by A. B. King
To be quite honest, I scarcely heard her; my mind still recovering from what I'd just heard on the phone. I looked at her blankly. “What?” I asked stupidly.
She plonked herself down on the chair opposite my desk and caught my eye. “You ok?” she asked shrewdly.
“What?” Right there and then my available vocabulary seemed to have become remarkably limited.
“Remind me to compliment you on your grasp of the English language sometime,” she said a tad sarcastically, “Meanwhile, in case you are not aware of the fact, you look like your pet goat just ate your winning lottery ticket. Either that, or you've just realised that you've wet your pants.”
“Very funny” I snapped back sourly. “If you must know, I've just had a bit of a shock.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
I took a deep breath. “Later, maybe; let's go and collect this shopping of yours.”
To be honest, I don't remember too much about the drive back to my flat. I sort of vaguely noticed that she had changed into a pair of jeans that showed off a very nice neat round bottom with a t-shirt that showed off with equal effectiveness a small, high-thrust bust that obviously reposed under a new bra she must have bought at the same time as the jeans and t-shirt. Ordinarily I'd have been gagging at the sight of such an attractive piece of sheer femininity at my side, but the truth is that I was still wrestling with the bombshell Pete had dropped in my lap. We duly called in at one or two shops en-route, but I was a bit like a robot, packing things away into the boot without paying much attention to anything. In the car she prattled on about the shops she had visited, the staff, the other customers, the price of goods, but none of it really registered, it was just sort of background noise. Eventually we got back to the flat, and I dutifully staggered in with a whole load of bags which I dropped on the lounge floor with a feeling of relief.
“Knock-knock,” she said as I straightened my back.
“What?”
“Is anyone there?”
“What are you on about?”
“You haven't heard a word I've said since I came back to you office,” she pointed out. “Now go off and have a shower and pull yourself together. Dinner's on me tonight, I'm not such a bad cook, even though I say it myself, and when we've eaten you can tell auntie Danny all about it.”
I was about to protest about being told what to do in my own home, but one look at the determined expression on her face made me change my mind. Right there and then I didn't fancy a fight with her or anyone else.
In a way she was right. By the time I'd had a shower and got myself a bit tidied up I felt slightly more human. Admittedly the smell of decently cooked food wafting in from outside may have had something to do with it. It struck me that since I'd fallen out of bed that morning my whole world had been turned completely upside down. Only a matter of hours earlier I'd been bored witless, with no prospects of anything, and certainly no girlfriend with which to console myself, and now I appeared to have my own business, even if I didn't know the first thing about it, and a very attractive young woman busy cooking me a dinner. Ok, maybe it was stretching the point to think of her as a girlfriend, but at least she was there, and who knows what the future might hold? Yes, I definitely felt better when I ventured back into the lounge.
I have to admit that as a cook, she was every bit as good as she modestly claimed to be, and then some as far as I was concerned. Being no fancy sort of Delia what’s-her-name myself, if I wanted anything much better than a fry up I preferred to eat out in a pub. Danny served me up a first class mixed grill with all the trimmings, and she had even procured a bottle of wine to go with it! We rounded off with cheese and biscuits and finally coffee. Looking at all that, not to mention the numerous bags of clothing she seemed to have bought, I surmised that her credit card much have taken more than a little hammering. Either she was quite well heeled, or maybe she just didn't care about money. All through the meal she kept up a bright conversation about inconsequential matters, and although I found talking with her a real delight, I soon realised that she wasn't quite as tactless or harebrained as her manner suggested, for she revealed virtually nothing about herself at all, and yet somehow managed to wheedle out of me far more than I would ever have dreamed of telling anyone. We finally left the table and took our coffee from the kitchen into my tiny lounge which sported a threadbare sofa and one moth-eaten armchair, both of which I was well aware had seen better days. I sat hopefully on the sofa, but my nebulous schemes of seduction were soon dashed as she went and sat in the armchair.
“Right, now, what was the big shock?” she asked.
Frankly, I considered that it was none of her business, but upon reflection I realised that I really did feel the need to confide in someone, and she had cooked me a first class meal so it was churlish to refuse to satisfy her evident curiosity. I explained to her what had transpired on the phone, and what I felt about it all. She heard me out until I finally accepted that I'd said enough, if indeed not more than enough. I stopped rather abruptly, feeling embarrassed that I had rambled on at some length.
“Personally, I wouldn't call inheriting a business a shock,” she commented as I eventually dried up, “a pleasant surprise maybe. Seems like your benefactor is a real good friend to you; you should be glad.”
“Glad, what for?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Don't you see? He's dropped me right in it. I don't know the first thing about being a detective, private or otherwise. I shall probably finish up inside the local nick charged with false pretences or worse the minute I try 'investigating' anything.”
“Rubbish.”
“That's very easy for you to say,” I responded irritably, “it's not you that's faced with the situation. I've been stuck there in that apology of an office for over a week, and the enquiries I've taken, even if they result in the services of the agency being retained, wouldn't provide enough cash to buy a decent lunch. All he's done is off-loaded his responsibilities on to me. You even said yourself it was a 'crumby' set up, and he thinks I’m daft enough to fall for it! I've a good mind to ignore the whole thing and leave him to sort out his own mess.”
“Well, I wouldn't argue whether your mind is good or otherwise,” she commented, “but you are certainly not looking at this the right way round. If he could make a go of it, I'm sure you can.”
“Nice of you to think so,” I retorted. “Perhaps I should mention that he tends to specialise in a certain type of clientele, namely ladies with more money than sense, particularly those susceptible to his manly charms. He's always had a way with women so it was easy for him, but-”
“But you don't have a way with women, is that it?”
I still wondered if she was poking fun at me. I wasn't even sure why I was sounding off at her. What she did or didn't think of my prowess as a stud was really of no consequence. Fabulously attractive or not, she was just a girl I'd rescued, and then stupidly allowed the use of my home. In that sense she was no different from the other women who had figured, albeit too briefly, in my life. Without exception they made use of me, and moved on, and that, I suppose, made her observation quite accurate; I don't have a way with women, they have a way with me!
“Well, you haven't actually fallen at my feet in a swoon of unrequited passion, have you?” I responded pointedly.
“True, but then I'm not in the habit of doing that with anyone unless it suits my purpose,” she agreed. “Don't take that as a put-down; I just think you've been picking the wrong sort of women. If you want the truth, Neil, I think that fate has thrown us together for a purpose, and I hope to be able to achieve that purpose with your help. Unless you attempt to ungallantly throw me out on my ear, I'm going to be around for a while, and I'm really hoping that you will allow me to help you with this windfall of yours. Now, what-say we start again and look at this situation in a more practical light?”
“Now why on earth would you be interested in looking into anything connected with me?” I asked suspiciously.
“I'll explain later; now, are you going to listen, or do I have to make you?”
“I'm listening,” I said resignedly; I had the feeling she was going to be 'looking' whether I agreed or not, and I certainly wasn't in the mood for a rough-house with her.
“Good, so assuming that what your friend has told you is true, and there is no reason to assume otherwise, then you have an established business in secure premises with no real worries until the end of the financial year, right?”
“So it would seem.” I agreed.
“And there is a limited amount of current advertising that is bringing in a trickle of business that you say wouldn't keep the cat fed?”
“I don't have a cat.”
“You know what I mean. So, judging from your remarks, it would seem that your friend has merely been using the agency as a front for his other activities, which suggests to me that he is perhaps a cross between a toy-boy and a gigolo. I think we have agreed that you are not temperamentally suited to his type of business, so we need to look at other markets. Personally, I wouldn't have thought that there was a whole lot of money to be made in looking for lost cats or checking up on straying spouses, and all the real crimes are probably much better handled by the police. You need to find a niche in the market; something that either hasn't been thought of, or a field in which there is room for a real go-getter to make his mark.”
“Which all sounds great, but I keep telling you; I don't know the first thing about being a detective, I'm an engineer” I repeated wearily, “and as for being a go-getter?”
“Oh, stop being such a wet blanket; write me out a cheque for twenty-five pounds, and I'll guarantee that you will be a fully qualified sleuth by the end of the week!”
“Oh yes? And how are you going to work that particular miracle?”
“Easy, there’s a web-site I can point out to you that will send you your qualification guaranteed if you buy their twenty-five pound 'training course'. You don't even have to study it; once they've got your money, you get the qualification!”
“But, but that's ludicrous!”
“Oh, I agree, The point I’m making is that the twenty-five pounds will get you the same letters after your name as your benevolent friend had quite legally, judging by what I read on the nameplate outside the office door.”
I looked at her in astonishment. “You're serious about all this, aren't you?” I ventured at last.
“Oh yes, quite serious. Look, Neil, you helped me out, it's the least I can do for you. You are obviously stuck in one of life's ruts, and going nowhere. I'm not going to allow you to do that; you are going to take this windfall and turn it into something great.”
“Danny, for the umpteenth time, I wouldn't know how!”
“Maybe not, but I do!”
Once again I gaped at her in astonishment. “You know how to run a detective agency?”
“Not exactly, but I certainly know how to run a business; I run several of my own.”
I'll say this for Danny; she took the stuffing out of me more times in quick succession than anyone else I have ever known.
“Look Neil,” she continued before I could think of a suitable response, “I haven't told you much about myself because I wanted to be sure you were the right person to talk to. It doesn't take me long to weigh someone up, and in your case I like what I see. Now, this little business of yours clearly needs a bit of investment. The premises are naff, the presentation worse, and left to your own devices you will be down the pan quicker than I can flush it. Now, it so happens that I need a small branch office for one of my companies, so I will rent the existing office from you as a sub-tenant. Meanwhile, just down the road I happened to notice a suite of offices that will be absolutely ideal for you; I looked at them this afternoon, and all things considered they are ideal. You will move the business there, and we will think of a new name, new image, and new presentation. We will get you a decent receptionist-come-office manager, set up a realistic publicity campaign, organise procedures-”
“Hold on, hold on,” I interrupted. “Where on earth do you imagine all the money is going to come from to finance this pipe-dream of yours?”
“From me of course.”
Like I said, she kept rocking me back on my heels. “Look,” I said, carefully watching her reaction as I spoke. “I really don't understand why you would be the slightest bit interested in investing capital in something like this for the alleged benefit of a total stranger?”
“It’s simple,” she responded airily. “I need to lose some money for tax purposes, so I invest it in your business by buying in as a partner.”
It was an explanation of sorts, yet I still didn't like it much. “So, I'm just a tax loss, is that it?”
“Is being stupid a natural male characteristic,” she asked sharply, “or did you have to study hard to achieve this level?”
“I may well be stupid, but I'm not a complete idiot!” I snapped back. “I get lumbered with a dead-end business, and because you need somewhere to lose some money in a tax fiddle-”
“It’s not a fiddle; it’s perfectly legal.”
“Maybe it is; I wouldn't know, but where does it leave me when you've 'written-off' whatever it is you wish to lose?”
“I tell you where it leaves you; it leaves you with a going concern, a good income, and a better standard of life than you've got right here in this dump.”
“Oh, so now I live in a dump, do I?” I almost shouted, my temper finally fraying beyond my immediate control. “I seem to recall you were quite glad to be able to stay in this 'dump'. Ta very much for the meal; there's the door, just close it quietly on your way out.”
There was a short angry silence, (how on earth can a silence be angry?) and I suddenly had the feeling that she was right; I really was being more than averagely stupid in losing my cool so easily.
“Oh dear,” Danny sighed contritely after a few moments, “There I go again, me and my big mouth. I'm sorry. Neil; I really shouldn't have said that; it’s a very nice and cosy sort of dump. Will you forgive me?”
She flashed those multi-megawatt eyes at me, the mouth parted in that familiar devastating smile, and within two seconds I knew I'd forgive her anything.
“Oh, hell,” I said sheepishly, “I'm sorry too; I know it’s a dump, but it’s all I can afford. I know you are trying to help even if I don't know why, and I'm just being mulish; sorry I snapped. But what you are talking about, well, it's all so, I don't know, unreal.”
“I suppose from your point of view it would sound that way,” she agreed. “Look, Neil, I promise you there is nothing underhand about this. I genuinely think you've got something good here, but with all due respects you are never going to make the grade on your own. I'm used to running businesses, and I do need to lose some money for tax reasons. Everything I have told you is true, but there is more. It so happens that yours is exactly the sort of business I want to be part of, not because I'm a detective, but because I think you are exactly the sort of person who can help me.”
“Help you?”
“That's what I said. That is the only condition I would make in investing all the capital needed to make this place a success; being an equal partner, and running the business side of things for you. That’s the deal; I have to be your first genuine client.”
“You want me to take you on as a client?” I echoed in disbelief, “Me? Me that doesn't know the first thing about being a detective; me who wouldn't know a clue if it jumped up and bit the end off of my nose?”
“That's right, only we are going to work on my case together. We are going to resolve my problem, you will be famous, and then you will make a fortune.”
“If I were you, I'd duck!”
“Why?”
“There's a whole squadron of pigs flying over.”
“Very funny; will you take me up on my offer, or do I have to beat you into submission?”
I sighed in defeat. I'd never met a girl like Danny before, and with luck I'll never meet
another.
“Ok, I agreed resignedly, “So, what's the case, not a stolen cat I hope, or an acne-ridden teenage peeping tom?”
“Its murder.”
Chapter Five
As my poor old battered brain took in what she had just said to me, I briefly wondered if I had heard her right, then I mentally debated the fact that she was joking, progressing to a transient consideration of the interesting possibility that I was dealing with a female lunatic, before finally deciding that if anyone was deficient of a degree of sanity it had to be myself for allowing her into my life in the first place. It was just the sort of statement that one could hear emanating most nights from the TV during the various third-rate American crime shows. But this wasn’t TV, it wasn't America, it was the dear old (dis)United Kingdom, where such things don't happen. Well, not the sort that comes the way of a so-called private detective hiding in Nowhere-ville anyway. I was fully aware that there are plenty of what I call crude murders, often the regrettable by-product of the drinking culture that afflicts our once law-abiding land, and of course the even more sordid ones resulting from teenage gang-warfare, whilst periodically the occasional sex-maniac does his best to reduce the number of 'fallen women' in the local red-light district, and sometimes it is a method tried as a cheap alternative to divorce, but subtle, well planned murders requiring 'detection' by an amateur, and let’s face it, no-one could be more 'amateur' than me, well, they just don't happen.