Linger Awhile Page 5

  I went to Fallok’s place and looked in through the glass and there was Justine in glorious Technicolor sitting on some Chinese guy’s lap while Fallok was tinkering with an oscilloscope. So he was back at work in his normal routine and there were the three of them all cosy. I could scarcely believe it. ‘Yo, Istvan!’ I said. Childhood again. When I was a kid and we wanted somebody to come out and play, we stood outside the house and yelled, ‘Yo, Bob!’ or whatever his name was.

  Fallok stuck his head out of the second-storey window of childhood and said, ‘Hi, Irv. Hey, I’ve been meaning to call you but I got so far behind in my work that it’s been all I could do to catch up. What do you think of our girl? Isn’t she looking great?’

  ‘Our girl,’ I said. ‘Our girl is exactly what she isn’t. You were meant to bring her into flesh-and-blood 3-D for me, not for you and your friend.’

  ‘My name is Chauncey Lim,’ the friend said. ‘Try not to lose tranquility. “A bow long bent waxes weak.” One is divisible by three and it adds up to a good deal all round.’

  ‘Do me a favour,’ I said: ‘stuff it up your fortune cookie.’

  ‘How’s that arrangement sound to you, Justine?’ said Fallok.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ she said. ‘I doubt if this old drynuts even has half a pint in him.’

  I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever thought I was in love with this woman. On the screen she’d had a wholesome kind of outdoor refinement but now the hang of her face was definitely sluttish.

  ‘First of all,’ said Fallok to me, ‘I clearly remember telling you that I couldn’t promise anything. I said that because I knew from experience that life is full of surprises. Secondly, we had no kind of contract, oral or written; I simply said I’d see what I could do.’

  ‘We’ve seen that all right,’ I said. ‘After that sighting of you and your bundled-up tootsie that night I thought we’d have some kind of a meeting but you haven’t been answering your phone and every time I’ve come here the door’s been locked and the blinds have been down. I couldn’t get any news from Grace and here I am again and here you lot are and you’re all right, Jack. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Look,’ said Fallok, ‘let’s try to be grown-up about this, OK? What we have here isn’t quite the usual boy–girl thing and it calls for a more sophisticated approach.’

  ‘I’m not even sure I want to approach it any more,’ I said. ‘I’m beginning to feel myself backing away from it.’

  ‘I’m heartbroken,’ said Justine. ‘but maybe there’s new blood coming our way unless it’s the Avon lady.’

  Everybody looked at the door and listened but we saw and heard nothing. ‘Justine’s senses are sharper than ours,’ said Fallok. After about a minute there were two men coming down the steps.

  ‘It’s the Bill,’ said Chauncey.

  There was a knock at the door and Fallok answered it. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Hunter,’ said a tall man with a deep voice and a Victorian moustache. He showed us his warrant card. ‘This is Sergeant Locke.’ Locke’s tumblers clicked and he nodded. Hunter looked at us as if he knew all our little secrets and right away I felt guilty.

  ‘Istvan Fallok,’ said Fallok. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Are you the proprietor of Hermes Soundways?’ said Hunter.

  ‘I am,’ said Istvan.

  Hunter swept all of us with his eyes like a beam from a lighthouse. ‘Do any of you know a woman called Rose Harland?’ he said

  We all shook our heads and said no. ‘What about Rose Harland?’ said Fallok.

  ‘Later,’ said Hunter. ‘Are these your keys?’ He gave them to Fallok.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fallok. ‘Where’d you find them?’

  ‘Where’d you lose them?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Somewhere between here and Oxford Street, I think. On the way to HMV.’

  Hunter nodded. ‘We found them in a dustbin in Great Marlborough Street. Any idea how they got there?’

  ‘No,’ said Fallok.

  ‘Where were you on the evening of Thursday the eighth of January?’ said Hunter. ‘Day before yesterday.’

  ‘Here,’ said Fallok.

  ‘What do you do here at Hermes Soundways?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Sounds in different ways,’ said Fallok. ‘Would you like to hear some?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said Hunter.

  ‘This is from Laminations on a Theme of Cthulhu by Fathoms,’ said Fallok, and started the music. ‘It’s a low-frequency enhancement,’ he said as the sound, mostly subsonic vibrations, made our bones rattle.

  ‘Deep,’ said Hunter. ‘Very hermetic.’

  ‘Most of what I do is,’ said Fallok modestly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hunter. ‘May I ask who your friends are?’

  ‘Chauncey Lim,’ said Chauncey.

  ‘And where were you on the Tuesday in question?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Working late at my shop in D’Arblay Street,’ said Chauncey. ‘I do photographic novelties.’

  Hunter looked at him as if he’d heard that sort of euphemism before, but passed on to me.

  ‘Irving Goodman,’ I said. ‘I was at home in Fulham, Kempson Road. I’m retired.’

  ‘From what?’ said Hunter.

  ‘TV writing.’

  Hunter turned to Justine.

  ‘Justine Trimble,’ she said. ‘I was here with Istvan.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Nothing much, just what people do.’

  ‘Where are you from, Ms Trimble?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Texas.’

  ‘And your occupation?’

  ‘I’m an actress. I’m …’

  ‘The daughter of Justine Trimble who starred in so many westerns back in the 1950s,’ said Fallok.

  ‘Unusual for the daughter to have the same name as the mother,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Yes, I’m Justine Trimble Jr,’ said Justine. ‘I’m not a big star. Mostly I appear at motor shows and conventions.’

  ‘Can I see your passport, please?’ said Hunter.

  ‘It was stolen when she got mugged the other night,’ said Fallok.

  ‘Where did this happen?’ said Hunter to Justine.

  ‘Argyll Street,’ said Fallok.

  ‘Please let the lady speak for herself,’ said Hunter. ‘When did it happen, Ms Trimble?’

  ‘Between eight and nine,’ said Justine. ‘Night before last.’

  ‘That would be Thursday the eighth of January?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give the details of the incident to Sergeant Locke and we’ll get it into the system. You should go to the United States Embassy and they can issue you with a new passport if you can show proof of your identity.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Justine.

  ‘I assume you have such proof?’

  ‘Everything was stolen when I got mugged,’ said Justine.

  ‘Where was your birth registered?’

  ‘El Paso.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘Nineteen seventy-nine,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is your birth certificate now?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘Tornillo.’

  ‘Is there someone there who can be contacted?’

  ‘No, I live alone.’

  ‘Right. Well, if you go to the embassy I’m pretty sure they can get this sorted. How long are you here for?’

  ‘Three weeks,’ said Fallok. ‘She’s staying with me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hunter. He looked at all of us as if he would have preferred to lock us up but he contented himself with paying close attention while Justine gave the rest of her mugging details to Sergeant Locke which took about thirty seconds. Then Hunter nodded and they started to go but when he was half-way out the door he did a Columbo. With his back to us he stopped and raised his left arm as if he’d been brought to a halt. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘there’s just one more thing.’

  ‘Wh
at?’ said Fallok.

  Hunter turned to face us and looked apologetic. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to take saliva samples from the four of you.’

  ‘What for?’ said Fallok.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hunter. ‘It’s a new procedure the medical examiner keeps nagging us about. It’ll only take a few minutes of your time.’ From his pocket he produced four plastic tubes, each containing a swab. We opened our mouths in turn, he did his swabbing, replaced the swabs and stoppered and labelled the tubes one by one, said, ‘There we are,’ and left.

  ‘What was all that about?’ I said.

  ‘Obviously they want to match up some DNA sample they’ve got,’ said Fallok, looking at Justine, ‘and you can be sure they’ll be back again. In any case, we’re fucked. It’ll take Hunter about ten minutes to establish that Justine is technically and officially a non-person and that’s when the shit hits the fan.’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll go to jail,’ said Justine. ‘I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t even ask to be. I think I was better off dead.’

  I was wondering if she mightn’t be right about that. ‘What did she mean before about half a pint?’ I asked Fallok. ‘Half a pint of what?’

  ‘Hello?’ said Fallok. ‘The blood is the life?’

  ‘What,’ I said, ‘she’s a vampire?’

  ‘No racist remarks, please,’ said Fallok.

  ‘I don’t want any blood from him,’ said Justine. ‘Besides which he’s got none to spare.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me,’ I said.

  ‘That makes you Number One on my shit list,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s not squabble among ourselves,’ said Lim. ‘Right now we need to find a safe house for Justine.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ said Fallok.

  ‘Rosalie Chun’s got a big house,’ said Lim, ‘and there’s nothing to connect her to Justine.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Fallok. ‘Better get her out of here before Hunter pops in again.’

  ‘That OK with you, Justine?’ said Lim.

  ‘That’s the first time anybody’s asked my opinion about anything,’ she said. ‘Let’s haul ass, Chaunce.’

  16

  Justine Trimble

  10 January 2004. Being alive after being dead for forty-seven years is weird to begin with, and it gets weirder from one minute to the next. I didn’t know when I was born or when I died but Chauncey looked me up on the Internet Movie Database and found that I was born in 1932 in Amarillo and I died in 1957 on location in Arizona when I was thrown by a horse. I don’t remember that. I was married to an oilman named William Connors and I don’t remember that either. He’s probably dead by now or as good as.

  When we left Hermes Soundways Chauncey took me to a place called Topshop in Oxford Circus. This was on a Saturday afternoon and Oxford Circus was full of traffic and big red buses and people and noise. Topshop was noisier inside than it was outside. The music was so loud you couldn’t think and the store was full of wild-looking girls. Chauncey bought me jeans and sweatshirts, underwear and pyjamas and sheepskin boots and a lilac duffel coat with lime-green lining and toggles. And a pair of leopard-print sunglasses because the sunlight hurt my eyes. ‘A little bit of retail therapy is always good for what ails you,’ he said. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘I’m feeling pretty good,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll need topping up today.’

  ‘Good,’ said Chauncey, ‘but we’ve got the transfusion kit just in case.’

  We took the Underground to Golders Green and it was a very long ride. There were more different kinds of people than I could remember ever seeing before: black, brown, yellow, white, and all different shades of those colours. Some of them looked at me and I wondered if they could smell what I was.

  When we came out of the Underground we walked to Elijah’s Lucky Dragon. It was closed for the Jewish Sabbath but Rosalie Chun was still there and she came to the door when Chauncey knocked. A big woman in one of those Chinese dresses that’s slit up to the thigh. A nice face and she must have been pretty when she weighed fifty pounds less if she ever did. ‘What’s up, Chaunce?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got an emergency here, Rosalie,’ said Chauncey. ‘Can you help us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosalie. ‘What’s your name, emergency?’

  ‘Justine,’ I said.

  ‘Come on in and set right down and make yourself at home,’ said Rosalie, and I did feel at home right away.

  Chauncey explained the situation to her and he said to Rosalie, ‘Do you think there’s any chance of weaning her on to regular food?’

  ‘You came to the right place,’ said Rosalie. ‘Give me about half an hour in the kitchen and let’s see what I can do. Don’t you worry, love,’ she said to me. ‘I’ll see you right.’

  After a while she put a bowl of broth and a plate of dumplings in front of me. ‘This is Golem broth,’ she said. ‘The spoon can stand up in it which is about right. And these on the plate are gosky patties Ba’al Shem Tov.’

  ‘Gosky patties are from Edward Lear,’ said Chauncey.

  ‘His recipe is nonsense,’ said Rosalie. ‘Mine has been in my family for generations and it’s the real thing.’

  ‘What about your North Chinese cuisine?’ said Chauncey.

  ‘There’s a time for multicultural,’ said Rosalie, ‘and there’s a time for going with 4,000 years of your own people.’ To me she said, ‘Eat, and be strong.’

  I ate and I did feel better. My momma didn’t raise no vampires. I don’t know how long this second life will last but however long it does I won’t forget Rose Harland. I hope I don’t do any more killing.

  Rosalie and her husband have an apartment over the restaurant and there’s a whole other apartment above that one. She and Lester Chun keep it for business visitors but it’s empty now and that’s where I am, thanks to Chauncey. The bed is big and soft, the sheets smell like fresh air and sunlight, there’s a big comforter that they call a doovay, and the whole place is warm and cosy. From my window I can see the Kim Chee restaurant and Supersave across from us and people in the windows above them. They can all remember where they were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago there wasn’t any me, I was dead and long gone.

  I know I’m not real the way real people are, I’m not alive in the same way. But I am alive in some kind of way. I think about Rose Harland a lot. I wish I hadn’t taken her life. Now I feel like she’s part of me. Maybe I have to stay alive for both of us.

  I’ve been slipping around like a regular little whore. First I let Istvan crawl on top of me and then there were those two men whose names I don’t even know, then Istvan again, then Chauncey but that wasn’t the same thing because he was very polite and I kind of liked him. But those others, Jesus. There’s not going to be any more of that, things are going to be different from now on. Well, like the feller says, ‘I ain’t got to where I’m going but I’m past where I been.’

  I get mixed up between what’s a real memory and what’s not. I told the inspector that I was born in Tornillo but then Chauncey told me it was Amarillo. Sometimes I thought it was Tishomingo, Oklahoma. We come out of there in a old Ford truck with everything piled up on it and tied down – mattresses and pots and pans, picks and shovels and Grandma’s rocking chair. Or was that in some movie that I seen. Saw. My land, listen at how I’m talking. Sweet Jesus, help me get straight. Just a closer walk with thee, Lord, let it be.

  Sometimes Rosalie and Lester have business meetings in their apartment and then they put a parrot in this one. Flat, I have to stop saying apartment. In this flat. The parrot’s name is Elijah. He’s a very smart bird. When he saw me he said, ‘Phwoarr. Chauncey won the totty lottery.’ I thought totty was some kind of drink but Chauncey said that totty is a woman you go to bed with. Live and learn.

  17

  Detective Inspector Hunter

  12 January 2004. Interesting report from Harrison Burke: ‘Cause of Rose Harland’s death we know: all of her
blood was sucked out of her body, probably by whoever made the wound in her neck. There were traces of blood and saliva on her throat and the collar of her jacket. The blood was her own; the saliva was not. DNA testing of the saliva cells on throat and jacket on 9 January showed a match with the sample taken from Istvan Fallok 10 January at Hermes Soundways. The 10 January sample taken from Justine Trimble matches that of Chauncey Lim on the same date. The sample from Irving Goodman on 10 January does not match anyone else’s.

  ‘I put Rose Harland’s age at between twenty-five and thirty. Her womb shows scars of an abortion carried out approximately two months before time of death.’

  18

  Irving Goodman

  11 January 2004. There isn’t just one reality, there are lots of them. No, there’s just the one and it contains all the others. It’s a polyhedron and each plane is a window to a different reality. What’s happening now is not the same kind of reality as some I remember.

  When I was little we lived thirty miles away from Philadelphia and we used to drive in on Sundays to visit our relatives. My uncle Barney had a drug store at 12th and Poplar in what was then called a ‘colored’ neighborhood. There was a display window in which hung two amphora-shaped glass vessels suspended by chains. The one on the left contained a beautiful red liquid; the one on the right was filled with green. There is just such a drug store in a painting by Edward Hopper, with PRESCRIPTIONS DRUGS and EXLAX across the top of the window. There must have been a lot of constipation at that time. The Ex-Lax slogan was ‘When Nature forgets, remember Ex-Lax’. I don’t think Uncle Barney’s window said EX-LAX. He had many customers who came in with cuts from razor fights and said, ‘Fix me up, Doc.’

  There was no soda fountain that I remember but I was often given chewing gum. The rooms behind and above the drug store were divided by bead curtains made of little pink and yellow glass sticks that clicked as you passed through them. They looked like candy. The lampshades also had little pink and yellow glass sticks hanging from them. In an upstairs bedroom lay my mother’s father whom we called Zayda (Grandfather). The room smelled medicinal. He spoke no English but gave me dimes. Tante Celia was Uncle Barney’s wife and Uncle Izzy, pronounced Easy, from my father’s side lived there also. Uncle Easy wore a truss. My cousins Daniel and Leonard and Bobby were there too. Did we play Parcheesi? There are flavours that one tastes not with the mouth but with the mind. I taste the flavour of those Sundays as I write this: the street lamps in the evening; the brilliant red and green vessels in the illuminated window. Their reality was not the same as what I have now.