Sad Song

by Vincent Banville

  “As in James Bond?”

  “Can’t you see that I’m shaken, but not stirred?”

  “Right, follow me.” The girl turned to go, then looked back at the winded Artie. He had got his colour back and was beginning to show signs of life. “You’re sure he’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah. Maybe a twinge or two when he goes pee-pee, but that’ll pass.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  Blaine followed the girl out the door. As he passed the seated Artie he gave him a whack on the ear, just to keep his mind off his other trouble below the waist.

  Chapter Seven

  Blaine followed Sam Carey to another door in the top corridor. This led to an iron stairway that ran down the back of the building. At the bottom there was a small cement jetty, with a rowboat tied to it. They got in, Blaine at the back, the girl in the middle manning the oars. She obviously knew what she was about, for the boat surged from the warehouse like a greyhound out of the traps.

  She rowed out to the middle of the bay, then let the oars trail in the water. The afternoon was still warm, the bay calm, like a pond. A large tanker was moored to the opposite wharf. A naval vessel sat a little way from it. A bell tolled and the heavy notes rolled across the water. “Peaceful isn’t it?” the girl said. “I sometimes come out here like this and just sit and stare.”

  “I’m not a very good sailor,” Blaine told her. “When I was at university I worked on the mail-boat between Rosslare and Fishguard for the summer. My job was to make toast for the passengers. Even when the boat was moored at the dock I got sea-sick.”

  “I love the sea. It’s one of my ambitions to sail round the world.”

  “And your father is stopping you from doing that?”

  “Worse than that. He wants me to get married.”

  “Fathers are like that. They want their daughters settled down and raising daughters of their own.”

  “You sound as if you’re a father yourself.”

  “No, but I had hopes. Then my wife left me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why did she leave me? Probably a million reasons.”

  “Didn’t you love one another?”

  “Yes, but sometimes love isn’t enough. I probably asked too much of her. She needed her own space. Room to live.”

  “Like me. Freedom. To experience everything. Starting with free love.”

  “Love isn’t free. It costs, just like everything else. Life is a bit of a sad song, really. Certainly more sadness than joy.”

  Sam shook her head, her face serious.

  “I don’t believe that,” she said. “You shape it the way you want. Not the way someone else wants it for you.”

  “We’re back to your father again?”

  The girl took the packet of Russian cigarettes from her pocket and offered one to Blaine. He took it and lit it before passing the lighter to Sam. The boat rocked when he moved and he quickly settled himself again.

  A curious seagull hovered, throwing his shadow across the water. On the tanker a man wearing a baseball cap leaned over the rail, whistling tunelessly.

  “Let me tell you about my father,” Sam said, her face grim. “Then maybe you won’t be so eager to bring me back to him.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m an only child,” the girl said, sitting quietly and puffing at her cigarette. “When I was fifteen, my mother left home and divorced my father. Custody of me went to him, because my mother has a drink problem. My father had very little time for me. He’s the old-fashioned type. Thinks women should be seen and not heard. There was a number of mistresses. Girls only a little older than me. I was more or less left to myself.”

  “I suppose you were sent to an expensive boarding school?”

  “That’s right. I’m a shy person and I was very lonely. The nuns couldn’t help. They had no experience of life. But I’m also stubborn. I decided to get on with things as best I could. Up to recently, my father had no interest in me. Then suddenly he began hinting that I should settle down and get married.”

  “Was there a reason for this?”

  “Of course. I became suspicious and did a bit of poking around in his affairs. I found out that he had made a number of bad moves in his business. Paying money for huge contracts and then not getting them. It seems the only way to save himself was to join up with another company. One called Stoneroad. It’s owned by a man named Mulligan. Now Mulligan has a son, a right half-wit, who spends his time drinking, gambling and fighting. Mulligan wants him to settle down and take an interest in the business. And the first step would be for him to take a wife.”

  “Aha,” Blaine said. “Light dawns. It would suit Mulligan and your father if the two of you got hitched. Mulligan’s son would get a nice respectable wife, and the joining of the two companies would put your father’s business back in the black.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Pretty cold-blooded. For a father to treat his only daughter like that.”

  “Well, there’s a chance that he’s not really my father at all.”

  “Oh?”

  “My mother was married before. To a man called McMullen. He had an accident and was killed. She married Carey very soon afterwards. But they never got on. Then there was a rumour that she had an affair with one of Carey’s foremen, a man named George Emerson. But he also died in an accident. Now and then my mother dropped hints that this Emerson might have been my father. But she would never come out and tell me the whole truth.”

  Blaine flipped the butt of his cigarette in the water and watched it float away. He looked back at the girl. “I can see how your life has been fairly complicated,” he said. “I wish there was something I could do to help you. But I’ve taken Carey’s money.”

  “Spend it. Then go back and tell him you couldn’t find me.”

  “But the guys who followed me will tell him that I did find you. Why do you think he sent them after me?”

  “Because he doesn’t trust anyone. Even himself. I’ll bet his right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is up to.”

  “Have you a safe place to stay while I see if I can do something?”

  “Artie has a flat.”

  “I don’t think Artie would be too happy to see me.” Blaine paused, then he said, “I’ve a house on the Cabra Road. You could stay there while I go and see Carey. Maybe talk some sense into him.”

  “The only way you could do that is to beat him over the head with a chair leg.”

  “So?”

  “Would I be safe in your house?”

  “Carey doesn’t know where I live.”

  “I don’t mean from him. From you.”

  Blaine grinned. “Didn’t I tell your friends that I was your favourite uncle? Can you be safer than that?”

  Chapter Nine

  They stayed out in the bay for a while longer. Then the girl rowed them in at an angle to where they had started out. The boat safely tied up, they went back in the direction of the warehouse. A little way along, a van that had once been red passed them, going very slowly. The vehicle had been sprayed with various coloured paints so that it looked like a moving rainbow.

  “Your friends obviously won the battle,” Blaine said. “Quite a nice bit of artwork.”

  They got his car and drove up the North Circular and onto the Cabra Road. Blaine’s house was old and rundown. The garden was like a jungle. “You could hide a tribe of apes in here,” Sam said, brushing a trailing branch out of her way.

  “If you’re lucky you might see Tarzan swinging through the trees.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  Blaine unlocked the door, then had to push hard because of the pile of mail on the floor behind it. “Don’t you live here?” the girl asked him.

  “Now and then. The letters are mostly bills. I leave them there in the hope that they’ll blow away in the wind.”

  They went along the hall into the kitchen that looked exactly like a war zone. Dirty dishes were everywhere. And
the remains of a take-away festered in the middle of the table.

  “Must be the butler’s day off,” Sam observed. She went to the fridge and opened it, then just as quickly shut it. “There’s something dead in there,” she said. “And it wasn’t yesterday that it died, but last week.”

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would have cleared up a bit. When you live on your own, you’re inclined to get a bit careless.”

  “Is the rest of the house in as bad a state as this?”

  “Why don’t you explore a bit and find out? I’ll make some tea.”

  “Don’t drink tea. How about a Coke?”

  Blaine found a tin of Budweiser and a Pepsi. They took them into the sitting room and sat down. This room had a very nice mantelpiece, but the carpet on the floor looked as if it had been chewed by furry animals.

  “This armchair smells of dog,” Sam said, wrinkling her nose.

  “My wife Annie had a pet poodle. Name of Claude. He hated me, and I hated him.”

  “Was he the cause of her leaving you?”

  “One of them. She also thought I should get a proper job. One that would bring in a steady income.”

  “What is your job?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’m a private dick.”

  The girl spluttered into her Pepsi. “Is that a first cousin to a Peeping Tom?”

  “Very funny,” Blaine said. “What I mean is that I’ve set up as a private detective. Mostly I find people.”

  “Like you found me.”

  “It wasn’t difficult.”

  Sam finished her drink, then got up and stood looking out the window.

  “I won’t stay here long,” she said. “So if you’re going to Carey, you’d better get a move on. I don’t think it’ll do any good, but it’s decent of you to try.”

  “I’ll take a chair leg with me,” Blaine said standing up. “If all else fails, I’ll brain him.”

  Chapter Ten

  Blaine was about to get into his car when another old banger drew up, blocking his way. The engine kept running after it was switched off, then it suddenly stopped with an almighty bang. A cloud of blue smoke made him cough.

  He went out to the gate and watched his wife Annie get out of the driver’s side. She had tightly curled hair, freckles and a figure an artist would have given his eye-teeth to paint nude. She was wearing an open-necked shirt and jeans. She didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “Hi, I’ve come for my sewing machine. And a few other bits and pieces.”

  “How have you been? I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Then why don’t you come back and clean the bloody house? It’s like a tip-head.”

  The smile left Annie’s face, to be replaced by a scowl. She raised a clenched fist.

  “Get out of my way or I’ll sock you one in the eye. And hire a maid if you want the house cleaned.”

  “Annie, I’m sorry,” Blaine said. “That didn’t come out the way it was meant to. I miss you for yourself.”

  “Is that so? Then who may I ask is the female staring out the window at us? I hope she’s your solicitor and that you’re getting ready for a divorce.”

  Blaine turned and saw Sam Carey at the window. She gave him a little wave.

  “That’s a client of mine,” he explained, turning back to Annie. “She needs a place to hide out for a while. Her father wants her to marry someone she’s not in love with.”

  “Funny, the same thing happened to me.”

  Blaine took a pace back, as if she had indeed hit him.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You know you love me. It’s just that at the moment you don’t particularly like me. There is a difference, you know.”

  “I know, I know, I know.” Annie’s voice went up on each word. She was beginning to look upset.

  “But I’m not in the mood for this kind of thing at the moment. We need to meet and talk.”

  “So when?”

  “When what?”

  “When will we meet to talk?”

  Blaine gazed at her, his mouth open. Then he closed it and said, “Look I have to be somewhere. I’ll call you and we’ll arrange to have dinner. Somewhere nice and quiet and romantic.”

  “Nice and quiet will do. Forget the romantic bit.”

  “Do you still go all wobbly when I kiss you?”

  Annie dodged around him and went in along the drive. Over her shoulder she said, “Don’t think I’m going to give you the chance to find out. Hell will freeze over before I’ll allow you to kiss me, buster.”

  Blaine watched her go, the grin back on his face. Then the grin faded when he realised her car was still blocking his way. With a resigned shrug he went to get her so that she could move it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blaine parked on double yellow lines outside Carey’s mushroom-shaped building. He placed his “Doctor on Call” sign against the windscreen, then went inside, whistling. The same polished female was sitting at the same table in the foyer. Blaine gave her a nod, then made for the stairs.

  As he put his foot on the first step, her voice cut into his back like a thrown dart.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He turned and looked back over his shoulder at her.

  “I’ve important information to convey to Mr Carey.”

  “About what?”

  “About his daughter, whom he has hired me to find.”

  “And have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Have you found her?”

  “That is for Boss Carey to know and you to find out. Have you got his ear?”

  “What?”

  “Does he tell you his secrets?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then neither shall I.”

  With a toss of his head, Blaine continued on up the stairs, while the woman at the desk stared after him. She had a faraway look on her face, as though trying to work out a difficult problem in her mind. Blaine walked up to the door of Carey’s office and knocked. He waited a moment, then pushed it open and went inside. A large guy with a strangely coloured head was standing in front of the desk. When he turned to see who had come in, Blaine saw that he had been sprayed with a variety of paints.

  “I just can’t keep up with the latest fashion,” Blaine said to him. “First it was earrings, then nose rings and now this. Have you been sprayed all over or just your head?”

  The guy frowned, then looked back at Carey, who was sitting behind the desk.

  “This is the chump we followed to the warehouse,” he said. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” Carey told him. He gazed at Blaine. “What are you doing here? Did you bring my daughter back?”

  “I might have, if this chancer and his pals hadn’t butted in. Why did you send them after me? I’m a big boy, you know. I don’t have to have my hand held.”

  “I’ll do more than hold it,” the other guy said. “I’ll tear it off and shove it up your gable end.”

  “That’s enough, Alfred,” Carey said. “Let’s hear what he’s got to say before we start jumping up and down on his head.”

  Blaine smiled at Alfred, then he went to a chair at the side of the desk and sat down. He took out his cigarettes, put one in his mouth and lit it. He crossed his legs, leaned back, blew smoke at the ceiling.

  “Mr Carey doesn’t like people smoking in his office,” Alfred said.

  “Tough.” Blaine flicked ash on the carpet. “Good for the pile,” he said, rubbing it in with his foot.

  “I’ll give you ten seconds to start talking,” Carey said in a tight voice. “And it better be good. Otherwise I’ll let Alfred loose on you.”

  “He bites, does he?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Right then, here goes . . .”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I did find your daughter,” Blaine told Carey, “and was having a pleasant conversation with her when your thugs
came along and spoiled it all.”

  “Alfred has just told me you went sailing out in the bay with her.”

  “Not sailing, rowing.”

  “Whatever.”

  “She told me an interesting story. About how you’re trying to get her to marry some bozo to save your business.”

  “A pack of lies. The business is in great shape.”

  “I think I’d prefer to believe her rather than you.”

  “Believe what you like.” Carey leaned forward in his chair. “Where is she now? Have you got her hidden away somewhere?”

  “Not me. She took off when we got to shore.”

  “Is that so? Then why aren’t you out there looking for her? You’re still in my employ.”

  “No, I’m not. That ended when you sent your hard men to follow me.”

  “You’ve got my money.”

  “I gave it back,” Blaine lied. “To the ice lady downstairs.”

  “So what are you doing here, then?”

  “I thought maybe I could talk some sense into you. Get you to act like a proper father. Respect your daughter’s wishes and let her live her own life, as she chooses.”

  Carey got up and came out from behind his desk. He was tall and in good shape, considering his age. “I could take you on,” he said to Blaine. “But I’ve got guys working for me who do that kind of thing. Alfred here will conduct you off the premises. He might even give you a little gift to help you on your way. I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

  Blaine stood up. He let his cigarette fall on the carpet and put his foot on it. He grinned at Carey. “Seems like the end of a beautiful friendship,” he said. “I was thinking of asking you out for some fishing. Or maybe a spot of golf . . .”

  “Don’t fish, don’t golf.”

  “Maybe Alfred does?”

  Alfred eased in close to Blaine, then gave him a push.

  “Move along, mutt,” he said. “You’re taking up space, where you shouldn’t.”

  Blaine walked to the door, Alfred in step with him. Before he went out, he turned and looked back at Carey.

  “Leave Sam alone,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll have me to reckon with.”