An Accident Waiting to Happen. Vincent Banville
I’m not wearing my waterproof head.’
‘Waterproof head. That’s a good one. Hold on and I’ll come down.’
I held on, and in a short while the door opened and I was invited inside. The head I had been talking to was now attached to a shapely body. She was dressed — but only just — in a halter-neck top and a skimpy pair of shorts. These garments were also in a fetching shade of blue. I gazed about me at the large barn-like building. The walls, drapes, tables, chairs and floor were all coloured purple. I had entered into a purple world.
We gazed at one another, the girl and me. She put a hand on her hip, then ran her tongue along her full lower lip. I shook the rain out of my hair like a wet dog, and tried to look neat, clean and well-advised.
‘Bertie?’ I hinted, hoping she hadn’t gone into a coma on me.
‘He’s out the back.’
‘The back?’
‘That’s where his office is. Through the bead curtain. Second door on the left.’
‘Are you Gertie?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I told you. The name’s John Blaine.’
‘And you do what?’
‘I sell purple paint. I thought you might be in the market for some.’
The girl giggled, then pushed at me playfully with a hand that sported — yes, you’ve guessed it — purple nails.
‘You’re very tall,’ she said. ‘Where’d you get all them scars on your face?’
‘Sticking it into other people’s business. I’m a real Keyhole Kate.’
This time she gave a full-throated laugh. The halter-neck top groaned with the effort of keeping in her chest. I thought about making her laugh some more, but then remembered Bertie waiting for me in his office.
‘I better get going,’ I told her, rolling my eyes regretfully.
She nodded, then said, ‘Gertie is the boss’s other half. She’s spoken for. I’m Denise and I’m free, white and over 21. Come up and see me sometime.’
‘So that we can peel a grape together?’
‘Something like that.’
Chapter Three
The bead curtain clicked merrily as I went through it. Out of curiosity I peered into the first room on the left. It was a broom cupboard, containing brushes, and a battered-looking Hoover. Moving on, I knocked on the second door. I heard movement inside, so I turned the knob and went in.
A very large woman was sitting on a sofa opposite me. She was wearing a tent-like robe that covered her from her neck to her feet. Her hair was drawn back tightly into a bun, giving the skin of her face a stretched look. She was eating yoghurt from a tub, spooning it greedily into the cavern of her mouth. She paused when she saw me, then glanced to her right.
I followed her gaze and saw a tiny man sitting behind a huge desk. It was hard to judge, because he was sitting down, but he couldn’t have been more than five feet in height. He had a mass of greying hair, cruel little eyes and a curl to his mouth that said mess with me and you’ll be very sorry indeed. He was wearing a pinstripe grey suit and a dark blue shirt and tie. He had a little moustache under his nose that looked as if a centipede had crawled there and died. I took an instant dislike to him.
‘Who the hell are you?’ the little guy asked me, in a surprisingly deep voice.
Deciding not to take offence at his tone, I said mildly, ‘I’m Blaine. You rang. Said you had something that might interest me.’
‘Blaine, Blaine …’ He looked over at the woman on the sofa. ‘You know anything about a Blaine, Gertie?’
Gertie shovelled in another spoonful of yoghurt, then let the tub rest on her mound of stomach. ‘He’s the private dick,’ she told Tiny Tim. ‘You found him in the Yellow Pages.’
‘I take it you’re Bertie Boyer,’ I said, moving to stand in front of the desk. ‘Owner of the Purple Pussy nightclub and husband of Gertie here.’
‘Husband?’ Gertie said. ‘That’s one for the birds. When are you going to make an honest woman of me, anyway, you little squirt? We’ve been engaged now since Jesus was a lad.’
‘There’s a time and a place to discuss that,’ Boyer told her sourly. ‘And it’s definitely not now. Why don’t you take your fat backside out of here and go help Denise get the place ready for tonight?’
‘Why don’t you go and take a running jump? Preferably off the side of a cliff. And you know Denise and me are not talking. Ever since I found the two of you together in here the night before last.’
‘I’ve told you, we were discussing the stock market —’
‘With your arm around her and your tongue stuck in her ear?’
Getting fed up with this family argument, I broke in. ‘I’d love to stand here and do referee, but I have some other business to attend to. Maybe you could continue this later and in the meantime fill me in on whatever it is you want me to do?’
They glared at one another. Finally Gertie shoved herself off the sofa and padded out the door. A hippopotamus couldn’t have done it more gracefully.
‘Women,’ Boyer muttered, shaking his head. I waited hopefully to see if the centipede moustache would fall off, but it stayed attached. He waved a hand at a straight-backed chair. ‘Take the weight off your feet,’ he said. ‘I don’t like people looking down at me.’
I did as I was bid, the chair creaking slightly as I planted myself in it. Then I sat back to listen to Bertie Boyer’s tale of woe.
Chapter Four
‘I run a very popular joint here,’ Bertie stated. ‘We get all sorts coming to let their hair down. Doctors, lawyers, judges. Even some members of the government …’
‘I’ve heard the Taoiseach and the President have been seen dancing here together,’ I said drily.
Bertie gave me a dirty look.
‘If you don’t believe me, come around tonight and see for yourself. The place’ll be jumping.’
‘I’m afraid I’m past all that. A family man, don’t you know. With responsibilities. And in a very short time I have to pick up my baby daughter from her crèche. So I’d be grateful if you’d get the finger out and tell me what you want me to do.’
For a moment Bertie looked as if he was about to jump across the desk and catch me by the throat. But he thought better of it, and instead said, ‘Are you into the strong-arm stuff? You look as if you’ve mixed it a bit in the past. That’s a pretty lived-in face you’re wearing.’
‘I only use it during the day to scare off muggers. I’ve a much better-looking one for night-time.
‘Yeah. Well, the thing is that I’ve got a problem with some hard cases who are demanding protection money from me. They say if I don’t pay up they’ll torch the place, with me ending up as burnt toast.’
‘And Gertie the marmalade to go on it?’
‘Whatever.’
I crossed my legs and leaned back. Normally I wouldn’t touch something like this with a forty-foot pole. But I was badly in need of some readies and there wasn’t any other work on the horizon.
‘What exactly d’you want me to do?’ I asked. ‘I’ll tough it out if I have to, but only after I’ve tried talking the other fellow to sleep first.’
‘Well, that’s exactly what I want you to do. Go and talk to these guys. Reason with them. And then when