Moondog and the Reed Leopard

by Neil Mach

  ‘Great,’ she said. But what about me? She didn’t like the idea of tricking Moondog. She progressively realized that she was being coached by the Sarge to be bait in the act of entrapment. Once she’d figured that, she felt brave enough to add conditions of her own, ‘If I do this...’ she told him, ‘If I save his fingerprints for you, you owe me. You owe me big time. You understand?’

  Sergeant Moyes lifted his collar. ‘Of course. I appreciate that, my dear. I have your back. And you have mine. I will not forget you have done me a big favour. What comes around goes around. And, obviously, on that note, don’t mention this to anybody.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Good’

  *

  The production assistant Tibby Fromstein phoned the police station the following day to confirm to Sarah-Jane that her man was prepared to meet Hopie at Miss Stook’s Teahouse that same afternoon. Sarah-Jane took the message confidentially, then slyly relayed the news to Sergeant Moyes. She smiled at Hopie as she walked back to her desk. She made strong eye contact.

  Moyes got up with a flourish, cleared his throat noisily, and said, ‘Might I have a word with you in private Hopie?’

  She nodded. They went into the hallway for another secret chat to discuss their monkey business. Hopie stood with her legs planted wide, and her chin held high.

  ‘That was the green light...’ the Sarge said. ‘All systems go. The message from Mister Moon Dog’s woman in London is that your date is on. Do you know what you must do? Do you want me to go over things one more time?’

  ‘No, I think I can cope, thank you,’ Hopie said, using in a tired tone. ‘And you will not forget you owe me?

  ‘No, clearly not.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ll give you the rest of the day off,’ he added. ‘So, you can go home and tart... Sorry, excuse me, so you can dress nice and put makeup on.’ He looked at her face as if she needed it.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, as she checked her nails.

  ‘Meet him at four at Miss Stooks. Get the same table we had before, at the back, so people don’t notice you are rendezvousing. Grab the glass when you can and secrete it in your bag. Leave whenever you want. No need to come back here. Give me the glass tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine...’

  ‘Good luck.’

  *

  Hopie felt excited about the manoeuvres. It was such mischievous behavior! These days she was forever vaulting over fences and creeping around in the dark. And now she was going to be involved in a sting operation. She was becoming a spy. She loved it. When she got home, she watched telly for a bit, but there was nothing good on — she felt bored. She showered and forced herself to bed, but the butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t allow her to settle. At half-past three, she prepared herself and looked in the mirror. She looked like Agent Carter.

  *

  At five-to-four, she entered the teahouse and nearly jumped out of her skin when the little bell tinkled above the door. Afterwards, she appreciated how jittery she had become. The familiar, hopeless, waitress came over with her usual unhelpful expression on her bland face. ‘I’m meeting my friend here,’ Hopie explained. ‘I’d like a table at the back …’

  ‘He’s already here,’ said the waitress with a pinched smile. She turned a heel and pointed towards the darkest end of the room. Hopie could see Moondog’s curly hair. ‘You want me to show you over?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Hopie. ‘Give us a minute then bring a menu.’

  ‘Very well, milady,’ the waitress said in a sarcastic tone, then she feigned a curtsy.

  ‘Whatever,’ murmured Hopie.

  *

  When she got to Moondog’s table, he stood —the perfect gentleman — to help her to a seat. His hair bounced happily. ‘You’ve done your nails,’ he exclaimed. He took one of her hands to look closer. ‘Very good,’ he remarked.

  ‘Thank you...’ Her ears turned a shade of red. She pulled her knees together as she sat to look into his face.

  Moondog let go of her hand and spoke, ‘So this is a turn-up heh? What’s it all about?’

  ‘Yes, I wanted to see you, to explain that the Chief wants you to continue with investigations. He made it clear at a meeting that he wants you to continue to look into both areas...’

  ‘That’s a twist. A twist I didn’t expect. What do the others think?’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘In this meeting, I assume there were other officers present?’

  ‘Er, yes. They are less... well shall we say they’re less optimistic about your participation.’

  ‘Nicely put. But your Chief thinks I’m fine?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as saying he thinks you’re fine. He put all the blame onto the Sergeant. He implied the Sergeant was stupid to recruit you.’ Hopie looked around and saw the young waitress reading a puzzle book. ‘I’ll get her attention and ask for water. Want some?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’ve got something to show you...’

  Hopie shouted ‘Hello’ and waved her hand. The waitress wandered over and slouched nearby. ‘Would you get us water and two glasses?’

  ‘Right. Are you ready to order?’

  ‘Give us a moment.’

  Moondog retrieved his iPad from his leather satchel.

  ‘You always have the best stuff...’ Hopie commented, admiring his tablet computer. Then she added, ‘Did you bring your Hummer?’ Maybe he’d take her back to his place?

  ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘The car sticks out a mile. I walked...’

  ‘Where are you lodging?’ she asked. ‘You never told me…’

  ‘Along the road,’ he offered. ‘Now what do you think of this?’ He handed over the iPad and turned the screen to face her. She saw a blurred image. It looked greenish, with a strange purple tint.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you see two characters?’

  She concentrated on the indistinct image and comprehended that it probably contained two silver-looking people, aliens she guessed, with yellow eyes and grey-white edges. ‘Ghosts?’ Hopie asked.

  ‘No, they’re not ghosts, just men...’

  ‘They look like ghosts. How do you know that they’re not?’

  ‘For one thing, we cannot photograph ghosts with conventional devices, and for another, ghosts cannot trip motion sensors. So, what you are seeing here are two men who trampled onto Freeman’s Meadows. That’s the place where I told wildlife expert Cyril Calcedon the Reed Leopard lurks.’

  ‘How did you get these?’

  ‘From those hidden trail cameras I left... Don’t you remember? They send the images straight to my phone...’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ She remembered. The waitress brought over a pitcher of water and two glasses.

  ‘Now look at this.’ Moondog took the device from her, tapped a few times, and then showed her another picture. This appeared clearer so she could focus on a man’s face. ‘Recognise him?’

  ‘Er, very grainy, and again with spooky colours. Are you sure these figures are not ghosts?’

  ‘That’s the way the camera takes pictures in low light. But can you recognise the face?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that I can...’

  ‘Look again… It’s Mister Calcedon isn’t it? Right?’

  Hopie squinted and could see what Moondog meant. She tried to imagine that the face in the picture wasn’t tinged silver-green and the man didn’t have orange eyes. Then she recognised him better. ‘Oh, yes, it is. I do believe you’re right.’

  Moondog took the device and found another image. ‘Now look at this and tell me if you recognize the face.’

  He spun the screen around, and she saw the close-up of the face of the other man. She squinted as she did before and thought she saw a person with Asian characteristics. ‘I honestly don’t know this one.’

  ‘Do you have a Chinese restaurant in town or any other Asian businesses?’

  ‘We have a Chinese take-away. On the hill. Do you think the man in this photo is some china-man? Do y
ou think he’s our take-away man? Only this man looks shorter, squatter somehow. With bigger jaws.’ She looked again at the image. ‘This doesn’t look like our local takeaway man.’

  ‘So, this is not him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so.’

  Moondog poured some water. Then he took a sip from his glass. She smiled but left her water intact. ‘So, what does all this mean?’ she asked. ‘Is it significant?’

  ‘Well, Chalcedon went for the bait and others are involved.’

  *

  When the waitress eventually delivered their menus, Moondog dismissed her with a wave. ‘Aren’t we having a meal?’ asked Hopie. She wiped her brow with a sleeve.

  ‘What here? No, we’ll go elsewhere. Do you know a guy named Woo Hoo Ram?’

  ‘The name sounds like it’s been made up. Are you sure it’s authentic?’

  ‘Korean.’

  ‘Oh, right. Do you think it’s the man in the ghostly photo?’

  ‘Perhaps. Let’s ask your pal.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘The owner of the take-away on the hill.’

  ‘I don’t think the local take-away is open in the afternoon. And he’s not my friend, not really.’

  ‘But you would recognise him though?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I would.’

  ‘Great. Let’s see him.’

  Moondog stood, and the waitress rushed to their table. It was the fastest she’d moved all day. ‘What’s wrong? she asked. ‘Won’t you order something?’ She ran her hand over her chest.

  ‘We’ll save it for next time,’ he told her.

  ‘Moondog,’ Hopie shouted, trying to get his attention.

  ‘Hey, yes, what is it?’ He turned his head and wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Sorry to burst in, but if we’re leaving, do you mind if I use the ladies? Just in case...’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. I’ll wash my hands, too. You go first.…’

  Hopie squeezed past him as he opened his wallet to find a ten-pound note.

  As Hopie walked away, she could hear him speaking to the waitress, ‘This is for you. To cover today and next time. We’ll return soon, and we’ll need good service. You understand?’

  ‘Oh, yes sir,’ said the waitress.

  *

  Once they’d left Miss Stook’s Teahouse and Moondog had been to the loo, Hopie guided him up Mountsorrel Lane.

  ‘It’s this way to the Chinese...’ she chirruped. In her bag was the pilfered drinking glass with Moondog’s prints on it, hidden under a layer of paper napkins. She’d purloined it so stealthily; he didn’t have a clue.

  *

  It turned into a typically dreary afternoon by the time they strode the steady incline towards the town’s Chinese only take-away. Blustery wind agitated the fringe of Moondog’s hair, so it jounced freely. Hopie felt a playful smile run across her face and she wished, with all her heart, that he would hold her hand — because she realized they were a perfect match together: even if he walked too fast and she was dippy. She felt confident enough to ask a direct question, so she let rip: ‘Do you know what Jack-the-Ladding means?’

  ‘I suppose it means behaving as bold as brass or blustering about, why?’

  ‘Someone said you have been doing that. Putting yourself about...’

  Moondog slowed his pace and wrinkled his forehead, ‘Do you think I’ve been putting it about? Around the place?’

  ‘No...’ she rubbed her sleeve nervously. ‘Not me, I didn’t think it. I didn’t even say it. I am just repeating stuff I heard...’ Why did she have to go and open her big mouth?

  ‘Who’s saying this?’

  ‘Lads… Only lads in the police station. Please forget I ever mentioned it. It means nothing...’

  Moondog set off briskly once more. After a short while he added a kind of explanation: ‘I’ve chatted to people, it’s true. I’ve asked about. I collected testimonies from eyewitnesses. I assure you, though, that I haven’t put it about...’

  ‘Sorry, wrong choice of words... my bad?’

  He grunted before giving a despondent sigh. Soon they reached the top of the hill. The tempting smells from a Chinese kitchen were already lifting on the afternoon breeze.

  ‘We’re there...’ Hopie announced, as if he didn’t know.

  ‘One moment...’ She saw that Moondog had become distracted by something he noticed on the other side of the street. She followed his eyes and saw a pile of rubbish abandoned by an old stone wall. The garbage was tossed into a shadow cast by a glossy-dark holly tree. Moondog went across the road to investigate the pile of rags, so Hopie followed.

  ‘What is it? Trash? Fly tipping?’

  Moondog didn’t answer. He merely frowned. He was giving her the silent treatment, she guessed. Why did she always ruin things by saying something stupid?

  Then Moondog took a sudden leap onto the wall, turned his body to one side, twisted a leg around, and fell out of view. She thought he must’ve landed near the tree trunk. ‘Moondog?’ she called. She wasn’t dressed for an assault-course today... and she’d painted her nails. Did he expect her to follow?

  A moment later, his head bobbed back, and thank God; he had a relaxed smile on his face. He climbed the wall again and lunged over to join her on the sidewalk. Then she heard a snap and crackle, followed by a gargantuan rustle, as another man appeared. This other guy balanced on top of the wall, then hesitantly slid to the ground, using his trousers to slow his descent. He joined them on their side. The man wore a threadbare green parka over a blue sweatshirt, a frayed red cardigan, and an ancient ‘Happy Mondays’ t-shirt. Hopie glimpsed a muddy baseball cap under a shabby balaclava. He had at least three days’ worth of stubbly growth on his wrinkled face. She saw begrimed hands, watery eyes, and bad teeth. The most significant thing about the man was that he stank bad.

  ‘A homeless man?’ she asked.

  ‘That is his bedding...’ replied Moondog matter-of-factly. She peered at the collection of trash by the wall. Moondog opened his wallet and found a ten-pound note. He folded the banknote cleanly in half and passed it to the vagrant. While he was doing this, he began to communicate with the man, using an alien language that Hopie didn’t understand. She thought Moondog was saying something like: ‘Before you jaw, leave no, if you dekka warbs seek my uzho ere ‘n a yunger gavver a shad, give m’ollah. An me lookout for amour plew the barri-mush see del-del, a lot athinganoi, you unner? If you vidy good, I bung you more kitty-cat, kushtee?

  The unpleasant down-and-out understood every word that Moondog uttered, so he nodded enthusiastically. He took the proffered banknote and pushed it deep into his filthy pocket. The tramp smiled at Hopie then collapsed into his mess on the street.

  *

  Moondog guided Hopie across the road, away from the stench of the tramp, and stopped by the entrance to the Chinese takeaway.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘I won’t go in. The owner will certainly have a camera. They always do. You will have to make him come out here to see me...’

  ‘How will I do that? The shop’s not even open yet. Why would he leave his shop to speak to you outside?’

  ‘You will have to use your imagination, I suppose. I suggest you tell the man that a wealthy guy is on the street and wants to place a giant order, but the wealthy man has bad claustrophobia.’

  ‘You think of everything...’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Who was that man by the wall?’

  ‘Oh him?’ Moondog turned to check on the vagabond. Hopie noticed the man seemed invisible, now, because he had sunk into a huge pile of garbage. ‘He’s a lonely pilgrim...’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Oh yes, he’s one of our dossers. Part of a network.’

  ‘What network?’

  ‘A complex and interconnected communications system that we run across the nation. Those guys, the dossers, they have been watching out for us for centuries — they’re very useful. They alert us, quickly and effici
ently, to danger. We reward them with protection and cash.’

  ‘And the language you used? Was it Eastern European? Was it Romanian or something?’

  ‘Romanian?’ Moondog slapped his thigh and gave a loud hoot. ‘It’s everyday language. A common tongue.’

  ‘I never heard it before...’

  ‘That is how we all talked long ago. We all had a common tongue. You, me and the vagabond. But the common tongue was taken away by the man. The same man who made people like you read books and work eight hours a day. Now it’s only travelling-folks — gypsies and dossers — who use the common tongue. It’s how we prefer to yak to one another because we don’t hold by the man’s rules and his crazy adaptations.’

  *

  Once Moondog had given her a goofy smile — he’d forgiven her for the earlier mess-ups — she skipped around the back of the takeaway to locate the rear entry to the premises.

  When she asked how she was supposed to get in, since the place was patently closed for patrons, Moondog emphasized that it ‘Always remained open...’ and said the owners ‘worked around the back, all hours.’ When she asked how he knew all these things, he said most of it came from common knowledge. He also hinted it was why the homeless person hung about opposite. ‘Always the chance of a hand-out…’

  *

  When Hopie returned from the back of the takeaway, she found Moondog waiting, crouched-low, by a lamppost on the corner. She gave him a little thumbs up signal and headed over, using her slinkiest cat-like manner.

  ‘Done it?’

  ‘Yes. It was easy. The door was open like you said, so I pushed in through. The man worked on some things with a straw brush, and he didn’t notice me right away. Then I said, ‘Are you the owner, squire?’ He looked me over and said: Sure, why not? I said, ‘There’s a big man outside who wants to place a giant order, but he cannot enter because of a fear of confined spaces...’ So, the man agreed to come out.’

  ‘Marvelous show,’ Moondog smiled. He stood straight and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Good job done, Hopie, you have what it takes.’