Weiss remained unmoved. “If you invade my personal space like that again, you’ll need to worry about your white only-front-parts-ironed shirt being covered in blood. Capisce?”
Tanner sulked. “I guess. Well, everything except the capisce part. What does that even mean, anyway?”
“Forget about it,” said Weiss. “Can you focus, please? We’ve got work to do.”
A further set of steps greeted them, but the Camera Obscura was now visible near to the top.
“Ugh. You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Tanner, when presented with the further climb, but they pressed on. “You know what? It’s pretty, this Camera Obscura thing,” he said after a few minutes of trudging, looking up at their goal and admiring the freshly-applied green paint on the wooden structure.
“Pretty?” said Weiss. “Dude. You’re a ruthless killer, fercryinoutloud. Get some self-respect, man,” he said to Tanner reprovingly.
“I was just saying. Jeez.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re always just saying.”
Once at their destination, the two men took up position at the entrance. Tactically, it was an ideal meeting point because it afforded views from all angles; the element of surprise would have been all but impossible. A further coastal path ran directly in front of them, which led from Douglas Head on the right, through to the headland on the left — which looked directly down on the lighthouse they’d just left.
“Ah!” said Tanner.
“What is it? You see them?” replied Weiss.
“No, my feet just hurt,” Tanner called over. “No, wait. Over there!” he said, poised like a coiled spring. Or, bent over in pain. One or the other.
“Why are you reaching for your gun?” asked Weiss. “We’re the good guys this time. If you pull your gun out on them, that’s going to create a little confusion, don’t you think? Save the bad guy stuff for when we throw their bodies into the sea.”
“The bad guy stuff is my favourite part,” said Tanner.
“Mine, too,” agreed Weiss. “But they think they’re coming to the FBI for help, remember?”
Tanner removed his hand cautiously like he was taking cheese from a mousetrap. “They’re coming right for us. Is that them?”
Weiss squinted. “Dunno. Hard to tell from here. I only met the guy once. And this woman looks older than I remember. Are they armed?” he asked.
Two figures approached from the path on the left — a man and a woman. They both wore khaki-coloured shorts and matching blue rain jackets.
“I don’t think that’s them,” Tanner said, once the couple got within range. “The guy looks like he’s about eighty and the woman with him can’t be much younger. Unless… maybe they’re wearing disguises?”
“If those are disguises, they should be working in Hollywood,” remarked Weiss. “No, that’s just an old couple out for a walk.”
The old couple approached the foot of the stairs and looked up to Weiss and Tanner. What Weiss had thought might be a weapon or weapons in hand was now clear to see were walking poles.
The old man looked at his walking companion. “The attendants dress very smart,” he said, before chuckling for no obvious reason. “Two tickets!” His head was buried in his wallet as he shouted up. “Do you have concessions for pensioners?” he asked, earnestly.
Weiss had to put his arm across to Tanner as he was about to accept the money the old fellow was offering. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed today,” he said to the pensioner.
“What’s that?” shouted the elderly man.
“We’re closed,” repeated Weiss. “So. You know. Bugger off,” as you folks would say.
The old man began to chuckle once more. “You’ll have to forgive my hearing aid.” His companion was likely his wife, judging by the way she tenderly held onto his arm. “How much did he say?” he asked of her.
She looked blankly. “What’s that? I’ve told you, Bert, my batteries have gone,” she said, pointing to her ear.
Bert continued to laugh. “We’ve not got one good ear between us!” he shouted amiably. He took a couple of notes from his wallet and held them out to Tanner. “Two tickets, please!” he repeated cheerily.
Tanner wanted very much to relieve the old fellow of his money. Force of habit, of course. Instead, he leaned forward, and, to ensure the message was understood, clearly and loudly mouthed the words, “We’re closed. BURGER OFF.”
Weiss sighed but did not correct his partner.
Bert, message finally received, reared up like a stallion. “There’s no need to take that tone with me, young man.” He took his walking stick and pointed it at the entrance sign. “You’re clearly open for another hour,” he insisted, poking his stick in the air for emphasis. “We’ve walked for an hour to come to this, so take my money and step aside before I’m forced to give you a proper thrashing!”
“We’re closed,” said Tanner, opening his jacket to reveal that which lay within. No further words were necessary.
Bert’s wife pulled at his jacket. “I don’t like this, Bert. Let’s go,” she shouted into his ear.
Agent Tanner did his best to look intimidating.
“Ruffians,” Bert said, turning to his wife with a stern expression over his face. “I’ve met their kind before. Let’s be on our way.”
While his wife could not hear him, she understood well enough and turned to leave. Bert did the same, dropping down one of the steps and extended his walking pole for support. But then, suddenly…
“A-ha!” Bert shouted. With the precision of a master swordsman, he spun on the spot and landed the tip of his pole deep into Tanner’s crotch.
“No fair!” screamed Tanner as he fell to his knees. The air flew out of his lungs and the blood drained from his face. He looked up at Weiss for salvation, but as he tried to ease back into an upright position, Bert unleashed another savage salvo, this time catching Tanner across the chest.
“Help me,” pleaded Tanner, but Weiss had taken a cautionary step backwards as tears of laughter rolled down his face.
Aware of another impending attack, Tanner tried to distance himself, but his legs had stopped working as the pain in his crotch became overwhelming. He could only use his arms to drag himself away from the wrinkly aggressor. His escape was unimpressive, and had the appearance of a dog trying to scratch its arse on the carpet.
“Okay,” said Weiss, eventually deciding enough was enough. He took a step towards Bert and raised his hands in submission. “Look, we’re open, like you’ve said, but we’ve had an unfortunate incident inside.”
Bert remained poised to attack but moved his head closer as Weiss continued.
“Yeah, sadly some old fellow slipped and broke his neck. The floor is a bit, you know, wet and slippery and such now. From the blood.”
“Oh, dear. He’s dead?” asked Bert.
“Yeah,” said Weiss. “He’s going nowhere, unfortunately.”
“Oh, dear,” Bert said again, trying to look towards the building, but Weiss blocked his view. “So what are you two doing?” he asked, undaunted.
“Us?” said Weiss. “We, uh… we’re the undertakers. Why else do you think we’d be dressed like this, up here, in the middle of the day?”
“Ah,” said Bert. “Ah. Well. I’m sorry to hear that. I think we’ll be on our way, then.”
Tanner continued to gasp on the floor. “Yeah, you better go,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. “If you know what’s good for you. If you don’t want a visit from the undertakers yourself.”
Weiss helped his fallen colleague back to his feet as Bert and his wife continued their exploration.
“You just got decked by a senior citizen. Priceless,” said Weiss, thoroughly enjoying the moment. But his laughter dried up when he looked and saw a couple walking toward them at speed. “This must be them!” he whispered.
Tanner tried to focus through the tears. “The guy we saw in the office was bald, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, you’re right. But that�
�s definitely her,” said Weiss.
This was confirmed as the pair in question walked nearer the Camera Obscura.
“You’re late,” said Weiss to Emma. “Who’s he?” he said, pointing to Sam.
Sam waved. “It’s me. Sam. We met in my office. What’s wrong with your partner?”
“He ate some bad, uh… fish and chips,” Weiss floundered.
“You’re wearing a wig?” asked Tanner. “Why?”
“I dunno, but I think a bald head makes me stand out, so I wanted to remain inconspicuous,” Sam replied.
Emma scoffed. “Inconspicuous? Is that what that was?”
Sam blushed. “Yeah, our discreet arrival didn’t really go to plan. I didn’t have the right wig adhesive, so I used treacle. It’s a thing I seem to keep doing. You’d think I’d learn,” he said.
“But, no,” Emma added.
“Anyway,” Sam continued. “That’s why we’re a bit late. See, I’ve just been dive-bombed by a load of hungry seagulls. Who knew they’d like treacle? But, hey, at least the wig is still in place, right?”
Tanner nodded. “I feel your pain. Check out my jacket,” he said, twirling like a ballerina. “Those gulls ruined it!”
Sam nodded. “They’re merciless little bastards,” he said sympathetically.
Agent Tanner seemed pleased he no longer had to hide his soiled jacket. At least that problem was solved.
Agent Weiss took a step forward and stared at Emma. “You weren’t followed?” he asked.
Emma shook her head.
“You’ve made the right decision to come to us, Emma. You’re prepared to make a full confession about your dealings with Mr Esposito? Including details of all the artwork and artefacts you’ve forged?”
Emma nodded once more. “Yes, I’ll tell you everything. You just need to get me off this island and into witness protection or something.”
“You do realise that your life as you knew it is about to change? Forever?” offered Agent Tanner.
“I understand, Agent…?”
“Tanner,” said Agent Tanner.
“Agent Tanner. I just wanted to say thank you to you both. So. Now what? What happens next?”
Weiss looked over his shoulder. “We’ve got our operations centre in an old lighthouse, just at the bottom of the cliff. It’s only a five-minute walk.”
Emma looked at Sam with an air of vulnerability. “Sam,” she said, standing on tiptoe. “I also want to thank you. For everything. Especially for getting me here today. To safety.”
Sam frowned. “I’m coming with you,” he said. “And that’s that. I’m seeing this through.”
Emma glanced at the two agents who in turn looked at each other. “Does he know the full details of your dealings with Mr Esposito?” asked Tanner.
“Absolutely,” replied Emma, without hesitation.
“Well, welcome aboard,” offered Tanner, a crooked smile across his face. “Let’s roll,” he said, and ushered them down the steps and towards the quaint-looking lighthouse. “Emma, don’t panic, by the way. You’re with the professionals now,” he added reassuringly. “You’ll be taken care of.
Chapter Seventeen
Fall of the House of Joey
M adeline arched her back and walked uncomfortably, like she was struggling to retain the contents of her bowels. “That better be your gun pointing in my back, Joey.” She said. “God, that’s a phrase I never thought I’d utter.”
Joey stood behind the two women with a gun pointed at each of them. Ever the professional, it was as if he’d bought a clothing line designed to provide a covering for small-arms fire. His jacket sleeves perfectly obscured the contents of his hands from prying eyes.
“Just go with it,” said Joey through the corner of his mouth. “We don’t know if we’re being watched, and it needs to look like you’re being brought here against your will. So look, um… aggrieved and, uh… in distress. Or something.”
“How am I supposed to…?” Madeline muttered to herself, before Joey applied more pressure on her back, and, like magic, her acting skills improved immediately. “That hurts,” she moaned.
“Perfect. That’s the spirit,” said Joey. “Abby, is this the lighthouse?”
This was a question one might charitably say was rhetorical (or, uncharitably, stupid), bearing in mind they were in the middle of nowhere with a forty-foot structure with a giant light at the top. Abby resisted the urge to give a snarky response. After all, she had a loaded gun secured at the base of her back. “It is indeed. You’ve got a keen eye, Joey,” she replied diplomatically (though perhaps with a bit of snark thrown in for good measure). “Joey, the gun pressed against my back. Is it loaded?”
“It is indeed, Abby,” he said, playfully matching her words and style. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing with a gun.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Abby replied.
There were several buildings surrounding the foot of the lighthouse, but there were no signs of life. Joey’s eyes were wide, like golf balls, as he scoured the location for any sign of Mr Esposito or his ample-of-girth assistant Mr Swan. “It might be a trap,” he whispered. “If I say run, don’t ask. Just run.”
Joey moved forward a step as the sound of an aged lock mechanism being undone echoed through the still air. He didn’t hesitate and raised the two guns so they stood in the air at the ten-and-two position, at the ready.
“If I don’t see some faces, soon, I’m going to start unleashing a whole lotta lead,” he said, gravely.
A bloated face appeared from behind a door in the far corner of the small courtyard. “Joey,” said Mr Swan, who knew better than to challenge a gun-wielding Joey Schmidt. “Over here. Quickly, before anybody sees you.”
Joey nodded in acknowledgement and took a large breath. “If this is a double-cross,” he whispered to the women. “I’ll jump in front of you and you both run. No matter what, don’t look back,” he instructed.
Mr Swan ushered them in, took a cautionary glance beyond them, scanning the cliffs above, before slamming the door shut. The room looked like something from a pirate’s tavern — with every element of tacky, nautical souvenir adorning the walls.
Mr Esposito spun around on an impressive captain’s chair, once again sporting his familiar white linen suit.
Madeline laughed. It was not a kindly sort of laugh. She spoke directly to Mr Esposito. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously? How long have you been sitting in that chair, staring at the wall, waiting for us to arrive, just so you could spin around like a second-rate Bond villain? The only thing you’re missing is the white cat.”
Mr Esposito smiled. “No cats. Allergies, I am afraid. It is enjoyable to make your acquaintance once again, Marilyn.”
“It’s Madeline,” Madeline scowled. “And you know it.”
“Ah. My sincere apologies,” said Mr Esposito. “A simple mistake,” he said, unconvincingly. “Mr Schmidt, any news on our Mr Montgomery?”
Joey lowered his head slightly in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact. “Mikey? Uh, no, sir,” he said. “I thought he’d be back with you by now. You… haven’t heard from him?”
“No,” said Mr Swan, stepping forward. “In fact, we hoped you might be able to clear things up in that respect.” Mr Swan stood nose-to-nose with Joey, his nostrils flared.
“No, Mr Swan, it’s like I said, the police took him away for getting a little too familiar with himself in public. He always was, like they say around these parts, a bit of a wan–”
“That will do, Mr Schmidt,” said Mr Esposito. “After all, we’re in the presence of two ladies. Two ladies I had not expected to see again, to be completely honest. But, no matter. The inconvenience with Mr Montgomery being arrested has actually turned out to be to our advantage.”
“That’s… good?” asked Joey. “It’s just… I hate to disappoint you, sir. I prefer to complete an assignment as instructed, of course.”
“Not at all,” replied Mr Esposito, soothin
gly. “Quite the opposite. We are waiting patiently for Madeline’s sister, at present, and I need to know exactly what she’s told and to whom. I have a number of business associates who are exceptionally interested in the outcome of this meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” said Joey.
“Some of these associates are, as you may imagine, somewhat nervous that Madeline’s sister has been fairly liberal with her knowledge of our operations of late. This information has the potential to separate my associates, as well as myself, from their liberty. You can understand, of course, if I prefer such a chain of events were not to occur.”
“Of course,” Joey agreed, biding his time, waiting to see how this was all going to play out.
“Our Emma Hopkins, however, may prove reluctant to divulge the information we are seeking,” he went on.
“You’re damn right!” Madeline interjected.
“Precisely,” Mr Esposito continued. “And this is why having Madeline here as our guest can prove to be of benefit. Because, while Ms Hopkins may not be willing to cooperate for her own sake, I am confident that the application of a persuasive degree of pressure on her sister’s person may produce the desired results.”
If Mr Esposito had been holding a cat, he would have, at this point, been stroking it affectionately.
“She’ll tell you nothing!” snapped Madeline.
“I certainly hope so, beautiful. I’m counting on it,” Mr Swan said, withdrawing his attention from Joey for the moment and focussing now on Madeline. “I’m looking forward to making a mess of this pretty face of yours. Although,” he said, caressing Madeline’s face with the back of his chubby hand. “Someone has already gotten a head start, from the looks of it.”
“That’d be me,” said Abby willfully, as she shadow-boxed a feigned left and right hook. “And you’re next, tubby,” she added, defiantly.
Joey winced at Abby’s admission, which could very well raise questions that he didn’t have the ability to easily answer. Fortunately, Mr Swan provided a timely and welcome distraction in the form of his phone ringing.
The Seaside Detective Agency Page 17