How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery

by Robin Storey

  ‘How much all up?’

  ‘If you’re asking me how much I’d pay, I’d say fifty dollars.’

  He grinned when he saw the expression on Reuben’s face. ‘That’s if I was an unscrupulous dealer taking advantage of you. And I’m guessing you’d go elsewhere and find out their true value.’

  He leaned forward on the counter. The Mickey Mouse face on his watch winked at Reuben. ‘You look like an honest, genuine sort of guy so I’ll help you out. There’s a collector I know in Melbourne who’s a bit of a Mandrake fan, and I reckon he’d jump at these. If you can wait, I’ll go out the back and give him a tinkle.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate it,’ Reuben said.

  ‘Josh, counter please!’ Tim called. A sullen, pimply-faced youth slunk out from a door at the back of the shop. Tim picked up the comics. ‘I’ll take these with me so I can give him a detailed description.’

  He disappeared through the back door. Josh stood at the counter with an expression that said, ‘I’m only here because I have to be and I’ll be really pissed off if anyone wants to buy anything.’

  Reuben browsed through the comics in the boxes on the table. They were an eclectic mix of superheroes, Walt Disney and even some romance comics, obviously well-loved and not valuable enough to be kept in plastic. He should buy a few as a thank-you to Tim for going the extra mile for him. He picked up a Phantom comic. Two dollars was the original price, the store sticker said six dollars. Two comics would be enough.

  After what seemed an eternity, during which Josh had been forced to ring up two sales on the cash register and had retired to the back of the shop in a fit of pique, Tim emerged from the back room with the comics.

  He beamed. ‘Good news. Ron is prepared to give you three and a half. He was stuck on three for a while, but I talked him into the extra half.’

  Three hundred and fifty dollars. Hardly worth selling them.

  ‘That’s three-and-a-half thousand,’ Tim said.

  ‘Thousand?’ Reuben said. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. If you give me your bank details, he’ll put the money in today, and I’ll take care of packing and posting them. Just one small detail,’ he added, ‘I charge ten per cent commission. So Ron will put three thousand, one hundred and fifty into your bank account and three hundred and fifty into mine. I’ve got a contract here to make it all legal.’ He waved a sheet of paper in the air.

  Three thousand and a bit sounded pretty damn good, more then he’d dared hope for. But should he try elsewhere for a better price? Not that he was in the mood – the wrench of parting with Mandrake was hard enough without prolonging it.

  ‘It’s okay if you want time to think about it,’ Tim said. ‘Or if you want to see if you can get a better price. But I’ll tell you, Scout’s honour,’ he held up three fingers, ‘you’ll go a long way to find someone who’ll pay you more than that.’

  ‘And he’s prepared to buy them sight unseen?’ Reuben said.

  ‘I’ve been in this business for twenty years, from way back when every kid had a pile of comics under his pillow, and I’ve known Ron for almost that long. He trusts my judgement.’

  ‘Okay, it’s a deal,’ Reuben said. He filled in his bank account details on the contract and signed it.

  ‘And I’ll buy these,’ he said, placing the two Phantom comics he’d chosen on the counter.

  ‘Do you like the Phantom?’

  ‘Not really, he’s not a patch on Mandrake.’

  ‘I agree. I like the fact that he’s not a superhero, just a regular guy with a girlfriend. Except for his hypnotic powers.’ Tim came out from behind the counter, rifled around in one of the boxes on the table and pulled out a handful of comics. He handed them to Reuben. ‘On the house.’

  There were four Mandrake comics, later editions from the 1990s, battered and dog-eared. Reuben scanned their covers; he hadn’t read any of them.

  ‘Thanks, that’s really good of you.’

  ‘No worries, I can see it’s hard for you parting with yours. Do they have sentimental value?’

  ‘Not really,’ Reuben said, ‘the old man next door gave them to me when I was a kid. But they’ve been everywhere with me and I’ve read them so many times, they’ve sort of become part of my life.’

  ‘So, sentimental value.’ Tim grinned. ‘Well, I guess you must really need the money, otherwise you wouldn’t be selling them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Reuben said.

  ***

  Posie returned his call as he was walking back down Adelaide Street towards the bus stop.

  ‘Reuben! I’m so glad you’re back!’ she trilled so loudly that a woman passing by looked back at him. Reuben turned his phone volume down. Posie lowered her voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I read about you in the paper. What on earth were you thinking of? I would never have picked you as the brawling type.’

  ‘I’m not. It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. Never mind, you’re here now. But you didn’t tell me you’d been in jail before.’ Her tone was gently reproachful, like a kindergarten teacher chastising one of her charges for not putting his crayons away.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you wouldn’t hire me if you knew that.’

  ‘You’d be surprised the people we have on our books. Anyway, it doesn’t seem to worry Jonathan Huntley. He’s making a feature film on the Gold Coast, and the exciting thing is he wants you to audition for the lead role. This could be your big break!’

  Lead role. Reuben stopped dead in his tracks. Someone slammed into his back and gave an exasperated grunt. He moved out of the way to a shop window.

  ‘What’s the role?’

  ‘He didn’t say, it was only a brief call – he was about to board a plane. He’s at a conference in L.A., but he’ll call you when he gets back.’

  On the bus home, Reuben stared unseeing out the window. Lead role. Hopefully not a remake of King Kong. And it was only an audition, there was no guarantee he’d get the part. But he couldn’t stop the bubble of excitement from floating up inside him.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Brisbane River gleamed in the late afternoon sun like a giant brown slug. Was it ever any other colour but brown? If so, Reuben had never seen it. In earlier times it was one of the many reasons he’d thought Brisbane a depressing place to live; now he was willing to see it as part of its elusive charm. He couldn’t quite pin down what it was, but he was getting used to it; it was seeping into his bones.

  In the week since he’d found the run-down flat on a little dead-end street at West End, he’d walked down to the park every afternoon to sit in the coolness of the Moreton Bay figs and watch the day fade into dusk. It transported him back to his uni days. He’d shared student digs at another run-down flat not far away, as well as dope, booze and cheese sandwiches, and swapped highly exaggerated anecdotes of women and sex. Trying to make a life for himself that didn’t fit. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back there, raw and green and unformed, without the burden of knowledge and experience holding him back.

  He felt his head drooping and he jerked it up. Doing nothing all day was tiring. He’d gone to Employment Initiatives a few days ago for the usual post-prison interview. He was looking forward to telling Droopy Dave, in the nicest possible way, that he could stuff his positive outcomes right where it hurt.

  ‘I’ve been head-hunted by one of the biggest film production companies in Australia,’ he imagined himself saying, ‘and I’ve scored the starring role in a movie destined to become a box office success.’

  Not completely true, of course. In fact, none of it was true. At that stage, he’d been for the audition, and although told by Jonathan Huntley that he was a ‘shoo-in,’ he hadn’t officially been given the part.

  But the satisfaction was denied him. Droopy Dave wasn’t there.

  ‘He’s left,’ his new case manager Greg said. Had his fantasy about Dave being downsized ou
t of the company become reality? Grumpy Greg wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘He’s gone to another job,’ he said tersely. He took out some forms from his desk drawer. ‘There’s a forklift and warehousing course starting soon. It’s subsidised, so it won’t cost you anything.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Reuben said. ‘I’ve been given the lead role in a feature movie.’

  If Greg was impressed, he hid it well.

  ‘On the Gold Coast,’ Reuben added.

  Greg looked at him impassively then shoved the forms in front of Reuben. ‘Read these and sign at the bottom.’

  Reuben looked at the forms and back at Greg. He had a thin moustache over a pencil-line mouth. Never trust anyone with thin lips, his mother had said. No baby is born with thin lips. They become thin through meanness.

  Reuben shoved the forms back at Greg, got up and walked out.

  ***

  Then yesterday he got the call. ‘Congratulations, you’ve got the part,’ Jonathan Huntley said. ‘I’ll email you the contract and you can have your agent look at it.’

  Reuben pressed the ‘off’ button on his phone. He looked around his flat, at the patchy, baby-poo yellow walls and the worn carpet. His furniture consisted of two beanbags and a cumbersome TV out of last century on a laminex coffee table. He wanted to shout, laugh, dance, sing, do cartwheels. Maybe not cartwheels – but everything else. He didn’t know which to do first. So he did none of them. He wiped a tear from his cheek. ‘Well, Mum,’ he said.

  He looked up at where he imagined she’d be if there were such a thing as heaven, and she was looking down at him. She’d be looking through the doorway into the kitchen where last night’s dishes were still piled on the sink, shaking her head, a mixture of exasperation and affection on her face.

  ‘I think I’ll make it. You’d be proud of me.’

  Usually exasperation won out. ‘Come on, stop pretending. You know you will.’

  Wait till Thommo heard the news. Reuben picked up the phone to call him then put it down again. He’d be seeing him in a couple of days. Thommo was flying up for the weekend to celebrate his own good fortune – he’d won a part in a series of tourism ads for Sydney as the stressed businessman who chills out on the beaches, and in the bars and restaurants. ‘It’s a non-speaking part, but who cares? I’m surrounded by hot chicks playing volleyball on the beach or smiling suggestively at me over my oysters Kilpatrick. I may never speak again!’

  Let Thommo have his moment of glory then he would break the news, and they could have a double celebration. And matching double hangovers.

  ***

  He looked at his watch. Five-thirty. He got up, walked through the park, past amblers, joggers and dog-walkers, joined Boundary Street and headed towards the heart of West End. A man in a suit came towards him – slim and dark-haired with a businesslike stride. Reuben’s heart quickened. As the man came closer, he looked up, met Reuben’s eyes and looked away.

  Reuben breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute he’d thought the man was Viktor Kominsky. Although he lived on the other side of West End, the trendier part, the chances of running into him sooner or later were pretty high. Reuben had sent a bank cheque for three thousand, one hundred and fifty dollars to Viktor, enclosed with a note. ‘I hope you will accept this in the spirit in which it is intended. In no way can it be reparation for what your father lost, but it’s all I can give you at present. Reuben Littlejohn.’ He deliberately omitted his address from the back of the envelope so it couldn’t be returned.

  The pubs and sidewalk cafes were abuzz with the after-work crowds. The Cat’s Whiskers was a cafe/bar sandwiched between a Greek restaurant called Bouzouki Bob’s and the Mystic Angel bookstore offering tarot card readings by appointment. He could see why Nina had chosen it when he’d rung to invite her for coffee – it was full of pale, skinny, arty-looking types in earnest conversation over their green tea.

  There were no spare tables at first but when a couple got up from a sidewalk table, he grabbed it and pushed their glasses to one side. He pondered on what to order. An alcoholic drink would make it seem as if he were settled in for the night, whereas a coffee was more something you had in between other activities. When the waitress with the kohl-lined, raccoon eyes appeared, he ordered a long black for himself and a latte for Nina. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

  He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. Why was he feeling jittery? It wasn’t as if this was a first date or anything, but it was different from working with her at Joe’s Cafe. And even if it was a first date, since when had he felt nervous about that? Not since his literal first date at fifteen – taking Laura Mikkelsen to the movies to make out in the back row when her parents thought she was going to the Pentecost Tabernacle youth group.

  ‘Hi.’

  He jumped. Nina slid into the seat opposite. She wore jeans and t-shirt, and bits of her hair had escaped from her ponytail and were hanging around her face.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. Thanks for the coffee.’ She took a large gulp.

  ‘You’re looking harassed,’ Reuben said.

  ‘I am. The short film I told you about, the one I’m doing for the course, is turning out to be a total disaster.’

  ‘Why?’

  She sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Come on, you’ll feel better if you do. Trust me, I’m a fellow thespian.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ She took another gulp of coffee. ‘I have the worst two people in my class in my group. Josh is a pothead and can’t even talk straight, let alone do anything else; and Yvette is having boyfriend problems and doesn’t even turn up for our meetings half the time. Even when they’re at her place! So that leaves me to write the script, shoot it and edit it pretty much by myself. And to top it all off, our lead actor decided this afternoon he didn’t want to do it any more and just walked out.’

  ‘I see what you mean. Maybe I should have bought you a drink instead.’

  ‘It’s okay. I told Uncle Joe I’d be home by seven. And I’ve got to do some ringing around to find another actor.’

  ‘I could do it if you want.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Be your lead actor.’

  She looked at him sceptically. ‘It’s a non-paying role.’

  ‘No probs. It’s all experience; something to put on my resume.’

  ‘Can you do existential angst?’

  ‘As it so happens, that’s one of my strengths.’ He slumped down in his chair and stared broodingly at his empty cup. ‘Why did I drink that coffee? Such a small and insignificant act in the history of the universe! What was the meaning of it? Oh woe is me!’

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’

  Reuben looked up at the waitress hovering in front of him, her dark eyes wary.

  ‘Yes, fine. Perhaps two more coffees?’

  He looked at Nina who was trying to suppress a smile. She nodded. After the waitress had left, she said, ‘I’m sure she thought your angst was a reflection of the quality of the coffee. Still, you showed some promise. I’ll talk to the others about it. And as their input has been minimal so far, you’ll probably get the part by default.’

  ‘Great!’ Reuben said. ‘My second piece of good news.’

  ‘Oh sorry. What’s the news you wanted to tell me?’

  He told her the story from the start, when he received the message from Posie, to spin out the suspense as long as possible. ‘Jonathan Huntley is a friend of Bruce Berkley, who hired me for the Becker ad. He owns a film production company called Brightstar Films – as he described it, “small but dynamic with some fabulous young talent”. He saw me in the Becker ad and thought I’d be ideal for the lead in a feature film they’re shooting on the Gold Coast. So I went for the audition last weekend.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Nina asked. ‘I take it you didn’t ask me for coffee to tell me you didn’t get the part.’

  ‘How did you guess? He called me yesterday to tell me I’d got the part.�
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  ‘That’s fantastic! That’s how it happens a lot of the time – good luck meets good timing.’

  ‘Actually, I did play a small but active part in the process – he read about my recent brush with the law and thought the bad boy reputation would add to my appeal.’

  Nina smiled. ‘Didn’t I tell you? A publicist couldn’t have planned it better. What’s the movie about?’

  ‘It’s called High Jinks, it’s an action-comedy about an ordinary man with a family and a respectable job who moonlights as a small-time thief, and what happens when he gets a chance to do a job with the big-time criminals.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Nina said, ‘You play the part of the small-time thief.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  She looked at Reuben and he looked back at her. They burst out laughing simultaneously. Their neighbours shot them curious glances. Nina wiped her eyes with her napkin. They’d lost their strained look and her shoulders had relaxed.

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh,’ Reuben said. ‘As in a real belly laugh.’

  ‘It’s probably the first time I’ve laughed in a while.’

  ‘I’m glad I could oblige, even if it was at the irony of my life.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something personal?’

  She looked down at her coffee, stirring it vigorously. ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘Joe mentioned a while ago that you’d had a hard life. What did he mean?’

  She shook her head. ‘Uncle Joe exaggerates – my life has been no tougher than a lot of other people’s.’

  ‘He must have said it for a reason – I had visions of you as a kid being kicked out of bed at the crack of dawn, put to work in the coal mines for twelve hours a day and sent to bed after a bowl of gruel.’

  She laughed. ‘Nothing like that. He’s talking about my parents. They were killed in a light plane crash when I was fourteen.’

  Her matter-of-fact tone was belied by just the slightest tremor in her voice.

  ‘God, that must have been horrible for you,’ Reuben said.