocked the gun.
“I’ve never stuck my dick in a fan… perhaps some things are best left undone?” I suggested.
“Oh, I don’t intend to start now” smiled Earnest.
“Super” I smile.
“Bertrand, you may shoot him” said Earnest.
Bertrand slipped out of his chains and took the gun with a grin. I sighed and wondered why I hadn’t seen this coming as every single case I’d ever taken had involved some kind of similar twist.
“At what point’s the girl going to turn out to be in on this as well?” I ask wearily.
“Hello Mister Smith” said the dame as she climbed out of the trunk of the car.
“Well, I guess that’s everyone…” I sighed.
“Not quite” said the dame before reaching back into the car.
“Oh great… them too…” I sighed as she retrieved the bags of kittens.
“Meow.”
“So… care to explain this? I’ve obviously already worked it all out,” I said, “but I figure you’re probably better at explaining things.”
“No, why don’t you tell us?” asked Earnest.
I gnawed my lip for a moment.
“Why don’t we both just agree I know?” I suggest hopefully.
Earnest rolled his eyes.
“Fine, I’ll give you the short version… The clock is worth a lot of money.”
“Can I have the longer version? Just to confirm I’ve worked out every single subtle detail?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell him,” said the dame, shaking her head and letting me see that hair fly around like a golden octopus in heat. “Bertrand wrote the greatest haiku ever written… but we couldn’t afford the stamps… So we decided to strike a deal with Mister Hemmingway here.”
“But he can already do quite nice haiku” I said slowly.
“Mine was better” said Bertrand, finally speaking up.
My suspicions were right… he did sound a bit of a ponce.
“He’s right” shrugged Hemmingway. “I could have just killed him and stolen it… but I could never hurt such a master… such a tender soul… such a wonderful and, even though I’m straight, very attractive man.”
I try not to gag.
“Enough of the love-in. Why did you go to all this effort to set me up?” I ask. “Especially considering that, as far as I can tell, there was no point at all in even getting me involved?”
“I know all about you Smith… I know about that local paper competition…” scowled Earnest.
“That was twenty years ago… and I haven’t picked up a pen since apart from to sign someone else’s names on cheques” I say.
“It was your winning haiku that drove me to take up the art… inspired me to become king of the haiku underground… to viciously murder anyone who got in my way of winning the ultimate carriage clock” growled Earnest.
“I was only going to enter for a laugh…” I said slowly.
“There’s no laughter in haiku” said Bertrand coldly and pretentiously.
“Why didn’t you just shoot me without going to all this effort?” I asked, my mind feeling like there was an angry duck inside fighting to fly free.
“A true master of the haiku deserves a truly and unnecessarily over-complicated and protracted death” shrugged Earnest.
“But I thought you wouldn’t kill a haiku master?” I asked slowly.
Earnest shot Bertrand with a small pearl-handled derringer concealed in his hat.
“Ah” I say.
“My logic may be shaky but I did think of that one” said Earnest.
“Bertrand…” yelped the dame.
Frankly, I wouldn’t miss Bertrand but she seemed quite upset.
“This is what you get for playing with fire Nicebum,” I said sadly, “you get your cigarette lit but then your fingers burned.”
Earnest picked up the blunderbuss.
“And now to finish what I began” he said coldly.
“I’ll be sure to give your regards to the Almighty” I say. “Of course, I’m an atheist so he might not be all that impressed.”
“You swine” screamed the dame and kicked out at Earnest.
The gun flew through the air along with the heel of her shoe, confirming my original suspicion.
“Haiku this” I grunted as I lunged forward and caught the blunderbuss in midair.
“That the best you can do?” asked Earnest.
“It’s been a long day and my feet hurt” I said and pulled the trigger.
“Are you going to turn me in?” asked the dame as we got a taxi back to my office.
“I normally would, what with the whole ‘conspiring to have me killed’ thing… but you’re quite hot so I’m tempted to let you off because it might encourage you to sleep with me” I said and lit two cigarettes.
She looked expectantly at me until she realised that, as far as I’m concerned, she’ll have to buy her own.
“I guess I should be very grateful” she said slowly and seductively, giving me the biggest flailing of her hair yet and batting her eyelashes so hard that her eyelids jammed.
“If I had a nickel for every time a lady had said that to me…” I said sadly as we pulled up outside the police station.
“What would you have?”
“A lot of useless foreign change” I said and slap on the cuffs.
I watch the cops drag her away. It was a hard decision… but I’d seen the corner of the haiku sticking out of purse when she came to see me in my office… I knew she was the real brains behind the operation. She was one hell of a lady alright… but, frankly, I could do without the competition. I lit ten more cigarettes and sighed as I accepted mind-blowing sex may get the pulse racing but it doesn’t pay the bills.
Two days later a haiku by a four year-old about her granddad won the competition via what I suspected to be a sentimental vote and I punched a hole in the wall when I realised I was going to die a virgin. |
