DEAD UNLUCKY: A Joe Box Story

by Jim Reeves

  Eileen relaxed for the first time. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled. She passed him a slip of paper. ‘That’s my address and phone number. Please call me as soon as you get some news.’

  They stood up and shook hands briefly. Joe watched her leave. She moved across the floor with an elegant ease. She looked way out of his league but he knew that another time, another place, he would have made a move.

  Patti walked over. ‘New girlfriend?’

  ‘Business acquaintance,’ Joe said, finishing his drink.

  ‘She looks like trouble,’ said Patti.

  ‘Goes with the territory,’ Joe said. ‘She’s female.’ He slipped the photograph and the slip of paper into his pocket. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Chapter 8

  Joe walked in the general direction of the street where Mrs Roberts lived. The area was packed with restaurants and fast food joints. There would be plenty of food scraps in the skips and bins out back that might interest a runaway cat. The more he thought about it, the more Joe felt sure it was a lost cause. The chances of him being in the right place at the right time to find the cat were virtually zero. He guessed that Maggie Dancer had known that all along and was just taking the mickey. The cat might even be back home already for all he knew. The day was growing colder. There was a definite hint of rain the air. If it got much colder it would probably turn to snow. He was seriously depressed. He knew that his prospects of employment with Maggie Dancer were receding by the minute.

  Nevertheless, he decided to give it a go. He walked the streets on the north side of Broad Street, scanning the back yards and waste bins where he could. He drew a blank. and considered giving up and finding a friendly pub. But his stubborn streak prevailed and he decided to repeat the process on the south side.

  He drew another blank but decided to do the circuit of the backyards again during Saturday afternoon. If that failed he would give up on the cat. He would show Bill Pearson’s photograph around separately over the next day or two. He thought there was no chance of success with that either. Eileen was a good looking woman but the clubs were always full of gorgeous ladies on the look-out for well-heeled men. He assumed that Bill Pearson had been snared by some avaricious minx. He was probably being shagged senseless that very minute. It didn’t quite add up that his credit cards hadn’t been used but maybe he had other money stashed away. Joe didn’t feel too happy about it but at least, if he asked around, he would have earned the hundred pounds that Eileen had given him.

  He walked the canal tow-paths near the Mail Box complex then headed back towards Broad Street. He had checked areas near skips and bins, where he could, without success. He was beginning to agree with Maggie Dancer. What had she said? ‘Detective work can be very boring. There’s nothing glamorous or exciting about it.’

  Joe ran up the steps from the towpath to Broad Street when the impossible happened. A cat darted up the steps past him and ran on down the street. He only got a fleeting glimpse but he was pretty sure it was the cat in his photograph. Joe turned along Broad Street and hurried after it. This was the tricky bit that he hadn’t expected to happen and hadn’t really planned for. How do you actually catch a cat on the run?

  ‘Tregorran,’ he called, but the cat ignored him and continued along the footpath at a steady trot. Joe ignored the strange looks from a couple of passers-by and lengthened his stride.

  ‘I didn’t know cats could run this fast,’ he panted as his asthma cut in to slow him down. Nevertheless, he was closing in when the cat darted down a passage at the side of the Fat Katz Club, one of the many night clubs in the area.

  Joe skidded to a halt at the end of the passage. If it was a dead end, he had a chance of grabbing the cat. He could have used a sack. He might look a bit odd carrying a struggling cat back to Maggie Dancer’s office but he would worry about that when it happened.

  Still breathing heavily Joe stepped warily into the passage ready to grab the cat if it tried to escape. The passage was about thirty yards long and ended at a high wall. A Jaguar XF was parked near the wall. Joe saw the cat sitting on its haunches watching him curiously. He moved slowly towards it, arms outstretched to block any escape. Suddenly the cat turned and ran through an open door.

  Probably leads to the kitchens, Joe guessed. He hurried towards the door and peered inside. There was a gloomy hallway with several doors leading off it. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Muffled voices and noises came from within. He had been right. It did sound like there was a kitchen nearby.

  Joe entered the hallway and moved forward slowly, hoping for a sighting of the cat. He passed a couple of closed doors but ignored them. The cat must have gone straight ahead. Suddenly, one of the doors behind him opened, spilling light into the hallway. Joe turned just in time to get a point blank view of a fist, the size of a small pile-driver, a millisecond before it rammed his face. He bounced off the wall and sagged down on one knee. A second blow exploded against his temple. The lights went out and he lost all interest in cats for the immediate future.

  Chapter 9

  It was dark. Joe was aware of voices. Distant at first but getting closer. His head felt seriously damaged and hurt like hell. He remembered the pile-driver. He worked his head from side to side. He felt like he had suffered whiplash in his neck and grimaced as he moved. His eyes were closed and he couldn’t open them when he tried. It felt like they were glued shut.

  ‘Hello Joe.’ A voice, not so distant now.

  Joe’s mouth was dry and tasted of blood. He couldn’t move his arms. He worked his jaw, trying to speak but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘Joe,’ the voice spoke again. A little louder.

  Joe’s eyes finally blinked open and he squinted. He was in a brightly lit room. A well-dressed man was sitting facing him, smiling. The man’s face was familiar but Joe couldn’t put a name to it. A bigger man with a boxer’s face and build stood by his side. He was grinning happily at Joe. Joe guessed he might be the owner of the pile-driver fist.

  ‘Back in the land of the living?’ said the first man. He was suntanned and well groomed. A few years younger than Joe but, judging by his appearance, somewhat more successful.

  Joe finally managed to rasp out some words. ‘What’s going on?’ He asked.

  ‘That’s just what I was going to ask you,’ said the man facing him. ‘Vince here caught you trespassing on my property.’

  Joe stared around the room. It was twice the size of his entire apartment and appeared to serve as an office. The furniture was obviously very expensive. He looked back at the man. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘George Bishop,’ the man said with a smile. ‘You walked into my club uninvited.’ His expression became serious. ‘I don’t like that.’

  George Bishop! That was why he knew the face. The man had an interest in two or three night clubs in the area and was reputed to have his fingers in several other more dubious enterprises. Various rumours had circulated but none were proven. As far as Joe knew, Bishop had never fallen foul of the law but that might be more down to his ability to duck and dive at the right time than his good character.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ asked Joe.

  ‘You’re kidding right?’ smiled Bishop. ‘Jumping Joe Box? Everybody knows you. You was the hottest cruiserweight prospect around in your day. You could have gone all the way.’

  ‘Somebody else had other ideas,’ Joe told him.

  ‘I heard the stories.’ Bishop nodded. ‘Somebody wanted you to throw a fight. You didn’t so you got a few broken bones as a thank-you. You could have still come back. You could’ve made it big.’

  ‘I lost my enthusiasm,’ Joe said. He looked around the room. ‘You got a drink in this place?’

  ‘Get our friend a drink Vince.’

  Vince went to a well-stocked bar and poured a whisky. As he returned, Joe tried to reach for the glass and realised, for the first time that he was tied to the chair. A rope was wrapped tight around his upper arms. Bishop took the glass from Vince and held it
to Joe’s lips. Joe took a drink and worked it around his mouth.

  ‘Why am I a prisoner?’ He asked.

  ‘You’re not a prisoner,’ Bishop smiled. ‘That rope was just to stop you falling out of the chair. We wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.’ Bishop laughed and Vince joined in.

  ‘Do the honours Vince,’ Bishop said.

  Vince undid a knot in the rope and pulled it away from Joe. Joe bent and unbent his arms, easing the stiffness away.

  Bishop looked a little more serious. ‘If there’s any hurting needs doing, Vince takes care of that for me.’

  Vince grinned, almost good-naturedly, at Joe.

  Joe realised he would be at a serious disadvantage if Vince was let loose on him but decided to bluff it out. ‘Like I said before, what’s going on?’ he said.

  ‘And like I said before, you tell me.’ Bishop’s tone was icy now. ‘What were you doing walking into my place?’

  ‘I’ve heard good things about the Fat Katz Club.’ Joe shrugged. ‘Thought I’d take a closer look.’

  ‘Through the back door? Most of my guests come through the front door,’ Bishop said. ‘That’s why we’ve got carpet laid there. And girls with big smiles and tits to match.’

  He had a point, Joe had to admit.

  ‘I was following a cat,’ Joe said.

  ‘A cat?’ Bishop looked puzzled. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Joe decided to tell Bishop the truth. That he was a private eye looking for a lost cat. It sounded so unlikely, Bishop might just believe him. Vince leapt forward and gripped Joe’s arm as he reached inside his jacket.

  ‘I’ve got a photograph,’ Joe said.

  Bishop nodded at Vince. ‘Leave it. We know he’s clean. You already checked.’

  Joe pulled the photograph of Tregorran from his pocket and offered it to Bishop.

  ‘I followed him into your club. At least I think it was him. I was just going to check.’

  ‘A bleeding cat?’ Bishop stared incredulously at the photograph.

  Joe explained the whole story. How he lost his job. How he applied for the job at Dancer Investigations and how he got the job of finding the lost cat. Bishop stared at him as he spoke.

  ‘That is so unbelievable, I think I almost believe it,’ he said when Joe has finished.

  ‘It’s true,’ Joe assured him.

  Bishop stared at the photograph of the cat then showed it to Vince. ‘You seen it?’

  ‘A cat’s a cat.’ Vince shrugged.

  ‘We get cats coming in and out all the time,’ Bishop told Joe. ‘We don’t mind. Helps to keep the mice down.’

  ‘Maybe I was wrong,’ Joe said. ‘Just wanted to take a closer look.’

  Bishop stared at Joe. ‘So your first job as a private eye is looking for a bloody cat? Jumping Joe Box you’ve hit the big time at last!’ Bishop guffawed loudly and Vince joined in. Bishop stopped laughing abruptly. ‘Only problem is, I don’t like snoopers in my place. It makes me nervous. Somebody comes in the back door, I wonder why.’

  ‘Next time, I’ll knock,’ Joe said.

  ‘There’d better not be a next time,’ warned Bishop. ‘If there is, I’ll let Vince have some fun with you.’

  Vince grinned at Joe.

  ‘In my experience, when Vince has his fun it don’t do your health and strength a lot of good,’ Bishop continued, coldly. ‘So, I’d be very carefully if I was you.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ nodded Joe.

  ‘What happens if you don’t find the cat?’ asked Bishop.

  ‘I’ll carry on looking for another job,’ Joe said.

  ‘You married?’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Got kids?’

  ‘I’m the careful type.’ Joe shook his head.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’ Bishop stared at him thoughtfully. ‘What’re you doing for money?’

  ‘If all else fails I’ll try begging letters,’ Joe told him. ‘And I do a bit at the Blue Parrot.’

  ‘What?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘I’ve seen him,’ Vince said suddenly. ‘You’re a bleeding singer ain’t you?’ he said to Joe.

  ‘Some might argue with that,’ Joe said.

  ‘That’s why I know your face,’ Bishop said. ‘You work for Patti Birch. I haven’t seen her for a while. How is the old cow?’

  ‘Surviving,’ Joe said.

  ‘So you work for the opposition?’

  ‘Couple of nights a week. Don’t know about opposition though. I don’t think Patti’s quite in your league. How many clubs have you got?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Three around here,’ Bishop said, almost modestly. ‘Plus, I’ve got my fingers in one or two other little pies.’

  Vince sniggered.

  ‘I heard the rumours,’ Joe nodded.

  ‘What rumours?’ asked Bishop curiously.

  ‘That you’re not too fussy how you make your money.’

  Bishop looked taken aback. Vince grabbed Joe’s lapel and drew back his fist to deliver a blow. Bishop waved him away and looked at Joe. ‘He don’t like you talking to me like that.’ He shrugged, ‘Matter of fact, I don’t like you talking to me like that. You want to walk out of here in one piece, you better watch your mouth.’

  Joe stared at Bishop. ‘Sorry. I’ve always had a careless mouth but anybody who hires a dumb-cluck like him obviously cuts a few corners. Besides which, I’m still peeved about having your trained gorilla trying to knock my head off.’

  ‘He was holding back,’ smiled Bishop. ‘If he’d really let rip you’d be on your way to the morgue by now.’

  Joe picked up the glass and took another drink. ‘Maybe I should leave before he turns nasty.’

  ‘He turned nasty the day he was born,’ Bishop said icily. Vince glowered at Joe from behind Bishop. ‘We more or less grew up together in Lozells,’ Bishop continued. ‘Lived in the same street went to the same school. He was always hard as nails. Nobody went near him. He did a bit of boxing when he left school. He was a real heavy-weight prospect for a while. Could have gone all the way. Then he got a detached retina and the Boxing Board wouldn’t let him fight no more. He’s permanently pissed off about that. Makes him a very nasty bloke to fall out with and a very good bloke to have on my side. Not somebody you want to mess with.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Joe drained the glass and put it on the desk. He was about to stand up when Bishop put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let Vince have a bit of fun with you?’

  Joe thought for a moment. ‘You want something from me,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘You reckon?’ asked Bishop. He looked surprised.

  ‘Otherwise, he’d be beating three kinds of shit out of me by now.’

  Bishop looked impressed. ‘You might make a detective after all.’

  ‘So what is it you want?’ asked Joe.

  Bishop considered for a few seconds. ‘I’d like you to do a little job for me. A one-off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to have a package delivered to a friend of mine.’

  ‘Post it,’ suggested Joe.

  Bishop smiled. ‘I think not.’

  ‘So it’s not legal.’

  ‘Course it’s not bloody legal,’ snorted Bishop. He seemed almost affronted by the suggestion.

  ‘Is it drugs?’ asked Joe.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’d like to know what it is,’ Joe said.

  ‘Nothing too nasty, I promise,’ Bishop said. ‘Just a few CDs. with confidential information on them.’

  ‘Can’t you email the information?’

  ‘Email’s not secure enough.’ Bishop shook his head. ‘Too many smart-arse hackers around these days. You don’t know what clever bastard might intercept.’

  ‘You think I’m secure?’ Joe looked surprised.

  ‘Nobody’ll look twice at you. You’re insignificant.’ Bishop smiles. ‘That’s what I like about you. Just some sad geeze
r off on a dirty weekend, they’ll think.’

  ‘Why don’t you get Vince to do it?’ asked Joe.

  ‘I like him here with me. Makes me feel safer. Just in case some fart like you comes sniffing around.’

  ‘That’s a nice turn of phrase considering you want me to do you a favour,’ Joe said.

  ‘I’ll be paying you,’ Bishop said sourly. ‘It’s no favour.’

  Joe considered for a few seconds. ‘How much?’

  ‘Five hundred quid. Two hundred now. The rest when you get back.’

  ‘Get back from where?’ asked Joe.

  ‘My friend lives in Austria. You’ll fly to Salzburg. Hand over the package then fly back the next day. Two days’ work. Five hundred quid and I’ll pay the air fare.’

  Joe did the maths. Not bad money for two days’ work but why make it easy?

  ‘A thousand,’ he said.

  Bishop laughed. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘We don’t haggle. I decide the price tell you what it is. Five hundred quid. You just have to nod your head. Simple. If you don’t agree, I might as well let Vince take you for a workout in the gym. It’s a soundproof room in the cellar. I don’t think you’d like it very much.’

  Joe knew for sure he wouldn’t like it and he knew he was running out of options. He had two choices – take it or leave it. He didn’t want to think about what might be in store for him in the cellar if he decided to leave it, so he nodded.

  ‘OK. When do you want me to go?’

  ‘What about tomorrow?’

  ‘So I’ll be back on Monday?’ Joe said. ‘Suits me.’

  Bishop walked round behind his desk and sat facing a computer screen. He started typing. ‘You’ll be flying from Stansted,’ he told Joe. ‘Vince will drive you to the airport and pick you up on Monday when you get back.’

  Bishop selected a flight on the screen ‘Joseph Box. That right?’

  Joe nodded and Bishop typed some more.

  ‘You got a current passport?’

  Joe nodded.

  Bishop entered payment details then hit a key to print off the document.