by Clive Mullis
‘Screw youse,’ spat the cat, and then sunk its teeth deep into Frankie’s forearm. Frankie yelled and dropped the cat like a hot coal. He swung his foot but failed to connect, and then the cat slunk out of the way again and hissed. ‘Youse wants to know where the man went? Well, youse going the wrong way to find out.’
Frankie took a deep breath, trying to control his temper; this wasn’t going at all well. ‘Okay, Okay. I’m sorry,’ he finally muttered. He looked around and saw Cornwallis framed in the window as he leant forward nonchalantly with his elbow on the sill propping up his chin, and he knew, although he couldn’t see, that he wore a wicked grin on his face. He turned his attention back to the cat. ‘Okay, you win. I want to know where he went.’
‘That’s better,’ rasped the cat, as it slunk back into Frankie’s view. It sat down and began to lick its paw. ‘That weren’t a nice thing youse did just then, mebbe I shouldn’t help youse.’
‘Look,’ said Frankie, becoming exasperated now, ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, what more do you want? If you don’t want to help then I’ll go get a dog to sniff out the man we’re after.’
The cat stopped licking and fixed Frankie with an evil stare. ‘Dogs are stupid, they’s can’t talk and they’s unreliable. All they think about is food and humping table legs, and the bitches are even worse.’
Frankie only just kept his temper in check. ‘What is it you want?’
‘Fish,’ came the response. ‘A box of fish, fresh from the salty briny. Untainted and ungutted, just as nature intended.’
‘No problem,’ answered Frankie straight away. ‘I can get some sent up tomorrow. What’s yer name?’ The cat for the first time hesitated. He whispered, and Frankie struggled to hear. ‘Didn’t catch it, speak louder.’
‘I said Fluffy, all right.’
Frankie couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, and before youse start, I’ve heard all the jokes. It were the kids that named me, but boy, did they regrets it.’ He mimed a swipe with his paw, the claws glinting like highly polished daggers.
‘Come on,’ said Frankie, wiping his eyes, ‘I ain’t got all night.’
Fluffy jumped up and sat on a box at eye level and Frankie stared into the eyes of a ginger tom, its fighting abilities apparent by the scars. If the cat was human, it would have a spiders web tattoo etched across its face.
‘This other ‘uman, ‘e came from the alley an’ crept up to the winda. He tapped, and the ‘uman inside opened the winda. They were whispering, so I couldn’t hear wot they said, but the inside man climbed out an’ then they both hurried down the alley an’ got into a coach.’
‘Interesting,’ remarked Frankie. ‘Did you see what the man looked like? I mean the one who knocked on the window. What sort of coach, and which way did it go?’
‘Youse want to know a lot, don’t you?’ answered Fluffy.
‘A box of fish can make you very popular with the ladies,’ surmised Frankie. ‘I suppose how popular depends on what’s inside.’
Fluffy regarded Frankie for a moment and then seemed to deflate into a small round ball. ‘Youse right; them posh ones down the road won’t even look at me, an alley cat they calls me, come back when you’ve made something of yerself, they says. I reckon a box of lobster, prawns an’ halibut would do the trick, don’t you?’
‘Might well, but how would you get into the Lobster?’
‘You’ll cook and crack it open for me, won’t youse.’
Frankie chuckled. ‘I could, but I could also leave it alive. Those claws could give a cat a nasty nip on the nose.’
‘Youse wouldn’t do that, youse like me, come from the gutter. Like looks after like, ain’t that the rools?’
‘You ain’t looking after me; you’re trying to bargain with me. Come on, out with the information or no deal.’
Fluffy sighed and then sat up again. He stretched luxuriously as only cats can and then settled back down. ‘It were too dark to see the man, but ‘e were dressed in good clothes, no tat, all expensive like; had a cane wiv a silver knob on the end. The coach were dark too, but it had one of them signs on the back, don’t ask me wot it said, as cats can’t read; oh yeah, and it had yellow writing down the side, but it didn’t ‘ang around, it rushed off, heading off towards the river.’
‘Thanks, Fluffy, I’ll send a box ‘round tomorrow.’ Frankie went to pat the cat on the head, but hesitated; then withdrew his hand thinking better of it.
Fluffy jumped down, disappeared into the yard and within a couple of seconds, a hiss and a crash indicated that hostilities had recommenced; there then followed a few moments of silence. ‘Sodding rats,’ spat Fluffy.
Frankie grinned then quickly checked the alley but found nothing, so he went to the end and stood looking down the street towards the river. He was in the suburbs and that way led into town as opposed to out of it. The coach could have gone anywhere, but at least it hadn’t disappeared into the country. He looked down and saw two steaming piles of horse shit: that won’t be there in the morning, he thought fleetingly, I could do with that for my roses.
Frankie climbed back in through the window and found Cornwallis sitting at the desk; he didn’t turn around, so Frankie went up and looked over his shoulder at whatever held Cornwallis’ attention. It was a blotter, with doodles of a hanging man.
‘You reckon that’s our Mr Goup?’ asked Frankie, pointing a stubby finger at the drawing.
‘Reckon so,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘Seems he may have got a bit of a fright on. I heard what the cat said. Seems the coach was of the hired variety, so we are just going to have to check around. I have a feeling that this case is going to get complicated.’ He sat back and rubbed his eyes. ‘Come on, I’ve had enough here. MacGillicudy can keep a guard on the place and we can turn it over tomorrow. Let’s get back down the Stoat and you can give me your thoughts.’
CHAPTER 2
Cornwallis took a long slow drink of his beer and then reached into the bowl and pulled out a handful of nuts; suddenly he felt very hungry, having not eaten since morning. He looked around and summoned Eddie over to order a pie and chips. Frankie nodded to make it two, hoping that Cornwallis would pick up the bill. The little piazza was full to bursting and they were lucky to find a table. The lamps had been lit and a comfortable relaxed atmosphere suffused the place with the buzz of talk resounding like a hive of bees. Rose had taken a break and the pair were disappointed that she wasn’t going to serve them with their pie. However, they contented themselves with the thought that she would soon be back to work and then they could watch as she floated around the tables, especially theirs.
Frankie flicked a nut into the air and tipped his head back to catch it in his mouth. He gulped, and then broke out into a coughing fit; the nut had hit the back of his tongue and slid down into his windpipe. Cornwallis watched in fascination as Frankie’s face went crimson at first, with eyes like mushrooms on stalks as he spluttered and coughed; a pause as breath failed to come, and then he went a bluish tinge as the panic increased. Big George the bear, collecting glasses from nearby tables, altered course and passed by, thumping hard on Frankie’s back. The errant nut shot out, pinged off the ashtray and whisked past Cornwallis’ ear.
‘You finished now, Frankie?’ asked Cornwallis with a grin. ‘Only if you wish to save me some wages then please carry on.’
‘You bastard,’ spluttered Frankie. ‘You just sat there.’
‘Well, not just sat, I was watching as well; and very entertaining it was too. What are you going to do for an encore?’
‘You all right now, Mr Kandalwick?’ asked George, with a hint of concern.
‘Fine thanks, George,’ answered Frankie, wiping his snot with his sleeve. ‘I appreciate your help, I owe you one.’
‘No worries, Mr Kandalwick. It wouldn’t look good with the punters dying at the tables. I’ll get you another couple of beers.’
‘And make sure you put it on that bastard’s bill,’ replied F
rankie, pointing at Cornwallis.
George chuckled to himself as he moved away to finish collecting the glasses, while everyone else, who had stopped talking to look at the hapless Frankie, resumed their conversations.
Cornwallis decided that they had better get down to business and chew over what they had learnt. ‘Now that you’re fully recovered, perhaps you could spare me some attention,’ he began, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. ‘See what you make of these names.’ He passed the notebook with the list of names across the table and Frankie placed a large digit on the book and spun it around to look. He took a swig of his beer as he scrutinised the list.
‘Some pretty big names here, are they from the filing cabinet?’
‘They are.’ Cornwallis lowered his voice to a whisper as he recited them aloud. ‘Dacred, Delopole, Dilleyman, Doomcroft, Dopleman, Dunlop, Dunderfield. They’re the names that were still there, but someone’s missing, I noticed a space between Dopleman and Dunlop. Now who do you think that could be?’
Frankie screwed up his face in thought and then leant in closer to look at the names again. Cornwallis did likewise, and they both hovered over the book, nose to nose. ‘The most likely, looking at who is here, is Dooley, Dumchuck or Dumerby,’ ventured Frankie after a few moments thought. ‘It would seem Mr Goup had quite a clientele. Are you sure that someone’s missing?’
‘All big names in the city, all people you wouldn’t want to cross, all of them very rich. Yes, I’m sure someone’s missing. There was a gap, all the files were clean, no blood. There was blood everywhere else so there should be some on the files, but no. The only answer is that someone took something belonging to one of the three you just mentioned.’
‘All of them could do you a lot of harm, I believe,’ said a female voice from above their heads.
Cornwallis and Frankie turned and stared up at Rose. She had hold of two steaming round meat puddings in just the wrong position; her chest seemed to be smoking. Cornwallis’ trouser department signalled awareness. She put the plates down and leant forward to look at the notebook.
‘Pie is off, only puddings left. Uncle Eddie didn’t think you’d mind. I know I haven’t been in the city long but even I know these names,’ she said, indicating the list. ‘Are these your suspects?’ She saw the perplexed look cross Cornwallis’ face so she explained. ‘My uncle told me who you are and what you do. I’ve been standing here for the last few moments listening to every word you said. Are you actually any good?’
Cornwallis recovered quickly. He hadn’t noticed her, but he wasn’t going to admit that. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, but I knew you were there; you cast a very pretty shadow, if I may say so. If we wanted to speak in secret then we would have gone back to my office, as it is, we are just putting the scene together.’ It was weak, but it would have to do. He silently castigated himself for being indiscreet; they should have waited until they got back to the office, but it could have been a whole lot worse.’
She smiled, and Cornwallis felt a warm tingling sensation travel down his spine. She heard the scrape of a chair on the cobbles just behind her, so spun around and whipped the seat from the uprising behind of an assistant architect with acne. ‘You don’t mind do you?’ she purred, ‘only I’ve been on my feet all day and just need to sit and rest a little.’
The architect’s assistant didn’t mind at all; he’d already seen how she nearly decapitated a customer who didn’t want to pay his bill.
Rose sat down and leant forward. ‘Carry on eating, don’t mind me; you can just tell me all about this new case of yours, and how you want me to help,’ she said smoothly. ‘I’ve always wanted to investigate a crime.’
Cornwallis nearly choked on his pudding. ‘You? Help?’
‘Yes, and why not? A girl can go places that men can’t, and besides, we have the “intuition”. That’s always needed in the books I’ve read, mysterious murder, no clues, smoking dagger kind of thing. Along comes aged spinster sleuth, and before you know it, the perpetrator is banged up in gaol. Easy.’
‘Well, yes, maybe in books, but reality is a different thing. It can get quite dangerous because people don’t want to get caught— ’
Rose reached forward with her hand to Cornwallis’ chin and tipped it up so he could look into her eyes. ‘They’re not going to talk to you, you know,’ she said sweetly, pointing a digit to her chest.
Cornwallis desperately wanted to disagree. They were certainly talking, and very loudly at that. He had let his mind and his eyes wander under extreme provocation; the pale green dress she wore pressed them together like two softly inflated satin balloons, they were smooth and silky — they were wonderful. He coughed self-consciously and gave a lopsided grin.
‘That’s better, now we can have a proper conversation. As I was saying, we have talents of our own and I’m sure you would find me an able pupil; I’m a quick learner you know. You can show me the ropes and I won’t expect too much pay to start with. We could even come to some sort of arrangement if it suited you.’
The arrangement that sprang into Cornwallis’ mind might not be the one she intended, but oh, what a beautiful image.
Frankie obviously thought along the same lines, as the voice that came out of his mouth resembled a high pitched squeal instead of the deep throaty roar that he normally had. ‘I think, Jack, that we should listen to her. I’m sure there would be plenty of advantages for having Rose work with us.’
Rose smiled at Frankie, reached forward and stroked his arm in thanks. He blushed, for the first time ever, he blushed. Under her stare, Frankie turned into some gooey piece of putty and he would have agreed to anything she said just then.
‘Well?’ she asked hopefully, turning back to Cornwallis.
Cornwallis’ thoughts tumbled around inside his head and he tried to get them back into some semblance of order, his fuddled mind eventually came back to a sharp focus and he considered the effect she just had on Frankie. Gods, he wondered, does this girl realise how much devastation she can cause? He shovelled another forkful of pudding into his mouth and chewed slowly as his mind slipped into a higher gear. If she can have this effect on the two of us, he thought, most of the men out there wouldn’t stand a chance. Perhaps it might be worth a go, just to see how she performs; and if she can fight as well as Eddie says, then that’s just another piece in the armoury. He had only just met her, but he had a feeling that fate had already reared its head and stuck its tongue in his ear. ‘Okay, Okay. You win,’ he conceded after a while. ‘But we’ll see how things go, but only as long as Eddie agrees to it. I can’t go upsetting my local’s landlord.’
Rose beamed, and so did Frankie. She leapt up, wrapped both her arms around Cornwallis’ neck and planted a kiss on his head. ‘I knew you’d see it my way.’
Her way or not, he didn’t care, but everyone else in the piazza probably did as he could feel the envy emanating towards him from every male in the square. For just a brief instant his head had been where any red-blooded male would pay a king’s ransom to be, nestled gently between them. He grinned inanely for a moment before dragging his attention back to the pudding. ‘I’ll speak to Eddie when I’ve finished this,’ he said, feeling pleased with himself.
A little while later Cornwallis cleared it with Eddie and then sat in the bar, chatting to a couple of acquaintances for an hour, the conversation being academic as he had Rose in his direct vision as she pulled the pints. He reflected that he must be looking a bit like a lovelorn teenager, so in the end he reluctantly returned to Frankie, who seemed to be getting on famously with a lady who smelled strongly of fish.
‘Lovely girl,’ explained Frankie, as she left. ‘She guts fish down on the wharf. She’s sorting me out a box for the cat and then tomorrow night I’m taking her out on the town.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee.
Cornwallis’ nose wrinkled at the lingering smell. ‘Don’t you think she’s a bit fragrant?’ he asked, wafting the air with his hand. ‘Granted she has a few p
ositive features, but odour obviously isn’t one of them.’
‘She’s just come from work; a good scrub and a pint of perfume and you wouldn’t tell what she did. Us poor folk have to stick together, you know, power to the people and all that. To you she may be just a member of the working classes, but to me she has real sole. Hur, hur. See what I did there? Real sole. Hur, hur. Good, eh?’
Cornwallis winced then shook his head; Frankie and jokes went together like a beef and custard sandwich.
The evening drew on and Ying Pong’s noodle shop in the corner began to do a brisk trade, judging by the queue, and Fossie’s Take Away a few doors down also got into the swing of things; however, the stuff that the few customers were buying only looked appetising when accompanied by copious quantities of alcohol. Cornwallis shuddered at the memory; deep fried whatever and kebabs that walked into the bun all by itself. He’d agreed to have a kebab some weeks ago and the regret was still fresh in his mind: indeterminate slices of meat held together with globules of fat and gristle with a thin cut of onion and cabbage topped with a fiery chilli sauce; perversely he had enjoyed it, until his guts exploded a little while later. The Duke’s rich customers, for some reason, seemed to make up the bulk of those indulging. As Cornwallis looked around, he saw MacGillcudy hurrying towards him and he didn’t look happy.
‘There's been an incident at the scene,’ said MacGillicudy, as he eased himself down into a chair. ‘This going spare?’ he asked, indicating the full pint in front of Frankie.