Ли Чайлд - Belfast Noir

“What the hell’s so funny?”

Lipstick pointed at Karl’s legs. “You really are wearing pyjamas . . .”

* * *

“Look at the state of you,” Naomi said, placing a steaming cup of coffee by the sofa Karl was stretched out on. “What time did you get in?”

“About an hour ago,” Karl replied, yawning, reaching for the coffee. Black circles were developing under his bloodshot eyes.

“Couldn’t you’ve at least phoned, let me know where you were? I was worried sick when you didn’t come back.”

“If you remember, I was in a hurry. I left my bloody mobile behind. Now, can I drink this coffee in peace before it goes cold?”

Naomi’s face flushed. She looked on the verge of intensifying the verbal jousting. Instead, she clicked on the digital radio, sat down at the breakfast table.

A song on the radio ended and seconds later the local news came on: “ A man, said to be known by police, was shot dead in his flat in the Sandy Row area of the city this morning. A quantity of drugs were discovered at the scene, and —”

Naomi turned the radio off. “More grim news.”

“Is there ever anything else in this bastarding place? Even when the sun shines, it’s dark. Belfast is God’s own private joke of perverse nastiness.”

“Why are you so cranky this morning?”

“Possibly because this morning I’ve had little sleep, waiting in a sardine-filled emergency room with Lipstick.”

“What? Why didn’t you say something?”

“You didn’t give me time, did you, with your interrogation?”

“What . . . what happened?”

“A steroid-induced scumbag beat the crap out of her, over in the Europa. That’s what happened.”

“God, Karl, is she okay?”

“Her face looks terrible, but the doctor said she should be okay in a couple of weeks. She’s lucky not to be scarred for life. Lucky to be alive, if you ask me.”

“What about the thug who did it? Was he arrested?”

“Lipstick didn’t want the cops brought into it. I even had to make up a cock-and-bull to the nurse, who probably thought I was the one who did it. Sitting in the waiting room wearing pyjamas didn’t help, either. The looks I was getting, as if I was some sort of perv.”

“Did the thug get away?”

“Let’s just say I had a ball of a time with what little balls he had to boast about. He’ll be pissing glass for weeks. If it hadn’t been for Lipstick appealing to my gentler nature, he would’ve had more broken bones than Evel Knievel.”

Naomi’s forehead furrowed. “Where’s Lipstick now?”

“In the spare bedroom.”

“ What? Couldn’t you’ve told me this before now?”

“Don’t start all that again. Anyway, bringing her back to her place wasn’t an option. She took a couple of painkillers. Hopefully she’s sleeping.”

Naomi got up quickly. “I’ll check she’s okay.”

Karl eased his tired body off the sofa. Took a deep gulp of coffee. “I’m away to get a wash and shave before we open up for business. I just hope the day gets a lot better.”

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Karl was just leaving the office to place a quick bet on a sure-hit-impossible-to-lose horse, when a car pulled up alongside him. The driver beeped the horn before getting out. He was young, hair combed back in a fashion long gone. Despite his age, there was something world-weary in his demeanour.

“Didn’t you see the sign at the corner?” Karl said. “This is a no-noise zone. I should call the cops. Oh, sorry, I forgot. You are a cop, Detective Chambers.”

“I need to talk to you, Mr. Kane. Urgently.”

“It’ll have to wait. I only have a minute to get this bet done.” Karl pointed at the William Hill betting shop across the street.

“That’s okay. I can wait here for you to return.”

“I bet you a fiver you can’t.” Karl smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Just then, a female traffic warden came up behind Chambers. “Which of you two gentlemen owns the car?”

“It’s mine,” Chambers said. “Why?”

“Can’t you see the double yellow line?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You can’t wait or park here.”

Chambers’s hand went to his inside pocket and produced a small brown wallet containing his police ID. “I’m a policeman.”

“Then you should know better. Now, move the car right now, otherwise I’ll have it towed.”

Karl let out a loud laugh. “Belfast doesn’t know the meaning of the word protocol when it comes to making money.”

A chastised Chambers got back inside and started the car.

“That’s a fiver you owe me,” Karl said, making his way quickly to the bookies.

Ten minutes later, Karl reappeared, tearing up a docket.

“Any luck?” Chambers asked.

“The nag went down at the first hurdle. A hundred quid gone like a fart in the wind. Talking of farts, what little harassment operation has my devious ex-brother-in-law sent you on?”

“Inspector Wilson has nothing to do with this. He’s in Edinburgh at the moment.”

“Hope the bastard stays there.”

“This is an off-the-record meeting. Can we go back to your office and talk?”

“So you can eye Naomi? Not a hope.”

Chambers’s face flushed. “We got a complaint from the Europa. A guest by the name of Graham Butler got a bad beating during the night. Apparently, Mr. Butler didn’t want it disclosed, but when the day-shift manager returned this morning, he immediately reported it to us as required by law.”

“Long story short?”

“What?”

“Get to the point. I’ve a hundred quid to get back from Billy Hill.”

“I checked the hotel’s CCTV. You were seen clearly on it, you and Miss Sharon McKeever—or Lipstick, as she refers to herself.”

“Is there a crime in that?”

“I suspect Miss McKeever was there for a sexual encounter.”

“She’s an adult. She can do whatever she damn well—”

“I believe something bad happened in Butler’s room, and you were called in to help her, knowing the history between you two.”

Karl bristled. “History? What the hell’s that suppose to mean?”

“She saved you from being killed by Peter Bartlett. That’s more than enough for you to be indebted to her.”

Karl glanced at his watch. “Unless you’re planning to arrest me, I’m going back inside and—”

“Graham Butler is a very dangerous individual. A well-known criminal boss from the East End. At the moment, he’s suspected of meeting with drug dealers over here, hoping to extend his so-called empire.”

“I appreciate what you’re telling me, and sticking your neck out.”

“Just make sure you avoid him. We’re hoping to send Butler back to London, first chance we get.”

“I doubt Butler will come anywhere near me. He doesn’t look like that stupid a man.”

“One other thing. A journalist from the Sunday Exposé has been talking to some of the staff at the hotel. Don’t be surprised if the newspaper contacts you.”

“I doubt very much they’ll contact me. Only interesting people help them sell more copies of their rag.”

Chambers turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Karl said.

“Forgetting something?” Chambers looked puzzled. “What?”

“The fiver you owe me.”

* * *

Sunday morning. Bucketing out of the heavens. Inside Karl’s bedroom. Karl sitting at the table, typing his latest unappreciated manuscript on his beloved Royal Quiet DeLuxe typewriter. Actually, there was little typing being done as Karl continued staring blankly at a blank page. His fingers hovered nervously over the keys, like a helicopter trying to land on a house of cards. A couple of times his fingers landed briefly on the keys, only to quickly pull away, as if touching acid. Behind him, Naomi sprawled out in the middle of the bed, reading the morning newspapers.