Partner, I interjected. Twenty-nine, remember? Not a girl any more.
He ignored me and steamrollered on. Presumably because Im supposedly dead. And Im supposed to be calm and laid back about it because it was work? he yelled.
Are you going to let me in, or shall I sell tickets? I asked calmly, gesturing over my shoulder with my thumb at the rest of the close. I didnt have to look to know that half a dozen windows would be occupied by now. TV dramas been so dire lately that the locals have taken up competitive Neighbourhood Watching.
Let you in? Why? Are we expecting the undertaker next? Coffin due to be delivered, is it? Richard demanded, thrusting his head forward so we were practically nose to nose. I could smell the sweetness of the marijuana on his breath, see the specks of gold in his hazel eyes. Good technique for dealing with anger, focusing on small details of your environment.
I pushed him in the chest. Not hard, just enough to make him back off. Ill explain inside, I said, lips tight against my teeth.
Well, big fat hairy deal, Richard muttered, turning on his heel and pushing past the two neopunks who were leaning against the wall behind him, desperately trying to pretend they were far too cool to be interested in the war raging around them.
I followed him back into the living room and returned to my seat. Richard sat opposite me, the coffee table between us. He started emptying the contents of the three carrier bags on to the table. Youll find bowls and chopsticks in the kitchen, he said to his giant Gaelic gargoyles. First on the right down the hall. Thats if she hasnt emptied it as well. The redhead left in search of eating implements. This had better be good, Brannigan, Richard added threateningly.
It smells good, I said brightly. Yang Sing, is it?
Never mind the bloody Chinese! I waited for the jolt while the world stopped turning. Never mind the bloody Chinese? From the man who thinks its not food if it doesnt have soy sauce in it? What was that creep doing here? Richard persisted.
Pitching me into a gravestone, I said as the redhead returned and dumped bowls, chopsticks and serving spoons in front of us. I grabbed a carton of hot and sour soup and a spoon.
I realized that. But why here? And why my gravestone? Richard almost howled.
The punk with the Mohican exchanged apprehensive looks with his mate. The redhead nodded. Look, the Mohican said. This mebbe isnae a good time for this, Richard, know what ah mean, but? The Glasgow accent was so strong you could have built a bridge with it and known it would outlast the civilization that spawned it. Once Id deciphered his sentiment, I couldnt help agreeing with him.
We could come back another time, by the way, the redhead chipped in, accent matching. Like aural bookends.
Never mind coming back, youre here now, Richard said. Get stuck in. She loves an audience, dont you, Brannigan? He piled his bowl with fried noodles and beansprouts, added some chunks of aromatic stuffed duck and balanced a couple of prawn wontons on top, then leaned back in his seat to munch. So why am I dead?
He always does it to me. As soon as theres the remotest chance of me getting my fair share of a Chinese takeaway, Richard asks the kind of questions that require long and complicated answers. He knows perfectly well that my mother has rendered me incapable of speaking with my mouth full. Some injunctions you can rebel against; others are in the grain. Between mouthfuls of hot and sour soup so powerful it steam-cleaned my sinuses, I filled him in on the scam.
Then, Richard being too busy with his chopsticks to comment, I went on the offensive. And it would all have gone off perfectly if you hadnt come blundering through the door and blowing my cover sky-high. Two days early, I might point out. Youre supposed to be in Milton Keynes with some band that sounds like it was chosen at random from the Neanderthals dictionary of grunts. What was it? Blurt? Grope? Fart?
Prole, Richard mumbled through the Singapore vermicelli. He swallowed. But were not talking about me coming back early to my own house. Were talking about this mess, he said, waving his chopsticks in the air.
Its cleaner and tidier than its ever been, I said firmly.
Bad news, but, the Mohican muttered. Hey, missus, have you thought about getting your chakras balanced? Your energy flows well blocked in your third.
Shut up, Lice. Not everybodys into being enlightened and that, the redhead said, giving him a dig in the side that would have left most people with three cracked ribs. Lice only grunted.
You still havent said why you came home early, I pointed out.
It was two things really. Though looking at what Ive come home to, I dont know why I bothered about one of them, Richard said, as if that were some kind of explanation.
Do I have to guess? Animal, vegetable or mineral?
Id got all the material I needed for the pieces Ive got lined up on Prole, and then I bumped into the lads here. Boys, meet Kate Brannigan, who, in spite of appearances to the contrary, is a private investigator. Kate, meet Dan Druff, front man with Glasgows top nouveau punk band, Dan Druff and the Scabby Heided Bairns. The redhead nodded gravely and sketched a salute with his chopsticks. And Lice, the bands drummer. Lice looked up from his bowl and nodded. I found a moment to wonder if their guitar players were called Al OPecia and Nits.
Delighted to make your acquaintance, I said. Richard, pleased though I am to be sharing my evening with Dan and Lice, why exactly have you brought them home? My subtlety, good manners and discretion had passed their sell-by date. Besides, Dan and Lice didnt look like the kind whod notice anyone being offensive until the half-bricks started swinging.
My good deed for the year, he said nonchalantly. They need a private eye, and Ive never seen you turn down a case.
Delighted to make your acquaintance, I said. Richard, pleased though I am to be sharing my evening with Dan and Lice, why exactly have you brought them home? My subtlety, good manners and discretion had passed their sell-by date. Besides, Dan and Lice didnt look like the kind whod notice anyone being offensive until the half-bricks started swinging.
My good deed for the year, he said nonchalantly. They need a private eye, and Ive never seen you turn down a case.
A paying case, I muttered.
Well pay you, Dan said.
Something, Lice added ominously.
For your trouble, Dan added, even more ominously.
Why do you need a private eye? I asked. It wouldnt be the first time Richards dropped me in it, and this time I was determined that if I agreed, it was going to be an informed decision.
Somebodys trying to see us off, Dan said bluntly.
You mean? I asked.
How plain do you need it? Lice demanded. Theyre trying to wipe us off the map. Finish us. Render us history. Consign us to our next karmic state.
There didnt seem to be two ways of taking Lices words. I was hooked, no question.
Chapter 3
This was definitely a lot more interesting than rehashing the cockup of my gravestone inquiries. There would be plenty of time for me to beat myself up about that later. Dealing with the seriously menaced, even if they were barely comprehensible Glaswegian musicians, has always seemed a better way of passing the time than contemplating my failures. Youve had death threats? I asked.
Lice looked at Dan, shaking his head pityingly. Dan looked at Richard, his eyebrows steepling in a demand for help. Not as such, Richard explained. When Lice talks about being wiped out, he means metaphorically.
Thats right, Lice confirmed. Poetic licence and that. My interest was dropping faster than a gun barrel faced with Clint Eastwood.
Somebodys out to get us professionally is what were trying to say, Dan butted in. Were getting stuffed tighter than a red pudding.
Whats a red pudding? Richard demanded. I was glad about that; we private eyes never like to display our ignorance.
For fucks sake, Lice groaned.
What do you expect from a country where the fish and chip shops only sell fish and chips? Dan said. Its like a sausage only its red and its got oatmeal in it and you deep-fry it, OK? In batter, he added for the benefit of us Sassenachs.
I wasnt about to ask any more. I still hadnt recovered from the shock of asking for a pizza in a Scottish chip shop. Id watched in horrified amazement as the fryer expertly folded it in half and dumped it in the deep fat. No, I didnt eat it. I fed it to the seagulls and watched them plummet into the waves afterwards, their ability to defeat gravity wiped out in one meal. So this metaphorical, poetically licensed professional stitch-up consists of what, exactly?
Essentially, the boys are being sabotaged, Richard said.
Every time were doing a gig around the town, some bastard covers all our posters up, Dan said. Somebodys been phoning the promoters and telling them not to sell any more tickets for our gigs because theyre already sold out. And then we get to a gig and theres hardly any genuine fans there.
But theres always a busload of Nazis on super lager that tear the place to bits and close the gig down, Lice kicked in bitterly. Now weve been barred from half the decent venues in the north and were getting tarred with the same brush as they fascist bastards that are wrecking our gigs. The punters are starting to mutter that if these guys follow us around from place to place, it must be because theres something in our music that appeals to brainless racists.
And actually, the boys lyrics are quite the opposite of that. Richard with the truly crucial information as usual. Even the most PC of your friends would be hard pressed to take offence.
The only PC friend Ive got is the one next door with the Pentium processor, I snapped. To my surprise, Dan and Lice guffawed.
Nice one, Dan said. Anyway, last night put the tin lid on it. We were doing this gig in Bedford, and while we were inside watching the usual wrecking crew smashing the place up, some total toerag torched our Transit.
Have you talked to the police about this? I said. Silly me. The boys scowled and shook their heads. Richard cast his eyes heavenward and sighed deeply. I tried again. This sounds like a campaign of systematic harassment to me. Theyve got the resources to pursue something like that properly. And theyre free, I added.
I thought you said she knew her arse from a hole in the ground? Lice demanded of Richard. Have you talked to the police about this, he mimicked cruelly. The last time I felt that mimsy I was nine years old and forced to wear my cousins cast-off party frock in lemon nylon with blue roses, complete with crackling petticoat, to my best friends birthday party. For fucks sake, look at us. If we walked into the local nick, theyd arrest us. If we told them we were being harassed, theyd piss themselves laughing. I dont think thats the answer, missus.