by Timlin, Mark
Wanda was an ex-actress who’d married well and divorced better. She was well-loaded, well-built and just this side of being totally round the twist. I think the temperature she kept her living quarters was about equal to her blood heat as within twenty-four hours of the robbery taking place she’d managed to get my oppo into her bedroom and out of his uniform trousers. He told me that the weirdest experience he’d ever had was waking up in a darkened room and discovering he was sharing a bed with one woman and her fifty pussies. Although the affair had been short-lived we’d all got pretty pally and I suspected that she might have had a little yen for me. I knew I had her number somewhere in one of my old address books and I dug them out and there it was. I crossed my fingers and gave her a call. Luckily she still lived in the same house and after a bit of prompting remembered me. She was as good as gold when I explained the situation.
‘Orphaned kitten,’ she said, ‘bring the poor little bugger round.’
So I did.
I stuck the little cat under my shirt again and drove through the back doubles to where she lived. She opened the door right away. She was just as I remembered her and so was the house. Inside it was as hot and damp as a South American rain forest, carpeted wall to wall with furry backed moggies. I paddled in, shin deep and she closed the door behind me and handed me a quadruple gin in one smooth motion.
‘Nick,’ she said, ‘you’re as handsome as ever, give me a kiss and let me look at you. Give me two kisses and an old woman will die happy.’
‘Less of the old,’ I replied and pecked her on the cheek. When she seemed to want the kiss to take on Hollywood proportions I pulled back and said, ‘Don’t squash this.’ I pulled the kitten from inside my shirt and handed it to her.
‘So this is the beast,’ she said. ‘Is it weaned?’
‘Hardly,’ I replied. ‘Does it matter?’
‘No problem. I’ve got a couple of nursing queens in the back and I’ll just plug this one onto a spare nipple.’
I refrained from making a joke about ‘Nursing queens’ but said instead, ‘I want it back.’
‘I’m not going to steal your cat. I’ve got enough of my own to be getting along with.’
‘Sorry.’
‘What happened to the mum?’ she demanded.
‘Bit of an accident.’
‘Sorry to hear it. Why don’t you take a pew?’
She chased a bunch of cats off a leather chesterfield and I sat down.
‘Mind your trousers,’ she warned, ‘it’s a bit furry on there.’
‘Not to worry,’ I replied. ‘You don’t know what a big favour you’re doing me.’
‘It’s a pleasure. I’ll take good care of the little thing,’ she said. ‘Now drink up and have another gin.’
The mixture of heat and alcohol was beginning to get to me and she loaded me up with more ice and gave me a good view down the front of her loose sweater as she filled my glass.
‘Come on Wanda,’ I said. ‘Give me a break.’
‘It’s the gin and the loneliness,’ she said, striking a theatrical pose. ‘And the heat. It can drive a woman mad.’
‘Turn the thermostat down a bit then,’ I advised. ‘And I bet you’re not so lonely.’
‘That may be so, but these days one has to be so careful, and you look like just the kind of young man who always carries a condom in the corner of his wallet.’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘What, a condom?’
‘No, a wallet,’ I said. ‘Or a condom for that matter. Now leave it. Stop taking the piss.’
‘As if I would,’ she said sulkily. ‘But when you come back to collect your cat there might be some rent due.’
‘Cash?’ I asked.
‘Or kind.’ She whispered with a lascivious grin.
I grinned back and she poured me another gin. When I’d finished my drink I told her I had to go and I waded through four-legged friends to the door.
‘Cheers Wanda,’ I said as she opened the door for me. ‘I’m sorry I’m not in a terrific mood tonight.’
‘There’ll be other times,’ she said.
‘Goodnight then, and be good.’
‘No chance to be anything else round here.’
‘I still don’t believe you,’ I said, kissed her again on the cheek and walked down the front path back to my car.
25
I had a date with Jo and though I was well out of sorts I mooched the Jag in the direction of her flat and went to see her.
I arrived at her flat at about eight and she sussed me out right away.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asked as she let me in the front door. ‘You look like you lost a dollar and found a nickel.’ That’s when I told her the first lie.
‘Cat died,’ I said. Just that. ‘Cat died.’ No details, no explanations.
‘Oh Nick, I am sorry. What happened?’
I expanded the lie. ‘She just died. I guess she was too old to have kittens.’
‘And what happened to them?’
I shrugged. ‘They were too young to survive, except one I managed to save – I’ve left it with someone I know who’s an expert with cats. She says it should be OK.’
‘She?’ asked Jo.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘she’s no competition.’
‘Sorry sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I know you must be upset and there’s me being silly.’
‘I’d hate it if you weren’t,’ I said, changing the subject. She sat me down and hugged me up and I responded like a man should, but I hated myself for lying and I hated myself more for not getting right up and going out and letting the bastards who killed my friend know that they weren’t going to get away with it.
But you see I’m human and someone had waved the brass ring in my face and I wanted to grab it. I had visions of the ten per cent McBain had promised me and I let it turn me chicken shit. I sat there and held Jo and told her lies and the Devil perched on my shoulder and whispered sweet nothings in my ears about all the good things that money could buy, and I listened. And Jo whispered in my other ear that I shouldn’t take it too hard and I never gave her the chance to tell me straight what I should have done. Because I knew that if she knew the truth she’d never let me have a moment’s peace until I’d exacted revenge.
No, I sat there with her and I let her and the Devil convince me to forget about all the bad things and enjoy life.
26
So we did, we did enjoy ourselves for a short time, a good time, one of the best times I can remember. We went dancing, we saw lots of films and ate out a lot. Although we didn’t know it, it was a sort of calm before the storm. We even started hinting at marriage and meeting the folks, things like that. We got comfortable together, just living in whichever flat we fancied at the time.
I remember one Saturday night, we’d eaten take-away Chinese and I walked down to the off-licence for some beer and wine. When I got back to my flat she was sitting on the bed with her legs everywhere, relaxing and writing on a tablet of pale grey paper with a massive, old fountain pen she’d bought in Camden Market one Sunday lunchtime. I looked at her as I went in and I realised that we were a couple. We were committed to something, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what. Being easy with each other was probably the beginning of the end for us. It might take a month or twenty years but eventually it would end and it saddened me. As you can tell optimism isn’t my strong suit and I’m rarely disappointed.
‘Who are you writing to?’ I asked as I took the drinks through to cool them in the fridge.
‘My father and brother.’
‘Say hello for me.’
‘You don’t know them.’
‘So maybe one day I will.’
‘I hope so. I feel easier about them since I’ve been over here, since I met you.’
‘I’m flattered,’ I said.
‘So you should be.’
‘So soften them up for the first meeting.’
‘I think I already have –
this is not the first time I’ve written.’
‘I didn’t think it was.’
‘Would you really like to meet them?’ she asked almost shyly.
‘I suppose I’ll have to one day.’
‘Why “have to”?’
‘What we’re into here isn’t exactly a one-night stand, is it?’
‘I guess not.’
‘And unless you’re going to be here forever, in England I mean, at some time I’m going to come visiting, aren’t I?’
‘Maybe we could take a trip back home together.’
‘That would be good.’
‘I’ll show you the sights,’ she said.
‘Of New Jersey?’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘I heard it was kind of dull.’
‘Nowhere’s dull with me, boy.’
‘Don’t call me boy,’ I said with mock ferocity. That cracked her up everytime. We were getting our own set of in-jokes that no one else could understand. It always happens.
She went back to her letter and I tried to find something decent on TV. I cracked a can of Bud and a packet of dry roasted peanuts and settled for ‘Miami Vice’.
‘Wanna go out?’ she asked when she’d sealed the letter and found a stamp in her handbag.
‘If you like,’ I replied. ‘Fancy anything special?’
‘No, but there must be some action about.’
‘There’s plenty of action right here.’
‘What – on the boob tube? Give me a break.’
‘I could switch the TV off.’
‘And miss the end?’
‘I’ll tape the end.’
‘I thought you hated this popcorn.’
‘Well, I like to keep up with developments in criminal detection,’ 1 said.
‘And pink trousers?’ she asked slyly, referring to Don Johnson’s recherché choice of strides.
‘Don’t knock pink trousers,’ I said. ‘They help catch crooks, down Miami way.’
‘Sure. The last time I was in Miami, the only guy I met wearing pink trousers was a doorman at a gay club and the only cop I met was on the pad.’
‘Reality, Jo,’ I said. ‘Too much reality.’
By this time she was on the sofa next to me, pinching my peanuts and taking little sips from my beer can. She pulled her skirt up over her knees and flashed about six inches of bare thigh at me. She had better legs than Don Johnson and that’s a fact. I could tell she was engrossed in the show.
‘Now who’s hooked?’ I asked.
‘It reminds me of home,’ she said.
‘Do you want to go out?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘let’s watch the end of this.’ And we did, but barely, as the sight of her next to me got me thinking of a particular type of vice that wasn’t restricted to Miami.
I didn’t see her again for a couple of days. She was busy, I wasn’t. I was sitting in my office and she blew in like a fresh breeze.
27
She’d only come by to visit because her college classes had been cancelled owing to the lecturer being off sick with a head cold. That’s all it took, a little virus in Maida Vale. I wasn’t much in demand myself but I could handle it. I was used to the feeling. She was dressed in a loose white shirt and a black wraparound skirt. She looked something like a schoolteacher and something like the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was bored and sat on my desk showing off her inner thighs and talking dirty to me.
Finally she got tired of winding me up and said, ‘I think I’ll go shopping. Want to come along?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘What kind of shopping?’
‘Just shopping,’ she replied. ‘I think I’ll spend some of the money my father keeps sending me. Food, clothes, maybe some sexy underwear.’ She rolled her eyes comically at the last.
‘Go for it,’ I said.
‘Listen, guy,’ she said back, ‘if I did, you wouldn’t know yourself.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ I said.
She came over and kissed me briefly on the cheek. I reached out over and tried to pull her close to me, but she skipped out of reach.
‘Down, boy,’ she said with a smile.
‘What’s the point of having a great piece of arse around if I can’t grab a bit from time to time?’ I asked.
‘I knew there was something appealing about the British,’ she said, ‘and I’ve suddenly realised what it is. You’re real gentlemen.’
‘It’s so true,’ I agreed.
‘So I’ll catch you later,’ she said.
‘Dinner tonight,’ I suggested.
‘Great idea.’
‘Chinese?’
‘Are you trying to get round me?’ she asked.
‘Is that all it takes?’
‘Are you kidding?’ she said. ‘A portion of chilli prawns and I’m anyone’s.’
‘I’ll keep that piece of hot news to myself, if you don’t mind.’
‘Hot news. Is that a joke? Chilli sauce, hot news, geddit?’
‘American humour is crap,’ I remarked. She stuck out her tongue.
‘So, are you jealous?’ she asked.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m anyone’s for chilli.’
‘You’re fucking weird Jo, do you know that?’ I asked.
‘Oh, come on Nick, say that you are.’
‘What?’
‘You know, jealous.’
‘OK. I am.’
‘Good. Can I borrow one of your cars?’
‘Are you kidding? I’m not going to let you loose on London’s traffic, or London’s traffic loose on you. I don’t know which would be worse.’
‘Oh please. I hate buses, and the subway.’
‘Take a cab,’ I said.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘Those mini-cabbies give me the creeps, they always go the longest way round and charge me a fortune.’
‘I told you that the first day I met you,’ I said. ‘Get a black cab.’
‘Round here? Are you kidding me? I’ve got more chance of being struck by lightning than getting a real taxi round here.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘You win, I’ll come shopping with you, and I’ll drive.’
‘Chauvinist fink,’ she said.
‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘You’re doing fine for a smacked bottom.’
‘Jesus,’ she said, ‘such promises.’
I gave her a big beamer. ‘And forget the food. We’ll stick to underwear and I’ll help you choose it.’
‘You’ll only get a hard-on in the store and frighten the sales ladies.’
‘Frighten them?’ I said. ‘If I got a hard-on they’d be buzzing round me like flies.’
‘You’re so modest, Nick,’ she said as she shrugged into her heavy black overcoat. ‘But don’t forget – I know you best, and if you want anyone buzzing around you’d better tie a hankie round it first.’
‘I’ve had no complaints so far,’ I said. ‘Are you registering a first?’
‘No, I guess you’ll do,’ she said. ‘Until something better comes along.’ And she kissed me hard and rubbed her pelvis into mine. ‘But can I drive back?’
‘We’ll see,’ I said, and tugged on my Crombie.
She was like a kid going Christmas shopping. She almost jumped up and down as I locked the office and dragged onto my arm as we walked up the hill to where my small fleet was parked.
‘Let’s take the VW,’ she said. ‘I’m used to them.’
‘It’s such a piece of shit,’ I moaned.
‘Oh please, Nick,’ she begged. ‘It’ll be easier to park and I can show you how good a driver I am.’
I gave in. ‘All right. The Golf it is.’
I found the key to the VW and unlocked the passenger door and opened it for Jo. She gathered her coat around her and got into the car. It was freezing in the street and I hurried round and unlocked the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.
‘Are you
sure you won’t let me drive?’ she asked.
‘Quite sure, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Maybe later.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘Stop moaning for God’s sake,’ I said, ‘or I might whisper to one of the Maltese cabbies about your strange fetish for chilli prawns.’
She pulled a face and shut up.
I put the key in the ignition of the Golf and turned it.
Nothing, not even a click from the starter motor.
‘Oh shit,’ I said, ‘flat battery.’ I checked the lights but they were off, ditto the radio. I turned the key back and forth a couple of times but the ignition was still dead.
‘Looks like it’s the Jag or nothing,’ I said.
She pulled another face and I climbed out of the car. Jo stayed put.
‘Come on,’ I said, leaning into the VW.
‘Let me have a go,’ she said.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ I replied. ‘The motor’s a clunker, and that’s that.’
‘Just let me have a little go,’ she pleaded. ‘Cars like me.’
‘Oh, really,’ I said.
‘Yes. Get me some cigarettes, and if I can’t get it going, we’ll use the Jag.’
I shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
She clambered over the gear stick and into the driver’s seat, tugging her coat tails behind her and I handed her the key ring and walked over to the newsagents to buy her a packet of cigarettes as ordered. As I reached the door Pete the car cleaner swept down from the station entrance on his skateboard and made a skid-stop right by me.
‘Did they fix it?’ he asked.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Those blokes,’ he replied.
‘What blokes?’
‘The blokes who were fixing your car.’
‘What car?’ I asked, mystified.
‘The Golf. They said it wouldn’t start,’ he said as if talking to an idiot.
I was slow. Five seconds must have elapsed before I realised what he’d said. I turned and saw Jo’s dark hair behind the windscreen, her face hidden as she peered down at the dashboard of the car. In my mind’s eye I saw the key in my hand as I’d turned it in the ignition, and I knew. I shouted one unintelligible shout, part her name, part a warning, part a denial that this could be happening. She looked up with a smile on her face, and an orange fireball lit up the interior of the car and her face vanished behind a pall of greasy black smoke. The bodywork of the car seemed to swell outwards, the bonnet flew thirty feet or so into the air and the passenger door blew off its hinges. All four wheels of the car left the ground and the Golf bounced two or three yards sideways as it hit the tarmac again. A fraction of a second later I heard the loudest explosion of my life and a huge hot hand picked me up and threw me hard against the wall that separated the newsagent’s from my office. In splintering counterpoint several plate glass windows imploded a heartbeat later.