Tony Black - Long Time Dead

Hod appeared. ‘Right, let’s mush.’ He looked none too charmed. Pissed, even.

‘Who stole yer toffee?’ I said.

He marched off down the road, headed for the bus stop. There was no sign of the contract.

‘Well, are we in business or not?’

‘Y’wha’?’

I put a hand out, stopping him in his tracks. ‘Are we on Her Ladyship’s books?’

Hod knocked my arm away, slumped off again. ‘Like fuck.’

‘Eh? She didn’t sign the contract, then?’

A grunt, bit of a tut. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’ll take that as a no.’

Hod spun, fronted me, ‘She’s running the contract past her lawyer.’

‘Well, what did you expect?’

‘A bit more professionalism.’

‘Sounds fair enough to me… Think because you get a few cards printed up yer Duncan fucking Bannatyne? Grow sense, man.’

Hod took off again. ‘Yeah, well… that’s the good news.’

Didn’t like the sound of that. Had been put to me as a done deal, easy money. Suddenly that image collapsed like a house of cards.

‘Good news? What’s the bad?’

‘She didn’t go for the expenses either… and our retainer’s only two hundred a day.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Exactly.’ Hod took out his phone, pressed it to his ear. ‘I did push for a bumped-up bonus, though. Might be an idea to flush out a speedy result, Gus.’

Speedy result. This was a suspicious death we were talking about, not some fucking shunt and punt for Tam’s Hot Car Lot. There was no quiet road to the truth, I knew that from bitter experience. This was added pressure I could do without.

‘Yo, Mac,’ Hod barked into the phone, ‘get yer skanky arse down here and give us a lift, eh.’ He gave out the location, hung up. ‘He’s on his way.’

Didn’t fancy bussing it again, felt relieved. Sparked up a Lambert and Butler and watched swirls of smoke make for the sky. The sun peeked out through the clouds, put a few rays about. Felt unnatural. But the city always did at Festival time. Could almost feel the crusty carnival spreading down from the Mile; the rattle of piercings and Home Counties accents a heady mix.

Hod calmed, seemed deep in thought. He didn’t look as if he was thinking about the case. It was a my arse is on the line expression.

Chugged on the tab, said, ‘What about that performance in there, then?’

Hod scratched his chin. Held schtum.

I went on, ‘Yon Tina’s playing her cards close to her chest.’

He laughed, ‘Like she’s a choice… her arms are only three feet long!’

I welcomed the return of humour. ‘You get the impression she’s…’

‘Got something to hide?’

‘Yeah. Or maybe, I dunno, is pulling on an altogether different set of levers to Gillian.’

Hod put his back against the wall, sighed. ‘So, what you thinking?’

I was thinking we didn’t have much to go on, that I didn’t know where to start. ‘The university’s gonna be pleased to see us.’

‘They won’t welcome any digging around, that’s for sure. Stuffy old place like that, they’ll not be putting out the red carpet.’

‘Far fucking from it.’

Hod turned. ‘You think they’ll be awkward?’

I knew for sure they’d be that; what I didn’t know was how I was going to get around it. All my previous encounters with academia had ended in abject failure; I’d have to work smarter – the nick of me, harder sure as hell wasn’t an option.

‘You see much of Amy these days?’ I asked. Amy had been a trainee reporter of mine back in the day, till she got ideas about practising a little more than shorthand with me… on the company’s time. She’d been punted, then resurfaced with a passion to pick up where she’d left off. But Hod had got keen on her and saved me the trouble of holding her at bay.

‘Amy?… Not in months. Why ask?’

‘Well, last I heard she was a student.’

‘Yeah… at the uni,’ said Hod. He took his hands out his pockets, pointed at me. ‘You thinking what I think you’re thinking?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Honey trap?’

I had to laugh. What was this, espionage? ‘Shit no, man. I was thinking she might be able to do a bit of groundwork, maybe sniff out the word around campus.’

Hod shook his head. ‘I don’t know…’

‘What?’ I was scoobied. This was a perfect opportunity to make an in, both for the case and for him.

Hod turned down his lip, showing his bottom row of teeth. ‘Do you remember the state she was in last time round?’

She’d went overboard, got herself a pole-dancing gig at a strip joint in the Pubic Triangle, ended up with some cell time and a threat of prostitution charges from plod. Hod was right about one thing: we didn’t want a repeat of that. But she was a smart girl; surely she’d have matured a bit in the intervening years. And this was small-time. I mean, how risky could it be for her to go shake down a few plooky students?

‘That was a different matter entirely, Hod.’

He looked away. ‘If you say so.’

‘What, you don’t? You think I’d put her in any danger?’

He shrugged. Set wide eyes on me. I got the message, loud and clear. Perhaps he was right – women like Amy always complicate matters. I had another idea to get to the facts, but it was a longer shot. Letting him think I was playing safe, said, ‘Okay, maybe we’ll put Amy on the bench for now.’

He seemed genuinely pleased. ‘Good, I think that’s for the best.’ Could tell he was still keen on the girl; another complication I could do without.

As I put my tab under the sole of my Doc Marten, white-van man screeched into the street at speed. It was Mac.

‘This our wheels?’ Was a Bedford Midi, white, but wearing almost as much rust. ‘Jesus Christ…’

Mac leaned out the window. ‘Your chariot awaits.’

We looked at him, said nowt. Took the sliding door and got in. Mac gunned it, Hod and I rolled onto our sides in the back.

‘Mac, cool the fucking beans, eh,’ shouted Hod.

‘Aye, okay, okay… It’s a bit jumpy in the low gears. Needs a servicing.’

‘Don’t we fucking all… but just keep the heid, eh.’ Hod brushed dust from his coatsleeve. ‘So, you were saying…’

‘What we want is an inside track.’

‘Come again?’

‘Some way of getting amongst the students and fishing out what the word is.’

‘Well, we’re both a bit long in the tooth for that gig. Don’t think we’d even pull off the mature student act.’

Mac shouted back to us, ‘What the fuck are you pair jabbering about?’

‘A job.’

‘What?’

‘We’re on a job… at the university.’

Mac laughed it up. ‘Only job you pair of widos will find at the university will be as fucking jannies!’

Hod’s eyes beamed, a smile split his face. ‘I think he’s onto something.’

Got my vote. Said, ‘Maybe you’re right.’

GOT OFF THE BUS AT North Bridge. Had managed two steps before some skanky yoof with a lip piercing started to seriously agg me, walking backwards waving fliers for a comedy gig. Got to love Festival time. I tried to walk around him, went left, then right. Wasn’t happening. Skinny jeans and Converse All Stars working overtime to keep up.

‘What’s your comedy passion, geezer?’

Did he just call me geezer? ‘Comedy passion… Go away and find sense, lad.’

Undeterred: ‘You look like a serious man. Political satire, I’m guessing?’

‘What’s that… Harpo Marx?’

Still undeterred, those matchstick legs doubled their pace. He wasn’t giving up. But he was new to this patter, I had that sussed early on. Turning my stride towards the edge of the pavement, I subtly steered Student Grant at the pile of cardboard boxes outside Argos. His legs actually managed to fly in the air at the same time as he hit them. His arse thudded into the boxes like an anvil falling on Wile E. Coyote. Managed a laugh; almost felt grateful to him for that. Not grateful enough to help him pick up the fliers that floated into the gutter though.