The Melting Man

Without looking at me, he said, 'All you had to do was to let me have the parcel, or destroy it.'

I said, 'I was going to destroy it — but you spoilt that. Things are a bit more complicated now.'

He shook his head. 'You would have kept it. Made money from it. I know you.'

'That's what I thought myself — but it didn't work out that way.' I stood up. 'You want some advice?'

'Not particularly.' He sounded completely apathetic, not the crisp number I had first known.

'Pack up and get out of here, get a long way away from O'Dowda. You were going to do it once with her and he bitched you. You should have done it on your own after that.'

He looked up suddenly, his eyes blinking.

'How did you know that?'

'It was a guess — until this moment.'

'He murdered her.'

'I'm inclined to agree. But there's nothing you can do about it. After what you've done, and when he learns the full story, you need to be thinking about your own skin.'

He said, 'I think I may kill him.'

I said, 'I wish I could think that was a firm promise. But when the whisky is finished your only concern will be how to get rid of a hangover.'

'Tich Kermode did it. He's an evil bastard — worse than O'Dowda. They get drunk sometimes, those two. Shut themselves up in that bloody great waxworks room with all the people O'Dowda hated. You can hear them laughing and pounding around. I kept it from the girls for years and years… but they knew in the end… That's why they've left him.'

I made for the door. Then, a thought occurring to me, I said, 'Have you got a gun?'

'Gun?'

Why do drunks always have to give off echoes?

'Yes, a gun. It could be that I might need one — and for sure you won't.'

I think he fancied that I might be going to use it on O'Dowda because he cooperated by opening another drawer and tossing a gun to me. It's not an action I like. Guns are full of gremlins. I looked at it and said, 'What the hell's this?'

'It's all I've got,' he said, as he handed over to me a box of ammunition.

It was a .22 compressed-air pistol, powered by a Sparklet compressed air tube which gave about forty shots at somewhere around a muzzle velocity of four hundred feet per second. It could be nasty and looked like the real thing. I'd used one in Miggs's shooting range before. I hoped that it would be good enough to impress Najib and make him hand over Julia.

I went back to the car and sent up a fine shower of gravel going down the long drive. I wanted to be clear of the place before O'Dowda got back.

It was dark as I rode into Geneva. The address I had was in a cul-de-sac just off the Rue des Vollandes and not far from the Gare des Eaux-Vives. It was a top-floor flat and had a blue door painted with diagonal yellow stripes and when I thumbed the bell-push chimes inside played a simple melody that was vaguely familiar.

As I stood there trying to remember what it was, the door opened and Najib appeared. He'd gone back to his old style of dressing, ginger shoes, cream linen suit, red shirt and a yellow tie with garlands of multi-coloured roses trailing over it. It was a bit of a shock but I kept the air pistol firmly pointing at him.

'I'd like to come in,' I said.

The brown face beamed, the smudge nose crinkled, and the whiter shade of white teeth flashed.

'Certainly, Mr Carver. Damn glad to see you again. Welcome to not so humble abode.'

I said, 'You lead the way and cut out the music-hall patter.'

He went ahead of me down a softly carpeted hallway into a large sitting room. Not so humble it was. The furniture was all upholstered in black velvet, the carpet was pearly grey with great whorls of red in it. The curtains were green and the walls were covered with a paper that imitated great chunks of granite with thick white plaster marks in the joins. There was a sideboard nearly six feet long, covered with bottles and the things that go with them, a long table untidy with magazines, the covers of which were showing a lot of female flesh, and the place reeked of Turkish tobacco.

Najib turned, waved a hand around, and said, 'You like? No? Tastes differ. Some people say, just like a whore's parlour. Personally I have found many such parlours very comfortable and entertaining. What is your favourite tipple, sir?'

'My favourite tipple,' I said, 'is a large whisky and soda which I'll fix in case you have any poison around. Personally I'm hoping that it's not a drink I shall have to linger over because I want my business cleared up smartly. Also, please cut out all the babu talk. You're probably a D.Litt. and, no doubt, could start at Chaucer while I pegged off at Shakespeare and beat me handsomely through to T. S. Eliot. So let's stick to a reasonable syntax, Najib, eh?'

He gave me that big, wide-open smile, and said, 'Actually, it's BSc (Econ.) but I have not neglected the arts. Also, we should get the names right. I am disappointed that you have such a bad memory for faces. I am Mr Jimbo Alakwe, Esquire.'

I was so surprised that he went and fixed my drink for me while I got over it. When I had recovered and the drink was in my hand, I said, 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'Temporary posting. Najib has a lot on his hands. Also, remember I now work for Mr O'Dowda so have to be on the spot.'

'You don't mean he actually took you on?'

'Why not? He doesn't trust me, but he likes to know where I am. Also, if he gets false information from me about affairs in my country, he probably guesses it is false and can make something from it. Wrong information can be as revealing as correct information. Mr O'Dowda is prepared to pay for both. Needless to say, my loyalty, is to my country. I am inordinately proud of that. One of the things, I feel, which prevent you from becoming a success is that you have no loyalty to anyone but yourself. That can only lead to limited profits. What is your asking price for the parcel?' He held up a hand and went on quickly, 'Naturally the girl will be returned as well, but I realize that you will want something for yourself. But not as much, of course, as though we didn't have the girl.'

I said, 'No money passes. And no parcel passes. I want the girl.'

'I think,' said Jimbo, 'we had better discuss this situation a little more fully.'

'Let us do that,' I said, and sat down on a soft-sprung chair.

Jimbo reached for a cigarette box. As he opened the lid it began to play a tune. He grinned at me.

'Au clair de la lune. The toilet container in this place plays Sur le pont d'Avignon. This is really Panda's flat. You like her?'

'She's a great girl. Good swimmer, too. I'd like to know how she and Najib knew I was at Ansermoz's chalet, by the way.'

'It was very simple. They lost you so they made a phone call to the house. You answered the phone. Remember — you said to the woman caller that Max was in Cannes. So they knew you were there. After that they kept an eye on you from a safe distance.' He smiled. 'A man travelling fast, dreaming of profit, should look behind him occasionally.'

I said, 'You ought to print that on one of your cards.'

'Maybe.'

I stood up. 'All right, let's have a look round. You go ahead and don't make any sudden movements.'

He showed me round the flat. It was furnished throughout in Panda taste and it wasn't difficult to guess that she used the place for her professional entertaining. The whole place was probably wired for sound and film. One thing it didn't have, however, was any sign of Julia.

I took Jimbo back into the sitting room and he sat down and helped himself to another musical cigarette and waved his hand at the drinks for me to help myself.

Bottle in hand, I said, 'All right — she's not here. Where is she?'

He polished his ebony chin with the tips of his fingers and said, 'If I knew I wouldn't tell you, but the sad fact is that I don't know.'