‘You can’t read,’ Mac said. ‘It was on the telly, you should’ve seen it.’
‘Ugh, cat food.’
‘And pills and wine. They were zonked out most of the time.’
‘Humane, I’d call it.’ Mac gave his pot to Sharon again, patting her bum as she got up by way of apology for insulting her intelligence. Sharon swung her behind like a stripper on her way across to the bar. I’d been barking up the wrong tree trying to needle Mac. The talk had cheered him up; no-one was going to feed him cat food and cheap wine.
Mahoud got herself a tonic water and stayed near the window, sipping it. She didn’t look as if she had come to much harm in the time that had passed since Manfred sent her off for the van. The bruise on the side of her face had faded and I realised how misleading my description of her had been. The light in the house of horrors and the whole context had led me to exaggerate her mean, foxy look but out in the street, wearing those androgynous clothes, nobody would take a second look at her. She certainly didn’t look like a mass murderer. But then, neither had John Reginald Christie. One thing was certain, though; if she had any money on hand, she’d better watch it because I had the feeling that Mac around money was like a shark around offal. Maybe I could use that somehow. I moved the bad leg stiffly.
‘What was that about his knee?’ Mahoud asked.
‘Badly twisted,’ Bob said. ‘He’s got a sort of brace on it.’
Mahoud’s face took on some animation for the first time.
‘Manny did that,’ she said softly. ‘I’d like to twist it back the other way.’
‘Why not?’ Bob said. Sharon seemed to like that; she tried to sip and laugh at the same time and a cough was the result.
‘You’re too young to drink,’ I said.
‘You shut up!’ Mac snapped. ‘There’s a little package deal on here, Hardy, for your information. Miss Mahoud needs some documents which I can supply because she’s got the do-re-mi. She’s paid a bit more to meet up with you again. I was curious about you, too. My curiosity’s satisfied.’
‘Mine isn’t,’ I said. ‘And the cops aren’t far off. Bob only dropped some of them. They doubled up.’
‘Crap!’ Mac had his beer going down again and that always seemed to cheer him. ‘That’s garbage. You’re shit scared, anyone could see that. The cops are so short-handed they shit in shifts. You dumped them, Bob. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll be saying goodnight, Hardy. Bob and Terry can handle the rest of it, Miss Mahoud.’
She put her glass down hard. It made a ringing noise that swung every eye in the room her way.
‘No, I don’t trust them,’ she said, fiercely. ‘And I don’t trust you. He might be telling the truth about the policemen. I want you there too, Mr Mac’
‘Listen,’ Mac snarled. ‘I don’t do this sort of thing, not any more. You’ve got two good men and you’ve got my word.’
‘No, you come or no money.’
Bob stepped up, but Mac signalled him back. Smelly Terry used the diversion to sneak himself a drink at the bar. Sharon glared at him, but Mac drank some more beer and appeared to be thinking. He wiped his mouth and got up. I read volumes in that, and none of it good for Mary Mahoud. ‘All right,’ Mac said heavily. ‘You can come, too, Sharon.’
‘No!’ she squeaked. ‘No, I don’t want to.’
Mac slapped her twice. He swivelled to do it in the way wrestlers do, and he put some of that bulk into it. The girl staggered and he caught her.
‘I don’t want any unpleasantness, Sharon. Just do everythink you’re told.’
He didn’t include me in that. I was already beginning to feel that I wasn’t there, wasn’t anywhere.
‘Where are we going?’
Mac grinned at me and looked across at Bob.
‘I don’t think the place has a name,’ Bob said.
They bustled about collecting car keys and cigarettes, like people getting ready for a picnic. Terry picked up a slice of pizza and tucked it away. Mac looked at him indulgently; Terry was evidently going to come into his own soon, and I doubted that his speciality was bird calls.
We made quite a crowd in the lift. Sharon edged away from Terry for obvious reasons, but no-one else seemed to mind his lack of personal freshness. Bob carried himself admirably-loose and unencumbered, leaving himself plenty of space to do whatever was called for. Mac was grim-faced, Mahoud looked edgy and I had to concentrate on keeping upright.
Terry scouted the car park and gave Bob the high sign. Mac handed Terry his keys.
‘Get the Merc over here,’ he said.
Then there was a shout and two shots and bodies were moving apart as if a great, sharp blade was slashing at them. I dived for the ground, the knee screaming as I went. An interior light in a car positioned near the Commodore flashed on and I saw Freddy Ward’s arm jerk up. There was a shot from behind and above me-I guessed from Bob-and the windscreen of Ward’s car was starred. Two rapid shots came from another direction and there was a grunt behind me. I thought I might as well make my contribution and I scrabbled at my trouser leg. Someone shouted ‘Stop!’ There was another shot and then echoes and then silence.
A voice, close to my ear asked, ‘What are you doing, Cliff?’
I let go of my pants, swore and turned my head to see Roger Wallace of the Wallace Brown Agency. He stands about six foot four in his three-piece suit.
‘Hello, Rog,’ I croaked. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
‘Word gets around, Cliff. When Freddy got out the guns and came after Mac, I knew you’d be in the middle. You owe me money; I had to take steps to protect it.’
‘I’m glad you did. Who shot who?’
He helped me up and I leaned against a Rover which felt solid enough to prop me up.
‘Let’s see.’ He lifted his head and looked across the neon-lit concrete. ‘Ward shot one of McLeary’s boys. He’s dead. One of my boys shot a guy in Ward’s car. He’s not dead.’
Freddy Ward and another man were standing by the car with the broken windscreen. One of Roger’s operatives was covering them a bit dramatically with a pistol. Ward looked pale and gaunt under the light. I blew him a kiss and his face went stony. I couldn’t see Rex or Tal. Behind me Terry was standing stock still near the lift, his hands reaching up for the illuminated sign that said ‘Elevator’. Another of Roger’s men was watching him but dividing his attention between Terry and a huddle on the ground that was bright and dark and making sobbing noises.
I limped over and saw that it was Mac with his head in Sharon’s lap. I looked at Roger and he shook his head.
‘Not shot. Heart, I think. Ambulance on the way.’
Bob’s legs were sticking out from behind a car. Those big bullets push hard.
‘Did you see a dark woman with us, Roger?’
‘Quickest mover I ever saw. She took off.’ He pulled out a packet of Marlboro and offered them. I put out my hand, remembered and pulled it back. I shook my head and other parts of me were shaking as well.
‘Cliff,’ Roger blew a stream of smoke in Terry’s direction. ‘What were you doing with your strides down there on the ground?’
‘It’s going to rain,’ I said. T was scratching my knee.’
26
The cops had never had so many licensed, bonded private detectives together in the one place at the one time before, and they made the most of it. The scene at Police Headquarters was like something out of Colombo and the cops swaggered or bumbled around, according to how they cast themselves. Roger Wallace got through it all with an icy smile on his face. His men frazzled a little towards the end and I frazzled a lot as my leg hurt me
