Necroscope 9: The Lost Years (70 page)

‘Or I can take a taxi?”

‘Whichever suits you,’ he shrugged. Til cal one, if you like? Whatever is best for you. Just don’t forget where I live, right?’

And to B.J. ‘s mind, that setled it. ‘Not just a one-night stand, then?’ Waiting for his answer, she dialed a number and spoke briefly to someone at the other end of the line, then put the ‘phone down and turned to him.

Looking down in the mouth again, Harry was standing close to her. ‘I suppose it should be,’ he said. ‘A one-night stand, I mean. Or rather it
shouldn’t
have been, shouldn’t have happened at al. But it did, and frankly I’m … I’m upside down, messed up. That’s the truth of it: I’m messed up.’

She nodded. ‘Wel, perhaps I am, too. But I’d beter tell you now, Harry Keogh: I can’t see myself as part of an eternal triangle thing, in the role of “the other woman.” It’s not my scene, and it certainly isn’t my style.’

Harry shook his head. This wasn’t a cheap thing. Not for me. It’s just that I don’t know how I feel. I did a moment ago, but now I don’t. As for Brenda and my son: this search is something I have to do, even though I know I won’t find her. Oh, I might find them … but I
won’t find
her. Brenda doesn’t know me any more.’

‘Neither do I, scarcely.’

‘But time is on our side,’ Harry said.

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She looked surprised. Time? What, from what was possibly a one-night stand to a long-term relationship - al in one quick move?’

‘I told you I was messed up.’

B.J. almost felt sorry for him. She knew why he was messed up. Something of it, anyway. And leaning forward, giving him a brief, brushing kiss: ‘Let’s wait and see how it al works out, okay?’

He nodded and said nothing.

And they waited for her girl to come …

B.J. hadn’t been gone ten minutes before Harry made a jump and bought himself a telephone answering machine. And a bicycle, to be delivered. The first so that he could monitor cals, and the second so that he could get himself in shape. Himself, yes. For he’d finaly decided: this was
him
now, and he’d have to accept it.

And it
(he,
damn it to hel!) couldn’t realy be that bad, after al, because B.J. for one had accepted him - with a vengeance!

It was only after the bike had arrived that he realized he could have ridden it home, along the Mobius route. Why not? He could easily have pedaled down a back street, through a door, and so home. He knew the co-ordinates of the service road, and the road across the river. It would have been the easiest way. He wouldn’t have had to pay for the delivery, either.

Next up on his search itinerary was Northern Ireland. He would give himself a week or so here at the house, settling in and adjusting to a new regime, make a list of places to visit, then go and do it. And he wouldn’t any longer be alone … not while he was at home, anyway. B.J. would be here. He just knew she would come to him, or he could go to her. He couldn’t say how it would work out, didn’t even want to think about it. It was just the way it was.

The day had cleared up; the sun was peeping through tufts of, fluffy cloud;
next thing you know, it’ll be spring!
Harry thought.

And time for spring-cleaning.

Had B.J. mentioned that? Spring-cleaning? He thought she probably had - told him the house could use a little dusting, polishing, scrubbing - but couldn’t think when. Or had it been sparked by the shame he’d felt when she first walked in and saw the place? But if it
was
her, then she’d been wrong: the house could use a hel of a
lot
of dusting, polishing and scrubbing! His ‘study’ … wasn’t even a room yet! It was a jumble.

So why not start now! A little hard labour would pass for getting himself in shape, wouldn’t it? But first he had something really important to do: a mind to put at rest…

Down on the river bank Harry was wrapped warmly for once. But more importantly he felt warm on the inside, too. And his Ma felt the difference in him as soon as she ‘heard’ him in her mind. Tve been bad,

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Ma,’ he told her, but she could feel the grin on his face. One that slipped a little as she answered:
In how many ways, son?

‘Er, I meant about the doctor. I didn’t go to see one like I promised. But listen, whatever the trouble was, it’s gone.’
No more drinking?

‘Couldn’t face it.’ He shook his head. ‘The very thought’s enough to make me want to throw up!’

It was the last ofMrKyle, then … which you’ve finally kicked out. You’ve rejected what little was left of him to make room for you. I can feel that you’ve more or
less setled down with yourself, son. At least, I think so. I hope I’m right…

‘I feel a lot beter al round, yes.’ He said, but even now couldn’t be sure. Maybe she sensed that, too. Even as an expert at talking to the dead -
the
expert, the Necroscope - Harry knew how hard it was to fool his Ma.
And Kyle’s talent? This precognition thing?

‘Not for a while now,’ Harry answered. ‘But that could be my loss. I didn’t understand it, but it might have given me a few pointers. Anyway, the main thing is I feel… good. And I’m determined to get myself back in shape. I’ve bought myself a bicycle - for exercise, lots of it -and when I’m finished talking to you, I’m going to tear the house apart.’ He sounded realy enthusiastic, if a bit jumbled.

You’ll what? Tear the house apart? With a bicycle?
Now she sounded more than a litle alarmed.

‘I mean I’ll rip the place apart - dust, polish, scrub. It can use it. Spring-cleaning, Ma!’

Yes,
she said, after a moment. And thoughtfully:
Why, I do believe I can smell it! Springtime, when a young man’s thoughts turn
to …

‘… To spring-cleaning!’ Harry stopped her.

Among other things,
his Ma said, but very quietly.

It was Harry’s cue to leave. Til let you know how I get on,’ he said, turning away from the river.

But you started this conversation by telling me you’d been bad, Harry.
(She wasn’t about to let him go).
And I asked you, in how many
ways?

Harry guarded his thoughts. ‘I meant two things, Ma. About not seeing a doctor, and about being neglectful.’

Of me?

‘Of course!’

Not ofBrenda?
(She was sharp as a tack.)

‘Ma?’ And now he was doubly cautious, defensive.

You haven’t mentioned her once, Harry …

‘Ma,’ he was momentarily lost for words, ‘I feel… like we’re drifting.’

Drifting apart?

He nodded. ‘I mean it’s not just that Brenda is lost; she lost herself, after all. She, or the baby, wanted to get lost, or they wanted to lose me. But it goes deeper than that. It’s that we’re strangers now …’

He sensed her understanding, or at least that she was trying to understand. And in a litle while she said:
Wel, lets not you and 1

go the same way, all right? I mean, there’s nothing you can’t tell me, .Harry. We’re too close for that. I was there at the start of you … and you’re
here at the end of me! I’m not some kind of ogre that you have to hide from, now ami?

She had sensed that his guard was up, and it saddened her. But from Harry’s point of view there was no help for it. There are some things you don’t tel anyone.

And especially not your Ma …

Once he got started on the house there was no stopping him. He wanted it in order before he saw B.J. again. Two days went by, three … a few more and there’d be a ful moon. What that had to do with things Harry couldn’t say, but he knew that he must speak to, must see B.J. again, and soon.

Finaly he couldn’t fight it any longer. Right or wrong he wanted her in his bed again, maybe even in his life. Damn, she was
in
his life! He caled her at the wine bar, got one of her girls - who told him that B.J. wasn’t available right now.

Then would she please tell B.J. that he’d called?

Of course. Would he be around if B.J. called back later?

Yes, he would, and it didn’t matter how much later.

And that night, dozing on the couch in what really was his study now, he felt the light of the full moon flooding through the patio windows into the room, and wondered why it felt like B.J.’s eyes on him. But she was busy right how; she had a life of her own and he had to understand that. Maybe she would call him later.

God, he hoped so …

B.J.
was
busy, or was about to be. It had been a six-month and her needs, and that of her girls, must be atended to. Discretion was the name of the game. It was like fishing, or hunting, for that mater; or beter still, poaching. Make too much noise and you’d scare away the game and perhaps atract unwanted atention. Use the wrong lure and the fish wouldn’t bite, or the game would ignore the trap.

Tonight, Zahanine was the lure. She was black and she was beautiful, and she was one of Bonnie Jean’s: a moonchild, and hungry as the rest of them. Oh, she ate and she drank the same as anyone else. Except it
wasn’t
the same.

It was Zahanine’s night off … That was what she told Big Jimmy Lee when he walked into the lounge of the Fiddler’s Elbow down the
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road from B.J.’s. The place was almost empty; with her round, perfect backside seated on a bar stool, and her long legs crossed and swaying to a juke box tune, Zahanine stood out like a sore thumb, or a green light.

Big Jimmy bought himself a drink, hesitated a moment and bought another for the girl, before eyeing her up and down in an openly suggestive, pig-eyed fashion, and saving: ‘But ah’m surprised ye’re still on speakin’ terms wi’ such as me, since ye’re boss, that bleddy Bonnie Jean, kicked me oot-a there.’

‘Big Jimmy,’ she said, her voice as soft as her dark skin and seductive as her dark eyes, ‘you were out of order and well you know it. You used threatening behaviour against a customer, disturbed the other members, and wrecked a table. Now tell me, how is B.J. supposed to run a decent bar with al that stuff going on? Until that night you were a valued customer

… she’s said so herself.’

‘B.J.? Oh, really?’ He looked doubtful.

Zahanine nodded. ‘She’s looked for you coming back, even had a new member’s card made out with your name on it.

But B.J. isn’t the sort to beg. If you want in again it’s up to you. No more trouble, though, or the next time’s final.’

‘A new card?’

‘I’ve seen it myself,’ she told him, then fell silent as the barman headed their way picking up empty glasses. But when he went into a back room: ‘You should drop by.’

‘Ye think so?’

‘I know so. And tonight would be a good time.’

‘What? But does she no close up around now?’

Zahanine glanced at her watch. ‘Half an hour, yes. That’s when you should come, after I’ve had a chance to speak to her.’

Big Jimmy frowned. ‘Come again? Ah’m no wi’ ye.’

‘Party time,’ she explained. ‘After hours. Staff only - just B.J. and the girls - and maybe you, too, if you think you can mend your ways. One of the girls is having a birthday. Why else would I be here on my night off? Free drinks, Jimmy! Not something that happens every day! I’m on my way in a minute or two. So what do you say? Should I tell B.J. you’ll be dropping by?’

Standing up, she leaned forward and put her index finger in the cleft of his chin. ‘Frankly, I’ve missed you, too.’

He was genuinely taken aback. ‘But ah … ah didn’ae ken ye cared!’

‘Maybe you’ve been chatting up the wrong girls,’ she said, and headed for the door. Thanks for the drink …’

‘Ye‘11 speak to her?’ Big Jimmy called after her.

Zahanine turned back, stepped closer. ‘But remember,’ she whispered, ‘this is a private party. You’ve been quite enough trouble already, so don’t go blabbing it all over Edinburgh or B.J.‘11 lose her licence for sure!’

Big Jimmy nodded. ‘No a word!’ he promised.

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Then wait half an hour and come on along. Just give the usual ring, and I’ll let you in.’

‘Ye’re sure it’l be okay?’

‘Positive. But we’l be late finishing. Maybe you’d be a gentleman and see me home afterwards?’

He grinned. ‘Oh, ah’m no so sure aboot the gentleman bit, but ah can see ye home, definitely!’ His voice was now rougher than ever, with anticipation.

She smiled knowingly and left, and he watched her out of the door and saw her distorted shadow pass by the smal-paned, smoked-glass windows. But the memory of Zahanine’s deliciously wriggling backside stayed with him for the next half hour …

… Until he pressed the bel outside B.J. ‘s and fidgeted under the dark archway until the door was opened. Zahanine was there, and one of the other girls. They took his coat and would have led him inside at once, but B.J. stepped from behind the door to caution him:

‘Ye’re privileged, Jimmy. Don’t mess it up, now.’

‘Oh, no fear, mah Bonnie lass!’ he told her.

‘But ye know ye’re drinkin’ after hours and shouldn’ae be here? If I let ye in it’s on ye’re own head, of ye’re own free will.’

‘What? Why, al the polis in Edinburgh couldn’ae keep me away!’ he declared. And, smiling, B.J. took his arm and marched him down the corridor.

Al four girls were in the bar; five, if Jimmy included Zahanine. Apart from her, they al wore their black stockings, short, flouncy dresses, high heels, blouses that were open way too far in front, and snowed lots of flesh at the back. Owing a lot to Playboy atire, al they were missing were the fluffy bunny tails and ears.

And they were obviously in party mood.

Poppers went off left, right, and centre as Big Jimmy Lee appeared with B.J. and party; he was covered in paper streamers, slapped on the back, made welcome as a prodigal son, told ‘Good to have ye back, Big Jimmy!’ by al and sundry.