Bolg, PI: The Bolg and the Beautiful

by Dave Freer

  I waved the Glock at him. “Back in your corner, dog.”

  “But… but you said you would give it to me?” That was definitely a whine, now. “I was just… ”

  “Oh, I’ll give it to you, all right. In two parts,” I hissed. “First I’m going to give you a piece of lead through what passes for your brain. Then I’ll wipe it and press it into your hot, well, rapidly cooling little hand.”

  I leaned forward and he shrank back against the wall: “You… you can’t do that!” He was on the edge of hysteria. And there was no air-conditioning in the stuck elevator to help with the beading of sweat. He stuck a finger into his collar.

  “I can. I’m going to,” I said, voice absolutely level. I’ve found that more effective for threats.

  It seemed to work this time too. “Please. Please! I have a family,” said the banker.

  He had a mistress too, but I didn’t think she’d miss him any more than his wife would, so I didn’t mention it. Instead I said in mocking sympathy: “I’ll tell them of your deep remorse. Of your fear of the external forensic audit. Of how you decided you couldn’t live with the hurt it would do them.”

  “But there isn’t going to be an audit,” he said, clinging desperately to the vestiges of the power and control he was used to exercising. “They’ll know you’re lying.”

  “Oh I should think there almost certainly will be one. An independent and external one, when I tell them of your fears that Mr. Jasmin had double-crossed you. They can hardly let your co-conspirator examine the books,” I said, deliberately offering him a straw to clutch at.

  He seized it eagerly, desperately. “It was his idea. Not mine!”

  His kind always make me want to puke, even after all these years. They’re the squirming seethe of maggots in the corpse of commerce. This was business, not pleasure, so I had to say: “You mean I should be going to kill him instead of you?”

  He showed that there is honor among bank-executives. Or their kind of honor. “Yes!”

  I couldn’t help myself. The old girls weren’t in any position to squeeze his testicles while pushing a gun into his ribs, but I was. They’d approve.

  “Agh! That hurts… please. Look, really it was Malik Jasmin. He arranged it. I just… just put through the paperwork.” he said, his voice rising. That happens when you’re in danger of becoming a castrati singer.

  I kept my voice even though. “You couldn’t prove that. You got the money. You arranged for Phil Daly to visit them.”

  “Malik got half,” whimpered Cander. “I was just the go-between, and did the paperwork to make it look legal. I paid it over… in cash. I’ve got other… business interests that it’s uh, hard to account for their cash income. That’s why it looks it was meEEEE!”

  “I’ll stop squeezing and twisting if you tell me how to prove it,” I said, resisting the temptation to just pull hard, with difficulty.

  So he did. Of course it couldn’t just be simple. For starters my life never is, and for a second I was dealing with the second slitheriest lifeform on earth, making lampreys and slugs look like coarse sandpaper. I should have treated him like an eel — nailed his head to the floor and pulled his skin off with a pair of pliers. It would have saved us trouble later.

  The problem was I needed to keep him alive, and I wasn’t sure how well he’d have managed without his skin. I’d brought my handy little tool-kit with me, which had some cable ties and a suitable rag for a gag and a blindfold. Once I had those placed, I set about getting out of there. Of course this was where my plans did what plans usually do, came unstuck.

  I pressed the remote that should have taken us up. It didn’t. It didn’t do anything at all. My setting up a short circuit in the elevator’s control and electrics had been very effective. We were stuck, between floors and out of power and communications. I’d made sure of that. Sometimes I’m so smart I think I’m going have to retire to bed for the rest of my life to stop myself hurting myself. Also, having dropped into the elevator, and pulled the roof-trap shut, and my bit of cord down with it… I had a minor problem. The roof was a lot higher than I could reach.

  And eventually someone might figure we were trapped there. Or we might run out of air. I thought the former might be better, but on the other hand… I gave Andrew P a firm pat on the head, and then positioned his groaning body so I could stand on it. Then I balanced onto the handrail in the corner with my feet on either side of the corner, and leaning in. That way I could push the roof-trapdoor, and get its edges.

  That left me outside the elevator… looking up. A long, long ways up. I did recall reading about a passive system for braking being fitted to elevators. While we’d been having our little chat, the elevator had sunk down. Not quite to hell, but a long way down. I wasn’t sure if the bank had a basement or whether it was stopped at the banking hall. It was going to be quite a climb.

  And then another elevator car came down the rails, in the next elevator shaft, which was open to this one. So I climbed onto its roof. It went a little way up, and then down again. And repeat. And repeat again. It was getting nowhere near the top. I was getting a bit tired of this when I realized I still had the elevator repair remote in my pocket. That took me to the top, and… then I went down again. To fetch Cander, who groaned enough to make the poor souls inside the elevator I used to take him up to my eyrie blame each other. I offloaded him from the roof and sent the car back down.

  I dragged him out to the shade of a solar panel, tied him to its base and settled down to my lunch, and listening in to the doings down in Cander’s office. Of course there were no doings in the office, per se but I could listen to his flunkies, and their sadness about how slow the elevators were, today. They were remarkably boring, so I got back to looking at Cander’s porn collection on his computer. It wasn’t a lot more interesting, but it was easier to follow and less kinky than the accounting I also dug through.

  It was a long wait to dusk. I think Cander must have found it even longer. That was good. Yes, I really don’t like people who cheat old folk out of their retirement money, even if the old folk were Freyja and Gersemi, who had their own moments. You might say I still take it personally, and you wouldn’t be that wrong, but I also came from an era when it made sense to look after the women. They were more fragile than most men and they died in childbirth all too often. He’d known they were old women… but he also known too much about them, either him or his partner in crime. This wasn’t just a simple granny-mugging.

  Now, I had flown up there easily enough. I wasn’t quite as sure that the cloak of feathers was up to carrying two, though. So I waited for dark, or at least dusk, to give it a try. I planned on a little ‘hop’on the roof… so we didn’t have too far to fall.

  Only, the issue was hanging onto Cander. He struggled as much as he was able. He was able to hear if not see or talk, so I kindly explained that he’d be absolutely fine if he co-operated. Well, I think I actually said: “Make my day.” But it worked just as well. I tied him onto my back, which was a mistake. His legs were longer than mine. Then I wrapped the cloak around our shoulders… And Cander kicked out frantically, distracting me as I set out for my test hop… so it was a hop over the edge, ten stories down.

  The problem in the cloak of falcon feathers, was not that Cander was too heavy. It was just that it had a bird-brain. I was strong-willed enough to control it. Its other passenger wasn’t. He was also, without realizing it would control the cloak, willing himself to be elsewhere, really hard, whereas I was a bit distracted by the struggling banker. So the cloak took off after a pigeon flying home in the dusk, instead of the roof. And there, as we dived and wheeled toward the reaching earth, were two minds each seeking control of the thing.

  We managed a screaming corkscrew dive. I was doing the screaming. About six feet from the concrete, with Cander’s expensive Italian loafer skimming through a pedestrian lady’s hairdo, I managed to turn it. I think Cander had passed out. We flapped upwards again.

  And yeah,
there was a pigeon in there with us. Squawking about its civil rights. I managed to crash-land us on the sill of the shopping mall, next to the gargoyle.

  He looked at us with a contorted sneer on his ugly face. He doesn’t do any other expressions. “There goes the neighborhood,” he croaked in his gravelly voice.

  I had a fine long swear. I believe it does one good, and in this case it certainly made me feel better. Even the gargoyle seemed impressed, or least silenced. The pigeon wasn’t, and that was its mistake. If there is one thing gargoyle’s will do anything for, it’s a live pigeon, on account of the fact that pigeons spend a lot of time roosting — and relieving themselves — just out of reach of the gargoyle. That noisy and unfortunate pigeon was the solution to my current problem. I wasn’t going to try flying with that cloak again, not while carrying Cander. And I wanted him alive, at least until I got Freyja and Gersemi’s money back. The narrow concrete ledge we were perched on wasn’t really a place in which I could safely leave him.

  So I was happy to leave him being sat on by a gargoyle. The gargoyle might even stick to just sitting.

  I crawled out of there down the ducting. It’s dusty, but at least it wasn’t flying, which can be unpleasant enough even without the TSA fondling the landing gear, as I had discovered. I went off to find my trusty associate. Or rather to roust him out of bed between an advertising exec and a marketing manager. I told him he’d need a bath before I let him sit in my rusty Toyota. Honestly, the smell. I suppose it could have been worse. There is always HR.

  I had to put up with it, though, because trusty henchmen are even rarer than immoral immortal sorcerers these degenerate days. I had to make do with the latter.

  We stopped at my home and picked up a climbing rope and a harness and descendure device. There were still people about, so I stopped at an all-night bottle shop, and bought a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. Even Fintan wrinkled his nose a bit before reaching for it.

  “Keep your hands off it. It’s protective coloration.”

  “I thought it only made you yawn in Technicolor,” said Fin, curiously.

  “Lots of people see with their noses,” I said cryptically. It’s true in a way. Smells certainly tell our brain what we think we’re seeing.

  So I left him outside the mall, at the gutter next to the corner. “Pretend to be panhandling,” I said. “And distract anyone who comes along. I’ll lower him down.”

  I made my way to the high sill, to Cander and the gargoyle. “Do bankers come in double-ply?” asked my gargoyle acquaintance. “Next time see if you can get that.”

  “I will do my humble best,” I promised, as I liberally anointed Cander with the Mad Dog. I tied him on and looked down. Fin had cleared the corner so I lowered Cander to where my trusty associate was waiting to receive the bundle of banker.

  Well, he could have received the bundle, if he hadn’t in the meanwhile started chatting to a lady of the night. I couldn’t really haul Cander back up, so I dropped him into the gutter, dropped the rope, and scuttled down.

  I needn’t have rushed. The roped bundle lying in the gutter, under a pile of something, was ignored by passing late-night movie-goers with the skill normally reserved for gutter-sleeping homeless people reeking of Mad Dog 20/20.

  Once I had parted Fintan from his new amour (not physically, but that wasn’t for lack of either of them trying) and persuaded her that, despite fifty shades of dirty deed involving 150 feet of perlon rope, it would not be fun to come with us, we took the banker away. We finally did encounter one citizen, a security guard, who had the good Samaritan gene. “What’s going on?” he asked suspiciously.

  I sighed. “Poor brother Michael. He’s been doing so well. But, well, alcoholics are never really cured.”

  “One drink was all it took,” said Fin, sadly, wafting the breeze from Cander’s jacket.

  Cander struggled.

  “Why is he tied up?”

  “He was trying to scratch his skin off. He said he was all covered in centipedes. Pink ones. He was screaming the place down, and we really don’t want him in jail again.”

  “Yeah. Well, I can get them to take you to ER,” said Mr. Helpful. I really hate to discourage this type of man, because they help when you need them, but somehow they always show up just when you don’t need them, as well sometimes when you do.

  “Look,” said Fin. “What’s that?”

  ‘That’appeared to be Godzilla, behind us, inside the mall. Our hero ran. Being the sort of man he was, he ran towards it, drawing his weapon. It’s why I still sometimes think the human race is worth saving, even if it is a bit stupid.

  We ran the other way. I hoped Fin’s illusion disappeared before the poor fellow shot something.

  We got into the Toyota and fled the scene to Fin’s cave, because he has various computers, and I wasn’t letting this lowlife loose on mine, and I didn’t think Freyja and Gersemi would have such a thing.

  As it happened I was wrong on all counts. This I should have guessed, but I was foolishly focused on getting them some money, so I could ask for something for expenses, or I might get more nasty letters from the bank. Kidnapping the bank’s Vice President is a time-honored method of dealing with those, even if it is out of fashion these days. Personally, I think it’s a pity. Lots of kings did it, and it worked for them, if not the bankers.

  We put him down in front of a computer. It tried to bite him, so we moved him to another. “I can’t access my accounts without an instant password,” he informed us. “They send it to my cell phone.”

  So we let him have his phone. It beeped at him and he picked it up and typed into it. All very innocent. If it hadn’t been for the look he gave Fin and me, he might have got away with it. So I took it off him. He’d texted a message. “Help. Kidnapped.”

  “And who were you calling on for help?” I asked, looking at the message.

  “The police. You’d better let me go. They’ll be here any moment.”

  I looked at the number he’d sent the message to. “Nope. That’s not the police.” Still, they might call the police. I wished the cops luck with Fin’s cave, but they’d be an irritation at best, and a problem at worst. Or need rescuing. It’s that kind of cave. It moves around and does what it feels like. I tied him up again. “We’d best take him elsewhere, Fin. And drop the phone onto the freight train. They can track them.”

  “I’ve always wondered how they track freight,” said Fin. “Let’s take him out to Mons Repose. It’ll make Freyja better tempered.

  So we did those things.

  It was a valuable lesson to me, too. Do not mess with fertility goddesses, for the testicle is mightier than the mind. Yeah, it works both ways, of course, and I’d seen plenty of women doing the most incredibly stupid things for men, and vice versa over the years. Seen a fair bit of deliberate manipulation of the genetic survival instinct, too. But the difference between that and what wrinkled, frail old Freyja, raising her aspect, putting on the Brisinghamen the golden filigree torc set with fire- jewels — and somehow becoming the absolute epitome of fertile feminine availability… it was cruel. She wasn’t taking any chances, and merely adding a bit of her charm to it. This was her full power, and it was… powerful. Not even a crooked banker deserved that. I was watching on the sidelines and even I felt quite pleased to see her.

  As for our banker… he didn’t want to be rescued any more. I thought I’d almost rather see him back to his normal noxious self than frisking like an eager puppy around Freyja. The cats didn’t like it much either. He couldn’t, however, be any more eager to turn over the details of their little plan. And of course lavish as much money on Freyja as possible. His as well as hers. That worked for me, even though I planned to bill by post. And get some money up front, if possible.

  He told us that it was his associate Malik that he’d sent the text to. Jasmin ‘had connections’. Connections, it appeared, high in the police and less savory quarters. Yes, it is possible. There are good cops, just as there are good c
rooks. It’s all in the percentages. He’d also set this up… and knew just who to send. Phil had not been his choice, but Malik’s. He didn’t trust him. Freyja said she had, and said just how much with… which sent the banker into a paroxysm of fury with Phil — both on his adored Freyja’s behalf, and the fact that the little toad had cheated him. Malik had Phil marked out for preference… Cander was going to nail him to the wall.

  I decided it was time to withdraw and consider my next step… asking for an advance for my expenses. The important things first… the withdrawing part. I didn’t live this long by being stupid. Fin, of course, had to prove he had lived a great deal longer than me by being stupid, but, well, he didn’t get that old by not being able to get himself out of trouble. “So that’s at least half your money back,” he said cheerfully. “And Eochaid’s been complaining about the price of drinks he’s had to pay for in the course of recovering it. It’s time you paid him his advance, because I’m thirsty.” He raised an eyebrow at Freyja, reaching for the necklace at her wattled old throat, her feminine aspect rising again. “I wouldn’t do that, Freyja. Remember last time you tried it on me,” he said with the kind of nasty grin that seems to be remarkably effective for him. I’ve tried using it. People ask me if I have dyspepsia.

  Freyja took her hand off the necklace and went back to being a very old woman. Not that Cander noticed. He followed her instructions and hauled out his fat wallet. I left there richer than I had been for some months. Of course, Fin promptly ‘borrowed’some, but that seemed reasonable. I was far too worried about being enmeshed by Freyja myself. I said so to Fin. He laughed. “I don’t think it’ll work too well on you my boyo. You’re the wrong type.”

  “I am heterosexual, Fin.”

  “Ah, but you’re a romantic too. Women are my interest too, and it failed fairly spectacularly on me. Anyway, I’ll deal with her if she tries anything on you.”

  “You’re not romantic, Fin.”

  He shrugged. “You never know. But as I understood what was being done to me, I made a great effort to give my best to her. To teach her all I knew as fast as possible.”