by Roger Hurn
The two hard cases sniggered and Sanjay raised an eyebrow. Shamak pouted. ‘Hey, I’m interested in showbiz, OK? It doesn’t make me gay!’
This had the two gorillas in hysterics and even Sanjay consented to smile. I was hoping that this was the distraction I needed but, needless to say, it wasn’t. When the merriment subsided, Sanjay’s attention snapped back to me.
‘How much will Mr Mulwhinney pay for the manuscript’s safe return?’
‘Err … he’s paying me a flat fee of four hundred pounds a day plus expenses,’ I said.
Sanjay looked thoughtful. ‘Bring the manuscript to me as soon as you have it. I’ll pay you your daily rate plus a five thousand dollars finder’s fee for it and then I’ll negotiate with Mr Mulwhinney.’ I started to argue, but he held up his hand to silence me. ‘You’ll do as you’re told otherwise you won’t be seeing Deptford again.’
Now if that doesn’t sound like much of a threat to you, let me say that you’ve obviously never stood in a luxury apartment in New York with a bunch of hoodlums who’d think nothing of feeding you to the fishes if you so much as blinked out of turn. I shrugged like a guy who’s put up a token show of resistance but who knows which side his bread is buttered. ‘Sounds like a deal I can live with.’
Sanjay didn’t even try to hide his contempt. ‘Of course it is. If you work for my little brother you’ve already sold your soul … and I hear that these days every copper in the Met is on the take so why should you, Mr ex-DPG man, be any different?’
I could have told him, but I kept my own counsel. I wasn’t there to win hearts and minds or defend the Met’s tattered reputation … I just wanted to get out with my skin intact. But there was one thing I was sure of and that was no matter what happened there was no way I was going to hand over the manuscript to Sanjay Kapoor. However, like Falstaff said, there are times when discretion is the better part of valour and this was one of them, so I played along with his expectations. It was a smart move and I was back out on the street in one piece about five minutes later.
Shamak drove me to a small motel that definitely wasn’t getting any five star recommendations on TripAdvisor, although the girls in crop tops and mini skirts hanging out in the lobby did lend it a certain period charm – that is if you’re a fan of Starsky and Hutch reruns on late night cable TV. Shamak told me the Red Carpet Motel was part of Kapoor’s portfolio of business interests and that the girls were working to boost the profit margin. He also told me not to try for a discount if I wanted to sample their wares. ‘Mr Kapoor is letting you have this room cheap,’ he said, ‘but the girls are full price.’ Given the state of the room, I reckoned Kapoor should have been paying me to stay there and I wasn’t looking for female companionship - discounted or otherwise. Not because I’m a morally upright citizen, though I am, but because I still couldn’t get Carly’s image out of my head … and the girls in the lobby just couldn’t compete with that.
I lugged my case up the narrow stairs and dumped it in my room, but I didn’t unpack. The guests the Red Carpet Motel catered for were those wanting to hire a room by the hour and I wasn’t looking to buck the trend. My intention was to do what I had to do to get the manuscript and then catch the first available flight back to London. But then you know what they say about good intentions. What I didn’t realise was that they paved the road to Brooklyn.
Chapter Eight
Shamak took me back out to Crown Heights and dropped me off outside the brownstone apartment block where Jezebel was holed up. ‘She’s staying with Monika Pendlas, a director of Off-Off Broadway theatre. She’s big into indie stuff. You know … plays that nobody understands and never make any money but still get put on.’
I’d never heard of Monika Pendlas but I’d met my fair share of “theatricals” at Downing Street “dos” when I was in the DPG so I figured I knew her type. Though it never pays to rush to judgement about someone you’ve yet to meet so I decided to pump Shamak for a bit more info. ‘Ever seen any of her plays?’ I asked.
He looked a touch embarrassed then said, ‘Yeah, I caught a couple. Look, I work for Mr Kapoor, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like culture and things … I do. Only I don’t brag about it, OK.’
I smiled encouragingly. ‘Don’t worry, you’re secret’s safe with me. I’m partial to a bit of culture myself. So what’s this Monika woman like?’
Shamak pulled a face. ‘She’s gay and she directs stuff that kinda looks at things from a woman’s point of view … but that’s cool. Women get a bum rap most of the time.’
For a small time hoodlum, Shamak was showing hidden depths. I didn’t know what made him tick, but people almost never fail to surprise me and he was no exception. I guessed he was a fish out of water in Sanjay’s organisation and was just doing what he had to do to survive. It probably didn’t make him happy, but then very few of us get to live the life of Riley.
‘Call me when you’ve got the manuscript,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come and pick you up.’
I gave him the thumbs up, but I had no intention of giving him a bell. I had my passport, my credit card, a wallet stuffed with folding money and no burning desire to go back to the motel for my cheap carry-on suitcase containing only a change of clothes and a wash bag. As I said, my plan was to go straight to the airport with the manuscript – if I managed to get my hands on it that is – but I knew that Shamak would feel duty bound to take me there via Sanjay’s place – and I certainly didn’t want that.
My problem was that, given Mulwhinney’s hold over me thanks to Carly’s indiscretion with the gun, I couldn’t just walk up to the door and make an offer to buy the manuscript back, I was going to have to find a way of stealing it and I hadn’t got a clue as to how to go about it. Added to which was the fact that New York City winters are unbelievably cold and the wind was slicing its way through my coat like a Damascus steel blade and sculpting my rapidly cooling body into a life-sized model of Frosty the Snowman. There was only one possible course of action open to me and that was to beat a retreat into the coffee shop across the street to take stock of the situation. I’m nothing if not decisive.
The place called itself Café Culture but the décor was nothing fancy, just a counter, a couple of chalkboards and a few tables that could best be described as serviceable. However, the table next to the window was free and it gave me a clear view of Monika’s apartment. I suppose I was hoping that Monika and Jez would go out leaving the way clear for me to do my best Raffles the cat burglar impersonation, but after three dustbin-sized flat whites they still hadn’t done the decent thing and I was getting desperate. Desperate men do desperate things so I pulled out my phone and gave Crispian a ring. He was less than delighted to hear from me, but he didn’t cut the call.
‘Ryan Kyd as I live and breathe,’ he said testily. ‘Now why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear?’
I didn’t stand on ceremony. ‘Carly’s left me,’ I said. ‘She’s gone off to Jamaica to run a beach bar with a bloke she thinks she’s in love with and she isn’t coming back.’
There was a brief silence then Crispian said, ‘Ah, I think I see what this is all about. Look, I’m sorry to hear that, Ryan, but then, as the Bard says, the course of true love never did run smooth. Though, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a damn about your private life.’
‘Yeah, well that’s just it, Crispian. To quote Shakespeare right back at you, you thought “love hath made me a tame snake” and you used my feelings for Carly to give your old school chum, Jason Mulwhinney, a hold over me … and it was a good call. But what you didn’t know was that now she’s off shagging her brains out with some other guy that hold just went the way of all flesh.’
I could almost hear him shrug from five and a half thousand miles away. ‘You’re a shocking liar, Ryan. Despite your wounded pride, Ms Bloom will always be a consideration for you, so please don’t pretend otherwise because it just won’t wash.’
He was right and we
both knew it. He’d called my bluff and I was left with no choice but to don the proverbial stripy jersey and face mask and get on with the job. It was a bleak prospect. But then he sighed and said, ‘However, Jason Mulwhinney is a frightful oik and always was. So, let me reassure you that I have absolutely no interest in dragging the flighty Ms Bloom back from her Jamaican idyll just to please him. I tossed Mulwhinney that bone to get him off my back, but I never had any intention of making good on my threat because I’m holding it in reserve for when I need you to do something for me that your delicate conscience baulks at.’ There was a slight pause and then he added, ‘And, quite frankly, Ryan, I’m surprised you ever thought I’d waste a trump card on a pustule like Mulwhinney. Obviously your ex-paramour’s betrayal has addled your wits to a far greater extent than is good for you. So, take my advice, don’t allow her that victory because, quite honestly, you deserve better than that little strumpet.’ And, with that parting shot, he hung up.
Now I knew Crispian was no fan of Carly but, even so, the vehemence in his voice surprised me. For a split second I wondered if he was carrying a torch for me, but then I caught onto myself. My wits really were well and truly addled if I thought that. I was just someone Crispian used when it suited him. And, in my bleak and self-pitying mood, it seemed to me that he and Carly had a heck of a lot in common.
However, at least now I knew what I was going to do next. With Carly out of the frame, I didn’t have to risk a long stretch in a US jail for breaking and entering so I was just going to stroll over the road, knock on Monika Pendlas’ door and try to talk sense into Jezebel. I thought it highly unlikely that she’d even speak to me, but I hadn’t flown half way across the world to give up without at least making an attempt to get my client’s property back – even if he was, to use Crispian’s words, a frightful oik.
I had no idea of the kind of reception I was going to get from Jezebel, or even if I’d make it past the front door, but I pressed the buzzer marked Pendlas and figured I’d just play it by ear.
After a few moments, the door was opened by a statuesque woman of about thirty-five. She had a broad face, slicked back short white blonde hair, a couple of eyebrow and nose piercings plus the obligatory body art. I guessed this was Monika.
‘Shit,’ she said, ‘I thought you were the pizza delivery guy.’
I gave her a rueful smile. ‘Sorry, but I do have a packet of polo mints if that’s any help?’
She cocked her head slightly and gave me a quizzical look. ‘Hey, you’re English.’
I nodded. ‘That’s right and my name’s Ryan. Look, I’m really sorry I’m not the pizza guy, but I’ve come all the way from England and I was hoping I could have a quick word with Jezebel.’
Monika did a double take. ‘How the hell did you know she was here?’
‘Jason sent him.’ Jezebel appeared at Monika’s side and linked arms with her. She seemed small and vulnerable as she pressed herself even closer to her friend, but her large brown eyes held a weary defiance as she stared at me. ‘He did, didn’t he?’
I held up my hands palm out in what I hoped was a placatory gesture. ‘He did but, for what it’s worth, I think he’s an arsehole. I’m a Private Investigator and he hired me to try and persuade you to return the manuscript you took from him.’ Then I thought bugger this for a game of soldiers and said, ‘No, actually, he hired me to steal it back, but that’s not my style. So we can either talk and you can tell me your side of the story or you can tell me to sling my hook and I’ll go. It’s up to you.’
Jez frowned thoughtfully then said, ‘OK, but it’s a long story so you’d better come in before we all freeze our arses off.’
‘Whoa, hold up, Jez. This guy looks like he’s trouble.’
Jezebel shook her head. ‘No, he’s not. He’s just a messenger boy, but that’s exactly who I need right now.’
Chapter Nine
With an ill-disguised reluctance, Monika Pendlas stepped back and allowed Jezebel to lead me into the living room of the apartment. It had a look that the Sunday supplements call “shabby chic”, but I was more interested in the woman who sat glaring at me from an overstuffed sofa than in checking out the fixtures and fittings. She was as cute as a button but, from her resentful expression, I guessed she was disappointed I hadn’t brought pizza. ‘Hi,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m Ryan Kyd, a PI from London and I’m here to talk to Jezebel.’
‘Yes, so I heard,’ she said. ‘Though, quite frankly I don’t know why we’re giving you house room, but then, what Jez wants, Jez gets.’
Suddenly, I had the feeling that her crabby attitude may not have been entirely occasioned by my unexpected arrival or the lack of Italian style munchies. However, Jezebel seemed unfazed by it and introduced her to me.
‘Mr Kyd, this is Angelica Rayburn. She’s Mika’s partner as well as an amazingly talented writer and a lovely human being.’ She gave Angelica a smile that lit up the room and made up in brightness what it lacked in genuine warmth. Angelica’s mouth twitched upwards in return, but her eyes remained as cold as the weather outside. I’m not the best when it comes to all things emotional, but I got the feeling that Jezebel and Angelica had issues with each other.
Monika hurried over and sat next to Angelica and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Jez has got that absolutely right,’ she said. ‘Angel is just the best.’
Angelica raised her eyebrows slightly and pressed her lips together in what could have been a smile, but I wasn’t betting on it. For all I knew, Jezebel may well have had Angelica pegged as a lovely human being, but I was betting that Angel saw her as a potential cuckoo in the nest. Still, that was none of my concern.
Mulwhinney had said that Jezebel had a “trashy sexuality” but that wasn’t true. She was slim with a heart-shaped face that was framed by an urchin hair style that was a tad like Audrey Hepburn’s. Her large dark eyes had a luminosity that was beguiling, but otherwise her features and figure were unremarkable. No, what Jezebel Montague had in spades was a chameleon-like quality. By that I don’t mean she blended in with her surroundings, but rather when she spoke about people she had the ability to become them. She had Carmelita Jones and Jason Mulwhinney off to a tee, but then she’d add a sly touch of caricature and it was like she was peeling away the artifice they presented to the world to reveal the snidey, conniving bastards they really were underneath. Or, at least, that’s what she wanted you to think they were like.
While I perched uneasily on a large bean bag style seat she advanced on me and, transfixing me with a smouldering gaze that promised delights beyond imagining, breathed huskily in the musical accent of the Welsh valleys, “Oh Cariad, you’re a genius and I find that so sexy.” Then she switched in an instant and became a preening, yet sexually smitten, Mulwhinney. ‘Oh God, Lita, you’re the Muse I’ve been waiting for. Where have you been all my life?’
Jez grinned at me suddenly back in her own skin. ‘The problem for Jason is that, for most of his life, Carmelita wasn’t born.’
We both smiled at this and I knew that in another place and time I could really like this girl. I could see why Mulwhinney had fallen for her, but I was determined not to make the same mistake. She was a born actress and storyteller and this made her dangerous as well as attractive.
Naturally, I was sympathetic to her portrayal of Jason as I didn’t like the git, but I was still prepared to give Carmelita the benefit of the doubt. Though that was probably because I thought she was hot. Yes, I know, I really do have hidden shallows.
Anyway, I decided that it was time I wrestled centre stage back from Jez and earned my corn as a PI by asking her some hard questions. But, before I could, the front door buzzer went again. This time it was the pizza delivery guy bringing a shed load of cheesy delights, but another bloke also strolled in at the same time. The pizza guy was welcome, but this fellow’s arrival occasioned squeals of delight and a whole lot of air kissing from Monika and Angelica. Then, when the love-in finished, Monika introduced him to me.
&n
bsp; ‘Mr Kyd meet my good friend, Byron St James, an absolute angel in every sense of the word.’
I was beginning to feel as if there was at least one angel too many in the room as Byron shook my hand with the kind of overenthusiastic grip that is the trademark of hustlers the world over. And this, coupled with his obviously phoney name made him about as trustworthy as a TV evangelist in my eyes. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Kyd,’ he breathed in a voice so soapy you could have used it to blow bubbles. ‘You look like an interesting kind of a guy.’
‘Oh, you’ve got that right,’ said Angelica cattily. ‘He’s a Private Eye all the way from jolly old London, England come to investigate Jezebel. Isn’t that right Mr Kyd?’
I gave her a tight-lipped smile and then said, ‘I’m not investigating Jezebel, I’m just here to try and recover something she’s borrowed from my client.’
Byron raised his eyebrows and looked at me quizzically. ‘And who is your client, Mr Kyd?’
I shrugged non-committally.
‘It’s Jason Mulwhinney,’ said Jez. ‘And he’s a total fucking fraud and a fucking liar if he’s saying I stole his manuscript.’
I could see the dollar signs light up in Byron St James’ eyes at the mention of Mulwhinney. I figured our Byron was already looking for an angle to exploit for himself, but I wasn’t going to give him the chance.
‘That’s what he’s saying all right, so why don’t you tell me your side of things, Jezebel, then maybe I can find a way to settle this problem that works for everyone.’ I was still hoping that Jez, having made her big gesture, would now be happy to accept a generous slice of Mulwhinney’s cash in return for parting with the MS. Naturally, I was doomed to disappointment.
