Russell Hoban - Linger Awhile

‘Are you enjoying this?’ I said to him.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I get tired of the same old thing day after day.’

‘So do I,’ I said, ‘but you get your kicks in this nice clean air-conditioned lab while I wear myself out catching the villains and villainesses.’

‘If you’d had better A Levels you might have got into medical school and then maybe you’d be working in a lab too,’ said Wilbur.

‘Careful,’ I said. ‘The next big hopping thing that comes after you might be me.’

Wilbur got quiet then and concentrated on his work. I think his bufotoxin trip was still fresh in his mind. As for me, I had to tear myself away and go looking for new dots to connect.

31 January 2004. The doorbell woke me a little after nine in the morning. Irv was still asleep and snoring peacefully. ‘Who is it?’ I said over the intercom.

‘Well, it ain’t Little Joe the wrangler,’ said J Two.

Afraid to think of what she might have been doing since she went out last night, I went down to let her in. She looked a mess and there were spatters of blood all down the front of her. ‘They got the gold,’ she said. ‘I was too late to stop them. Where’s my horse?’

‘You haven’t got a horse,’ I said. ‘You’re not in a film now, you’re in London.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘How come he knew my name?’

Irv was with us by then. ‘Who?’ he said. ‘Who knew your name?’

‘The old guy who came on to me in Gaby’s Deli.’

‘What’d he say to you?’ I asked her.

‘He talked crazy, said he’d brought me into the world and wanted to know why I wasn’t in Geldings Green.’

‘Golders Green? Oh my God,’ I said, ‘that was Istvan. What happened then?’

‘Nothing right then, only after I threw up I didn’t feel so good and when I saw his neck I went for it. How the hell was I to know?’

‘Know what?’ said Irv.

‘That he’d run dry so soon. I never meant to empty him.’

‘You killed him?’ I said.

‘I guess you could say that — he passed out while I was still trying to get a little nourishment out of him and that’s all she wrote.’

‘Oh God,’ I said, ‘it’s all my fault. I wanted to teach him a lesson and this is what I did.’

‘You didn’t do it alone,’ said Irv. ‘I was in it with you from the beginning, and before that I was the one who got Istvan into this whole Justine thing, so I’m guiltier than you are. If I hadn’t gone to his place with a bottle of Bowmore Cask Strength Islay Malt he might be alive today.’

‘His last words,’ said J Two, ‘were, “That’ll teach me to let Irv Goodman give me a bottle of Scotch.”’

‘Thank you,’ said Irv. ‘How wonderful to have his last words to cherish.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘we did a bad thing but beating ourselves up about it isn’t going to bring Istvan back. Maybe we can move on to doing a good thing.’

‘Like what?’ said Irv.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. J Two had fallen asleep in a chair and was snoring loudly. We were both looking at her and our eyes met.

‘Well,’ said Irv. ‘That’s why they put erasers on pencils, isn’t it.’

31 January 2004. We hadn’t been around to Hermes Soundways since Fallok’s death, so that was where PS Locke and I went next. Bingo, there were two people inside, Irving Goodman and a woman whom I hadn’t seen before. When Locke knocked they had to open, and when I’d identified myself to the woman I said, ‘Now then, who are you?’

‘Grace Kowalski,’ she said.

‘Do you know anything about the death of Istvan Fallok?’ I said.

‘I think I do,’ she said. Goodman just stood there shaking his head and looking miserable.

‘You think you do,’ I said to Kowalski. ‘Discuss.’

‘We were told about Istvan’s death by the one who apparently caused it.’

‘ Apparently ?’ I said. ‘ Who apparently?’

‘Justine …’ she said.

‘Two,’ said Goodman.

‘Justine too?’ I said. ‘Justine also?’

‘Justine Number Two,’ said Kowalski.

‘Are you telling me there are two Justines?’ I said. ‘Are they twins?’

‘Not born that way,’ said Goodman.

‘I see,’ I said, ‘they weren’t born as twins but they became twins later in life. If I had the time to be amused I’d probably find the two of you strangely entertaining, but I haven’t the time, and unless you both start talking straight you’re going to be in a whole lot of trouble. Now, on my command: Speak!’

‘You won’t believe us,’ said Kowalski. ‘What we’re going to tell you sounds impossible.’

‘In my line of work I sometimes have to believe six impossible things before breakfast,’ I said. ‘Stop stalling and start talking.’

‘Both Justines were reconstituted from the magnetic particles of a videotape,’ said Goodman. He stopped and waited for me to say something.

‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’

‘Once the particles were in a suspension of disbelief,’ said Kowalski, ‘ingredients were added to make a primordial soup which was then zapped with 240 volts of electricity to precipitate the whole flesh-and-blood person.’

‘Is that it?’ I said.

‘Briefly,’ said Goodman. ‘If we get technical it’s a long story.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said. ‘We can return to this later, but at the moment I’m more interested in Justine Two’s whereabouts.’

‘We don’t know,’ said Kowalski. ‘We were going to …’

‘Restrain her but she’s very violent,’ said Goodman. ‘She chased us out of Grace’s place which is why we came here.’

‘I think she’s probably left there by now,’ said Kowalski.

‘Where is your place?’ I said.

‘In Berwick Street,’ she said. So we went and checked out All That Glisters and the studio flat over it and came up empty.

‘Well,’ I said to Goodman and Kowalski, ‘so much for where she isn’t. Now that you’ve had a little time to think about your story, can you improve on the last version?’

‘You didn’t believe us, did you?’ said Goodman.

‘Did you expect me to?’ I said.

‘What about your six impossible things before breakfast?’ said Kowalski.

‘I was talking about believable impossible things,’ I said. ‘Now, have you anything useful to say about Justine Two?’

‘We’ve told you all we know,’ said Goodman.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Very good.’To PS Locke I said, ‘Book them for perverting the course of justice and hindering a police investigation.’

‘OK, Guv,’ said Locke. He read them their rights, cuffed them, and took them to the nick. It wasn’t much but it was the only way I could relieve my feelings.

1 February 2004. Handcuffs for God’s sake. As if we were violent people. Our arms were crossed with the cuffed wrists spaced apart by a thick plastic bar so that even if I’d had the key in one hand I’d not have been able to use it. Any movement caused pain but when I asked Sergeant Locke to loosen the cuffs he said no. PC Fast pushed our heads down in the regulation manner as we got into the back of an unmarked police car and off we went through Saturday evening streets where Londoners not in handcuffs were starting the weekend in their various ways.

At the police station we went round to the trade entrance and were driven through barred gates to the custody suite. We were taken through a heavy steel gate to the reception area where the custody sergeant sat behind a long counter. It was still early in the evening but the place had an all-night feel and the voices and footsteps were the sound of what is always waiting behind the paper-thin façade of everyday.