Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

“It needs tidying up right enough.”

There’s a small, second-hand jewellers in a near-forgotten lane off Piccadilly Circus. The owner was a small, fidgety man of indeterminate age. As with most London retailers, he treated custom with blatant aggression. His radio was playing, and, to Danny’s delight, Long John Baldy.

The owner gave Danny a sour look.

“What d’you want?”

“Civility would help.”

“What, whatcha say?”

“I want to get a locket and chain, one that looks old.”

“Antique, is it?”

“Did I say antique, did you hear me use the word antique... I said, ‘That looks old’.”

Danny found that a taste of psychosis brought manners to most shopkeepers. That it might also bring the police was a calculated risk.

The owner mellowed a bit.

“I have one that looks old, alright, needs a bit of polish. Could let you have it for thirty-five.”

He produced a very worn locket. Danny opened it. The left frame had a very faded picture. Too hazy to distinguish, even the sex wasn’t evident. It was perfect, he couldn’t have designed better.

“It’s not what I had in mind. I’ll give you twenty.”

“Twenty five and I’ll polish it.”

“Twenty two and I’ll polish it myself.”

The deal was made.

Outside, Danny took the two envelopes he’d lifted from the drug dealer and felt them. PILLS. He was about to sling them when an idea whispered to him, and he put them back in his pocket.

As he walked up Shaftsbury Avenue, the early edition of The Evening Standard was out. The billboards said,

“Vigilante Fever

hits London.”

On the train he read of a series of “events” all over the city. What they called, “copycat” acts. He hadn’t planned on this, but felt it could only be in his interest. A police spokesman described them as, “a dangerous and reckless trend.” The police were pursuing a definite line of enquiry.

“Yea’,” he muttered, “and pigs might fly.”

He stopped at the off-license and bought a bottle of Crème de Menthe and a bottle of brandy.

He rang Nora and got her answering machine. All over the country, no one was home anymore. If they could now arrange for the answering machines to make calls, people need never use the phone at all. The message he left said he’d like to take her to dinner and if she’d like that, he’d be waiting at The Oval cricket ground at 7.

His flat was so Spartan that it didn’t take much tidying. He put fresh sheets on the bed as he said,

“You never know, maybe I’ll get lucky.”

But he didn’t care a whole lot one way or the other.

That evening he put on a pale blue shirt and knitted tie. A dark wool suit, and resisted the impulse to put a hankie in the top pocket. As he inspected himself in the mirror, he said,

“As I live and breathe, it’s Chief Inspector Morse. Thames Valley CID.”

He’d have hummed the signature tune if classical music was hummable. A faint twinge of excitement was building in his stomach, and he called it “wind.”

He got to the Cricket Ground and saw her red car immediately. She opened the door and he got in.

“You look like Morse...”

“Whoa, hold the phones, doesn’t anyone say ‘hello’ anymore.”

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, yourself.”

She was wearing a tight black mini dress with black tights. In the small confines of the car, it was hard not to stare.

“You can look,” she said, “my legs aren’t my worst feature.”

“You can leave the car here, the restaurant is only a few minutes walk.”

He walked on the outside and she gave a smile in radiance. He said,

“It’s how I was reared.”

“You don’t need to explain matters, and rudeness... well, it’s inexplicable.”

A white teenage boy on a skateboard zoomed past them, turned and prepared for a second run. Danny pointed his finger.

“I wouldn’t.”

The kid looked at Danny’s face and tore off in another direction. Nora had been startled and now looked into his eyes.

“Mother of God, you should have seen his face... and yours, you looked like you could kill him.”

“I don’t think I’d have gone that far... but still.”

“Are you serious, you wouldn’t have done anything surely?”

“I’d have broken his right leg.”

“What... oh, you’re smiling, I thought you meant it.”

“So did he.”

She linked his arm and it had a profound effect. If he knew of any gestures more endearing, he couldn’t think of any. A wave of emotion fought with the murderous impulse he’d just experienced. She said,

“You’re shaking.”

“Ah, it’s ah... brisk.”

“I’ll mind yah.”

The restaurant was an infrequent haunt of Danny and Ritchie. Guido, the owner, greeted them warmly.

“Danyello... Senorina. Welcome.”

He seated them at their table, lit the candle with a flourish.

“Ah,” he sighed, “Amore.” He produced a bottle and two glasses, poured out a pale liquid.

Nora was completely charmed and near taken away when Guido presented her with a rose, long-stemmed. He’d even managed a drop of water on the petals. He crooned, “Though not as fair as thee.”

Nora said,

“A bit of a chancer that fella, I’d say.”

“He’s got the moves.”

Guido brought a copy of the late Standard to the table. The front page was dominated by a photo fit of the Vigilante.

Guido exclaimed,

“See, Bellissimo, a true hero. I give him the freedom of my restaurant.”

Nora looked at the photo fit, said,

“This could be half the men in London, or absolutely nobody.”

Danny took a look.

“Bit like the Chancellor of the Exchequer who’s been mugging the country himself.”

“Guido reappeared, order pad in hand. Danny said,

“Let me order for us both.”

She smiled, said,

“I do so like mastery.”

He ordered thus:

   Clams Oreganata

   Linguini fruitti di mare

   Lasagne

   Meat dish pizziada

   Two bottles of Asti Spumanti

Guido was delighted and Nora was mystified.

“Will we be able to eat it, or is just to impress Guido... do you speak Italian?”

“Nora, there are days I can hardly speak English. No, I learnt that from the Godfather movies. Darcy used to love the names. You know how children love repetition. I’d say,

   Linguini

   Valpolicella

   Oreganata

and she’d squeal with delight. It got her to eat dinner, too.”

Nora watched him closely during his story. He was in another place. She said,

“I was thinking of you today, and the horrendous grief you’ve suffered. I haven’t read as much as you, but I do remember things. I once read,

‘Grief can take care of itself

But to have the true value of joy,

You must have somebody to share with.’

I can’t remember who said that.”

Danny was about to say Mark Twain, but thought he’d let her have the moment. She continued,

“I dunno how you survived it.”

“What makes you think I have?”

“Good heavens, no, I don’t mean that, but you’re functional and here and... well, doing things... you know?”

“I’m doing things, that’s the truth.”

Guido came with battalions of food. He spread plates like a man with a winning streak... stood back and shouted,

“Eat... eat... enjoy.”

They did.

After, Guido brought zuppa. He’d laced them with lethal dollops of rum and Nora said,

“How can I drive after these?”