Mr Sixsmith? Is that you?
The voice was if anything pitched lower than the neckless monsters, but undeniably and very pleasingly female. A figure advanced from the shadows of the landing.
Miss Jones? said Joe.
Sort of, said the woman.
She too was wearing a baggy tracksuit, but with the hood up. Now with a little shake of the head she tossed it back to reveal a face he just had time to start to recognize before Whitey made his move. From a standing start he got up to maximum knots in a couple of strides, then leapt up at the womans long throat.
Whitey! yelled Joe in alarm.
But it was too late. The cat hit the woman in the chest, caught his claws in the tracksuit top, relaxed into her cradling arms and lay there, looking up, four paws in the air, purring like a chocolate-box kitten.
It was quite revolting, like Boris Karloff playing Little Lord Fauntleroy.
Now arent you a beauty then? she said, nuzzling her nose against his head.
And Joe said, He thinks so. And arent you Zak Oto, the runner?
Thats right, she said. Are you coming up or do you interview all your clients on the stairs?
In the office, seated on the chair which didnt fall to pieces if you leaned back too hard, Zak Oto said, Sorry about the Miss Jones thing on the answerphone, but I couldnt be certain whod hear the message. Thing is, Mr Sixsmith, Im being threatened and I need someone to take care of it.
She flashed him the multi-megawatt smile which made her as big a hit on billboards and screen as her legs did on the track. She was already the Bloo-Joo girl and word had it that Nymphette were after her to front up their new range of popular sports clothing. Even dressed in a baggy tracksuit she looked a million dollars, which was probably a lot less than she was going to be worth.
Joe was making a production number of looking round his office.
Something up, Mr Sixsmith? she asked.
Just checking theres no one here but me and my cat. Which of us did you see for the job, Miss Oto?
She gave him the smile again, perfect white teeth gleaming in a face so black she made Joe feel like a crypto Caucasian.
Hey, you do jokes too like a real PI.
I am a real PI, said Joe. What Im not is a minder. Im ten pounds over my recommended weight which I cant punch anyway, and though Im growing through my hair, Im short for my size. Youd be better off with Whitey here. Compared with me hes a fighting machine.
The fighting machine snuggled up against the athletes bosom and purred complacently. Joe didnt blame him. In the same position he guessed hed be feeling pretty complacent too.
She said, Perhaps if you just listen to me a moment, Mr Sixsmith?
OK, said Joe. Long as you understand, you may be tipped for a world record next season, but if some guy came after us both with a meat cleaver and bad attitude, youd be looking at my heels.
Now she laughed out loud. It was a real pleasure making her laugh. It came out dark and creamy like draught Guinness and set up a turbulence beneath the tracksuit upon which Whitey bobbed with undisguised sensuality.
Must try that some day, she said. But seriously, Mr Sixsmith, Im not here looking for a minder. Ive got all the minder I need. You probably saw him downstairs.
No neck and ears like Chinese mushrooms?
Thats him. He really is called Jones. Starbright Jones.
Starbright? Youre joking?
You think thats funny, youd better keep it to yourself, she said. Hes Welsh and doesnt care to be laughed at.
Sorry, said Joe, who knew all about racial sensibilities. So if youve got Mr Jones, what are you doing here?
Trying to tell you what Im doing here, she said with an irritation which didnt make her any the less attractive. Starbrights fine for fighting off trouble if and when it happens. What I really want is someone wholl take care of the ifs and the whens. Someone wholl stop it happening.
She paused. Joe nodded encouragingly though he didnt much care if she went on talking or not. Miss Poetry in Motion the papers called her, but even in repose a man could spend his time less poetically than just staring at her. From her earliest appearances on the track shed been the pride of Luton, a pride not dinted when last autumn, after equalling the British 800 metres record, instead of starting an art foundation course at South Beds Institute, she had accepted a sports scholarship in the Fine Arts Faculty of Vane University, Virginia. Word from over the water was that her American coach wanted her to move up to the mile and 1500 metres, and was forecasting she would be rewriting the record books in the next couple of seasons. Locals would have the chance to make their own assessment on New Years Day at the grand opening of the new Luton Pleasure Dome. With its art gallery, theatre, olympic-size swimming pool, go-kart track, climbing wall, cinema, skating rink and sports hall, the Plezz, as it was known, had carved a huge chunk out of both the green belt and the councils budget. But with the towns own golden girl not only performing the official opening, but also running in an invitation 1000 metres on the indoor track it would take a very bold environmental or economic protester to attempt disruption.
Joe realized the girl hadnt just paused, she was waiting for him to ask an intelligent PI-type question.
He said, Miss Oto
Call me Zak, she said. And Ill call you Joe. OK?
Zak. Funny name, but he didnt need to ask where it came from. The papers had told him her real name was Joan, but when she started running almost as soon as she started walking, her athletics-mad father had started referring to her proudly as my Zatopek which her childish tongue had rendered as Zak.
OK. Zak, this being threatened you mentioned, is this just a general feeling you have or something specific?
She said. You worried I may just be another neurotic woman, Joe?
Just encouraging you to tell me what youre doing here, Zak, he said.
Im trying. OK, you know Im running at the Plezz New Years Day?
Does Rudolf know its Christmas? said Joe.
She didnt smile but went on, Boxing Day, I got a call. It was sort of a husky voice, maybe a woman trying to sound like a man, or couldve been a man trying to sound like a woman
What did it say? urged Joe.
It said, wasnt Christmas a wonderful time with everyone trying to help everybody else out, and this was why she was ringing lets call it her, OK? because some friends of hers wanted to do me a great big favour, and theyd expect nothing in return except a very little favour from me. Well, by now I was beginning to think Id got myself a weirdo. They come crawling out once your name gets in the papers, you know.
So whyd you keep on talking? asked Joe.
I got curious, I guess. Besides she didnt sound threatening. Just the opposite, nice and concerned. She said shed heard about the Nymphette deal you know about that?
I saw something in the papers, said Joe. Tell me.
Its just something my agents setting up. Nymphette do perfume and cosmetics, but now theyre branching out into a range of casual and sportswear and they want me to be front girl for them. Wear the scent and model the clothes.
Its just something my agents setting up. Nymphette do perfume and cosmetics, but now theyre branching out into a range of casual and sportswear and they want me to be front girl for them. Wear the scent and model the clothes.
I look forward to the commercial, said Joe gallantly. So what did your caller have to say about this?
Just that she hoped nothing would happen to stop me clinching the deal. Like I say, she sounded really nice. Even when she told me the little favour her friends wanted, it came over so reasonable sounding, I had to ask her to say it twice.
So what was it? asked Joe.
She said her friends would be very grateful if I didnt win the race on New Years Day.
Shoot, said Joe. Some little favour! So what was the big favour she was going to do in return?
She said that her friends would let me have the rest of my career and my family the rest of their lives, said Zak Oto.
Joe shook his head sadly. It would have been nice to work for and with Zak, but he knew a no-no when he saw one.
He said, Listen, Im sorry, but this is one for the cops. Its probably nothing, just some nutter, but go to the police anyway, just to be safe. Get them poking around and if there is anything serious behind all this, the people concerned will soon get the message the Laws after them
She said not to tell anybody.
She would, wouldnt she? But youre telling me, so that shows youve got enough sense not to be intimidated. Naturally Im flattered Im the first but all the same
Youre not the first, she said. I told Jim Hardiman. Used to be my coach. Now hes the sports director at the Plezz.
And what did he say?
He said to forget it. A nutter. I should train hard and not talk to strangers and let Starbright take care of anyone who got persistent.
Sounds good advice. Why arent you taking it?
Yesterday morning I got these notes.
She handed him two postcards. They both had reproductions of cat paintings on them, one of two kittens watching a snail, the other of a whole family of cats playing with an empty birdcage. He turned them over. No stamps, though one did have a sort of damp mark in the stamp square as if someone had stuck something there. They both had messages printed in red ballpoint.
REMEMBER, YOUVE GOT FANS EVERYWHERE
and
WHEN WE SAY EVERYWHERE THATS EXACTLY WHAT WE MEAN
These dont change things much, said Joe, all professional reassurance.
Yes, they do, said Zak. The first one I found in my locker at the Plezz. Which was locked. The second I found on my pillow when I woke up yesterday morning. I think these people are telling me they can go anywhere, do anything. Like cats.
You dont seem so scared of cats, said Joe, looking enviously at Whitey.
No, but if he was three times as big as me Id be scared, said Zak.
Fair enough, said Joe. So why exactly have you come to me?
Because its the twenty-ninth, which leaves three days till the race. Seems to me my best chance is for someone to find out whats going on in those three days.
Youre probably right. But the people with the best chance of doing that are the cops.
Definitely no, she said with an authority belying her years. They work for the Law. I want someone working for me.
This seemed an odd way of putting it but Joe didnt beat his brain trying to figure out what she meant.
He said, Suppose, as is likely, I cant find anything out in three days?
Then I find out about it myself on the track, she said slowly.
Thats crazy! If youre that worried, why not pull a muscle, catch a cold or something?
The voice told me, dont think of scratching. Ive got to run and lose or else all favours are off. Joe, its not just me thats been threatened. I can hire muscle like Starbright to give me some degree of protection. But someone who can get close enough to leave these notes the way they did isnt going to have any problem targeting my family.
Turning up with me in tow could tip these people youve been talking.
Hell, you not that famous, are you? she smiled. Ill say youre some old friends old uncle whos lost his job and I felt so sorry for you, Ive taken you on as temporary bagman.
That why you chose me, Id fit the part so well? said Joe unresentingly.
No. Positive recommendation, she said, standing up and putting Whitey on the desk despite his plaintive protest. Tell me, Joe, that pic up there, whos it by?
Surprised, because the only picture in his office was the photo of a recovery truck on the free calendar advertising Ram Rays garage, Joe followed her gaze. She was looking at Whiteys tray still perched on the curtain rail above the window.
Sorry, I just stuck it up there to dry he began apologizing.
You mean you did it yourself? Joe, thats really great. Do you exhibit?
No! Look, it was just sort of an accident
Joe, dont put yourself down. Weve had a couple of seminars on the Creative Accident this semester and what comes out of it is that all art is a form of accident, or maybe none of it is, which comes to much the same thing. Will you sell it to me?
No!
It came out a bit explosively and the girl (Joe knew better than to call girls girls these days, but they couldnt put him in jail for thinking it!) looked so tearfully taken aback that Joes soft heart ruled his soft head and he heard himself saying, What I mean is, you want it, you take it. Gift from me. And Whitey.
Give credit where its due was a Mirabelle motto.
Well, thank you, Joe, she said, clearly overwhelmed. And thank you too, Whitey.
She picked up the cat from the desk and gave him a big hug.
Story of my life, thought Joe. I do the deals, he gets the profit.
Joe, she said. Ive got to run. Literally. You will take my case, wont you?
Ill take a look at it, he said. But listen, you havent heard my rates
Charge me top dollar, Joe, she said, smiling. Im going to be a millionaire, havent you read the papers? Ill be at the Plezz most of the morning. Come and see me there about twelve thirty. OK?
And she was gone, clutching her tray like a championship trophy.
Joe looked down at the cat postcards shed left on the desk.
Well, I guess Im hired, Whitey, he said. And I dont know whether to be glad or not. This one could be a real problem.
And the cat looked at him with an expression which said, the only real problem youve got is youve just given away my toilet tray, and what the shoot do you intend doing about that?
5
Despite the fact that it was still only nine oclock, breakfast felt a long way away.
Joe popped round the corner to Mr Palamidess hardware shop where he bought a new litter tray in puce plastic. He foresaw trouble with the colour but it was all Mr P had.
OK, it does shout at you, he said to Whitey. But have you seen the new gents at the Glit?