I nodded. Any port in a storm.
‘Jimmy Himes?’
I nodded again.
‘I know where he is.’
‘Where?’
He grinned. ‘Buy us a drink first.’
I was probably being conned, but what the hell. ‘What do you want?’ I asked him.
‘Scotch and coke.’
I went up to the bar and bought what he asked for and another pint for myself. When I got back and he had downed half the drink, I said, ‘You know Jimmy?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ he retorted.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Rick. Slick Rick they call me.’
Sure they do, I thought. ‘And you know where Jimmy is?’
‘I know where he was.’
‘Where?’
‘It’ll cost ya?’
I wasn’t exactly amazed at that. ‘How much?’
‘A ton.’
‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’
‘I wouldn’t lie mister.’
‘You would say that.’
He looked injured at the thought. ‘He’s my mate,’ he said. ‘We work the Dilly together.’
‘You’re on the rent?’
He nodded and felt the scar.
‘A dangerous game,’ I said.
‘What, this? Not half as dangerous as HIV. You can’t get plastic surgery for that.’
I couldn’t argue with him on that score.
‘So where is he?’ I asked.
He held out his hand.
‘No son,’ I said. ‘You got a drink for your sauce. A hundred nicker and I want some proof.’
‘I can’t prove it. But it’s the truth.’
‘Tell me.’
So he did. According to him, Jimmy was with the same old queen who’d given Rick the stripe down his face. Rick would do a lot for money, but not everything, if the everything included grievous bodily harm, which was what the old queen wanted to inflict upon him.
‘Has the old queen got a name?’ I asked.
‘Daddy,’ said Rick. ‘When I wouldn’t do what he wanted, he did this.’ He felt the scar again. ‘The old cunt.’
‘Did you go to the police?’
Rick laughed fit to burst. ‘Are you fuckin’ joking?’ He said. ‘They’d bang me up if I did.’
He was probably right.
‘So where does Daddy hang out?’ I asked.
‘Shepherd’s Market. He’s got a place down there.’
‘Let’s go.’
‘Not now. It’s too early. He sleeps in. Tonight’s favourite.’
‘What time?’
‘Eight. Meet me outside the Shepherd’s pub. Know it?’
I nodded. ‘I’ll be in my car,’ I said. ‘A red Jaguar E-Type.’
‘It’s all right for some. I’ll show you his place, then split. OK?’
‘OK,’ I agreed.
‘And bring the dosh.’ And with that, Rick swallowed his drink and left.
I was parked where he said just before eight. The rain had started again and was slanting through the light of the street lamps, raising a mist of steam from the long bonnet of the car and obscuring my view through the windscreen like tears. The radio was playing Phil Spector’s Christmas album, and a couple of whores were eyeing up the car from the other side of the road.
I was still wearing my leather jacket and jeans, and I could feel the reassuring weight of the Colt in my right pocket. Rick ducked round the corner in front of me as the clock in the car said 8:05. He wasn’t wearing a coat and had the thin lapels of his jacket turned up against the weather. I leaned over, slipped the lock on the passenger door, he climbed in, and the whores walked off in disgust.
‘Excellent motor,’ he said, and he was just a boy again. Not a rent boy.
‘It’ll do.’
‘Take me for a drive one day?’
‘One day,’ I replied. ‘Now where does this bloke Daddy live?’
‘Just round the corner. Number seven. Over the pottery shop. There’s an entryphone by the door at the side. Got my dough?’
‘And he’s just going to let me in?’
I saw his face stiffen in the light from the dashboard. ‘You promised.’
‘Not exactly. You get me in and I find that Jimmy’s been there and you get your hundred.’
‘Fuck that.’
Take it or leave it. You could still be lying. Like I said. If I find Jimmy’s been there you get your money.’
‘He’ll kill me.’
‘I’ll make sure you’re all right.’
‘You don’t know him.’
‘I don’t even know that he exists.’
‘How do I know you’ll pay me?’
I took fifty nicker in tens, rolled up tightly out of my shirt pocket. ‘Half now. Half later. How about that?’
‘He was there,’ said Rick. ‘I promise you Jimmy went there.’
‘So you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘All right. But watch the fat bastard. You don’t know him.’ And he touched the scar on his face again.
We got out of the car and walked round the corner. Just as Rick had described it, there was a door next to the pottery shop, with an entryphone attached to the frame. I looked up. Dim light escaped from the edges of the curtains at the two windows above us.
Rick pushed the buzzer and waited. After half a minute a voice said, ‘Yes.’
Rick looked at me. ‘Is that Daddy?’ He asked. His voice was softer than the one he used to me, and he put on a slight lisp.
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Steve. Ronnie sent me. He said I could stay.’
There was silence. Then the voice said. ‘Come on up Steve,’ and the entryphone’s buzzer sounded and the door clicked open half an inch.
Rick grabbed the roll of notes I was still holding and said. ‘See you back at the motor.’ And he turned and vanished into the thickening rain. I pushed open the door and was faced by a flight of stairs leading upwards, faintly lit from a bare bulb screwed into a fixture in the ceiling.
I walked slowly up the flight until it dog-legged and I could see an open door with a figure standing in the doorway.
The figure was huge. Bigger than huge. Humungous in fact. A great fat man in a white shirt and a pair of strides that would have made enough suits to dress a quartet. I stopped about four steps below him and looked up. I didn’t like being at a disadvantage, but I didn’t want to get close enough for him to aim a kick at my head with the big, black shoes he was wearing.
‘Daddy?’ I said.
He looked down at me in puzzlement. ‘It wasn’t you that buzzed though.’
‘No.’ I said. ‘It was someone I met who told me that Jimmy Himes had been here.’
I saw the fat man’s face pale and he licked his lips.
‘Who told you that?’ He asked.
‘It doesn’t matter. Is Jimmy here?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Nick Sharman. I’m a detective. Private. I was hired by Jimmy’s mum and dad to find him.’
‘I don’t know any Jimmy… What did you say his name was? Himes?’
‘That’s right. And I’ve been told different.’
‘Then you’ve been told wrong.’
‘Would you mind if I came in and had a look round?’
‘I certainly would. You could be anyone. A man alone in my condition…’
I wasn’t interested in a diagnosis. I took one of my cards from inside my jacket and climbed the last few stairs until I was on a level with him, and put it in his tiny, fat paw.
He glanced at it and said. ‘This means nothing.’
I pulled out the photo I’d been showing around all day. ‘This is Jimmy. Are you sure you don’t know him?’
Daddy’s eyes flicked to the photo, then away. ‘Never seen him before in my life.’
I shrugged. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘How would it be if I came back with the police?’
His manner changed, and he gave me a smarmy grin, but I saw sweat break out on his forehead like tiny blisters of clear varnish.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ he said.
‘Can I come in then?’
He moved his massive bulk backwards into the flat and admitted me. I pushed the door closed behind me. It was warm, and the hall was freshly decorated, with a thick blue carpet on the floor and a tiny table just inside, underneath the flat’s entryphone, with a glass vase of fresh flowers on it. Home sweet home. But the smell of the flowers didn’t disguise the sour smell coming from Daddy, and another smell from somewhere inside. Sweet but rank. Faint enough not to be noticeable unless you knew what it was.