Part 4 (1/2)
He made a gesture toward Larry's empty gla.s.s, and the dog nodded.
Philip got up, took the few steps over to the bar, and ordered two beers. He not only worked as a private detective, he also dressed like one. He wasn't always comfortable in the hat, suit, and suspenders, but it was a matter of meeting his future clients' expectations. If you went to a private detective to get help, you didn't want to find a security guard in a homemade uniform. While Mouse was waiting, he took the opportunity to exchange a few words with the animals from GL who were standing at the bar. Mouse knew everyone.
Larry looked out the window. The light brown street was empty. The sky was still blue, but the sun was on its way down. He suddenly felt that he missed Cordelia, the budgie waiting for him in her large, gilded cage. One more, he decided, then he would go home.
”And you?” he asked when Philip returned. ”Are you getting anywhere?”
”Not yet,” Philip replied, unconsciously lowering his voice.
”Got stuck?”
”The walrus is still paying,” said Mouse, shrugging his shoulders. ”I've been at it long enough to know that success is only about the bank balance.”
”How was it, you were supposed to get hold of some joker who ... ?”
”I'm not going to find him,” Mouse maintained. ”But my very well-known client, unfortunately I can't utter his name, still believes in me. And so I'm going to send the next invoice, too.”
They drank in silence.
”I was thinking of making it an early one this evening,” said Larry.
”Me, too,” Philip agreed. ”Daisy gets furious otherwise.”
Daisy Hippopotamus was Philip's patient a.s.sistant, his secretary, and partner in one. The reason that she put up with inconvenient work hours, a fluctuating monthly salary, and not always pleasant treatment was a mystery.
”By the way, did you hear that Surayid, that pile of s.h.i.+t, was arrested tonight?” said Larry, changing the subject.
Philip nodded.
”Caught red-handed, if I understand correctly?”
”With his claws in the jelly jar. In front of witnesses. A fool.”
”A pro disguised as an amateur?”
”So chock-full of s.h.i.+t and pills, it was a marvel he could even move.”
”What the h.e.l.l ...”
”They should have brought him in months ago.”
”There's no prosecutor in Mollisan Town who would-”
”I know, I know,” Larry growled. ”That's just s.h.i.+t. They tiptoe around a hundred rotten stuffed animals up here in Tourquai that they really ought to just pound the s.h.i.+t out of-”
”Maybe not a hundred hundred,” Philip objected.
”Up yours!” Larry barked. ”At least least a hundred! And instead of picking them up and driving them right out to King's Cross, they set traps for them. Gather evidence. It's pathetic.” a hundred! And instead of picking them up and driving them right out to King's Cross, they set traps for them. Gather evidence. It's pathetic.”
”I know you think that,” said Philip diplomatically.
”What the h.e.l.l,” Larry repeated.
He raised the mug and emptied it. Set it down on the table with a thud and got up. Took his jacket, used it to dry his mouth before he put it on, and raised his paw in farewell.
”Now I'm leaving,” he said. ”Otherwise I'll stay too long.”
The superintendent left Chez Jacques well before the Evening Storm and decided to walk home. He didn't live very far away, on licorice black Impa.s.se Laisse. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't restrain himself, and urinated against the entryway to the abandoned building on turquoise rue de Gobelins. If a patrol car came past, they would stop him. But maybe, thought Larry, it was no catastrophe anyway. Maybe p.i.s.sing on the sidewalk was just what his colleagues expected of him? Jacques well before the Evening Storm and decided to walk home. He didn't live very far away, on licorice black Impa.s.se Laisse. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't restrain himself, and urinated against the entryway to the abandoned building on turquoise rue de Gobelins. If a patrol car came past, they would stop him. But maybe, thought Larry, it was no catastrophe anyway. Maybe p.i.s.sing on the sidewalk was just what his colleagues expected of him?
”Yoohoo, I'm home!” he called as he stepped inside the door. called as he stepped inside the door.
It was ridiculous. Cordelia was a budgie who could neither talk nor think. Although she ate, slept, and sang for him, she was not a stuffed animal; she used her wings to fly. She shared his solitude and his anxiety, and she was his best friend. That was without a doubt worth a few friendly words.
The superintendent wriggled out of his jacket, which fell down on the pile of old mail and foul-smelling shoes and socks, and with a few long strides he was in the living room and up at her golden cage. On her perch sat the very small, green bird. She was chirping merrily.
”And I'm happy to see you, too,” Bloodhound replied.
He sat down on the couch alongside the cage. Late one night Larry had carried the armchair that was on the other side of the table into the bathroom and placed it in front of the drying cabinet. Then he sat in front of the open door to dry off. There had never been any reason to carry the armchair back in.
Larry's living area was sixty square feet, which meant that almost everything was within reach. The kitchen nook stood unused-food could be bought already prepared-but he counted the refrigerator as his most important piece of furniture. The bed was a mattress lying right on the floor. Often he moved it as close to Cordelia's cage as possible at night.
From the inside pocket of his jacket the superintendent now took out a small mirror, no larger than a playing card. Then he took the pistol out of the holster and set it next to him on the couch. From the holster he fished out a carefully folded-up envelope. He opened it and methodically sprinkled the cocaine on the small mirror. With the envelope he made sure the edges of the white stripe were straight, and with a slender straw that he stored in the same pocket as the mirror he snorted the powder through his nose.
The whole procedure took no more than a minute.
Bloodhound sat on the couch, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He collected himself while the cocaine raced around in his system like runaway helium balloons in a clear blue sky. Cordelia sang. She had never sung so beautifully, he thought. Then he remembered that he'd had that thought before.
Igor Panda 1 The gates slowly parted and Igor Panda put the car gently in gear. His wide, new Volga Deluxe purred like a mature cat under the hood, and Igor enjoyed the feel of the car's power through the clutch and gears. The black finish glistened in the sun, and the tinted black gla.s.s he ordered for all the windows gave the car an ominous appearance. Now he carefully maneuvered between the gate posts. He had never been here before, but the dozen or so mansions down by Swarwick Park all looked the same, a long driveway ending in a yard that some landscape architect had planned down to the smallest detail.
Panda whistled as he came over a small rise and saw where he was heading. The white house with columns and balconies outdid the others in ostentation.
The Morning Weather had just swept in over the city, the sun was s.h.i.+ning from a clear blue sky, and the Volga's wide tires crunched along the gravel drive. In the middle of the yard a fountain had been set up, a rearing bronze horse that sprayed water from its ears.
Igor Panda was dressed like a gangster, in a narrow, double-breasted striped suit, s.h.i.+ny shoes, and big, black sungla.s.ses. He had on a white s.h.i.+rt and black tie. For a moment he considered retrieving the package from the trunk but decided to leave it.
The old lady would have to show the money first.
He got out of the car and walked up toward the house. Just before he got there, the outside door opened and a zebra looked out. The animal had red and green stripes, and Igor Panda knew it was the buyer herself who stood in the doorway, Zebra von den Schenken-Hanken.
”Do you have it with you?” she asked before Panda was even across the threshold.
He did not answer but instead entered von den Schenken-Hanken's hallway with dignity. There was a s.h.i.+ning marble floor, tall white plaster statues on pedestals in the background, and behind them rectangular, barred windows facing the courtyard.
”Do you?” asked the zebra.
”Do you have the money, do you?” asked Igor Panda, childishly imitating the zebra's tone of voice.