Belfast Noir

by Adrian McKinty

  “I doubt very much they’ll contact me. Only interesting people help them sell more copies of their rag.”

  Chambers turned to leave.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Karl said.

  “Forgetting something?” Chambers looked puzzled. “What?”

  “The fiver you owe me.”

  * * *

  Sunday morning. Bucketing out of the heavens. Inside Karl’s bedroom. Karl sitting at the table, typing his latest unappreciated manuscript on his beloved Royal Quiet DeLuxe typewriter. Actually, there was little typing being done as Karl continued staring blankly at a blank page. His fingers hovered nervously over the keys, like a helicopter trying to land on a house of cards. A couple of times his fingers landed briefly on the keys, only to quickly pull away, as if touching acid. Behind him, Naomi sprawled out in the middle of the bed, reading the morning newspapers.

  “Do you have to make so much noise turning those pages, Naomi? How am I expected to concentrate with such a racket going on?”

  She peered over the page she was reading, grin hidden. “Writer’s block, my love? Can I help?”

  “You can start by dumping those rags you’re reading and get me a cup of coffee.”

  “I enjoy reading these. There’s always some juicy gossip to be found.”

  Karl made a disapproving sound with his throat. “And the coffee?”

  “You didn’t say please.”

  “You didn’t have to say please when I went out into the cold-and-wet this morning just to get you your juicy reading.”

  “True, but you were only expressing your love and deep gratitude for all the other things I’ve done for you.” Naomi turned a page. “Karl! Sunday Exposé has an article about you and Lipstick.”

  “What?” He pushed away from the table.

  “It’s not a bad photo of you.”

  “Never mind that, let me see what the bastards have made up. Chambers warned me about this.”

  “Chambers?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. The loverboy detective who fancies you.”

  “Stop being silly.”

  “Why’re you blushing then?”

  Naomi laughed. Patted the bed coaxingly. “Sit beside me. I’ll read the article to you.”

  “I don’t really have a lot of time for this . . . but okay.” Feigning reluctance, Karl sat down on the bed, edging over beside Naomi. Her subtle perfume and body warmth tickled his nostrils. He hoped this wasn’t all that would be getting tickled before the morning was over.

  “Local PI Takes on Notorious London Crime Boss, says the wee headline.” Naomi cleared her throat, and continued reading: “Local private investigator, no-nonsense-taking Karl Kane, sorted out one of London’s most feared crime bosses at the Europa last week, according to one of our inside sources.”

  “Inside sources, my bollocks. It was that greasy little worm Raymond.”

  “The crime boss—who can’t be named for legal reasons—was left with a broken nose, missing teeth, and a face his own mother wouldn’t kiss.”

  “They can name me, but can’t name him?”

  “Apparently, one of Kane’s best friends, a Ms. Sharon McKeever, was left badly beaten, and Kane decided to quid-pro-quo by giving the London thug a good old Belfast punishment. Police say no charges have been brought against Kane because no one has come forward with a complaint. Sunday Exposé hopes the big bad crime boss has learned his lesson about beating up defenceless women in Belfast and elsewhere. Bon voyage back to London, and good riddance.”

  “Let me have a look at the picture,” Karl said, secretly chuffed at the report not making him the villain for a change.

  “I like it.” Naomi handed over the newspaper. “You’re almost smiling that roguish grin of yours.”

  “What roguish grin?” Karl asked, flashing his roguish grin.

  “Hopefully this’ll get us some extra business, Karl. Everyone reads Sunday Exposé, even those who pretend they’re too intellectual to be seen dead with it.”

  “Before you start getting all philosophical on me, how about that coffee you still owe me?”

  Naomi eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’ve something a lot tastier.”

  “Does it come in a cup?”

  “Two.” Naomi smiled, slowly unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing belonging to Karl. Next came her bra, unhooked from the front, leaving her breasts fully exposed. “Irish coffee or café mocha?”

  “Irish.” Karl snuggled closer, kissing her left breast gently and lovingly. “Bonne bouche.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty and French at the same time. Whisper more to me,” Naomi said, helping Karl remove what little garments he was wearing on a rainy Sunday morning in Belfast.

  Despite the lousy weather outside, things inside were starting to look sunny for Karl. Very sunny, indeed. Of course, in Karl’s world, sunshine never lasted very long.

  * * *

  “Any calls while I was out earning a crust on a dreary grey Monday?” Karl began, opening up the day’s mail parked in a wire tray.

  “The phone hasn’t stopped. A lady called looking to find out if her husband is cheating on her, and would you investigate it. She’s from the Malone Road, and read the article about you. See, even the well-to-do read Sunday Exposé.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’ve shares in it, the way you keep harping on.”

  “Another was from a man claiming his landlord is slowly poisoning his goldfish, just to get him out of his rent-controlled flat. I told them both to call back later in the afternoon.”

  The chime on the outside office door jingled. Through the frosted glass of the office, Karl saw a shadow come in and sit down in the reception area.

  “Hopefully that’s not the one with the goldfish. I’m not in the mood to listen to a lonely man’s paranoia. I can do that anytime by myself.”

  “Stop being so uppity. That’s our bread-and-butter you’re talking about.”

  “I’m well aware of that, but I’m the knife who has to carefully slice the bread and spread the butter, sorting time-wasters from genuine clients. Now, if you don’t mind?” Karl indicated with his chin toward the reception.

  Naomi lifted her ample derrière off the desk, and headed out the door. A few seconds later, she returned.

  “A Mr. Carlisle needs to talk to you. Face looks messed up, pretty ugly. Says he’s hoping for help in locating a missing person. Shall I show him in?”

  “You explained of course that we normally don’t see anyone without an appointment, because of how busy we are?”

  “I’m not in the mood to go along with your charades right now.”

  “Okay, give me a few seconds, then send him in.”

  Karl quickly picked up the phone and started talking into it, just as a man walked in.

  “No, I’m sorry, Lord Mayor, but right now I can’t take any new cases for at least a month or . . .” Karl’s voice trailed off. He set the phone down and glared at the man standing before him. “I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.”

  “Didn’t think you’d want to see me if you knew who it was.” Graham Butler sat down on a chair. His face was ballooned in black and blue. His left eye was totally closed by hyphens of stitches, and his off-kilter nose had an enormous sticking plaster on it.

  He looked dreadful. Karl looked pleased.

  “And there’s me telling the cops that you wouldn’t be stupid enough to come searching for me.”

  From an inside pocket, Butler removed a large envelope. Opened it. Produced the clipping from the Sunday Exposé. Slid it across the desk. “I’ve become very interested in this man.”

  Karl held the clipping in his hand. “Good-looking guy. Looks the type you wouldn’t want to fuck with.”

  “I didn’t know who you were until one of my associates showed me this. Now you have no hiding place.”

  “Who’s hiding? The only hiding I remember is the one I gave you, mate.”

  Butler’s face
gave an almost imperceptible twitch. “You Irish have a saying, Kane: Every dog is brave on its own doorstep. Describes you perfectly. There’ll be a time you’ll face me on equal terms, not taking me by surprise or when I’m naked and defenceless.”

  “There’s another part of that old saying you forgot to mention: Only a stupid dog leaves its doorstep.”

  Butler tried smiling, but it was obvious he was in pain. “In a strange way, I like you, Kane. You’ve got balls.”

  “More than I can say about you.” Karl pointed at the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to see a man about a goldfish.”

  “If this were London, you’d be dead by now. You understand that?”

  “In all honesty, I wouldn’t be seen dead in London. I was courteous to you in the hotel. Beating up wee girls doesn’t go down too well over here, sparks something in our dark psyche. If I were you, I’d get on the next plane home, across the water, before some nasty vigilante comes searching.”

  “I’ve a couple of gentlemen not too far away, waiting in a car. They wanted to come in here, smash the place up, put you in hospital. Perhaps even worse. But I said no, Karl Kane is a smart man. Someone I can do business with. Am I right or am I right?”

  “Wrong on both accounts. And as for your two gentlemen in the car?” Karl leaned over the desk. Stared directly into Butler’s eyes. “This is my kingdom you’re visiting. A whistle and I’ll have forty not-so-fucking-gentle gentlemen here in five minutes, hoping to repay the many favours I’ve done for them over the years.”

  Butler shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, have it your way, but that little whore has a very expensive watch belonging to me. It’s—”

  “If you use the word whore again, I won’t be responsible for where my fist lands—”

  “—a Rolex Yachtmaster. It holds a lot of sentimental value in my heart. Twenty thousand quid worth of sentiment.”

  Karl almost swallowed the desk, but managed to remain calm, cool, and collected. From his pocket, Butler removed another envelope. Slapped it loudly on the desk.

  “There’s five hundred quid in there. See that the little . . . see that she gets it along with the message that she has twenty-four hours to return what doesn’t belong to her. Otherwise . . .” Butler stood. “Well, you fill in the blanks. I’m sure you remember where I’m staying? See you soon, one way or the other . . .”

  Karl waited until Butler left the room before quickly making his way upstairs. Rapped on the door of the spare bedroom.

  “Who is it?” Lipstick’s voice said.

  “Me. Are you decent?”

  “I’m always decent. You know that.” She laughed. “Come in.”

  Karl opened the door and peered inside. Lipstick was sitting up in bed, a copy of Naomi’s Glamour magazine in her tiny hands. Her face was healing a hell of a lot better than Butler’s.

  “How’re you doing, kiddo?” Karl asked, forcing a smile.

  “Feeling really great.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “This is for you.” Karl placed the envelope on the bed.

  “What is it?”

  “Five hundred quid, apparently.”

  “Five hundred?” Lipstick hungrily tore the envelope’s stomach and spilt out its contents. “Where’d this come from?”

  “Butler.”

  “Butler? How did he know I was here?”

  “He doesn’t. He’s on a fishing expedition at the moment. He wants his watch back. He’s sentimentally attached to it, apparently, as is his bank manager.”

  “What will we do, Karl?”

  “We? We will do nothing. But you, on the other hand, need to return the watch. This thug isn’t going away until he gets it.”

  “I’m not giving it back.”

  “I suspected that.”

  “And I’m keeping the money you just gave me.”

  “I suspected that too.”

  “Well? Aren’t you gonna try and force me?”

  “I’ve never tried to force you to do anything. I’m not going to start now.”

  “Good, because I’m going to enjoy spending that bastard’s money and wearing his watch.”

  “Isn’t it a bit big for a wee wrist like yours?”

  “My wrist is, but not this.” In a flash, Lipstick shoved a leg out from beneath the bedclothes, the watch attached halfway up. She began snaking the leg seductively toward Karl. “What do you think?”

  “What you need to think is what could’ve happened in that hotel room. It was a warning most young people in similar situations don’t get. Someone saintly must be looking over you. But even Saint Karl’s patience is limited.”

  He turned and left, wondering what the hell Butler would do once he found out he’d have to add five hundred quid to his increasingly expanding Lost List of All Things Lovely.

  Downstairs, Naomi waited, arms folded.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to wait and read about it in the papers? That was that nasty piece of work, Butler, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You’ve got to call the police, Karl, tell them he was here making threats.”

  “How many times do I need to tell you to stop earwigging?”

  “If I didn’t listen in, I wouldn’t know half of what the hell’s going on in here at times.”

  “Well, this was one of those times.”

  “Are you going to call the police or will I?”

  “I have ways of dealing with Butler.”

  “Yes, I read about those ways in last week’s paper. I also overheard him talking about the gang in the car.”

  “He’s threatened Lipstick. You want me to turn my back on the wee girl?”

  “For God’s sake! Stop with the martyrdom complex! She’s not a wee girl, she’s a woman, fully in charge of her life. You can’t keep being her knight in shining armour each time she—” Naomi stopped in midflow. Looked over Karl’s shoulder. “Lipstick? What are you doing dressed and out of bed?”

  Lipstick smiled. “I’m fully recovered, and raring to go.”

  “Go?” Karl said. “I hope you’re not thinking of leaving, especially the way things are at the moment.”

  “Look, I love you both to death, but I’m not staying to see you arguing over me.”

  “No one’s arguing over you,” Karl said.

  “That’s right, Lipstick,” agreed Naomi. “This has nothing to do with you. We were only—”

  “My face has practically healed, and anyway, I’ve got to get back to work eventually. It took me a long time to get my clientele list, and I’m not ready to throw it away, at least not for a couple more years.”

  Karl spread out his arms in an appeal. “C’mon. You don’t need to go to work. Wait a couple more days. I promise it’ll be sorted.”

  “You don’t need to sort anything, Karl. As Naomi said, I’m a woman, not a wee girl.”

  “I . . .” Naomi fumbled. “I only meant . . .”

  Lipstick walked over to Naomi, and kissed her gently on cheek. “I know. And you’re right. I’m a woman, not a wee girl, as Karl seems to think.”

  “You’ve Butler’s watch,” Karl quickly interjected. “If you don’t intend to hand it back, you could sell it. Surely the money you’d get could keep you free from working, at least for a couple of months?”

  “I’m keeping the watch for a future investment, or for someone very special,” Lipstick said, giving Karl a cheeky wink, and then a kiss on his cheek. “Now, I really must be going. I have an appointment with a client, a nice one this time.”

  * * *

  Tuesday evening. Naomi was just closing for the day when Detective Chambers, accompanied by Detective Harry McCormack, appeared at the door. A one-time heavy with Special Branch, McCormack was a six-three pillar of brick-hard, shit-house muscle, baptised in the fire of broken-bones, strap-your-balls-on street fights of Belfast. His ungodly face was as welcoming as a kicked-in door, and his bald head gleamed with l
amplight sheen.

  “We waited until everyone had gone, Naomi, so as not to cause a scene.” Chambers sounded apologetic. “Karl’s in, I take it?”

  “He’s had a hard day. What’s this about?”

  McCormack, chomping at the bit, said, “Why don’t you just get Kane, and we’ll tell him what it’s all about, love?”

  “Love?” Naomi’s face went into battle mode. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? What’s your name?”

  The man smirked. “Detective McCormack.”

  “Oh, now I remember. Detective McPiggy. Isn’t that what the other officers call you?”

  “What?” McCormack looked as if he’d had a dick-in-the-zip moment.

  “Don’t ever make the mistake of patronising me again.”

  A hand touched Naomi’s shoulder.

  “Easy, tiger,” Karl said, appearing out of nowhere, smiling. “We don’t want the big bad detective getting tough with you.”

  “Ha! Just let him try it!” Naomi glared at McCormack, before walking back in and heading up the stairs.

  “We need to ask you some questions, Mr. Kane,” Chambers said. “We’re enquiring about the disappearance of Graham Butler, and any information you may have with regards to—”

  “Whoa. Hold on a sec. Why’re you asking me about that scumbag?”

  Chambers pulled out a small notepad. “According to our information, he was last seen leaving here yesterday. He was to return to his hotel for a meeting, but never made it.”

  “Another one added to your long list, Kane,” McCormack snarled. “Seems people who get too close to you either end up murdered or disappear into thin air.”

  “If you truly believe that, shouldn’t you be frightened?”

  “Frightened of you? God, what I’d give to have you alone for—”

  “Detective McCormack?” Chambers said softly but with authority. “Can you go back to the car, please? I’ll finish this report.”

  McCormack seemed on the verge of ignoring Chambers’s request. Then, as if thinking better of it, he complied.

  Chambers waited until his colleague left. “You don’t make it easy for people to like you, do you, Mr. Kane?”

  “I’m not running for election.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me, now that Detective McCormack has left?”