Bubblegum Smoothie (17 page)

I looked over at the doorway, where some secretary kept on appearing to call people in. The sound of
annoying
filled my head. Like, those accents that just get on your nerves, that grate on you. Yeah, that sound. I wished I’d brought my iPod. Wished I had some music to listen to.

Oh well. At least I had some Tunes of the menthol flavour.

I slipped a cough sweet into my mouth—the packet almost half-finished—and swilled it around.

“Nightmare waiting around in here, eh?”

I didn’t even acknowledge the voice at first. Figured it was somebody speaking to someone else. And I figured if I stared into space enough, they’d think I was just distant, or deaf. Either was fine by me.

But this woman cleared her throat. “I… Excuse me, but d’you mind if I had a Tune?”

I looked at her, frown on my forehead. Just about prepared to tell the bitch to get stuffed—to get her own bloody Tunes.

And then I saw her, and the frown lifted from my head right away.

She was blonde. Dressed in a black suit with a nice knee-length skirt on. Probably in her twenties, early to mid. Literally every part of her body was on my checklist of what makes an attractive woman, tick-tick-ticked away.

And she was looking at me and asking for a cough sweet.

I fumbled around in my pocket. Felt my cheeks getting hot.
Cool it, Blake. Cool your bloody head.
“Sure.”

I stuffed my finger behind a sweet, ready to squeeze it out the wrapper into this blonde hottie’s open hand.

“I… I’m Blake.”

I squeezed the wrapper.

Only the sweet didn’t land in the blondie’s hand.

It fired out of the top of the wrapper. Clunked against the back of a baldie’s head a few seats away.

I hid the sweets as this baldie scratched at the back of his head, turned around and laid his scary-as-fuck eyes on everyone in the room. I didn’t want a fight, not in here. Not that I couldn’t fight. Just I wasn’t sure Groovy Smoothie’s license would return if I started throwing fists at someone.

The blonde girl smiled. She looked at the floor, clearly trying to stop herself laughing.

“You understand if I, er… if I don’t whip out the cough sweets for another few minutes, right?”

This tipped Blondie over the edge, made her laugh. I wasn’t sure whether she was laughing
at
me or
with
me.

“Watch it,” she said. “He’ll be round to smell your breath soon.”

This actually made me smile. Smile and laugh a little, at seven—bloody—a.m.

Which made me nervous. Terrified.

“I’m… I’m Blake,” I said.

“Yeah. Blake. You told me just before you sent that sweet missiling over towards that guy’s head.”

“That’s generally how I introduce myself in any situation. Find the nearest baldie and fire a sweet at their head.”

“My fiancé’s a baldie.”

My stomach sank simultaneously with the words “fiancé” and “baldie.” “I… My apologies.”

She smiled. Revealed her pretty white teeth and shook her head. “Nah, it’s okay. My fiancé’s also a cheating asshole. And I’ve no idea why I’m telling you this, but hey.”

I wanted to ask about this girl. Ask about why she was in here, ask about her life.

And then I realised she hadn’t even told me her bloody name.

“What’s your vice, anyway?” she asked, cutting through my thoughts.

“Huh?”

She looked me up and down. “You’re sitting in a court waiting room. What’d you do?”

My cheeks went hot. Of course. “Oh. I, er… Business license. Getting it back again.”

“Let me guess: you’re a landlord and you had your alcohol license stripped because you were dealing drugs?”

Wow. A drug-dealing landlord. Is that what I really looked like? “Nothing anywhere near as exciting. I’m… I’m actually a smoothie stall owner who turned the entire city’s tongue’s blue.”

This girl widened her mouth. “Wait—
Groovy
Smoothie? And the… the Bubblegum Smoothie?”

“That’s the one.”

“No way. This is like… That place is my absolute favourite. And I tried the bubblegum one.”

Slight stroking of the ego felt good. “Thoughts?”

“Disgusting. Worst smoothie you’ve ever made.”

Slight stabbing of the ego felt bad. “Criticism taken on board.”

Blondie—who I
still
hadn’t got the name of but was convinced I was actually falling in frigging love with—laughed. “For what it’s worth, you make a mean Strawberryana Chocolate. So I hope you get your licence back just for that.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I’ll do what I can.”

“Blake Dent?”

The voice from the secretary, which I’d been expecting to be a huge relief, was actually a ginormous disappointment. It cut my conversation short. Cut it short, before I’d even got a name from this girl.

Ask her for her name. Get her number. Ask her for a—

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Blake. Good luck. Try not to comatose anybody with cough sweet missiles on your way in.”

I nodded. Noticed her silver engagement ring.

“Nice meeting you too.”

And then I got up and I walked over to the short, dark-haired secretary, and away from the gorgeous blonde who’d made me smile before the hour of ten. A miracle, in other words.

I pulled up my baggy black trousers and approached the secretary.

“Mr Dent,” she said, smiling and nodding.

I thought about firing a Tune at her, but figured one was enough for a morning.

Unless I lost my licence completely. Then, maybe, I’d reassess.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said. “Mr Adkins, who’s reviewing your case and delivering your verdict, hasn’t showed up just yet. So we’re going to have to postpone your hearing until a later date.”

My stomach dropped. I tugged at the baggy trousers and pictured myself back at Martha’s, asleep in her spare room. Where I should be.

“The same applies for the rest of you due for a meeting with Mr Adkins this morning,” the little woman said, addressing the crowd in her whiny voice. “We’ve had to temporarily postpone. I’m very sorry, but we’ll be in touch with you soon to rearrange.”

She walked away without another word.

I turned back. Oh well. Bloody waste of time, but at least I was up early anyway. I could get started on the case early today.

And then I saw Blondie leaving through the glass door.

A part of me told myself to let her go. She was too young. She had a fiancé. Besides, I wasn’t a capable partner.

Shit.
Partner
. Am I even thinking in those terms?

But the other part of me told me she was fit, found me funny, and she was a matter of feet away, so what harm could talking to her do?

I jogged through the door and caught up with her.

“Hey,” I said.

She jumped. Brought her hand to her chest. “Oh, sorry, sorry. You scared me. Thought you were a mugger or a rapist or something.”

A drug-dealing, mugging, rapist landlord. “Very flattering.”

She giggled, and we stepped out into the fresh, sunny air.

I scratched at the back of my tingling neck as we descended the steps. I tried to muster the courage to ask her name. How did I ask without looking like a blatant creep? Shit. I was way too out of practice. When had I last even been with a woman?

No. Don’t even
dare
count the years.

“I was just wondering what your name is.”

It came out hammy, like something a primary school kid might say to the class crush.

“Oh you were? How was that for you? Good wonder?”

I wanted to laugh but my cheeks were as floppy as papier maché. “Sorry, I just—”

“Danielle,” she said. She held a hand out to me.

I took it.

God, it was smooth.

And then I let myself ask another question. Something I wouldn’t normally ask, not if my ego hadn’t already been caressed enough.

“Hey, I was… I didn’t have any breakfast before I came out.”

“Are you asking me out for breakfast?”

More floppiness of the face. More itchiness in my neck. “Well only if—”

“If you’re paying, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Another smile.

Shit. I was in love. Holy shit.

We walked outside the court towards the car park. We’d cut through town and grab a Costa, something like that. Did Costa even do breakfasts? Was it a good place to get a breakfast? I needed to Google this shit.

I needed a new iPad to Google this shit on.

“Seems weird walking outside this place after what happened the other day, hmm?”

“What happened the other day?” I asked. My thoughts were fuzzy. I was drifting through space like a horny teenager on a first date.

“‘What happened the other day?’” she repeated, in a mocking voice. “The woman. Hanging outside the court. Just weird how back to normal everything is since.”

My stomach knotted. Mention of the woman brought me flying back down to earth, back to the case. “Oh. Oh yeah. That was… that was weird.”

“Dave—my fiancé—he thinks it’s some kind of serial killer. But I just told him it’s probably a few people. Like terrorists, sort of thing.”

A few people. Terrorists. Everything Danielle said was like information to me now, not general chit-chat.

No. Let it go. Let it go like Martha told you to. Focus on life. Don’t obsess over the job.

I took a deep breath of the breezy air as we crossed at the zebra crossing. “I think it could be…”

My speech went off when I heard something. Something to my right. Something coming from the car that was waiting at the zebra crossing.

“Hey. What’s up?” Danielle asked. “You can’t stand there.”

But I did stand there. I stood in the middle of the zebra crossing and I stared at this Land Rover, which was right opposite me.

I stared through its windscreen as cars behind it pipped their horns at me, as people shouted out.

But through the shouts, through the horns, I heard one thing, and one thing only.

“Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.

TWENTY-NINE

“Someone on one of the side roads off Moor Park said they saw a Land Rover outside their house blasting ‘Walking On Sunshine’…”

I stood in the middle of the zebra crossing and stared at the windscreen of the Land Rover, the sound of “Walking On Sunshine” booming from its sound system. I remembered Lenny’s words. The words about the Land Rover playing that song—the witness report from near the body of the first victim.

And here was a Land Rover, right opposite me, playing that very song.

“Blake, come on. Get… get out of the road.”

I wanted to go with Danielle, I really did. But instead, I couldn’t stop myself staring at this Land Rover. Trying to see through the windscreen properly, see who was behind it. The glass was slightly tinted, and the sun was shining against it, so it was hard to tell.

Which meant one thing: I’d have to go see for myself.

I took in a deep breath of the warm, exhaust-fume-filled air and stepped around the side of the Land Rover. The realisation of what I was doing dawned on me with every step.

I was confronting a killer.

I was confronting a person who had tried to burn me alive in my own home.

I stopped when I reached the side of the Land Rover. Tapped on the side window, as the vehicle pulled away slightly.

And then I walked with it as his car shifted forward. Tapped again.

The car pulled away some more, pulled out of the way of the traffic, and then he stopped.

The cars that were stacked up behind the Land Rover flew past it, a few of them cursing at me. Danielle rushed to the other side of the road, looking over her shoulder at me like I was some kind of weirdo.

She’d understand soon. Everyone would understand. I was doing a good thing. Doing the right thing.

I was earning my money and bringing some goon to justice.

The window of the Land Rover rolled down. I was met by an even clearer rendition of “Walking On Sunshine,” blasted by the minty smell of a billion air fresheners.

And in the driver’s seat, there was a man.

He was balding, with a ring of brown hair. Slightly chubby, but looked as if he might’ve lifted a few weights in his younger days. Early forties, with brown eyes and big ears. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a blue shirt, with black trousers on too.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” he said.

The words hit me in an instant. I became very aware of just how out of ammunition I was, how clueless I was for words. I’d stopped a man in the middle of the road for doing what? Listening to “Walking On Sunshine” on a summer’s day?

But shit—how many people still listened to that song?

And how many Land Rover drivers listened to it in Preston? Was it a nationwide Land Rover theme song or something?

“Like that song?” I asked. It sounded ridiculous, sure, but I had to try something.

The guy stared at me. Stared at me with his soft brown eyes.

“Don’t mind it. Why?”

My leverage was slipping away. I had to think fast if I wanted to get anywhere—if there was any bloody place to get.

“Mint air fresheners. They seem pretty excessive. Pretty overpowering.”

Another long stare. Look of sheer puzzlement, sheer bafflement, in this guy’s eyes. “What are you, the car radio and the air freshener police or something? Fuck off.”

He started to wind his window up.

I knew I had to try something.

I grabbed his door handle. Grabbed it, listened to him shout, and I sat in his passenger seat.

He looked at me in amazement. “The fuck? Get the fuck out of my car!”

I looked around the Land Rover. I don’t even know what the hell I was looking for, in truth, but it was early so I could get away with it. I looked on the back seat. Looked for anything I could—a weapon, a body, anything like that.

And all I had was “Walking On Sunshine,” a few minty air fresheners, and a very pissed-off chubby guy.

“If you don’t get out of my fucking car in the next five seconds, I’m phoning the police.”

I sniffed. The air fresheners were strong—ghastly, in fact. They had to be covering something up. They had to be hiding something.