Her Last Call To Louis MacNeice (7 page)

I didn’t know what to make of this. More lies? So I asked, ‘Can I get you something?’

‘Say what?’

‘Tea – a drink.’

‘Coffee’d be good. I had a little girl, back when I lived in New York City. Her name was Ariana. I loved her more than I thought I could bear. She filled me with joy and wonder and pain and oh God, with yearning. I had to leave her alone for a few hours one evening – it’s a long story why – when I got back, she was gone. I’ve never seen her since – that’s partly why I’m such a goddamn mess.’

I agreed about her being a bloody mess but felt maybe it wasn’t the time to mention it. Coffee, yeah, I was glad of the diversion. Made it hot and ball-bustin’ strong. Elephant blend, as a mate said. At first I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Reckoned the Yeltsin had finally kicked in but no – she was singing! In a low clear voice of nigh absolute purity. I dunno about beauty, fuck knows, where would I have learnt, I was raised with pigeons. But, I’d bet this was close. I didn’t know then but it was a song by Tricia Yearwood called ‘O Mexico’. It had a ring of loneliness, of longing that hit like a gut-shot. I felt as close to weeping as a hard-ass like me’s ever gonna come.

Then she stopped and the silence scalded my heart, muttered, ‘Get a friggin’ grip.’

I was wrung as tight as tension, not worth tuppence. If the filth had come callin’, I’d have put up my hand, shouted – ‘fair cop guv’. Carried out the coffee, no bizzies, Noble had scoffed the lot. She’d been crying, I wish I didn’t know that and she said, ‘Are you familiar with Thomas Merton?’

‘Not unless he’s a bookie.’

She quoted:

‘We must be true inside
true to ourselves
before we can know
a truth
that is outside us.’

I poured the coffee, asked, ‘How d’ya take it.’

‘Cream and sugar –

“But we make
ourselves true by
manifesting the truth
as we see it.”’

I handed her a mug, wondering if she’d finished. She had.

I took a sip, real good – fuck, I make great coffee.

‘So Cassie, where’s my gun … eh?’

‘I tossed it.’

‘You wot.’

‘I was scared – scared I’d eat the metal so, I walked over Waterloo Bridge and sank the sucker. Is that the one Ray Davies wrote about – I saw the Kinks once.’

‘And my money, I suppose you, dumped that too.’

‘Don’t be a horse’s ass, I spent it, you’ve mucho dinero.’

‘But not so mucho patience lady and your meter’s running high. Lemme see if I can get this across. You stole from me, broke in to my gaff, took a shot at me and generally ran fuckin’ liberties. Am I getting through to you Cassie. Our firm has been moving rag-ass trying to find you.’

‘I’ve been naughty!’

‘Naughty?’

‘I need spanking.’

‘Whoa – hold the phones lady.’

She was up, took my hand and put it on her breast, said, ‘Hold this.’

I pushed her away and her voice dropped to a whisper.

‘You don’t want me?’

‘Look Cassie, you’re a hot lady but this isn’t a real good time – OK.’

‘It’s because I lost my little girl, isn’t it. You’re punishing me.’

I stood up, ‘For heaven’s sake, I’m real sorry about that. I’m trying to be fair, I’m not going to hassle you about all the other crazy shit. Just leave now and we’ll let it be.’

‘I think I see her, you know, on the street and I chase after her – or on a bus – or …’

‘Jesus.’

‘But I have a good report that she’s in Agadir.’

‘Where?’

‘Morocco. Her father was from Kif.’

‘I thought that was Keith Richards’ nickname.’

‘It’s a village in the Blue Atlas Mountains, they specialize in hash. I know he now lives in Agadir, a P.I. says he’s ninety percent sure.’

‘A private investigator?’

‘Yes, I’ve had dozens of them. Will you come – will you come and help me get her back.’

‘I don’t believe this. You can’t just go down there on a vague report – can’t you get Interpol to check.’

Her voice rose, ‘Those pricks – do me a goddamn favour. But you’re different, you’d get her.’

‘I’m sorry, look it’s late …’

‘We could drive on down there, to Algeciras, I’d read MacNeice to you, I …’

‘Stop it! Just stop it all to hell. You need help, but not any kind I can provide.’

Now she dropped her arms, seemed to shrink.

I took her arm, moved her to the door, opened it and had to push her out. She stood outside, like little Orphan Annie, said, ‘You’ll come to Agadir, you just don’t know it yet but, I promise you that – on my little girl’s head.’

I closed the door, said, ‘Dream on lady.’

She stood outside the door and I could hear her say, ‘David – David, did you ever hear what Kafka said,

“No people sing with such
pure voices
as those who live in
deepest hell.”’

‘Indigent! I don’t friggin’ believe it. You’ve got to be bloody joking – c’mon!’ – Yelling at the very height of my lungs.

Doc took it all, well, almost, and replied, ‘Would I joke about that. It’s the term they use and a right vicious one.’

I couldn’t take it in – how could he be
skint
—

‘How can you be skint?’

‘Don’t get righteous with me Davy boy. The bloody house is mortgaged to the gills, those school fees – like murder – and the blackjack. It’s been a long run of shitty luck, I’m going to have to pack it in.’

‘Blackjack! You’ve been gambling – you’ve been wot? Why didn’t I know?’

He stood up, his boots gleaming in the light, ‘Why should you know. My bloody Missis didn’t know. Since when do I account to you fella?’

I was close to losing it, had to pull back. I could see a roof in Battersea, see my father’s eyes.

‘OK … OK Doc. Might I ask how you propose paying for the Taj Mahal or whatever bloody monument you’re building to Laura. Won’t Father what’s his bloody face be a tad surprised to hear you’re – indigent – or does he play blackjack too?’

‘Watch yer lip boy.’

‘Or wot Doc?’

He made the effort also to rein in. We’d never – ever – hit this place before.

‘Father Cleary doesn’t know, alright. Treesmead will pay for his project and get me out of the hole – it has to.’

He paused, then, ‘I went to see Meryl Streep in her action pic,
River Wild
and jeez, she was louder than the friggin’ rapids, so my head was opening. Could you then stop shouting at me now – OK.’

I didn’t even know I had been, said, ‘I wasn’t shouting – you went to the cinema without Laura.’

‘Would have been hard to bloody bring her.’

I went to make coffee, brewed up a storm, heard Doc say, ‘Tea for me, two sugars.’

Mutterin’ ‘Now he tells me’ I half mangled a tea bag into a cup, sloshed water on it, tepid water. Put the sugar in before extracting the bag and, worst crime of all, didn’t heat the cup. All petulant I grant you but it was that or reach for the new 12″, give it an early outing. Piled the lot on a tray that had Charles and Di’s wedding portrait. As he sipped the tea, he gave a grimace, asked, ‘Did you heat the cup?’

‘Always.’

‘Not yer best mate – no, not at all.’

‘Doc, why don’t I do this – I’ll move some of the repo money to help you out.’

He gave a sheepish grin, ‘Em … might be a slight problem.’

‘No, I’ll tell the accountant to do it – he gets paid to shuffle figures. A little cosmetic arithmetic and you’re whistlin’ Danny Boy.’

‘I’ve been and sang that song already, ’tis not a tune worth humming.’

Now I was up, ‘You’ve been dippin? You’ve been robbin
us
!’

‘Whoa – slow down Streep. I’ll put it back, it was just sitting there. But I do have good news.’

‘You shot the accountant?’

He laughed, said, ‘That’s more like it son. Let me put it this way, Quinn won’t be a problem, I know you were concerned there.’

‘Jeez, you didn’t top a cop!’

‘Naw, they just broke his legs. If I’d another few hundred they’d have completed the job. But fuck, the readies are tight. Anyroad he won’t be playing for the Police Reserves this season.’

‘You’re a piece of work Doc, you’re a real fuckin’ class act. I better buy a lorry load of strawberry delights.’

‘What?’

‘For the Noble savage, he’s fond of his bikky he is.’

When Doc had gone, I thought about funerals. The way things were shaping, I’d soon be arranging my own. In prison, Doc had waxed eloquent and long about the Irish rituals for it, mainly he’d waxed long.

At a loss after Doc left, I flicked through the paper. Read an article on Patricia Highsmith and liked her saying, ‘I find the public passion for justice quite boring and artificial, for neither life nor nature cares if justice is ever done or not.’

‘Amen,’ I said.

Time to move, I’d an accountant to see, Doc and I had force back-pedalled from out and out war. Not so much a sheathing of weapons as an option for other battlefields. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t bounce somebody’s head off a wall.

Heard the post come through the box, didn’t think it would be news to cheer. The handwriting on the envelope was now familiar. Could be worse I thought, the loony bitch could be phoning. Opened it with a heavy heart. In large clear writing she began,

‘O Happi-Mou,

Why do you refuse us, we are destined to be one and, so it shall be. Time to wake up and smell that coffee – you hear what I’m saying.

A woman described my beloved MacNeice as having the looks of a fallen angel. Like you, he believed himself to have become, as a result of his childhood ‘in a strange way hollow’. And he remained ‘always terrified of his father’.

Darling David, let me make you complete. Ariana can be your daughter too. I just know you’re made to be my family

I won’t be sending any more mail as, obviously, you won’t be able to receive it. Don’t fret about a suitable ardrobe for Morocco. I’ll take care of all your needs. Men are hopeless at such practicalities. Feel the warmth touch your hand, that’s me.

I bundled it fast, lobbed and caught it on the fall with my right foot. Kicked it mightily across the room and saw it bounce off the far wall.

‘In one,’ I said.

I parcelled up the guns lest Noble came calling. Took them out to the car, piled them in the boot – a day to drive carefully. Thought I wasn’t showing the strain till I got to the accountant’s office and Iris said, ‘What happened to you?’

‘More important, what happened to Duran Duran?’

‘You look rough Cooper, maybe you should call round to me, I’ll give you some T.L.C.’

Time to cut to the chase.

‘Is he in?’

‘He’s tied up.’

‘Sure.’

And I barged on in.

He looked more like a sour priest than ever. A large slice of Danish was en route to his mouth, I said, ‘Arnold L. White – mid bite.’

‘What happened to knocking Mr Cooper?’

‘What happened to my business?’

He took a chunk of the pastry, chewed a bit, then a gulp of coffee, replied, ‘A touch of poetic justice you’ll appreciate. Your firm is up for repossession – isn’t that ironic.’

‘It’s fuckin’ criminal is what it is.’

‘You sound, how should I put it – surprised.’

‘I’m bloody flabbergasted.’

‘Am I to believe your partner didn’t inform you of the developments?’

‘Got that right pal. You didn’t think to give me a bell yourself?’

‘Not my place dear boy.’

‘Leopold, don’t you care if you go down the shitter with me.’

‘Never happen Sir – I took precautions.’

I wanted to pound him, asked, ‘What do you suggest I do now?’

‘Run.’

‘This amuses you, doesn’t it. OK, gloat while you can but keep hoping I run far.’

‘When you dallied with Iris, you did me a grievous injury.’

I turned to leave, left him with, ‘Nice term that – grievous injury – has the proper note of righteous pain. What’s more, I’m going to run it by you when I feed you your balls at a date to be arranged. Might I add, you can
count
on it.’

First I went to the lock-up. It doubles as a bolt hole – got bunk, kettle, shower, phone. All the vitals. Phoned Jimmy, he’s a minor burglar I met in prison, he’d told me, ‘There are some things a man
won’t
do for money. Luckily, I’m not one of those men.’

He had the form to prove it.

‘Jimmy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s Cooper.’

‘The Repo Man.’

‘Yeah, that too. Like to knock down a few hundred?’

‘You want me to nick somefin.’

‘Actually, I want you to add something. If I give you the guy’s name, could you find his gaff and hide an item there.’

‘Bit unusual, is this on the up an’ up?’

‘How does four hundred sound?’

‘What’s his name?’

I met Jimmy in the bar at Victoria Station. He arrived in a natty three-piece suit, hair spit-combed and I’d swear a regimental tie, said, ‘Looking good Jimbo.’

‘I’ve been taking lessons.’

‘Is that a regiment tie?’

‘Sure is – the Argylls – or is it the Enniskillens, one of those bods.’

‘Why?’

‘Opens a lot of doors.’

‘You’re the best judge of that.’

‘I have a Masonic one too but, I have to be careful, I’ve never quite mastered the handshake. Is it a Mason or a Jesse, you know, a fella who’s very friendly.’

Jimmy was smoking roll-ups, Old Holborn and, like a true con, he was a master. He offered, ‘Smoke?’

‘Naw. Here’s the papers I want you to conceal. Put them in an obvious place but not so’s the guy living there will find them – as if they’d been hidden.’

‘Putting someone in the frame or is it none of my business?’

‘It’s none of your business. Here’s the name and his work address. Any problems.’

‘Any cash.’

‘In the envelope. Do you know any hookers?’

‘C’mon Cooper, go into any phone kiosk. Those cards there – take yer pick.’

‘I need one who can keep her mouth shut.’

‘That’s a contradiction Cooper. The two don’t gell – know wot I mean?’

‘Cut the comedy eh – yes or no?’