by Heide Goody
She dialled a number. “Hey, Marvin?” Delia said. “Is Sam with you?” She paused for a moment. “Oh, you’re with Cesar? What, he’s got an armed response unit with him?”
Jimmy made an abrupt barking noise. He was unable to vocalise the word bullshit, but he hoped he conveyed the sense of it with a sharp, cautious shake of his head. He held out his hand and took the phone. There was no call active on the screen.
He thrust it back at her and tried to increase the level of menace in his face. It hurt enough to make him cry, but it seemed to do the trick.
* * *
“Can I get you a drink?” asked Rich. “My mixologist, Cleopatra, has developed a recipe called Call of the Wild with feathers as a stirrer. It would go really well with your outfit.”
Sam smiled but was too tired to put much of an effort into it. “Maybe later.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Please don’t. Listen, it’s good to see you,” said Sam.
“I wish it was true,” said Rich. “Your voice says one thing, but your eyes—”
“Look, I just need to find Sergeant Hackett. Or any policeman.”
Rich frowned. A frown never looked good on his face. It didn’t make him look stupid as such, but on a face permanently set to ‘fun mode’ it didn’t look right. “Is there a problem?” he said. “You’re not in trouble?”
“Me? No. Someone else. In fact, I need to mention something about the awards. You’re still presenting tonight, aren’t you?”
“I am indeed!” he declared, taking a small bow.
“There’s something you should know—”
“What do you reckon?” said Marvin, sliding up next to Sam. She did an actual double take. He was now wearing a tuxedo jacket and suit trousers, with the just a hint of celebrity sparkle on his shiny lapels.
“Do you carry a spare suit with you?” said Sam.
“I asked Tim.” He gestured to the rotund and white-haired man a step behind him. “Tim’s worked in props and storage here since the days of King Arthur.”
“Longer,” agreed the man, Tim, in a broad local accent.
“And I thought he might have had some of my old clobber here.”
“Jeez,” said Sam. “Not just cluttering up the house, but the local theatre.”
“See? I told you what she was like,” Marvin said to Tim as though a previously discussed point had been proved. “It’s not just me,” he said to Sam. “Tim and I were just taking a look at the props that Tony Winters—”
“Antoine de Winter,” Tim corrected.
“Whatever – is using in the supposedly psychic show they’ve got on at the moment. He’s doing the old Pepper’s Ghost trick with a piece of kit I’m sure I sold to him.”
“Did they not have any shoes for you back there?” Rich asked, nodding at Marvin’s feet.
Marvin flexed his toes in his tartan slippers. “I remember chatting to Peter Cushing and Mark Hamill. Seventy-six I think it was. Had lunch together. Apparently, Peter did all of his scenes in Star Wars whilst wearing carpet slippers. Refused to wear the shoes they gave him. And if it’s good enough for Peter…”
“We’re meant to be looking for Jacinda Frost or the police,” Sam reminded him. “Not looking through the prop bag, or reminiscing about old times.”
“Some of us with the gift are capable of doing more than one thing at once,” said Marvin sniffily. “I found a couple of your PCSO pretend coppers back there. They should be— Ah!”
A pair of Police Community Support Officers, hi-vis tabards over blue shirts, unhurriedly weaved through the crowd towards them. As they did, Marvin’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was Delia’s number. Maybe she was unable to find them in the throng of business folk, hangers on, and people who went to regional business functions for kicks.
“Is this the woman who needed to speak to us?” one asked Marvin.
“Excuse me.” Sam put the phone to her ear. “Got lost?”
“Not exactly,” said Delia. “I’m outside and your man Jimmy has a shotgun on me.”
“Cock,” breathed Sam, her chest clenching in alarm.
There was a moaning, like someone was doing an impression of a horror movie mummy.
“He’s not making all that much sense,” said Delia. “His face is… Jesus, I don’t know.”
“Are you okay?” said Sam.
“Did I mention the gun?”
Sam heard an incoherent gargling sound in the background, presumably Jimmy expressing something. Sam was viciously pleased to hear him incapacitated.
Delia translated. “It’s not totally crystal clear, but I think the general idea is we’re not to do anything, er, hasty.”
“No causing a scene, huh?”
Rich tapped her arm and pointed over his shoulder, mouthing, “Got to go. Speech.”
“Yep,” she said as he backed away and then, to Delia, “Hang in there, okay?”
“Oh, I’m hanging.”
Sam muted the call. “Parking problems,” she said to Marvin. She looked at the PCSOs and then pulled a weary face. “Sorry, officers, is my dad up to his tricks again?”
“The gentleman here said you had a crime to report. Something about you being kidnapped.”
“Dad,” she said with heavy admonishment. “You can’t keep doing this.” She looked to the two PCSOs. “He thinks it’s funny. Likes wasting your time. Calls you glorified traffic wardens.”
One tutted. “We’ve heard it all before.”
Sam thought her dad might argue, but he was sharper than that.
“Just one of my little jokes,” he grinned.
“You were never funny,” said the other one. “Even when you were famous.”
When they were gone, Marvin scowled at Sam. “There had better be a bloody good reason for that.”
“There is,” she said, and with a wave to Tim put her arm through his and steered Marvin away. “Jimmy has Delia at gunpoint.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Way I see it, they must be close by, outside somewhere. We can go out and try to help, but, as I say…”
“Gun, yes.”
“Which is a problem if he sees us.” She put the muted phone to her ear. “Line’s still open.”
“Here,” said Marvin and passed her an earbud. “If Delia’s bugged then let’s keep listening in.”
Sam slipped the earphone in. Currently, there was little more than grunting and heavy breathing on the line.
Past the bar, down near the front of the stage at one of the better appointed tables, Jacinda Frost stood among a small cluster of men and women. Out-of-towners: their faces unfamiliar to Sam, their suits and dresses more modest, less gaudy. Sam could see Jacinda schmoozing her moneyed guests, smiling and topping up their wine.
“Those’ll be the investors for Shore View.”
Marvin nodded. “Paying her to ship the benefits claimants from their cities here. Making their problems our problems.”
“The poor aren’t a problem to be fixed, dad. They’re people.”
“Fine sentiments,” said Marvin, though without gusto. “And what are we doing exactly?”
“Making our problem her problem,” said Sam and tapped Jacinda on the shoulder.
The woman turned, glass in hand, smile lingering in her eyes until she saw Sam. Her large, heavily made-up eyes widened further.
“Surprise,” said Sam.
Jacinda stared, composed herself and then, bad actress that she was, said too loudly and too woodenly, “Who are you? We’ve never met before.”
“Oh, you have to do better than that,” said Sam.
With a smile of apology for her cronies, Jacinda stepped away from the table, propelling Sam with her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she hissed once they were out of earshot. “How did you…? Where’s Wayne?”
“Oh, here and there,” said Sam casually.
“That’s funny,” said Marvin, “because you see, he stepped on—�
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“Shut it, granddad,” Jacinda snapped and returned her full attention to Sam. “You don’t belong here. Dressed like an attention-seeking slutty peacock and hanging out with someone who’s old enough to be your dad—”
“Actually —” Marvin started.
“This is Carnage Hall not the Folies Bergère, Miss Applewhite. Where’s Jimmy?”
Sam almost laughed. Jacinda expected Sam to have tabs on her henchmen. “It’s Jimmy I wanted to mention. He’s outside, making a scene with a shotgun. Your shotgun, I guess.”
Jacinda looked like she wanted to be sick. She kept control and glared at Sam. “It is terrible that my employee has decided to steal something from my house and is now a danger to the public.” She was scanning Sam up and down. Looking for a wire, Sam wondered. “Have the police been called?”
“He has my friend hostage. You can tell him I’ve not called the police.”
“Me? Talk to Jimmy?” Jacinda forced a laugh and gestured at the room about her. “Tonight? Of all nights? This has nothing to do with me!”
“The police will spot him soon enough. I’m sure he’ll tell them everything.”
A man in a tuxedo came along and touched Jacinda on the elbow. “Your guests are waiting for you.”
Jacinda gave Sam a final, withering look before stalking off, taking out her phone as she went.
71
Jimmy’s phone rang. It was Jacinda. He groaned, knowing there was no way he could explain the situation. He handed the phone to Delia.
In the darkness between two parked vans in bays close to Carnage Hall, Delia stared at the lit screen. “Want me to get that for you?” Delia asked, as if she was a helpful assistant, and not a hostage who feared for her life. It was troubling Jimmy how perky she was.
“Ungh.” Jimmy nodded at the phone. Delia put it on loudspeaker.
“Hello? Can I help you? Jimmy is indisposed.”
“Who the hell is this?” said Jacinda sounding more pissed off than ever.
“I’m just an innocent passer-by,” said Delia.
“What’s the matter with Jimmy?”
Delia blew her cheeks out. “Where to start? To be honest, if he’d been taking part in a world record attempt for who can hold their head inside a wasps’ nest the longest, then I’d place him up there as a finalist. His face looks a bit like a Halloween pumpkin without the charisma and warmth—”
“Enough!” said Jacinda curtly. “Where is he, right now?”
“Er, about eighteen inches in front of me. Up close and personal. Did I mention the halitosis?”
Jimmy growled a warning at Delia.
“And he has my shotgun?”
“That he does.”
“Tell him not to do anything stupid.”
“Uh annn eere, ou ngow,” Jimmy managed to say. He didn’t want Jacinda to think he was deaf as well as dumb.
“I’m all in favour of people not doing anything stupid,” said Delia.
“I have an award to go and collect, and I don’t want anybody spoiling my achievement – or putting off anyone investing in our tiny starter homes. I hope that’s clear.”
“You are more concerned about houses than my life?”
“I’m talking to Jimmy, lady. Jimmy, I am here in Carnage Hall. Sam Applewhite is here. I don’t know what criminal activities you’ve been up to—”
Jimmy groaned. The stupid bitch was talking like her every conversation was being recorded.
“—but I want you to come to Carnage Hall and sort everything out. You hear me? I want you to do the right thing.”
Her unspoken code was clear. Though Jimmy had no idea what he could do about Jacinda’s situation. Do the right thing? Get in there, silence Sam and then this Delia. He had two shots with the shotgun and, even though he had a pocket of shells, his injured hands didn’t feel up to the task. He could probably do it if he put in the requisite effort.
He wondered, how many murders did you have to commit before it made no difference to the punishment you were due? The thought almost made him cheerful, in a perverse way.
Jimmy looked to the theatre. The stage door was ajar, possibly left open by a staff member on their fag break. He shrugged.
“I think we’re coming in by the stage door,” said Delia. “Is that the plan, Jimmy?”
* * *
Sam held the earbud close to her ear. “Stage door,” she said.
“You sure?” said Marvin.
She nodded tersely. She had heard everything on the still open call with Delia’s phone. Muffled from within Delia’s dress pocket, but she’d heard it. “We know where he is.”
“We going to call the police now?” said Marvin.
“We’ve got two PCSOs here, unarmed. No idea where Cesar is. The nearest Tactical Armed Police unit is in Nottinghamshire.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“I may have a stupid job, dad, but it does make me privy to some occasionally useful information. Lincolnshire Police will have a firearms car on patrol somewhere, but the chances of reaching us in time…”
Marvin tapped the side of his nose. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
“Will it get someone killed?”
“It will buy us some time, and if this Jimmy is toting a double-barrelled shotgun… Yes, it will work.”
“What will?” asked Sam, but he was already leading her across the floor.
Up on the stage, Alistair Green, chairman of the Skegness and District Business Guild had taken to the podium.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. I would like to welcome our keynote speaker for this evening. He’s certainly our area’s biggest success story in the world of business. As if we didn’t need reminding that he’s genuinely multi-talented, he’s going to talk to us this evening about the business lessons his current position has taught him. As many of you will know, he’s spending some time as a volunteer lifeguard on our beautiful, award-winning beach. How is it possible that there are crossover skills? Well, I will leave that for him to explain. Please put your hands together for our distinguished guest, Mr Richard Raynor.”
“Lifeguard?” Marvin mouthed at Sam.
“I think he bought the Skegness lifeguard crew as a sort of hobby,” said Sam. “Where are we going?”
“Looking for Tim again.”
“Hi everyone!” said Rich. He waited for the ripple of applause to die down before launching into a speech on planning and creative thinking.
Marvin led Sam to the round figure of Tim the props guy who had parked himself at the shadowy end of the bar.
“Tim!” called Marvin.
“Have either of you met Cleopatra here?” said Tim. “She’s a sorceress with cocktails.” He raised a glass of something milky-white and swirling. “And this is…. What is this called?”
“Pepper’s Ghost,” said Marvin.
“It’s an Unquiet Spirit,” said Cleopatra the mixologist. “But I like your name for it.”
The crowd laughed at a joke Sam didn’t hear.
“What’s another thing I’ve been reminded of?” said Rich. “Let me talk to you about being humble. A lifeguard’s there to help the public, right? Is that lifeguard too important to help any of those people? No. Absolutely not.”
“What’s he blethering on about?” said Tim.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Sam. “The longer he talks, the better. They announce the Businessperson of the year award when he’s done. Jacinda won’t leave until it’s announced. Win or lose, things might turn ugly after.”
She looked back across the hall. Jacinda was still on the phone in a discussion with Jimmy that Sam could half hear through her earbud.
* * *
In the car park, Jimmy seemed reticent to go to the stage door and was trying to explain a complex concept through simple mimes.
“I don’t think Jimmy is your obedient slave anymore,” said Delia. Jimmy nodded vigorously. “You’re worried that your investors will get wind of the murders and fraud—”
Jimmy cut in with some expansive and stretching motions. Delia understood.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much do you value that?”
“Is Jimmy asking?”
“Uh-huh!” said Jimmy in a loud, drooling affirmative.
“Ten thousand,” said Jacinda. “Bring everything to a satisfactory conclusion and—”
Jimmy spat derisively.
“That’s not going to cut it,” said Delia.
“A hundred then,” said Jacinda without pause.
Jimmy spiralled upward with the barrel of the shotgun.
“I’d go for a round million if I were you,” said Delia and gave Jimmy a wink, like she was his agent or something.
Jacinda scoffed on the line. “A million?”
Jimmy nodded.
“A million,” said Delia. “A million, or he comes in there and blows your tits off himself.”
Jimmy jerked back, looking like he wanted to slap the phone out of Delia’s hands.
“A million,” said Jacinda. “A satisfactory conclusion for a million pounds.”
Tears ran out over Jimmy’s puffy cheeks. Delia wasn’t sure if they were from pain or joy.
“I have to go. He’s going to read out the winner in a minute,” said Jacinda and hung up.
Delia stabbed the phone. “Wow, she’s pretty bossy isn’t she?”
Jimmy nodded carefully.
72
Backstage, Marvin and Tim huffed and groaned as they shifted panels around. Sam peered round the wing curtains at Rich.
“But now it gives me great pleasure to announce the winner of this year’s Skegness and District Business Guild Businessperson of the Year,” he said.