for Squaresville. Like I’ve smoked myself, man, when I was up in the Smoke, and you won’t never stop it. If you could’ve done you would’ve.’
‘Lister,’ Gently said, ‘had five sticks in his possession.’
Maureen’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes went to Bixley.
‘Like you’ve answered it, screw,’ Bixley said, still grinning with his teeth. ‘Like he’d been smoking that night. Wouldn’t make him ride good.’
‘You were at that jazz session,’ Gently said.
‘So what does that make?’ Bixley said.
‘You were where you could see if he was smoking. And what he was smoking,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Bixley said, ‘sure. Like I went there just to watch him. Got my chick along, too, but I was watching Johnny Lister.’
‘Which is Anne Wicks?’ Gently asked.
‘That’s my tag,’ said the dark girl. ‘And it’s right what Sid says, we didn’t have no time for Johnny.’
‘There’s sticks about,’ said Deeming quietly. ‘But like where they come from is nobody’s guess. They get passed along from hand to hand, that’s how sticks get into the scene.’
‘Yuh, that’s how,’ Bixley said.
‘Like you touch your pals for them,’ said Deeming.
Gently looked Bixley over. Bixley showed some more of his teeth. The record said he’d been a gang-member two years ago, in Bethnal. There was nothing against him here, Setters had said, skipping a couple of traffic offences. At times he worked as a casual labourer at one or another of the construction sites.
‘You digging me good, screw?’ said Bixley.
Gently gave him his slow nod.
‘We’d have done you up in Bethnal,’ said Bixley. ‘That’s telling you, screw. We’d have done you up.’
Gently puffed. ‘Someone did Lister up.’
It’s a bleeding lie,’ Bixley said.
‘You passed the crash. Yet you didn’t see it.’
‘So like what if I didn’t?’ Bixley said.
‘Elton saw it, and he stopped. But you didn’t,’ Gently said.
‘Just needle me some more,’ Bixley said. ‘Just one more jab from you, screw.’
‘Sid,’ said Deeming, ‘take some ice.’
‘Like who is telling me?’ Bixley asked.
‘Take some ice, Sid,’ Deeming said. ‘And stop behaving like a cornball.’
‘This screw is pushing me,’ Bixley said.
‘Screws,’ Deeming said, ‘are always pushing. But cool it, man, and cool it good. Don’t get hung up over a square.’
‘I don’t go for pushing,’ Bixley said.
‘You listen to Dicky,’ Deeming said.
He got up. He stretched himself. He looked a giant beside Bixley. He patted Bixley on the shoulder, gave him a lazy sort of smile.
‘Go and drop a nickel,’ he said, ‘let’s make with the music again.’
‘Crazy,’ Maureen Elton said. ‘You drop the nickel in, Sid.’
‘I don’t get pushed,’ Bixley said.
‘We all get pushed,’ Deeming said. ‘But you do the cool thing, Sid. Like keep it down and make with the music.’
He started Bixley towards the jukebox. Bixley hung on for a moment, then he went. When he’d set the jukebox thumping he stood beside it looking sulky. Deeming turned back to Gently.
‘Like we could talk it up,’ he said. ‘Over in my pad if that suits you. We could talk it up there.’
‘We could talk what up?’ Gently asked.
Deeming grinned. ‘The scene,’ he said. ‘What a screw should know about it. The real jazz. The cool thing.’
‘I might not get that,’ Gently said.
‘Sure, you’ll get it,’ Deeming said. ‘Then you’ll be all clued-in. Like you’re missing something now.’
He signalled the Italian to come over.
‘Pack us a feed-bag, Tony,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a screw coming to supper, so make it crazy, make it wild.’
Eastgate Street was the old town where it merged into the new, a crooked backstreet slanting into one of the overspill highways. It didn’t show many lights, a lot of the buildings were warehouses, but at the further end were new buildings, office blocks, a filling station. Deeming had rooms over one of the warehouses. They were behind the filling station and looked over it to an overspill neighbourhood. The approach from the street was down a side lane fenced from the filling station with square-mesh netting, then through a door and down an unlit passage to some bare stairs and a landing. Off the landing were two doors, one of them lettered ‘W.C.’, the other opening into two rooms which were the extent of the accommodation. Deeming had struck matches on the way up but inside the second door there was a light switch.
‘What they’d call in the Village a cold-water walk-up pad,’ he said. ‘Like it’s de rigueur with the beatniks, but jeebies aren’t so hung up.’
‘You’ve lived in America, then?’ Gently asked.
‘I had two years there,’ Deeming said. ‘Me, I’m a nowhere sort of cat, but I came from Sidney in the first place. But like I couldn’t groove in that scene and I kept on kicking along eastwards. I went up the islands and across to ’Frisco, then coast-to-coast, then away here. Like I was searching for something, screw, and maybe I’ve found it, maybe I haven’t.’
He plugged in an electric stove, waved his hand to a chair. Then he fetched a plate from a cupboard and unpacked Tony’s sandwiches on to it. The room was large with a high ceiling and had probably been an office once. The walls were painted a yellowing cream and the woodwork brown, which was beginning to blister. The wood floor was naked, was kept swept but not washed. The furniture comprised six bedroom chairs, two tables, two cupboards, a dresser and a bench. At one end was a sink and an old gas-cooker. The windows didn’t have curtains. There was an obsolete typewriter on one of the tables, stacks of paper, typed MS. On the other table was a record player, a record case, a guitar. On the floor and everywhere there were books in piles. Most of the books were new, had review slips sticking out of them.
From the other cupboard Deeming took two balloon glasses and a bottle of Spanish Sauternes. He drew the cork, poured into the glasses, put the plate of sandwiches on the table between them. Then he switched on the player, put a record on the turntable. He turned it down very low. It was Grieg’s piano concerto. He sat down opposite Gently.
‘Like you shouldn’t have kept pressuring Bixley,’ he said. ‘That guy couldn’t have busted off Lister, and he flips his lid in two shakes.’
Gently said nothing. He sipped the Sauternes. Deeming sipped his too.
‘He’s a hothead,’ Deeming continued. ‘We all know about that. He was on a jail kick for pitching. Like it’s easy to see how. But you know something,’ Deeming asked, ‘something that isn’t quite so obvious? We’ve cooled him down since he’s been with us, and like he isn’t pushed, he stays cool. And then there’s nothing wrong with that guy. He keeps it down, he’s a cool jeebie. So don’t go pressuring him unless you have to. We don’t like him ribbed into flipping his lid.’
He looked level with his slate eyes, reached for a sandwich and began to eat.
‘We don’t go for flipping lids at all,’ he said. It’s too square, man. It’s torrid.’
Gently nodded, kept sipping. ‘Where were you on Tuesday?’ he asked.
Deeming finished chewing his sandwich. ‘Up at Tony’s,’ he said. ‘Not busting off Lister.’
‘Have you a bike?’ Gently asked.
‘Sure,’ Deeming said, ‘the mostest going. I ride a Bonneville with all the action, sank a year’s loot in it. But man, it hasn’t a scratch on it, nor any notches on the butt. And Johnny wasn’t bust, you know. Let’s talk up things fundamental.’
‘Murder,’ Gently said, ‘is fundamental with me.’
