‘And in return?’
‘You get what you’ve been craving for. Justine is a treat to look at when she’s been haematologically refreshed and she’ll be very affectionate, I promise you.’
‘My God, you’re pimping for her.’
‘Needs must when the Devil drives, Chaunce. You can take the high moral ground or you can follow your heart.’
‘My heart, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Or whatever part is leading you. We’re talking pragmatism here.’
‘We certainly are, and I’m a little breathless from it.’
‘Perfectly understandable. Take your time, think about it: five, ten minutes, whatever. She’s young, she’s beautiful in full colour, she’s longing for what you’ve got.’
‘Is she here now? Could I see her?’
‘Absolutely. She’s just having a kip. She needs lots of rest.’
He led the way to the bedroom and there she was, nude, only partly covered by the duvet. I looked at her shoulder, her beautiful bottom and the leg she stretched out. She rolled over, exposing her breasts, and opened her eyes. ‘Who’s this?’ she said.
‘This is Chauncey,’ said Istvan. ‘He’s going to be your new uncle if you treat him right.’
‘Hi, Chauncey,’ she said. ‘You look some livelier than Ish. Are you ready for a little uncle work?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ I said.
15 Irving Goodman
10 January 2004. Why do I so often have that left-out feeling? Because I’m so often left out, that’s why. The grown-up is only a thin coat of chocolate over the hard nut of the child. Whatever you were as a kid, you still are when the chocolate gets licked off or scraped off. When they used to choose up sides for baseball or any other game I was always left till the last.
I went to Fallok’s place and looked in through the glass and there was Justine in glorious Technicolor sitting on some Chinese guy’s lap while Fallok was tinkering with an oscilloscope. So he was back at work in his normal routine and there were the three of them all cosy. I could scarcely believe it. ‘Yo, Istvan!’ I said. Childhood again. When I was a kid and we wanted somebody to come out and play, we stood outside the house and yelled, ‘Yo, Bob!’ or whatever his name was.
Fallok stuck his head out of the second-storey window of childhood and said, ‘Hi, Irv. Hey, I’ve been meaning to call you but I got so far behind in my work that it’s been all I could do to catch up. What do you think of our girl? Isn’t she looking great?’
‘Our girl,’ I said. ‘Our girl is exactly what she isn’t. You were meant to bring her into flesh-and-blood 3-D for me, not for you and your friend.’
‘My name is Chauncey Lim,’ the friend said. ‘Try not to lose tranquility. “A bow long bent waxes weak.” One is divisible by three and it adds up to a good deal all round.’
‘Do me a favour,’ I said: ‘stuff it up your fortune cookie.’
‘How’s that arrangement sound to you, Justine?’ said Fallok.
‘Are you kidding?’ she said. ‘I doubt if this old drynuts even has half a pint in him.’
I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever thought I was in love with this woman. On the screen she’d had a wholesome kind of outdoor refinement but now the hang of her face was definitely sluttish.
‘First of all,’ said Fallok to me, ‘I clearly remember telling you that I couldn’t promise anything. I said that because I knew from experience that life is full of surprises. Secondly, we had no kind of contract, oral or written; I simply said I’d see what I could do.’
‘We’ve seen that all right,’ I said. ‘After that sighting of you and your bundled-up tootsie that night I thought we’d have some kind of a meeting but you haven’t been answering your phone and every time I’ve come here the door’s been locked and the blinds have been down. I couldn’t get any news from Grace and here I am again and here you lot are and you’re all right, Jack. Bloody hell.’
‘Look,’ said Fallok, ‘let’s try to be grown-up about this, OK? What we have here isn’t quite the usual boy — girl thing and it calls for a more sophisticated approach.’
‘I’m not even sure I want to approach it any more,’ I said. ‘I’m beginning to feel myself backing away from it.’
‘I’m heartbroken,’ said Justine. ‘but maybe there’s new blood coming our way unless it’s the Avon lady.’
Everybody looked at the door and listened but we saw and heard nothing. ‘Justine’s senses are sharper than ours,’ said Fallok. After about a minute there were two men coming down the steps.
‘It’s the Bill,’ said Chauncey.
There was a knock at the door and Fallok answered it. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Hunter,’ said a tall man with a deep voice and a Victorian moustache. He showed us his warrant card. ‘This is Sergeant Locke.’ Locke’s tumblers clicked and he nodded. Hunter looked at us as if he knew all our little secrets and right away I felt guilty.
‘Istvan Fallok,’ said Fallok. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Are you the proprietor of Hermes Soundways?’ said Hunter.
‘I am,’ said Istvan.
Hunter swept all of us with his eyes like a beam from a lighthouse. ‘Do any of you know a woman called Rose Harland?’ he said
We all shook our heads and said no. ‘What about Rose Harland?’ said Fallok.
‘Later,’ said Hunter. ‘Are these your keys?’ He gave them to Fallok.
‘Yes,’ said Fallok. ‘Where’d you find them?’
‘Where’d you lose them?’ said Hunter.
‘Somewhere between here and Oxford Street, I think. On the way to HMV.’
Hunter nodded. ‘We found them in a dustbin in Great Marlborough Street. Any idea how they got there?’
‘No,’ said Fallok.
‘Where were you on the evening of Thursday the eighth of January?’ said Hunter. ‘Day before yesterday.’
‘Here,’ said Fallok.
‘What do you do here at Hermes Soundways?’ said Hunter.
‘Sounds in different ways,’ said Fallok. ‘Would you like to hear some?’
‘Yes, I would,’ said Hunter.
‘This is from Laminations on a Theme of Cthulhu by Fathoms,’ said Fallok, and started the music. ‘It’s a low-frequency enhancement,’ he said as the sound, mostly subsonic vibrations, made our bones rattle.
‘Deep,’ said Hunter. ‘Very hermetic.’
‘Most of what I do is,’ said Fallok modestly.
‘Yes,’ said Hunter. ‘May I ask who your friends are?’
‘Chauncey Lim,’ said Chauncey.
‘And where were you on the Tuesday in question?’ said Hunter.
‘Working late at my shop in D’Arblay Street,’ said Chauncey. ‘I do photographic novelties.’
Hunter looked at him as if he’d heard that sort of euphemism before, but passed on to me.
‘Irving Goodman,’ I said. ‘I was at home in Fulham, Kempson Road. I’m retired.’
‘From what?’ said Hunter.
‘TV writing.’
Hunter turned to Justine.
‘Justine Trimble,’ she said. ‘I was here with Istvan.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Nothing much, just what people do.’
‘Where are you from, Ms Trimble?’ said Hunter.
‘Texas.’
‘And your occupation?’
‘I’m an actress. I’m …’
‘The daughter of Justine Trimble who starred in so many westerns back in the 1950s,’ said Fallok.