by Roger Hurn
‘Fair play, Mr Mulwhinney, but you’re looking for a gumshoe, not the Brain of Britain, so tell me where she’s staying in New York and I’ll go and try and talk her into giving you back your manuscript.’ I paused for half a second. ‘Err … presumably you’ll authorise me to offer her money for its safe return. Because, even though I’m noted for my silver tongue and powers of persuasion, I find that, on the whole, cash tends to be more effective than words alone.’
He grimaced. ‘I was rather expecting you to steal it back,’ he said.
Chapter Four
My eyebrows shot up my head to my hairline. ‘Why would I do that? Stealing’s illegal.’
Mulwhinney sighed impatiently. ‘Yes, I know it is, but there’s no way Jezebel will just hand over the MS. You’ll have to take it.’
I stared at him for a long moment. There was definitely more to this than met the eye. ‘Why won’t she negotiate?’
‘Because she’s a woman scorned. Look, we were still in a relationship when I met Carmelita, but I soon realised that Lita was everything Jezebel wasn’t. We started seeing each other in secret and I wrote The Girl From Tiger Bay for her. Jez found out about it and went absolutely ballistic. Quite frankly, Mr Kyd, she was acting like a mad woman.’
‘That’s because she’s a bloody nutter.’ Carmelita couldn’t resist putting in her two penn’orth.
‘Absolutely!’ Mulwhinney nodded in agreement with his paramour’s no doubt completely unbiased assessment. ‘Well she was so unhinged that I decided to give up trying to reason with her and get the hell out before she picked up a knife and did me some serious damage. But, as a parting shot, I told her to pack her bags and that I wanted her gone by the time I got back or I’d call the police. Then she came at me all teeth and nails so, like Antigonus in A Winter’s Tale, I exited … only pursued by a crazy woman rather than by a bear. I slammed the door in her face and legged it to Carmelita’s place. But when I came home the next day I discovered that when Jez had made her exit so had my bloody manuscript!’
I sat back and thought about what I’d just heard. Something wasn’t quite ringing true. ‘Then, unless there’s something you’re not telling me, Mr Mulwhinney, I’d say that you’ve no chance of ever seeing your manuscript again. In my experience, wronged women tend to destroy the things that their partners hold dear. They don’t hang onto them. Now, you say you wrote this play for Ms Jones and Jezebel knew that, so it’s a stone cold certainty that she’s either burned it or cut it up into a thousand pieces.’
‘No, she won’t have done that.’ Carmelita sounded completely sure of herself. ‘That’s not the kind of revenge that bitch wants. She’s gone to New York to try and pass it off as her own work.’
Mulwhinney was now up on his feet pacing the room agitatedly. ‘Yes, you see I can’t prove I wrote it, or even that she stole it, so there’s nothing to prevent Jez from taking it to agents and impresarios and getting them to produce it with her as the star instead of Carmelita.’ His eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth in fury. ‘And she’ll have no trouble at all in doing that because it’s fucking box office gold that’ll make her famous and earn her a bloody fortune.’ He glowered at me. ‘Now that’s what I call revenge on a grand scale.’
I nodded. ‘OK, you’ve convinced me. She won’t have destroyed it ... but we still have a problem. You see, the bottom line is I’m still a copper at heart and I’m not up for doing anything illegal.’ All right, so I was being a bit precious, but I didn’t like the bloke and I was damned if I was going to put my head on the block for him.
Mulwhinney clenched his fists like he was about to challenge me to a fight. ‘Oh yes, you will, Kyd,’ he sneered. ‘Crispian said you like to think of yourself as some kind of knight errant and that makes you a bit arsey at times. However, he also said that if you came over all self-righteous, I was to mention the matter of a gun Ms Bloom was rather careless with.’ He paused and looked inquiringly at me. I scowled at him, but he had me by the short and curlies and he knew it.
A few months back, Carly and I were working on a case that went seriously tits up thanks to an illegal gun Carly had in her possession. Crispian had made sure that she wasn’t held to account for it, but it was a hold he had over her and, by extension, me. All right, so Carly was no longer my concern but, even though she’d never know, I was now going to agree to do something stupid just so she wouldn’t be hauled back from her Jamaican idyll with Tyrone to face some serious charges. The fact that Tyrone was the guy who gave her the gun in the first place only added insult to injury. But there was no point in me railing against the injustice of it all, I just had to suck it up and do what Mulwhinney wanted me to do. If that makes me a knight errant then I’m guilty as charged.
Chapter Five
I got up and, without asking permission, I poured myself another slug of his Macallan. This time it burned my throat as I swallowed it down. ‘All right, Mr Mulwhinney, you win. I’ll go and steal your bloody manuscript back, but first up I need to know where Jezebel’s staying in New York.’
Mulwhinney shrugged. ‘She’s not there yet. Crispian’s little secret service elves have discovered she’s somewhere high over the Atlantic on a Virgin Airlines flight to JFK.’ He frowned. ‘I was a bit slow off the mark involving Crispian otherwise he could have had her stopped at the airport before she left the country.’
I pursed my lips sourly. ‘So, get him to have a word with the powers that be at JFK and have her put on the first flight back home.’
Mulwhinney’s face darkened. ‘He says it’s more than his life’s worth to try and pull any strings at JFK for what he rather patronisingly described as “a lovers’ tiff”. Naturally, I hit the roof when he said that and reminded him of one or two things from our school days that he’d rather remained buried, and that’s when he recommended you.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Though I’m beginning to think he’s sold me a pig in a poke.’
‘Yeah, well, appearances can be deceptive, Mr Mulwhinney.’ I decided I was going to show the bastard that Crispian’s faith in me wasn’t misplaced. ‘Now, what time is Jezebel scheduled to arrive in New York?’
Carmelita answered. ‘At twenty fifty … so you’d better get a move on, Mr Kyd.’
‘Yeah, but that’s Eastern Standard Time, right? So, by my calculations she won’t be landing until about one thirty tomorrow morning our time.’ I tapped my nails against my teeth whilst I thought things through. ‘OK, it’s nine forty-five now so that gives me a bit of breathing space.’ I pulled my mobile out. ‘Listen Mr Mulwhinney, I’m going to make a call to a guy who has connections in New York. His people will be able to track Jezebel as soon as she comes through passport control - but he won’t do it for free. So, do I have your permission to meet his asking price?’
He gave a brief nod. ‘Yes, but don’t tell him why you want her followed. I really don’t need this whole business being leaked.’
I gave him a scornful look. ‘Hey, how about I promise not to give you tips on play writing and you promise not to tell me how to be a Private Eye. Deal?’
His gave me a surly grunt, but I couldn’t help noticing that Carmelita was struggling to suppress a grin. I couldn’t quite figure her out, but then I rarely can when it comes to beautiful women. It’s a definite handicap in the PI business.
I dialled DK Kapoor’s number. DK is a “businessman” who runs just about every shady operation in my neck of the woods … and he’s the guy who set me up in the Private Investigations lark in the first place. I guess you could say I have a symbiotic relationship with him. I’m the pilot fish to his shark and increasingly these days I find myself, to quote Herman Melville, “lurking in the port of his serrated teeth”. It’s not a comfortable place to be, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I was hoping against hope it wouldn’t go straight to voicemail and, for once, my luck was in. It was still a bit early for all the Happy New Year callers to have clogged up the networks so DK’s syrupy tones were soon caressing my
ear. ‘Ryan, how delightful to hear from you, my boy. I trust you’re recovering swiftly from the trails and tribulations that have beset you so recently.’
DK talks like a toff but, make no mistake, the guy’s a street fighter and bad to the bone. I told him I had a business proposition for him and explained what I wanted him to do.
‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘Amongst other things, my older brother Sanjay runs a taxi firm that operates out of JFK and many cab drivers owe him their allegiance, so, in return for a handsome recompense, I’ll make sure that your lady friend is followed every step of the way to whichever hotel she chooses as her domicile.’
I agreed a fee with him and then hung up. Mulwhinney’s cheeks had gone an unpleasant shade of puce and I could tell that he wasn’t best pleased. ‘That’s an exorbitant amount of money,’ he spluttered. ‘You didn’t even try to negotiate a price with him.’
I sniffed and scratched my ear nonchalantly. ‘If you want something on the cheap, Mr Mulwhinney, go to a pound shop.’ I stopped scratching and pointed my finger at him instead. ‘Now, you listen to me. DK Kapoor is the only bloke who can deliver what we need. To whit, the address where your ex is going to be staying while she hawks your MS round Tin Pan Alley. You tell me the play could make millions, so look on DK’s one-off fee as an investment.’
He stared haughtily at me. ‘Perhaps I should deal directly with this DK Kapoor guy and cut out the middle man entirely.’
I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. ‘Good luck with that one, Jason old son. At the moment, DK thinks I’m doing a matrimonial surveillance gig and Jezebel is just another casualty of a relationship that’s on the rocks but, if he had an inkling of what’s really going on here, he’d be all over you like a particularly virulent rash and you’d be lucky to get away with a 50/50 split of the proceeds.’
For reasons best known to himself, Mulwhinney decided to lock horns. ‘Says you!’
I nodded. ‘Yeah … says me.’
‘Oh boys, boys. I’m gagging on the smell of testosterone here,’ scolded Carmelita. ‘So, let it go, eh?’
I turned my hands palm up and Mulwhinney harrumphed a bit but we both backed down. Carmelita smiled sweetly. ‘Good lads … you know it makes sense.’ Then the smile was gone and she was all business. ‘You’ll have to sort out your ESTA online for yourself, Mr Kyd, but that won’t be a problem. Now, in anticipation of you agreeing to take this case, we took the liberty of booking you on the 8.25 BA flight out of Heathrow. You’ll land at JFK at 11.05 their time so you’ll only be a few hours behind Jezebel. Please don’t mess around sightseeing, just do what we’ve asked and bring that manuscript straight back here to us. There’ll be a bonus payment for a prompt delivery.’ The smile was back and I think this was my cue to express my gratitude. I didn’t. I wasn’t feeling grateful. I was feeling used. I just wasn’t quite sure how.
Chapter Six
My flight touched down at JFK bang on time. Despite their reputation for steely-eyed surliness, I had no problem with the US immigration officials. They all told me to “have a nice day” which I felt was an unrealistically optimistic expectation on their part, but I smiled and nodded anyway.
I was met at the arrivals gate by an Indian guy of about my age with lank hair, bulbous eyes and several days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. He introduced himself as Shamak Chande and said he worked for Mr Sanjay Kapoor. He didn’t say in what capacity and I didn’t press him on the point. All I needed to know was if he could tell me where Jezebel was staying. He could, but it wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. According to Shamak, she hadn’t booked herself into a hotel, but had gone to a brownstone apartment block in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I looked at him quizzically and asked for more details.
‘You know anything about New York?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘Not really. I’ve been here once before a few years back, but I stayed just off Times Square and did all the tourist stuff.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll fill you in on the drive.’
Once we were in his cab and on our way into the city he gave me the low down on Crown Heights.
‘It’s a somewhat seedy, rough and tumble place with not many people from India. It’s full of West Indians but there are also many Jews. I guess you could say it’s less than glamorous, but Mr Kapoor says that you will feel right at home there coming as you do from Deptford.’
‘Know a lot about Deptford, do you, Shamak?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but Mr Kapoor says it’s a shithole.
‘And Mr Kapoor’s an expert, is he?’
‘Well, let’s just say he was glad when he could hand over the reins of the London operation to his younger brother, DK, and come out to New York to run things here.’
This shut me up. Somehow I’d always figured that DK had built his little empire single-handedly, but that just shows you how naïve I can be sometimes. The Kapoors were a crime family and he wasn’t even the head of it. He was standing on the shoulders of giants. Well, that is if you can call people who extorted, cheated, bullied, robbed and killed in order to claw their way to the top of the dunghill, giants. Not for the first time, I asked myself why I swam in the same waters as these sharks. But, again not for the first time, I told myself it was an occupational hazard. You have to be prepared to shovel shit if you want to clean the stables. OK, so I was mixing metaphors, and I’m no Hercules, but I’m betting even he would have had his work cut out trying to clean up the Stygian nightmare of crime and corruption that made up the underbellies of London and New York.
‘So … are you taking me straight to Crown Heights?’
‘Uh … no. Mr Kapoor wants to have a talk with you first. He’s keen to meet the famous Mr Ryan Kyd, the ex top secret agent for the DPG, that’s he’s heard so much about.’
The guy kept a straight face so I couldn’t tell if he was taking the piss or not. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my dealings with DK and his relatives, it’s that the Kapoors aren’t big on social niceties, so I very much doubted I was being taken for tea and a chat about my Downing Street days.
Chapter Seven
I wasn’t wrong. Sanjay Kapoor lived in an elegant apartment in a block that rose 14 floors above the SoHo district. It had views to die for, but I had the distinct impression that if Sanjay took against you it wouldn’t be the views that saw you off.
Sanjay was a well fed man, with skin like hand tooled leather. His hair was suspiciously dark and his eyes were like wet brown stones and, even though he was at home, he was wearing an Armani suit and shiny shoes. I figured that maybe he had somewhere else to be when he’d finished giving me a grilling. I don’t know. I didn’t ask and he didn’t take me into his confidence. We didn’t have that kind of a relationship. When he spoke his accent was a high pitched cross between Ben Kingsley’s Ghandi and Tony Curtis’ The Boston Strangler. Whereas his brother, DK, could turn on the charm if the mood took him, Sanjay seemed about as friendly as a rattlesnake with hemorrhoids. He didn’t ask me to sit down and he certainly didn’t offer me a drink. Instead he came straight to the point.
‘OK, Mr Kyd, why is it so important that you find out where a no account, z-list actress like Jezebel Montague is staying? And don’t tell me it’s a divorce case. My kid brother, DK, would have no interest in that. But you’ve involved him in whatever’s going on here and now he’s involved me. And I like to know exactly what I’m involved in. You’re a private detective, Mr Kyd, not a gossip mongering tabloid reporter, so there’s an angle here. What is it?’
I was tired and jet lagged and my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but I was awake enough to realise that a lie would probably lead to me modelling concrete overshoes at the bottom of the East River. I decided to tell a version of the truth. ‘She’s taken something that belongs to my client and he wants it back so he’s sent me over here to get it.’
Sanjay stared at me and it seemed to me his eyes were measuring me for a coffin. I swallowed har
d.
‘Yes, but what is the something he wants back?’
I shrugged like what I was giving up was no big deal. ‘It’s the manuscript of some arty farty play about an old time Brit singer you’ll never have heard of.’ He carried on giving me the coffin stare so I carried on playing down the script’s significance. ‘They had a lover’s tiff and she legged it over here with it.’ I grinned. ‘You know what women are like if they think their guy is playing fast and loose with another bird – which, unfortunately, my client was. So, it was anything to spite him and she grabbed the first thing that came to hand … which was the MS of this crappy play.’
Now Sanjay’s face creased into a stiff, unpleasant smile. ‘Close, but no cigar, Mr Kyd. You still haven’t shared the key piece of information with me.
I frowned. ‘There’s nothing more to share.’
He chuckled. It was like two broken pebbles rubbing against each other. ‘Oh but there is. Tell me or I’ll have my boys break your fingers.’
I glanced around. In addition to Shamak, there were two more of Sanjay’s goons in the apartment. Both guys had hard, flat, dark eyes and hands that could rip the heads off chickens. Neither of them looked like they saw me as their new best friend. I realised I was outnumbered and outgunned and being paid nothing like enough to risk permanent injury for the sake of a client I didn’t like. ‘My client is Jason Mulwhinney, the playwright.’
Sanjay looked blank, but then Shamak decided to be helpful. ‘He’s the guy who wrote “The Kanes of Ravenscroft”.
Sanjay processed this information. ‘So, a play by Mr Mulwhinney will be worth a buck or two. I now see why he’s so eager for its safe return.’ Then his face puckered up into a deep frown. ‘But surely this manuscript exists in many forms – not just on paper.’
‘No, he writes everything in longhand so it’ll be the only copy.’ Shamak was really turning into a fount of information. Everybody in the room was staring at him. He looked down at his shoes and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘I read an interview with him in Variety.’