by Sean Cameron
“Look mate, if you want it, you’re gonna have to offer more than my man here.”
Eddie sneered. “Fine, seven hundred and fifty-one.”
“It’s in increments of fifty.”
“Oh right, so you don’t know what inconspicuous means but you know the word increment?”
Tim’s beady eyes stared Eddie down.
“Fine, eight hundred.” Eddie pulled out the extra fifty and made the exchange.
Rex and Eddie got in the car. Eddie was the driver since Rex had never taken driving lessons. Tim knocked on the driver’s window. Eddie turned the hand crank to lower the glass.
“I just want to say, I know you gay boys get a hard time, but I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”
Eddie forced a smile. “Thanks, but we’re business partners.” Tim cocked his head in confusion. “Tell him Rex.”
Rex sat in his seat, hands on his thighs, head hung low. He still hadn’t gotten over his fright.
“All right mate, I get yah.” Tim gave a wink and patted the car as he left.
***
Eddie insisted they repaint the office’s grubby walls. The clean new carpet highlighted the wall's marks, stains and general nastiness. They laid newspaper down close to the walls and applied primer.
“Rex, will you open the window?” Eddie asked. “The paint fumes have gone to my head.”
Rex worked his way over to the window and gave it a yank. It didn’t budge. He felt cheated and pulled harder.
“Push it up.”
“I did push it up. It’s jammed.”
Eddie joined him and they both tugged at the same time. The window would not move.
“It’s useless,” Rex said.
“Try harder.”
Rex gave the handle a massive pull, and it snapped off. He stumbled backwards and tripped as he knocked over the paint can, which dumped the paint onto the carpet.
“No, no, no,” Eddie yelled as he jumped over Rex and grabbed the can. It was already half empty. The thick white primer consumed the carpet as it stretched out. Eddie tried to push it back in the can.
“I’m fine thanks,” Rex grumbled as he pulled himself back up.
“Do you know what this means?”
“We’ve lost our deposit?”
“My deposit. And they can kick us out. Which means they’d keep all six months of the rent.”
“It’s not too bad. We just need a bit of paint thinner.”
“And have a four-foot wide stain?”
“OK, so if we paint the whole floor then use the paint thinner, it will all match.”
“We have to take up the carpet and deny we ever had any. That’ll work. Right?”
Rex raided the maintenance cupboard for a Stanley knife and ripped up the carpet piece-by-piece. Eddie snuck it out in a black bin bag and dumped it in the building’s wheelie bin.
Eddie returned to the office and found Rex sat on the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing?”
“Is that a question?”
Rex crossed his arms and legs. “No?”
“You said that as a question as well.”
“Did I?”
“You need help moving the desk?”
“I like it here.”
“We need to get the carpet from underneath it.”
“What if, we cut around it and left some carpet under the desk? Like a rug. There’s hardly any paint on this part.”
“Just lift the other end of the table.”
Rex jumped off and grabbed the desk’s end. Eddie lifted his side but Rex struggled with his.
“Lift, Rex.”
“I am lifting,” he said with mock strain. He made a big dramatic sigh like he’d given up. “I think my end is broken.”
“Lift with your back.”
“I lift with my hands.”
“Yes, hold it with your hands, but support it with your back.”
Rex shook his head like he’d been asked to do the impossible. Something wasn’t right.
Eddie placed his hands on his hips. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
Eddie slid his table end onto the wood floor and lifted the carpet. Underneath, he found the remains of a faded chalk outline in the shape of a man slumped on the floor. A slight red cloud spread around the head.
FOUR
“Rex, did you know about this?”
“I just saw it while you took out the carpet.”
“Did you know someone died here?”
“I’m sure it cleans off easily.”
“Really? Because the red stains have been heavily brushed.”
“Wood is porous.”
“Bloody Jim Jams. You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“You said you wanted a cheap office.”
“Tell me they caught the killer?”
“I believe so. The Door Knock Killer did it.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true. He knocks three times before entering and kills everyone that heard.”
“If he killed everyone that heard, how does anyone know about it?”
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The door made them both jump.
“Uh, get the door Rex.”
“You’re closer.”
Eddie took two deliberate steps away from the door. The handle rattled and turned. The door opened, and in stepped Harold the cleaner.
“Have you got a woodie?” he asked.
Eddie cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”
“A woodie. Do either of you have a woodie?”
“No.”
Harold hurried off and slammed the door shut.
Eddie turned to Rex. “What was that about?”
Rex shrugged. “Man’s looking for a woodie.”
Outside the hallway Harold shouted: “Does anyone here have a woodie? Anyone?”
Rex and Eddie popped their heads out the door, as did those from the other offices in the corridor.
“I’m looking for the owner of a woodie,” he called out. “A lime-green woodie.”
Oh crap, Eddie thought. He realised Harold meant the Morris Minor.
“Me!” Eddie said. “I’ve got a woodie.” The other occupants all stared at him. “I mean, a Morris Minor.”
“It’s getting towed.”
Eddie ran outside in enough time to watch the tow truck drive off with the Morris Minor. He’d forgotten there was no parking after four o'clock to allow a second lane during rush hour.
Knowing at least another hundred quid just drove down the street, Eddie sighed in defeat and walked back to his office of death.
“So, you knew about the killing.”
“You said you wanted a cheap office.”
“Now they’ve got six months rent, so we’re stuck here. Perfect.”
“Calm down Eddie, they caught the killer.”
“I’m googling it.”
Within fifteen minutes, Eddie found news stories of the death of a sixty-eight-year-old man named Derek Lawrence. He was ex-TV writer who used the office to write novels, none of them published. The man led a quiet life upsetting no one. It was not believed to be the Door Knock Killer, as he always removed the bodies. Many theorised the victim had been mistaken for someone else and wrongfully assassinated.
“The murder wasn’t solved,” Eddie said. “The killer was wearing gloves, there were no fingerprints anywhere. He entered, shot him in the back of the head, and left. That’s horrible.”
“It’s a bit boring if you ask me,” Rex said. “At least the Door Knock Killer has a gimmick.”
“So you’re not upset about the brutality, you’re just annoyed it’s a plain old fashioned murder? That it’s not creative enough for you?”
“Yeah.”
“I think if they were more creative, they’d find better solutions to their problems than killing people.”
“You’re right. Who am I to judge? I suppose he’s efficient at least. There is a quiet confidence t
o not over-thinking these things.”
Eddie stared at the dried bloodstains a little too long. “Why didn’t the building pay extra to re-sand the floor?”
“I don’t know, maybe the brains spread out a little more than they expected. If you think about it, they did a pretty good cleaning job.”
“They used bleach, right?” Eddie’s heart rate increased. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve got microscopic brain cells in our finger tips or anything.”
“Eddie, you’re freaking out.”
“Oh God, did I remember to wash my hands before lunch?” Eddie bent over in a fit of anxiety and dizziness.
“Relax Eddie. At worst it was a case of mistaken identity. That must make you feel a little bit safer.”
“That means it was a random killing. How are we safer? Anytime, anywhere, a killer may kill you for no reason. Does that sound safe to you? Does it?”
Lightheaded and out of breath, Eddie used the desk as support and lowered himself to the floor. Rex pulled a brown paper bag out of his blazer pocket, emptied out the leftover sweet wrappers and handed Eddie the bag.
“Breathe into this.”
Eddie took a deep breath in and sucked up a loose boiled sweet Rex accidentally left in the bag. Eddie choked. With the sweet lodged at the back of his throat, the anxiety didn’t seem so bad after all.
“Are you OK, Eddie?”
Eddie turned a shade of bright red. He tried to lift himself up, but his hand slid across the wall thanks to the still wet paint. Without anything to grip, Eddie skidded across the wet wall until his back smeared along the paint. Rex peeled Eddie off the wall and slapped his back as hard as he could. Still choking, Eddie’s face turned from red to purple.
“Hold on.”
Rex wiped his paint-covered hand on Eddie’s already ruined shirt and gently took off his own blazer. He folded it, put it on the desk, and gave Eddie the Heimlich manoeuvre. After a few violent squeezes, the sweet dislodged and flung across the floor.
“Are you OK, Eddie?”
Eddie pushed Rex away, whose front was now covered in paint from Eddie’s back.
“I’m insane. Absolutely insane,” Eddie declared.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault. I said yes, to that oldsmobile, to the office, to investing nearly every penny I own into a foolhardy detective business.”
Rex hung his head.
“Every job we’ve ever had we’ve been fired from, so I’m gonna shorten my misery and fire myself.” Eddie stormed out the office with his car keys in hand. He entered the street and remembered the car was gone. After a little strop he walked towards home.
Rex chased after him. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”
“I’m not talking to you after what you’ve done to me.”
A young mother pushed a pram past them on the street. She gazed at the paint all down Eddie’s back and the paint covering Rex’s front.
Eddie shook his arms. “Not that. We weren’t doing that. We’re just friends.”
She picked up her pace as new pedestrians gawked at the pair.
“We’re still friends then?” Rex said, hopeful.
A group of chav teens pointed, laughed, and called them “Bummers.”
“A picture will last longer,” Eddie said.
The teens pulled their camera phones out and snapped away.
“It’s a figure of speech.” Eddie threw his arms in defeat and turned to Rex, who posed for the photos with a wide smile. Eddie shook his head and marched home.
***
The next morning, Eddie woke up clear-headed. He put on a suit and went back to The Octagon Shopping Centre. Without Rex there he decided he had at least half a chance of getting Griffin to rehire him.
Griffin placed tweezers in his half-built ship in a bottle. “Can’t do anything for you.”
“Please, you’ve got to save me.”
“I sympathise Edward, but if I re-hire you, I’ll have to re-hire Rex.”
Eddie shifted forward in the chair. “No, no you won’t, it’ll be our secret.”
“Too risky. I don’t want that crackpot here as a customer, let alone as an employee.”
“Come on, he’s not that bad. He’s a good friend, and he’s been a passionate business partner.”
Griffin smirked. “Business partner?”
Eddie dropped to his knees. “I know, I made a mistake. Please don’t send me back to him. I want my job back.”
The door knocked, and Rex entered with a bouquet of flowers.
“Hey Chief, just popped by to—” Rex noticed Eddie kneeling on the floor. Filled with embarrassment, Eddie jumped back on his feet. They both felt caught with their figurative trousers down.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie asked.
“Visiting?”
“You’re trying to get your job back, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“I told you yesterday, Rex. I ain’t hiring.”
“You were here yesterday as well?”
Rex chortled. “Chief’s joking.” He placed the flowers next to an identical, day-old, bouquet. “You know the chief and his crazy sense of humour.”
Eddie placed his hands on his hips. “So why are you here?”
“I came for … my lamp.” He grabbed a random lamp off the filing cabinet.
“Put the lamp down, Rex,” Griffin said.
“It’s my lamp, Chief.”
“Don’t call me Chief.” Griffin squeezed his tweezers too hard and snapped his ship’s mast.
Rex leaned in close to Eddie. “Seriously, you can’t lend this man anything.”
“That’s it. Get out of my office. You two harass me again, and I’ll ban you both from the whole damn shopping centre.”
“Over a lamp?” Rex asked.
“Get out!” Griffin jumped from his seat in a rage and pounded both hands on his desk, which knocked his ship in a bottle off the table. It shattered into smithereens.
“Rex, I believe our ship has sailed.”
“One. More. Word,” Griffin growled. “I dare you.”
Eddie sped towards the door, and dragged Rex along with him. Rex lifted his hand to his ear like a phone and mouthed, “Call me.”
Griffin threw a second ship in a bottle at the door as Eddie closed it.
“He’ll call,” Rex said. “So, what do you want to do today?”
“Now my last chance of getting my job back went from never to never ever? Well, I think I shall go home, curl up into the foetal position, and cry until I’m resigned to the fact no one will ever hire me.”
“But someone wants to hire us.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “A client called?”
“Sort of.”
“Goodbye, Rex.”
“No listen, there's a reward for information on the murderer of the old man in our office.”
Eddie waved his hands dismissively and walked down the corridor.
“Five grand,” Rex said.
Eddie stopped. “Five grand?”
“Yeah.”
He turned to face Rex. “For what?”
“Information proving who the killer is. His daughter is offering five thousand quid for it.”
“It’s tempting, but I think the whole detective thing was a mistake. We should quit while we still have some money left. Find another job.”
“As what? Security guards, lifeguards, that summer we were paperboys.”
“We were kids back then.”
“No, the second time, three summers ago.”
Eddie’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, right. I think I forgot that on purpose.”
“There aren’t any good jobs for us.”
“It’s too risky. I’ve practically lost everything I saved.”
Rex gave a gentle smile. “But not quite everything.”
“Is that meant to be a silver lining or something?”
“Think of it this way, if we find the killer, you get the five grand, I get the credit. You’ll get y
our investment back plus change, I get the fame and glory, and we both go our separate ways.”
“Why not separate now?”
“It’s my first case Eddie, I can’t do it without you. We do everything together.”
“But we split after the case?”
“I promise.”
“Done.” Eddie offered out his hand, and they shook on it.
Rex smiled. “Or at the most until I get my own driving licence.”
FIVE
Eddie passed over the ticket and leaned on the impound office’s counter “I’m here to pay a fine.”
The gruff-looking man took the ticket and glared at Eddie. “What’s that in your hair?”
Eddie grabbed the hair behind his ear and felt the dried paint from yesterday. “None of your business.”
Rex gazed in wonder at the decor: hubcaps, licence plates and other car parts hung from the wall. Rex enjoyed it all except the nude calendar, which he completely overlooked.
“You the owner?”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Cash or credit.”
“Cash.”
The gruff man picked up his radio. “Phil, the man with the woodie is here.”
Rex sniggered.
“Why do people keep calling it that? It’s a Morris Minor.”
“That’s what people call it,” the gruff man said.
“What people?”
“Dunno, people that don’t own a car made of wood.”
Rex laughed. “Nice one mate.”
“Rex, did you know it was called a woodie?”
“My nan called it that when I showed her the ad. But she can’t tell the difference between the remote control and the wireless phone, so I didn’t take her too seriously.”
“We see a lot of cars come through here, not many wood— uh, Morris Minors any more. They say the wooden frame was phased out for more sturdy, reliable, material.”
“Yes, thanks for that. May I have my car now?”
“Yeah, that will be one hundred and twenty pounds.”
***
The Morris Minor spluttered and puffed along the winding country path towards a large cottage in Snodling Village. The village was north of the River Midway about twenty minutes west of Cloisterham. Rex and Eddie thought the house was posh, but in Cloisterham, anywhere out in the countryside was considered posh.
