Ли Чайлд - Belfast Noir

“Do you have to make so much noise turning those pages, Naomi? How am I expected to concentrate with such a racket going on?”

She peered over the page she was reading, grin hidden. “Writer’s block, my love? Can I help?”

“You can start by dumping those rags you’re reading and get me a cup of coffee.”

“I enjoy reading these. There’s always some juicy gossip to be found.”

Karl made a disapproving sound with his throat. “And the coffee?”

“You didn’t say please.”

“You didn’t have to say please when I went out into the cold-and-wet this morning just to get you your juicy reading.”

“True, but you were only expressing your love and deep gratitude for all the other things I’ve done for you.” Naomi turned a page. “Karl! Sunday Exposé has an article about you and Lipstick.”

“What?” He pushed away from the table.

“It’s not a bad photo of you.”

“Never mind that, let me see what the bastards have made up. Chambers warned me about this.”

“Chambers?”

“You know who I’m talking about. The loverboy detective who fancies you.”

“Stop being silly.”

“Why’re you blushing then?”

Naomi laughed. Patted the bed coaxingly. “Sit beside me. I’ll read the article to you.”

“I don’t really have a lot of time for this . . . but okay.” Feigning reluctance, Karl sat down on the bed, edging over beside Naomi. Her subtle perfume and body warmth tickled his nostrils. He hoped this wasn’t all that would be getting tickled before the morning was over.

“ Local PI Takes on Notorious London Crime Boss , says the wee headline.” Naomi cleared her throat, and continued reading: “ Local private investigator, no-nonsense-taking Karl Kane, sorted out one of London’s most feared crime bosses at the Europa last week, according to one of our inside sources. ”

“ Inside sources , my bollocks. It was that greasy little worm Raymond.”

“ The crime boss—who can’t be named for legal reasons—was left with a broken nose, missing teeth, and a face his own mother wouldn’t kiss .”

“They can name me, but can’t name him?”

“ Apparently, one of Kane’s best friends, a Ms. Sharon McKeever, was left badly beaten, and Kane decided to quid-pro-quo by giving the London thug a good old Belfast punishment. Police say no charges have been brought against Kane because no one has come forward with a complaint . Sunday Exposé hopes the big bad crime boss has learned his lesson about beating up defenceless women in Belfast and elsewhere. Bon voyage back to London, and good riddance.”

“Let me have a look at the picture,” Karl said, secretly chuffed at the report not making him the villain for a change.

“I like it.” Naomi handed over the newspaper. “You’re almost smiling that roguish grin of yours.”

“What roguish grin?” Karl asked, flashing his roguish grin.

“Hopefully this’ll get us some extra business, Karl. Everyone reads Sunday Exposé , even those who pretend they’re too intellectual to be seen dead with it.”

“Before you start getting all philosophical on me, how about that coffee you still owe me?”

Naomi eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’ve something a lot tastier.”

“Does it come in a cup?”

“Two.” Naomi smiled, slowly unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing belonging to Karl. Next came her bra, unhooked from the front, leaving her breasts fully exposed. “Irish coffee or café mocha?”

“Irish.” Karl snuggled closer, kissing her left breast gently and lovingly. “ Bonne bouche.”

“I love it when you talk dirty and French at the same time. Whisper more to me,” Naomi said, helping Karl remove what little garments he was wearing on a rainy Sunday morning in Belfast.

Despite the lousy weather outside, things inside were starting to look sunny for Karl. Very sunny, indeed. Of course, in Karl’s world, sunshine never lasted very long.

* * *

“Any calls while I was out earning a crust on a dreary grey Monday?” Karl began, opening up the day’s mail parked in a wire tray.

“The phone hasn’t stopped. A lady called looking to find out if her husband is cheating on her, and would you investigate it. She’s from the Malone Road, and read the article about you. See, even the well-to-do read Sunday Exposé. ”

“I’m beginning to think you’ve shares in it, the way you keep harping on.”

“Another was from a man claiming his landlord is slowly poisoning his goldfish, just to get him out of his rent-controlled flat. I told them both to call back later in the afternoon.”

The chime on the outside office door jingled. Through the frosted glass of the office, Karl saw a shadow come in and sit down in the reception area.

“Hopefully that’s not the one with the goldfish. I’m not in the mood to listen to a lonely man’s paranoia. I can do that anytime by myself.”

“Stop being so uppity. That’s our bread-and-butter you’re talking about.”

“I’m well aware of that, but I’m the knife who has to carefully slice the bread and spread the butter, sorting time-wasters from genuine clients. Now, if you don’t mind?” Karl indicated with his chin toward the reception.

Naomi lifted her ample derrière off the desk, and headed out the door. A few seconds later, she returned.

“A Mr. Carlisle needs to talk to you. Face looks messed up, pretty ugly. Says he’s hoping for help in locating a missing person. Shall I show him in?”

“You explained of course that we normally don’t see anyone without an appointment, because of how busy we are?”

“I’m not in the mood to go along with your charades right now.”

“Okay, give me a few seconds, then send him in.”

Karl quickly picked up the phone and started talking into it, just as a man walked in.

“No, I’m sorry, Lord Mayor, but right now I can’t take any new cases for at least a month or . . .” Karl’s voice trailed off. He set the phone down and glared at the man standing before him. “I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to see me if you knew who it was.” Graham Butler sat down on a chair. His face was ballooned in black and blue. His left eye was totally closed by hyphens of stitches, and his off-kilter nose had an enormous sticking plaster on it.

He looked dreadful. Karl looked pleased.

“And there’s me telling the cops that you wouldn’t be stupid enough to come searching for me.”

From an inside pocket, Butler removed a large envelope. Opened it. Produced the clipping from the Sunday Exposé . Slid it across the desk. “I’ve become very interested in this man.”

Karl held the clipping in his hand. “Good-looking guy. Looks the type you wouldn’t want to fuck with.”

“I didn’t know who you were until one of my associates showed me this. Now you have no hiding place.”

“Who’s hiding? The only hiding I remember is the one I gave you, mate .”

Butler’s face gave an almost imperceptible twitch. “You Irish have a saying, Kane: Every dog is brave on its own doorstep . Describes you perfectly. There’ll be a time you’ll face me on equal terms, not taking me by surprise or when I’m naked and defenceless.”

“There’s another part of that old saying you forgot to mention: Only a stupid dog leaves its doorstep. ”

Butler tried smiling, but it was obvious he was in pain. “In a strange way, I like you, Kane. You’ve got balls.”

“More than I can say about you.” Karl pointed at the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to see a man about a goldfish.”