The Comedy Club Mystery

by Peter Bartram

  I slithered along the floor and bumped up against the safety deposit boxes. I stood up and felt along the boxes until I came to the opened one.

  I felt inside. There was a single sheet of paper in the bottom of the box. In the dark, I couldn’t see what it was. But Mary-Lyn must have missed it when she grabbed the bearer bond. Silently, I slid it out of the box, folded it, and slipped it into my pocket.

  Mary-Lyn still had the bond. I had to get it back.

  At the far end of the room, the door opened. A pencil of yellow light filtered through the opening from outside. The silhouette of Mary-Lyn slipped through the door.

  With a glimmer of light, I could see a moaning hump on the floor. Tommy. Shirl crouched behind him. Across the room, Willis sat and held his ankle. A short body lay near him. Gino. Perhaps he was dead, perhaps unconscious. My gaze flicked around the room.

  No sign of Terry Hardmann. He must have slipped outside, too. Perhaps while I was searching for Shirley.

  Terry would also be after Mary-Lyn. He’d want the bearer bond as badly as Shirley and I did.

  I crept along by the deposit boxes and whispered to Shirley. “Are you okay?”

  Her hand reached out for mine and we moved towards the door.

  As we reached it a flatulent gurgle, like a blocked drain had just overflowed, rumbled through the room. Tommy had thrown up again.

  In the morning, Hannington’s manager was going to need a very large bucket and a very large mop.

  Shirley and I slipped through the door and found ourselves in the corridor.

  At the end, we could see the stairs which led up to the storeroom on the ground floor.

  For a moment, we stood and looked at one another. We were both breathing fast. Our faces were flushed. Our lips were compressed and our eyes were set hard. We both knew we had a job to do.

  We had to recover the bearer bond.

  I said: “The only way out is through the night watchman’s door. Mary-Lyn will make for that.”

  “But what about Terry Hardmann?” Shirley asked.

  “I didn’t see him in the room, so he must’ve got out somehow.”

  “He couldn’t have got out before Mary-Lyn left or we’d have seen light as the door opened.”

  “He must’ve slipped out immediately after. I was concentrated on finding you.”

  “We need to move like we’re invisible,” Shirley said. “I didn’t like the look of that pistol Terry had.”

  “Me neither. But he’s not after us – he wants the bond.”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t plug us. Have you seen the way he looks at people? It’s like he’s trying to melt them with a death ray.”

  “Perhaps you should stay here,” I said. “Keep an eye on Willis. Help Tommy to find his balls – if he still has any.”

  “Forget it, you crazy bastard. I’m coming with you.”

  We slipped silently down the corridor and slunk up the stairs like a pair of ghosts.

  We arrived back in the storeroom. The lights were still low and the place was silent. We crept behind a pile of boxes and listened. We strained our ears. Nothing.

  “What would Mary-Lyn do?” Shirley whispered.

  I put my mouth to her ear. “She’d know the only way out was through the night watchman’s door. The shop’s front doors are all tightly locked and she couldn’t break through them. They open onto the street. Even at this time of night, there’ll be people about.”

  “So she’ll head for the watchman’s door.”

  “But Terry knows she has to do that. Remember, he came in that way. If he was close behind her, she might not have had time to make it to the door. If I were Terry, I’d stand sentry-go on the door and wait for her to appear. She’s got to get out before the store opens in the morning and staff find the chaos in the vault.”

  “Perhaps she’s hiding in the hope that Terry will come looking for her. Then she could give him the slip and make it to the back door.”

  “I think we should look for Mary-Lyn in the store. Remember she still has the bond and we don’t want it to fall into Terry’s hands.”

  At the far end of the storeroom, there was a set of double doors. We ran on tip-toe towards them and pushed silently through.

  We were in the crockery department. The place was illuminated by low nightlights. There were shelves loaded with cups and saucers. There were willow pattern plates to hang on the wall. There were thick white plates for a wife to sling at her old man if he complained about his dinner. There were soup tureens as round as Buddha’s belly. There were bulbous teapots and slim elegant coffee pots. There was a little brown jug which reminded me of the song.

  But there was no sign of Mary-Lyn.

  We crept forward and the air became heavy with musk as we reached the perfume department.

  Shirley pointed at a big square bottle. “That Chanel No 5 is great,” she said.

  “Would you really buy a perfume from someone who couldn’t get it right the first four times around?” I said.

  “Ssssh!” Shirley said.

  We headed towards ladies’ fashions. We crept behind a rail holding party dresses for the Christmas season. There was a red one in taffeta, a blue one with frilly lace, and a green one in some kind of heavy velvet material. I had no idea what they’d look like on a partygoer, but they made great cover.

  I poked my head above the rail and peeked around the store.

  “Can you see anything?” Shirley whispered.

  “Mary-Lyn’s not over by the jumpers and cardigans. Not enough room to hide.”

  I turned my head slowly and surveyed the department. Nothing moved among the tweed skirts. All was silent on the slacks and trousers front.

  And then there was the tiniest twitch. Behind the winter coats. The hanger holding a thick brown number with a fake fur collar slid ever so slowly half an inch to one side.

  It would have been the perfect cover if Mary-Lyn hadn’t moved the coat to get a better view.

  She’d have heard us come in. She wasn’t sure where we were. But now we knew where she was.

  I ducked down behind the Christmas dresses and signalled to Shirley where Mary-Lyn was hiding.

  Shirley whispered: “Has she got her gun?”

  “No. She dropped it when Tommy’s machine gun fired. We need to trap her so we can grab the bearer bond without damaging it. You creep round to the right and hide behind those blouses. I’ll sneak left and crouch behind the hats and scarves. When we’re ready, I’ll signal like this.” I stuck two fingers in my mouth a showed how I would blow a whistle. “Then we charge in.”

  “The noise will attract Terry,” Shirley said.

  “Sure. But we’ll leave Mary-Lyn scrabbling on the floor. It’ll take a few minutes for Terry to confirm she’s lost the bond. We’ll scarper up the stairs to the next floor. Terry will expect us to go down. But we’ll find the backstairs and make it to the back door into the alley.”

  “Jeez! It sounds risky,” Shirley said.

  “Can’t go wrong,” I said.

  “As General Custer said when he pitched up at the Little Bighorn.”

  But she leaned forward and gave me a kiss that had me wishing we could head to the bedding department for a lie down.

  We unlocked our embrace and crept silently in opposite directions.

  I crawled past a row of skirts. There was a thin carpet on the floor that was rough to touch. Worse, it made a low sibilant hiss every time I moved my knees. There was nothing I could do about that.

  I reached the hats and scarves. They were arranged on a stand. I crouched down behind it. Looked cautiously around the edge and saw one of the blouses shake ever so slightly.

  Shirley was in position.

  I put my fingers in my mouth and blew. The whistle pierced the air.

  Shirley and I arose from our hiding places like a pair of devils who’d leapt from the underworld. We charged towards the winter coats.

  But I’d not taken more than five steps before
a stand of bras and panties to my left toppled over and Mary-Lyn galloped towards the storeroom. She must’ve heard us move and changed her position.

  She flicked a contemptuous glance in my direction. She shoved rails of skirts and jackets aside as she raced towards the door.

  “After her,” I yelled at Shirley.

  But Shirl was already pounding towards me. Mary-Lyn reached the door to the storeroom and barrelled through it.

  Shirley and I reached it two seconds later and shoved the door open. We raced through and came to an abrupt halt.

  We couldn’t see Mary-Lyn anywhere.

  But we could see Terry Hardmann.

  He was standing in front of us. He had the anteater gun in his hand.

  And it was pointed right at us.

  It didn’t look so funny now.

  Terry’s eyes were dark, like little chips of coal. His nose had wrinkled and his lips had curled into a snarl.

  He looked at Shirley like he wanted to dismember her limb by glorious limb.

  He said: “You hurt my twin brother. He’s vomited up his dinner. Course by course. In reverse order. First the cheese and biscuits. Then the apple crumble and custard. Then the pork chop with apple sauce and broccoli.”

  Shirley said: “Don’t tell me. He’s waiting for the French onion soup to reappear before he complains to the chef.”

  Terry said: “My brother and I do everything together.”

  Shirley said: “Fair enough, whacker. Step forward and I’ll kick you in the balls. Stand by for the gastronomic novelty of a four-course meal in reverse.”

  Terry clicked off the safety catch on his gun.

  He said: “I want to shoot you. But I want something even more. I want to kill you slowly so that I get all the pleasure from it.”

  I said: “You’re mad. But you’re sane enough to know you came here to pick up a million-dollar bearer bond, not to hurt us.”

  “Who says I can’t have both?”

  “You have to find Mary-Lyn first. She has the bond,” I said.

  “I’ll find her.”

  I gestured at the piles of boxes. “You’ll never do it. While you’re looking behind one pile, she’ll bound out from behind another and slip out of the door. You’ll still be chuntering about what Tommy’s going to bring up next. Perhaps teatime’s cucumber sandwiches.”

  “I don’t have to search for Mary-Lyn myself.”

  I made an ostentatious show of looking around. “I don’t see anyone to help you. You can’t rely on Tommy. He’ll spend the next week searching for what’s left of his balls.”

  Terry grinned in a way that showed a full set of his top teeth. It was the kind of grin you’d use if you wanted to advertise poisoned toothpaste.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white mouse. “Meet Michelmore,” he said. He cradled the wee beastie in his hand. He kept the gun in his other hand trained on us.

  I’d never seen anything like this before. “Do you usually walk around with a mouse in your pocket?” I asked.

  “Michelmore helps me with girls. Girls don’t like mice. They hate Michelmore ‘coz I’ve trained him to run up their legs. It was fun training him. Not for the girl with the leg, of course.”

  “You’re a sick bastard,” Shirley said.

  “I’m a man who likes girls to do what he says. A girl will do anything to stop Michelmore running around her room. Or her bed.”

  He put the mouse on the floor. It did a couple of circuits of Terry’s feet as a warm-up routine. Old Robbie Burns might have found the beastie tim’rous. To me, Michelmore looked like a little bundle of trouble with a long tail.

  “Go find the naughty lady,” Terry said.

  Michelmore raced off among the boxes. We heard its feet scurry as they scratched the floor.

  And then there was a scream. A pile of boxes toppled over. Mary-Lyn sprang from behind them.

  “Yeeeeouw.”

  Her shriek cut through the storeroom’s air.

  She raced towards the night watchman’s room. She moved like an Olympic sprinter. Which was impressive as Olympic sprinters don’t race in a figure-hugging skirt, stockings, suspenders, and four-inch stilettos. Although who knows what they do in private?

  Mary-Lee reached the office three yards ahead of Michelmore. But he slipped through the crack as she slammed the door.

  Terry turned and rushed towards the office. We followed.

  Inside the office, Mary-Lyn shrieked again.

  “Yeeeeouw!”

  She jumped on the chair. She clasped the bearer bond to her chest.

  Michelmore circled the chair. He was looking for the best chair leg to climb.

  Terry pushed open the office door. He yelled: “Give me that bond and Michelmore comes back to me.”

  “No,” screamed Mary-Lyn. “You’ll have to take it from me – dead or alive.”

  I pushed forward to reach Terry. I wanted to pull him back. To break his neck. To stamp on his foot. To do anything that would stop this.

  Shirley shouted: “Stop the bastard.”

  “I’m trying.”

  But Terry raised the gun before I could reach him.

  He fired once. Mary-Lyn’s eyes popped in surprise. Then blood welled in her chest. Her eyes disappeared into the top of her sockets.

  And she tumbled from the chair.

  She hit the oil heater which toppled sideways.

  Poooooouuuf!

  We felt a blast of heat as the thing exploded into flame.

  Mary-Lyn was dead on the floor as the fire licked around her body.

  But she had dropped the bearer bond as she fell.

  It floated on a wave of hot air that rose from the burning oil.

  Terry pushed forward but the heat was too intense. He reached out as the bond drifted towards him.

  But then the tank in the oil heater exploded. It forced him back.

  The bond floated like a feather.

  But now it was on fire.

  Little blue flames flickered along its edge. The paper wrinkled and began to curl. Black blotches bloomed like ink blots.

  And then the bearer bond flared into a fireball.

  Within seconds a million dollars had turned into ash.

  It drifted like a lazy autumn leaf to the floor.

  Terry turned on us. A dark fury burnt in his eyes.

  “You have spoiled my evening,” he said. But he made it sound like we’d ruined his life. Perhaps we had.

  He raised the gun. “I’m going to kill both of you,” he said. “Which of you wishes to die first?”

  “Me,” Shirley and I answered together.

  So this was how it was going to end. Dead in a burning storeroom. Gotterdammerung with a box of brassieres (C-cup) stacked nearby.

  And a trained mouse.

  Shirley and I held each other tight while Terry took aim.

  Shirley whispered in my ear. “I love you.”

  I started to say…

  A gunshot filled the storeroom with a roar so physical I felt it could crush me.

  But I was still alive. The bastard had killed Shirley first.

  I turned to kiss her for the last time ever. The last time before her body went limp in my arms.

  But her body wasn’t limp. And as I turned to kiss her, she turned to kiss me.

  Together, we looked at Terry. A carnation of red blood bloomed on his chest. His eyes were blank. His jaw had dropped open. And he swayed on his feet like a Saturday night drunk. Michelmore had climbed onto his shoulder.

  Terry’s arm dropped to his side. His fist went limp. The anteater gun clattered to the floor.

  Then his legs folded under him. His body hit the ground. A gout of blood pumped from his chest. His neck twitched, like the whole process had been an irritant he’d rather forget.

  And then he lay still.

  Michelmore scampered away into the depths of the storeroom.

  Shirley and I held one another. We were both shaking. We couldn’t understand w
hat had happened.

  We turned our heads. Darragh Mahoney stepped towards us. He’d lost his red hair and his beard. The smock and the trousers tied with string had gone. He had a crew cut and a clean-shaven square-jawed chin. He was dressed in a smart grey suit, white shirt and preppy tie. He was replacing a small gun in a shoulder holster.

  He pointed to the back door that was wide open.

  He said: “Sure as they say in Dublin’s fair city, never bolt your door with a boiled carrot.”

  Chapter 22

  “But it’s not a fine thing the watchman’s den is on fire,” I yelled.

  Mahoney and I grabbed fire extinguishers from the wall, pulled out the pins, and poured foam onto the flames.

  By the time the last of them had died, we could hear sirens in the distance.

  The cops swarmed in seconds later. They’d been alerted by a passer-by in the street who’d heard gunshots. They found three dead – Mary-Lyn, Terry Hardmann and Gino.

  Willis was whisked under police guard to the Royal Sussex Hospital with a broken ankle. Tommy Hardmann was taken to the police cells. They had to carry him as he still couldn’t uncross his legs. By now, he was probably throwing up last Tuesday’s breakfast. I hoped it wasn’t Korn Krunchies.

  We’d untied the night watchman. He was furious about the wreck of his den. Apparently, he’d had two ounces of Ship’s Shag tobacco in there. He’d looked forward to smoking it.

  Now, two hours later, Shirley and I were sitting in an interview room at Brighton police station. Darragh Mahoney sat opposite us.

  Except that he wasn’t Darragh Mahoney. He flipped open a leather folder to reveal a metal badge in the shape of a shield topped by an eagle. The folder identified the holder as Devlin O’Rourke, a special agent of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  I said: “What’s an FBI special agent doing in Brighton?”

  Shirley looked more impressed than I cared for. “Is it true what they say about that J Edgar Hoover?” she asked.

  O’Rourke smiled. “One question at a time. I’ll tell you as much as I can – after tonight’s shenanigans, it’s gonna come out anyway – on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.