Girls

by Bill James

  Assistant Chief Iles and his sidekick, Detective Chief Superintendent Colin Harpur, turned up late in the afternoon, when things had started to get a bit relaxed. Ember expected their visit. Iles wore uniform, Harpur a kind of suit. Iles loved this type of invasion, and not just for free drinks. Without needing to ask, Ember mixed the ACC a port and lemon – ‘the old whore’s refresher’, as Iles called it – and a gin and cider in a half-pint glass for Harpur. Iles would regularly come into such functions mainly to terrorize – to terrorize Ember, club members and guests. Iles glared about and set a vicious, high-rank shadow over everything. His face said he’d make sure half the people here would be locked up by New Year. Protocol would forbid Iles to attend the actual funeral of rubbish like Adrian, however much he might have longed to chortle there at the wipe-out, but he could come to the Monty knees-up on some pretext.

  Ember had heard Honorée also missed the funeral, and she did not appear here now, so his guess at one of the reasons for Adrian’s death might be spot on. If she was his and he’d been rough she wouldn’t want to join in any service or subsequent send-off. Ember did not have to go to the funeral himself, since Cologne had not been a member. Occasionally, Ralph would attend members’ obsequies, especially natural causes deaths, which definitely happened from time to time. If there was a proprietor of the Athenaeum he’d get along to important funerals, suppose, say, Winston Churchill had been a member. But when you’d tried to lose a body in the sea for ever, and it got washed up regardless only a week later and still identifiable, you dodged out of any further unnecessary links.

  Iles said in a big, empty voice: ‘Ralphy, a sombre interlude.’

  ‘True,’ Ember replied. He had to wonder whether Iles blamed him for not making sure Adrian really vanished. But Ember did avoid another breakdown panic. This he regarded as a triumph – a triumph over self, the hardest kind.

  ‘Harpur and I thought we must look in with commiserations,’ Iles said.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Iles,’ Ember said.

  ‘We know you grieve for folk who go in such coarse circumstances, Ralph,’ Iles said.

  ‘Yes,’ Ember said. ‘These are hard lessons on the uncertainty of life.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re altogether baffled by this one, Ralph,’ Iles replied. ‘How he got into the sea, why, where he was killed and by whom, and the reasons for what seem to Harpur and me some deliberate bullet mutilations after death, but before coastal rock damage. Our inquiries – a blank. Did he fall from a ship? Was he dropped from a plane?’

  He was saying, was he, that, after all, he wouldn’t penalize Ember for the poor disposal? Was he? Or he was saying, was he, that Harpur and he genuinely had no ideas on Adrian’s death and the trips for the body that followed? Possible? Yes, just about.

  ‘These questions raised by Mr Iles are considerable puzzlers,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Indeed so,’ Ember replied.

  Iles still eyed the grief mob. The bulk of the people here would have despised Adrian, but they wanted to be part of a folk occasion. Ember could see Unhinged Humphrey and some friends behaving quite delicately so far. Although Unhinged was another who would never get membership in The New Monty, of course, Ember experienced a kind of pride in him now. But Iles said: ‘Do you think you’ll be able to control this bag of slipshod, rampant derelicts once they’ve got into full drinking pace, Ralph? Might you need some CS knock-out gas or horseback police?’

  ‘They have to sedate their sorrows,’ Ember said. ‘I can sympathize with that. Adrian was fairly new to the city, yet had become incredibly dear to such a range of acquaintances. They loved his verve and bangles, coupled with an unexpectedly tender streak. He contributed to many charities such as the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals, though without any public fanfare. I gather he’d talk very movingly about the eating of dogs in Formosa.’

  Iles said: ‘Pardon me, Ralph, I appreciate how much you cherish the Monty, and have grand visions for its new role, but, I must tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever known a place able to attract so many of life’s wastrels, old lags and muggers at one time.’

  ‘How are Honorée’s feet now, Mr Iles?’ Ember replied.

  ‘It was Col who suggested the visit,’ Iles said. ‘He worries about safety when there’s a huge and dubious rabble like this, and liquored up. Harpur is a worrier, you know – pedantic about regulations. Fire doors. Sprinklers. All that. I admire him for this rigour – and for much else, oh, indeed, yes. I’ve told him I, too, see potential trouble, but that Ralph W. Ember probably knows damn well how to run a death drink-up. Harpur still insisted on the call.’

  ‘A formality,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Could you show us, for instance, the emergency exit, Ralph?’ Iles said. ‘This might be important if, say, a fracas occurred later on, followed by a stampede of low life piss artists. Strangely, the lower the low life – and, you’ll agree, it couldn’t be lower than this lot – the lower the low lives, the more people possessed of those low lives seem keen to hang on to them.’

  ‘Mr Iles always fears fracas,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Ralph and Manse Shale have ensured at least until very recently that we don’t have fracas on the streets,’ Iles replied. ‘And one is grateful. One is very grateful to you, Ralph. Very.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Iles,’ Ember said.

  ‘That understanding between us must certainly continue,’ Iles said. ‘Will certainly continue.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Iles,’ Ember said. So, everything stayed OK, yes? Yes? Could it actually be that Iles knew nothing about the end of Adrian and his arrival in the yard? Would it be soft-headed lunacy to assume for once something good, or at least neutral, in Iles? Perhaps Adrian had not run Honorée. Some girls worked solo. Perhaps Iles had not wanted to protect Scott Grant and, through him, Hazel Harpur and Harpur himself.

  Ember led them through the crowd to the emergency door. People stood back for Iles, cowering a bit, even though most had already reached a juiced, ‘Ta-ta-then-Adrian’ state. Ember pushed at the release bar on the emergency door which opened beautifully. Wearing dungarees, he personally oiled the mechanism every fortnight while observing his basic maintenance programme. He must get new ones. The three of them went out into the car park.

  ‘And a fine night light above the doors,’ Iles said.

  This might be a routine comment about club equipment, or it might be the insignia’d yob boasting he could confidentially pass Ember a bare dead body even in the brightest section of the car park. Did Iles ever go in for routine comments? Was he here to thank him, but also to indicate that Ember would be for ever vulnerable, whatever safeguards he put in place? But this would amount to normality again, thank God. ‘The light is to aid members in the wholly unlikely event that my club had to be evacuated,’ Ember replied, ‘but also to illuminate the car park through all hours of darkness so that no intruders, prowlers, vandals or any other contemptibly lawless elements can use the ground for villainy.’

  ‘Which kind of villainy, Ralph?’ Iles said.

  ‘So many shapes to villainy, I fear,’ Ember replied.

  Iles said: ‘ “Contemptibly lawless elements”. They’re always about, aren’t they, Ralph, and always we must resist them, and resist again?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Ember replied.

  ‘But, no, I shouldn’t think they’d have much chance for their outrageous schemes here, these “contemptibly lawless elements”,’ Iles said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ember said.

  Iles and Harpur didn’t seem to want to go back into the club but moved towards their car on the other side of the yard. Ember strolled with them. Get rid, get rid, get rid. Harpur drove. Ember waved, then returned to the club. More people had arrived. In a way, he’d admit it was inspiring: community solidarity reached even someone as depraved as Adrian, and the Monty was the natural stage for its display. Ember again felt pride. Perhaps, after all, the Monty had something those London clubs could not equal. It was as if the Monty had taken the
role of a church or mosque. It had its faithful.

  In the crowd, Ember saw Mansel Shale at a table just under the defence shield with Lowri, one of his proven live-ins. Ember joined them and signalled to the barman to bring over the Kressmann Armagnac bottle and three glasses. Lowri was a nice Welsh piece. Shale would let her move into the rectory with him and settle like a full partner, often for up to four weeks. Manse possessed quite a considerate side. Ember had heard people speak very unsarcastically of this. In so many ways, Ember could regard him as a colleague. Ralph poured.

  Shale seemed to sense Ember’s thought: ‘An occasion, regardless, Ralph,’ he said. ‘The Monty – like a hub. A club but a hub.’ He liked this and said it again. ‘A club but a hub.’

  ‘Thanks, Manse.’

  ‘He was a whoremaster, wasn’t he?’ Lowri asked. Ember loved her accent. She gave the ‘h’ sound in ‘whoremaster’ a beautiful shake. You could see why male voice choirs from Wales came over so strong. Apparently, one of the great things about Lowri was she really appreciated the Pre-Raphaelite paintings Manse had hanging at his place and could make sane comments about them full of checkable knowledge. That thrilled Shale. Most probably, he thought it showed she must have taste, and therefore wanted to fuck him. The paintings were originals, not prints. They cost. Art collecting did cost, and could be a reason Shale would want and work for monopoly. Apparently, Shale bought some of the paintings from Jack Lamb, a local dealer, so they might not be fakes. Shale had told Ember that ‘reference to bed or on the Chinese carpets’ Lowri would ‘do it always and all ways’. Ember thought it wrong to disclose sexual matters like that, but he could believe it of Lowri. Her eyes seemed very wide apart and tan-coloured, although you could not always tell everything from their eyes.

  ‘Yes, a rough profession, Adrian’s,’ Shale replied. ‘Why I say it’s not the death in itself. We all got to admit – except maybe his woman and so on, through loyalty, which is understandable – we all got to admit it’s hard to get upset over Adrian as Adrian in what would be known as his personal entity. You know that phrase at all, Ralph, “personal entity”? But as I see it, even a turd like Adrian is still part of the fabric.’

  ‘Which?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘Which what?’ Shale said.

  ‘Which fabric?’ Lowri said.

  ‘Oh, yes, the fabric,’ Shale said. ‘Part of that. As we all are, like willy-nilly. And yet, the methodology.’

  ‘Methodology of what, Manse?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘The bullets. The stripping. The sea burial,’ Shale said. ‘The try at sea burial. There’s a methodology in it.’

  ‘This is such a mystery, yes,’ Ember replied.

  ‘A mystery,’ Shale said. ‘That sod might of gone after a young kid and killed him, you know, Ralph.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Not at all helpful.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I like the committing to the deep,’ Shale replied.

  ‘But not deep enough,’ Lowri said.

  Ember could see why Shale might get fed up with her after four weeks. A while ago, Shale had taken the trouble to explain to Ember that the four weeks maximum had nothing to do with her cycle. ‘Ralph, I don’t even ask where she is in her monthlies when I invite her. God, that would be such an insult, not just to Lowri or any of the others, but to womankind, like all they was for was shagging. It’s just that four weeks seems as much as I want to cohabit these days with Lowri. It can vary with others. Where I live used to be a rectory, as you know, Ralph, and I feel I got to show it some respect. More than a certain duration with girls there would get some guilt going in me. In any case, Lowri’s cycle is not so important because, as mentioned, she likes it all ways. This is a plus, as well as her genuine fondness for art. Did I see you with Mr Iles and Harpur?’

  ‘They said a mystery,’ Ember said.

  ‘How?’ Shale said.

  ‘How what?’ Ember replied.

  ‘How did they say it?’ Shale said.

  ‘In what sense, Manse?’ Ember said. ‘An “m” first, then going through to the “y”.’

  ‘Like, what’s known as tone or sometimes timbre. Did you believe it?’ Shale said;

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you believe it when they said a mystery?’

  ‘Well, it is a mystery, isn’t it?’ Ember said.

  ‘But did you believe it when they said it was a mystery for them? Iles can do the irony side. He’s teasing sometimes, looking for disclosures. You familiar with irony, Ralph? It’s around often.’

  ‘And then before he was in the sea where was he?’ Ember replied.

  ‘This is part of the mystery,’ Shale said.

  ‘And where killed? What happened to his clothes?’ Ember said.

  ‘These are major questions,’ Shale said.

  ‘Clothes will burn,’ Lowri said.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s right,’ Ember said.

  ‘He hears things,’ Shale said.

  ‘Who?’ Ember said.

  ‘Harpur,’ Shale said. ‘He stands there and Iles talks, but Harpur hears things.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Ember said.

  ‘The background,’ Shale said. ‘Which one of them said it?’

  ‘What?’ Ember asked.

  ‘That it was a mystery,’ Shale said.

  ‘Iles,’ Ember said.

  ‘Harpur don’t tell him everything,’ Shale said. ‘That’s police in the top jobs.’

  ‘What kind of thing?’ Ember said.

  ‘The methodology,’ Shale replied. ‘Into the yard?’

  ‘They wanted to see the exit door,’ Ember said.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What’s that mean, Manse?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘What?’ Shale replied.

  ‘In case of overcrowding,’ Ember said.

  ‘Ah,’ Shale said.

  ‘They were glad to note there was a light out there,’ Ember said.

  ‘There’s a light out there, is there?’ Shale said.

  ‘Well, there would be, wouldn’t there, for convenience?’ Lowri said.

  ‘I’m fussy about that kind of thing,’ Ember said.

  ‘I suppose Iles strutted about under it like he was Shirley Bassey. But that got to be to your credit, Ralph,’ Shale said. ‘That kind of care is why the Monty got its role as what might be called “a focal point” of the community – I don’t know if you heard that term before, Ralph, “focal point”. You can be proud of it.’

  ‘A responsibility,’ Ember said.

  ‘Well, it is, it is,’ Shale said. ‘You’re like a kind of flag troops clustered around in battle and rallied. Troops used to do that if they got a flag. They rallied – even if the flag was tattered because of the shelling.’

  This recalled Ember’s no man’s land picture of himself and he liked the new version of that, except for ‘tattered’. Someone with skin like Shale’s should not make roundabout comments. ‘I’d be upset if anything besmirched what I see as the Monty’s symbolic quality,’ Ember said.

  ‘What sort of thing could besmirch it?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘I can understand your feelings on that, Ralph,’ Shale replied. ‘A symbol can say so much, as long as it’s . . . well, symbolic.’

  When Ember went over to see Adrian’s family and so on near the pool tables, he gave some true commiseration in a carefully gentle voice, and he hoped they could hear it, what with all the sup-up bellowing and coin-slot, hullabaloo music. He would never let on in the smallest amount even that he considered Adrian horse shit, and thought most of those connected with him looked like sweepings. He could see that some of the women in this crew spotted his Charlton Heston aspect, but he did not want anything like that tonight with this kind, some oldish and more than oldish, one most likely Adrian’s mother. Ralph spoke with unbroken tenderness and told the barman to serve the group free with anything they wanted, including champagne, non-vintage. Although this could lead to untidy vomiting later and possibly fights, h
e felt that as host he must provide this gesture. It was what he meant when he spoke to Shale about responsibility.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the car, Iles said: ‘That fucker, Ralphy, thinks I did Adrian.’

  Harpur felt he did not want to take on this kind of conversation. One of the things about Iles was he sometimes refused to leave difficult topics understood but not discussed. He could slide into surplus bluntness. He loved confrontation. Harpur said: ‘Ember was always one for ideas. He writes those letters to the Press on environmental subjects – Ralph W. Ember. Did you trace the Clio and the two men in it back to Adrian Cologne and assume their job was to hunt Hazel as a route to hunting Scott? This would be large-minded of you, sir, though by no means untypical. You could have decided not to bother about Cologne, leaving Scott in continuing danger of slaughter.’

  ‘And then, Honorée’s feet,’ Iles replied.

  ‘Yes, he did refer to those, in a caring way.’

  ‘He thinks a pimp-style sole beating?’ Iles said.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And assumes this set me off? The avenger?’

  ‘Like that, yes.’

  ‘What about you, Col?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You agree with him?’

  ‘In which direction, sir?’

  ‘Adrian. The death etcetera.’