DEAD UNLUCKY: A Joe Box Story

by Jim Reeves

  Joe looked glum and put his mug down. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘You haven’t finished your coffee.’

  ‘I’m meeting Fish at the pub.’

  ‘Don’t you want to choose a book?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got the new William Boyd in.’

  ‘Some other time. I’m going to go and cry on Fish’s shoulder.’

  ‘Don’t be like this Joe.’ Penny held his arm to restrain him.

  Joe smiled sadly. ‘A bad week got just got worse. Give me a couple of days. I’ll get over it.’

  Chapter 6

  Joe was slumped in front of the television sipping beer from a can when his doorbell rang. He grimaced, looked at his watch and pulled himself up out of the chair.

  He wandered into the hallway and opened the front door to see Fish framed in the doorway. He was carrying a plastic carrier bag.

  ‘What’re you doing out at this hour?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Got something that might interest you,’ grinned Fish. ‘Can I come in?’

  Joe stepped aside and Fish entered the flat.

  Fish glanced at the television. ‘What’re you watching?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ Joe picked up the remote control and switched the television off. ‘Fancy a beer?’

  ‘I could murder one,’ said Fish eagerly.

  Joe fetched a can of beer from the fridge and threw it to Fish.

  ‘So what’ve you got?’ asked Joe.

  Fish smiled conspiratorially and put his beer can on a coffee table. He took a folded cloth from the plastic carrier bag. The cloth was wrapped around something that seemed to be quite heavy. Fish placed it gently on the table and slowly peeled back the cloth to reveal a large hand gun in a leather holster.

  ‘Jesus Christ, what’s that?’ gasped Joe.

  ‘A gun,’ smiled Fish. ‘.44 Magnum.’

  ‘I can see it’s a bloody gun. What’s it doing here?’

  ‘Could come in useful if you’re going to be a private eye,’ grinned Fish.

  ‘I haven’t got the job for definite,’ Joe said.

  ‘Think positive,’ Fish told him.

  ‘Anyway, they’d lock me up and throw away the key if I walked round the streets with that in my pocket,’ Joe said.

  ‘Who’s to know?’ asked Fish.

  ‘There’s not much point having it if nobody knows I’ve got it.’

  ‘It’s just for times when you want somebody’s undivided attention. Anybody gives you any back-chat, just shove that under their nose and they’ll be bricking themselves.

  ‘It’d ruin the cut of my coat if I had that in my pocket. It must weigh half a ton.

  ‘Your coat’s long past caring,’ laughed Fish. ‘Anyway you strap this holster round your shoulder. It won’t be in your pocket.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’ Joe asked warily.

  ‘I’ve got friends in very low places, you know that’ said Fish. ‘I called in a favour.’

  ‘Who from? Buffalo Bill?’

  ‘I asked around at the club. There’s always somebody who knows somebody.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Does this friend know you got it for me?’ Joe asked. ‘No. I kept that to myself.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ Joe sighed.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ Fish looked slightly crestfallen.

  ‘It’s a nice thought,’ Joe said. ‘Just a bit over the top.’

  ‘Pick it up,’ urged Fish. ‘Get the feel of it.’

  ‘I’m not touching it,’ Joe said. ‘I don’t want my prints all over it. I don’t know where it’s been.’

  Fish picked up the gun and hefted it in his hand. ‘Don’t know what you’re worried about. It’s not loaded. I’m not a complete moron.’ He aimed it at the television and fired an imaginary shot.

  ‘You got me fooled,’ Joe said drily.

  Joe sat down and sipped his beer. ‘Better wrap it up and take it back where you got it from.’

  ‘I can’t take it back,’ Fish told him.

  ‘Is it hot?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘The bloke who owns it probably doesn’t know it’s gone yet.’

  ‘So how did you get it?’

  ‘This mate of mine sort of nicked it off a mate of his.’

  ‘So give it back to your mate. It’s his problem,’ Joe told Fish.

  ‘He wouldn’t like that. He won’t want to put it back where he found it. Too risky.

  And he won’t give me my money back.’

  Joe looked aghast. ‘You paid him for it?’

  ‘A ton,’ Fish nodded meekly.

  ‘Christ!’ Joe groaned. ‘I’m right down on my uppers and you go and pay a hundred quid for a nicked gun.’

  ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ said Fish glumly.

  ‘I don’t care what you do with it,’ snapped Joe. ‘Just get it out of my flat. I’ve got enough problems as it is.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just keep it a couple of days?’ asked Fish. ‘If I take that home Betty’ll probably use it on me.’

  Joe buried his head in his hands for several long seconds. ‘I must be off my bloody head,’ he groaned. ‘Two days, then I want it gone.’

  Fish took a long drink of beer. ‘Not quite the reaction I was expecting, I must admit.’ Fish put his beer can on the table and stood up to leave.

  ‘Two days,’ Joe reminded him. ‘Or I dump it in the canal.’

  ‘Two days,’ nodded Fish as he headed for the door.

  Joe closed the door behind Fish shaking his head disbelievingly. He stared thoughtfully at the gun on the table for a few seconds. He looked around as though expecting to be found out. Then he strapped the holster around his left shoulder, slipped the gun into the holster and walked up the stairs to the gallery to look at himself in a long mirror. He drew the gun from the holster with his right hand, pointed it at the mirror and fired an imaginary shot. He repeated the process several times, changing his stance each time, finally holding the gun in both hands to aim.

  He went back down to the living area, unstrapped the holster and wrapped the gun and holster in the cloth. He looked around the room thoughtfully then walked back up the stairs, pulled open a drawer full of underpants and pushed the gun to the bottom of the pile.

  Not very original, but the best he could come up with at short notice.

  Chapter 7

  The Friday night crowd at the Blue Parrott was starting to thin out. There were just a few stragglers and sad hicks who had no better place to go. Joe was tired. He had spent the afternoon prowling the local streets and back yards in search of the cat. No luck, and he was rapidly giving up hope on his chances of becoming a private eye. He had done a long stint on the piano to a fairly disinterested audience and was hoping to slip away soon. Patti Birch, owner and matriarch at the club liked her pound of flesh however and had other ideas.

  ‘Just give them another two or three numbers to see them on their way,’ she said when she saw Joe getting restless.

  ‘They look like they’ve had enough already,’ he told her. ‘I know I have.’

  Nevertheless, he tinkled idly on the piano keys while he decided what to play. Patti brought him a whisky with plenty of ice.

  ‘Maybe that will help.’

  Joe sipped it gratefully and cleared his head and paused from playing for a few seconds. Then, eyes closed, he slipped gently into one of his favourite Elvis songs.

  ‘Maybe I didn’t love you quite as often as I should have,

  Maybe I didn’t hold you quite as often as I should have,

  Little things I should have said and done,

  I just never took the time.

  You were always on my mind.

  You were always on my mind . . . . ‘

  Joe sang his way through the song and received a smattering of applause when he finished. He raised his glass to the audience then took a drink.

  As he sat, eyes closed
, deciding on his next song, he felt the presence of someone close by and opened his eyes to see an attractive woman, probably in her thirties, standing by the piano. She looked tired and red eyed as though she had been doing some crying recently. She fidgeted nervously.

  ‘Joe Box?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s me,’ Joe nodded.

  ‘I wonder if I might have a word.’

  ‘I don’t do requests this late in the evening,’ Joe said apologetically. ‘I usually just wind down with a couple of slow numbers.’

  She smiled. ‘Actually, there’s something you might be able to help me with.’

  Joe paused. A good looking red eyed woman who needed his help probably meant some kind of trouble. He wasn’t in the mood for trouble, but he couldn’t see any easy way to get rid of her that wouldn’t cause more tears.

  ‘Can it wait a little while?’ asked Joe as he caught sight of Patti glaring at him. ‘I’ll be finished soon. Fifteen minutes tops.’

  ‘All right,’ the woman said and she walked towards the bar.

  Joe sipped his drink, closed his eyes and thought for a few seconds. He had intended to sing the Rod Stewart song. ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ but the lady waiting for him looked like she had been crying for a quite a while, if not for ever, so he decided to pass on that.

  He did his habitual tinkle on the keys then slipped into George Harrison’s ‘Something’ another old favourite of his. He drifted off into a world of his own, delivering the song almost on auto-pilot. As he finished he received more gratifying applause which he acknowledged before sipping his drink.

  He was suddenly enjoying himself and could have carried on for a while longer but he remembered his lady visitor and decided on one more song. He was tempted to hit the audience with a Jerry Lee Lewis number but he knew Patti wouldn’t approve so he settled for a quiet rendering of the old Sinatra song ‘Someone to Watch over Me’. Patti would love it even if nobody else did.

  With the song finished, Joe stood up and bowed briefly towards the audience. Then he finished his drink before making his way to the woman waiting at the bar.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right,’ she smiled. ‘You were very good.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because it’s true,’ Joe said drily.

  The woman offered her hand. ‘Eileen Pearson,’ she told him. She passed him a fresh drink which he received gratefully and sipped.

  ‘My favourite poison. I’m impressed.’ Joe smiled.

  ‘I noticed at the piano,’ she nodded. ‘You look tired. Has it been one of those days?’

  ‘Been one of those lives,’ Joe said.

  ‘Can we talk in private?’ she asked.

  ‘Better come to my office.’ Joe turned and walked to a table well away from the bar. He pulled out a chair for Eileen.

  ‘This is your office?’ she asked as she sat down.

  ‘For the moment,’ Joe smiled. ‘Nobody will bother us here.’ He sat opposite Eileen. ‘So, what can I do for you Eileen?’

  ‘I understand you help people,’ said Eileen.

  ‘Do I?’ Joe raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Your friend Fish told me,’ she nodded.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Well do you?’ she asked.

  ‘I help old ladies across the street occasionally.’

  Eileen managed a brief smile. ‘More than that, I think.’

  ‘You know Fish?’ asked Joe.

  ‘I’ve seen him around the clubs occasionally,’ she nodded.

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything he tells you.’

  ‘He seemed pretty sincere.’

  ‘He usually does when he’s had a few drinks,’ Joe said.

  ‘It was pretty late in the evening,’ admitted Eileen ruefully.

  ‘So you want some help with a problem?’ asked Joe.

  ‘My husband is missing,’ said Eileen. ‘I’d like you to try and find him.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Fish tells me that you’re a private detective when you’re not singing here.’

  ‘Fish is a little premature,’ Joe grimaced.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Eileen.

  ‘I’ve been a private detective for twenty-four hours. I’ve got a one-off assignment. If it works out, I might get the job full-time. Only I don’t expect it to work out.’

  ‘What’s the assignment?’

  ‘I’m looking for a missing cat.’

  ‘A cat?’ Eileen looked a little taken aback.

  ‘Knew you’d be impressed,’ Joe said drily. ‘You want another drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You still want my help now you know I’m not a super hero?’

  ‘Nobody else seems interested.’ There was a tremor in her voice.

  ‘How long has your husband been missing?

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘I take it you’ve been to the police?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They didn’t seem that interested,’ she said. ‘Apparently, it’s open season for missing husbands. I think they assumed the obvious.’

  ‘Another woman?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. Her face crumpled slightly and her lips trembled but she held back the tears.

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘We had dinner at home then he came to Broad Street to one of the casinos. I’m not sure which one. He likes to play the roulette wheels.’

  ‘You didn’t come with him?’

  ‘Not really my scene,’ she shook her head.

  ‘He didn’t come home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And he hasn’t been in touch since?’

  She shook her head again. She was clearly making a great effort to control her emotions but looked like she might let go pretty soon.

  ‘Did he drive in to town?’ asked Joe.

  ‘No. He took a taxi. He likes to have a few drinks.’

  ‘Any money problems?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Definitely not.’

  Joe looked at Eileen. She was expensively dressed and certainly didn’t look like a lady on the breadline. In spite of her worry, she had taken a lot of time and trouble with her clothes and make-up before coming to see him. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure the perfume she was wearing was of the ultra-expensive, ‘come play with me’, variety.

  ‘Things okay between you?’ asked Joe a little nervously.

  Eileen sensed his discomfort and managed an amused smile. ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘You got any children?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She shook her head sadly.

  Joe was running out of questions. Grown men don’t usually disappear off the face of the earth unless they really want to. If something bad had happened to him, the chances were that a body would have turned up by now.

  ‘What have you done apart from speak to the police?’ asked Joe.

  ‘I’ve checked the plastic cards, he hasn’t used any, and he hasn’t drawn any cash out of the bank. I’ve been round all of the clubs and casinos that I know he visited in the past,’ said Eileen ‘but, no joy. I can see it in their faces. They think the same as the police.’

  Joe sipped his drink and thought for a few seconds. ‘Have you thought about another private detective?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it at all until Fish suggested you.’

  ‘You might find somebody more experienced who knows how to go about things better than I do.’

  Eileen shook her head. ‘I’d like you to try.’

  Joe shook his head doubtfully. ‘All I’m going to do is speak to the same people you’ve already spoken to.’

  ‘They might be more forthcoming with you,’ Eileen told him. ‘Nobody wanted to tell me anything. I think they all assumed he’d just run off and left me.’

  Joe thought again and
squirmed a little uncomfortably as he tried to find the right words. ‘You do realise, that if I do this, the most likely outcome will be that your husband is shacked up somewhere with another woman?’

  ‘That won’t be the case,’ Eileen told him firmly. ‘But at least look for him. Nobody else is doing anything.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll ask around but if I draw a blank around the clubs, I’m not sure what else I can do.’

  Eileen slid a photograph across the table. Joe picked it up and studied it.

  ‘I think I’ve seen him around,’ he said.

  ‘He will have been in here,’ Eileen nodded. ‘He’s always loved the club scene.’

  Joe looks at Eileen. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Bill. Bill Pearson,’ said Eileen.

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Forty-three. He’s IT Manager for Incubon. They import electronic equipment, from the Far East mostly.’

  ‘And they’ve not heard from him?’

  ‘No.’ Eileen shook her head and pushed an envelope across the table.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Joe.

  ‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,’ she told him.

  Joe picked up the envelope and flicked it open revealing a wad of twenty pound notes.

  ‘How much is there?’ He asked.

  ‘Five hundred pounds.’

  Joe pushed the envelope back towards Eileen.

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’ she asked. Her lips quivered and he thought she was about to burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t take your money,’ he told her.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well for a start. I don’t think I’ve got much chance of finding your husband. All I’m going to do is visit all the clubs round here looking for the cat and showing them the photograph of your husband at the same time. I can’t take five hundred quid off you for that’.

  Eileen opened the envelope and pulled several notes out. She pushed them towards Joe. ‘All right. There’s one hundred pounds to cover expenses.’

  Joe still looked doubtful.

  ‘I heard you might need the money,’ said Eileen.

  Joe looked at her. ‘You been reading my mail?’

  ‘Fish told me,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘Did he now?’ Joe shrugged and took the money. ‘I’ll do my best, but I really don’t expect to get lucky.’