Zip Gun Boogie (14 page)

‘OK, Ninotchka,' I said.

‘You will? Nick, you're a treasure.'

‘No problem. When?'

‘Later this afternoon.'

‘As long as I'm through with the cops,' I said. ‘I've only got to make a short statement. I tell them I was with you. You do the same. Now I'd better go and do it.'

She kissed me on the cheek and I left. I smiled politely to the heavy mob in the sitting room. Ninotchka told them to let me in any time night or day. I think I went up in their estimation at that.

I went looking for Prendegast Jr and the luminaries of the law.

I found a clutch of uniformed coppers outside the snooker room. ‘My name's Sharman,' I said to a uniformed sergeant. ‘I believe Mr Carpenter is looking for me?'

‘If you'll wait he'll see you soon,' he replied.

I sat on one of the upright chairs that had been lined up against the wall and waited. Chick came out with a dapper middle-aged man in a charcoal grey suit. I'd never seen him before.

‘Hi, Nick,' said Chick. ‘Meet Mr Sebastian, my solicitor.' I stood up and we shook hands. ‘I hope young Prendegast is looking after you?' said Sebastian.

‘Yes,' I replied.

‘Good. As I told Mr Wallace here, you don't have a thing to worry about.'

‘That's nice,' I said. ‘But I'm not sure my bank manager would agree.'

Sebastian chuckled, the kind of dry chuckle that people do when they don't share your sense of humour, know you've made a joke, but don't quite understand the point of it. Looking at him, I would have bet he'd never had trouble with a bank manager in his life. He probably played golf with his. ‘Splendid,' he said, which covered a multitude of sins, and Prendegast Jr came out of the snooker room, excused himself to Sebastian, grabbed me, and wheeled me in. A big snooker table that I assumed usually stood under the low, oblong, green metal lampshade that hung down from the ceiling, had been covered and pushed into one corner. A desk had been set up and Carpenter and Ripley were sitting behind it facing the door. Two uncomfortable-looking upright chairs covered with green velvet, with curved, polished wooden arms, stood this side of the desk. At a smaller table next to the desk sat a uniformed constable in shirtsleeve order holding a pen and a shorthand notebook. On the desk in front of him was an electric typewriter and a pile of clean A4-sized paper.

‘Mr Sharman,' said Carpenter quite pleasantly, ‘thank you for giving us your time.' My God, I thought, he
is
being friendly. I wondered when the catch would show itself. ‘Please be seated,' he went on. ‘The constable here will take down your statement, type it up for your signature, and then you are free to go. Is that acceptable?'

I looked at Prendegast Jr. It seemed fair enough to me, but I was still waiting for the catch and wanted to be sure. He nodded, and who was I to argue? I nodded too and we both sat down.

I ran through the events of the previous evening from the time I first met Turdo until the police arrived. Once again I left out only the drug references. The evening must have sounded like a vicarage tea party. The uniform took it down and then machine gunned on the typewriter. I read the finished statement, signed each page and left. Simple as that.

Outside Prendegast Jr said, ‘No pain?'

‘None at all,' I replied. ‘Except for the poor bastard that got topped. The police don't actually seem to be doing much.'

‘Believe me, they are,' he said. ‘They've set up an incident room next door in the tennis court, and are making themselves very busy indeed. This is just the tip of the iceberg.' He looked at his watch and frowned. ‘I'm going to have to leave you now,' he said, ‘but I'll be around the hotel. Please keep in touch.'

‘I will,' I said. We shook hands and parted. I went up to my suite. By then it was almost ten o'clock, and I had an eleven o'clock appointment with Keith Pandora that I didn't want to miss.

17

T
hat's right. You guessed it. Outside Pandora's suite was yet another plug ugly in a grey suit with a badge on his lapel. The whole place was crawling with them. As I walked up to the door he stepped forward and put up his left hand like a policeman stopping traffic. He let his right hand hover near the front of his open jacket. ‘Hold your fire,' I said. ‘I come in peace.'

‘What?'

‘Nothing. I'm here to see Keith Pandora. I've got an appointment. My name's Sharman.'

‘What do you want to see him about?'

‘That's my business.' These guys were getting as officious as hell. Anyone would think they were Old Bill themselves. The security man just stood there, hand still upheld like a wax work. ‘Go on then,' I said. ‘Tell him.'

His hand moved closer to the front of his suit jacket. ‘Smith & Wesson hammerless, isn't it?' I said. And his hand stopped dead. He didn't answer. ‘Got a radio?' I asked.

‘What if I have?'

‘Cut the crap, will you? Call your control. They'll tell you I'm OK.'

‘What the fuck?' he said, and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately. ‘Bloke called Sharman,' said the guard out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes off me.

There was silence from the other side of the door.

We waited for a minute or two, then: ‘Yo,' said a voice inside. ‘Let him come ahead.'

The guard stepped out of my way and I went inside. The room was lit only by artificial light. All the curtains were drawn tight. There were another two security men present. One was sitting on one of the sofas. The other stood inside the doorway. He was in shirtsleeves. Around his waist, slung horizontally above his left-hand trouser pocket, was a black leather holster housing his S&W in a cross draw position. ‘The guv'nor's not up yet,' he said.

‘I'll wait.'

‘I would if I was you. He likes people to wait for him.'

‘How long do you reckon?' I asked.

‘Dunno.'

‘Are we talking minutes, hours, days? Have I got time for lunch or a jog around Hyde Park?'

‘Dunno,' he said again. ‘What does it matter? You got something else better to do?'

‘No,' I said.

‘Sit down then. He'll be along when he's ready.'

I went over to an armchair and took a seat. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one. The room was very quiet. If I'd've had a pin handy I'd've dropped it to break the silence. I smoked the cigarette and then another. The hands on the face of my watch crept round to 11.20. Then the door to one of the bedrooms crashed open and Keith Pandora burst into the room.

‘Mornin', chaps,' he said in an exaggerated cockney accent.

The two security men replied ‘Mornin” in unison. I just looked at him. His hair was like a lion's mane. Various shades of blond curls hung around the shoulders of his blue paisley silk dressing gown. It was open to the waist and I could see greying hair tufted on his bony chest. The dressing gown stopped just above his knees. His legs were thin, but muscular and tanned. ‘I fancy a game of tennis later,' he said. ‘I think I'll get on the court after lunch.'

‘I think the police have taken it over for their incident room.'

‘Oh, Christ! What a drag. Do you think I can get a game somewhere else?'

I wondered who he thought I was. The chairman of the British Lawn Tennis Association maybe? ‘No idea,' I said. ‘Sport bores me.'

He looked at me like I'd just hatched out of an egg.

‘How very interesting,' he said.

‘Not as interesting as murder,' I said. ‘But you obviously don't think so.'

‘You sound like the voice of my conscience.'

I didn't answer. The two security men looked on like the trained monkeys they were.

‘Well?' he demanded.

‘Maybe.'

‘And what gives you the right to tell me what I'm interested in or not?'

I shrugged. ‘I thought you might be interested when one of your guys gets killed.'

He looked at me long and hard. ‘Do you know who you're talking to?' he asked.

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘I know.'

‘Then don't tell me about my guys. My guys get very well paid for what they do. You should know that. You're not doing too badly yourself. If something happens to them that's their lookout. And yours.'

‘You're a sweetheart, do you know that?'

‘I'll make a note of it. But remember one thing – this is a rock and roll band, not a bunch of poofs on a church outing. We've lost people before, and I guess we will again. And when we do, we close ranks. We don't cry over spilt milk. We party. It might be me next time, and I don't want any fucking mourning done on my behalf. That's the way my guys are too. Turdo was OK. Now he's gone. We'll all remember him with love, we'll take care of any arrangements that have to be made, but life goes on. That's one thing you learn in this business. Now you two,' he looked at the security men, ‘I want you to get lost. Me and Nick here've got things to talk about in private.' I thought they might protest, but he just gave them a dirty look and they didn't argue. ‘And where the hell's my breakfast?' he added.

As if on cue there was a knock on the door. The guy in shirtsleeves put his hand on the butt of his pistol and opened it a crack, then all the way, and a Jones' waiter came in wheeling a trolley piled with covered dishes. ‘Great,' said Pandora. The waiter covered the dining table with a clean white cloth and transferred the dishes on to it, taking off the covers as he went, and putting them back on to the trolley. Then he bowed out, like he'd been delivering breakfast to Prince Charles.

‘OK,' said Pandora. ‘You two can split and leave us alone.'

‘Sure, Mr Pandora,' said the one in shirtsleeves and picked up his jacket and put it on. ‘We'll be right outside. Just yell if you need us.'

‘I'm safe with Nick here,' said Pandora.

The two men nodded and left. Pandora sat at the table and loaded the plate in front of him with food. He was no mean eater. He chose scrambled eggs, bacon, two kinds of sausage, kidneys, kedgeree and hot rolls. The smell of the food made me feel slightly sick again. ‘Want some?' he said with his mouth full of egg.

I shook my head in reply.

‘Coffee?'

‘Sure.' I stood up, walked to the table and poured black coffee into a clean cup and added cream and sugar, then went back to my chair.

‘Well, Nick,' said Pandora. ‘It seems that bringing you in didn't work out like we'd planned it.'

‘Or extra security men,' I replied.

‘True.' He hesitated. ‘Are you making excuses for yourself?'

I shook my head. ‘No. I was called in to investigate a possible attempted murder. Now there's been a real one. Someone moved the goalposts. Changed the rules. We're talking a whole different ballgame.'

He pursed his lips. ‘You saw Turdo's body?'

I nodded. ‘It was rough,' I said. ‘Whoever did that must have been crazy. And tough. He was a big man.'

It was Pandora's turn to nod.

‘But then,' I went on, ‘your band seems to be pretty unlucky like that.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah. I heard you've had a lot of bad breaks. Like you said, lost a lot of people over the years.'

‘We're not the only ones. This business attracts strange people, and strange things often happen. We've had our share.'

‘More than your share if you ask me.'

He didn't answer, just finished the last scraps on his plate and drained his coffee cup and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

‘Gotta cigarette?' he asked.

I tossed him the packet and he lit one with a match from a complimentary book advertising the hotel, sat back and blew out a stream of smoke. ‘Thanks,' he said. ‘I quit.'

‘They always taste better after,' I remarked.

‘Sure do,' he agreed, then changed the subject. ‘Have you met all the band yet?'

‘No,' I replied. ‘It's been kind of hectic since I got here.'

‘Who
have
you met?'

‘You. Box. Shapiro. And Ninotchka.'

‘Ah, Ninotchka. I've been hearing things about you two. Got your leg over yet?'

‘No,' I said. ‘If it's any of your business.'

‘Everything to do with this band is my business. Still, she's slowing down. She must be getting old.'

He saw my expression.

‘Don't get me wrong,' he said, ‘I love that woman. If things had been different…' He didn't finish the sentence. ‘But they weren't. So you've got to meet Shorty, Baby Boy and Scratch? Listen, tonight we're all getting together for dinner. The lot of us, and Rodge the Dodge. Why don't you come along?'

‘Fine,' I said.

‘Nine o'clock in the restaurant downstairs. Then we're going on…' The ringing of the telephone interrupted him. He leant over and scooped up the receiver and said: ‘Pandora.' He listened for a moment ‘Sure,' he said. ‘Come on up.' He put down the phone. ‘I've got some company coming. I'll get dressed. Won't be long.' He dropped the cigarette into his cup, got up and went back towards the door he'd entered by.

‘Want me to go?' I asked.

‘No,' he said. ‘Stick around.'

He was back within a few minutes. He'd changed into tight white jeans, a Chambray shirt, and dark blue high-topped boat shoes with no socks. Almost immediately there was a knock on the door. He went over and opened it. His two teenaged girlfriends came in. ‘Meet Slash and The Flea,' he said. He touched the blonde when he said ‘Slash', and the brunette when he said ‘The Flea'.

‘Hello,' I said. They didn't reply, just looked at me like I was something out of an exhibition. An exhibition that didn't particularly interest them. I wondered if they practised the look in the mirror when they were alone. Pandora closed the door and stood between them, a proprietorial arm around their shoulders. Both the girls were chewing gum. Their jaws moved in unison. Slash was the taller of the two, and her blonde hair was piled up so high on the top of her head she appeared to be even taller than she was. She was dressed all in black. Black jeans, black T-shirt and black trainers. Her lipstick was black too. She looked like she'd been eating licorice. The Flea was wearing a white blouse tucked into a short denim skirt. Underneath the blouse she was wearing a black bra. Subtle.

Pandora left them, and walked to the sofa facing me and sat down. ‘Any idea who did it?' he asked.

‘Not one.'

He nodded. ‘See what you can do.'

‘You mean I'm still on the job?'

‘Sure. Now tonight there's a big reception –'

‘
The Miracle?
'

He nodded. ‘You've heard about it. Good. That's where we're going after dinner. All of us. Band, crew, accountants, lawyers. The works. It's a gesture of solidarity. We have to show that we're ready to boogie. To kick ass. Understand? And you're coming too.'

I nodded again.

‘Your job is to look out for Ninotchka, OK?'

‘Suits me.'

‘Don't be coy. I know guys who would kill for the job. Sorry. Not funny, right? Anyway, you might get lucky. Who knows?' And he grinned and showed his big teeth. They were very wet, and very yellow under the artificial light. ‘That's settled then,' he said, and looked over at the two sisters. ‘Hey, girls, come and sit with me. I'm feeling lonely all of a sudden.'

Slash joined him on the sofa. She sat real close. He draped his right arm over her right shoulder. His hand slid to rest comfortably on the top of her breast. He started rubbing it. Just a lazy rubbing, without really thinking. The pressure brought the nipple up against the material of her T-shirt. And as he stroked her, he was still rabbiting on to me. God knows what about. I wasn't listening. She was looking me straight in the eye as it was going on, as if to get some sort of reaction. It suddenly struck me, clear as day, that they were going through the whole performance for my benefit. To see what I'd do. Then The Flea came over and sat on his left side. He slid his hand down her back, and down further, and she giggled. Then she started squirming around so that I knew his fingers were up her skirt. And I knew they were doing it for my benefit too.

And right then I realised I really hated this guy Pandora.
Really
hated him. And I also realised that as both his hands were otherwise engaged, out of the game as it were, that if I stood up quickly I could drop kick him right in the head and spread that beak of his right across his stupid fucking face. No danger. No problem. Hole in fucking one.

And wouldn't that have been a surprise to the little honey bunnies as they tried to put Humpty together again? Then I realised something else. That I was envious. Which put an entirely new complexion on things.