Thicker Than Water

‘Meaning I’ve got a full caseload, and if you need any more favours in the days or weeks to come don’t hesitate to ask someone else. And conversely, if I should need a second gun on anything I attempt I expect you to drop your own affairs and be available to me at any moment of the day or night.’

‘Nothing would make me happier,’ I said, deadpan. ‘Day or night.’

Juliet studied my face for smutty double meanings, but all the meanings were right there on the surface. If she asked, I was there. She knew that. Unfortunately, it was true of most of the people she met so it didn’t mean all that much.

‘When Professor Mulbridge finds out that you stole her prize specimen from under her nose,’ she observed, ‘it will make her very angry. She’ll want to get back at you. She’ll think of ways to do it that you won’t see coming.’

I acknowledged this with a vague shrug. ‘She’s been angry at me ever since I turned down her job offer,’ I said. ‘Let her come. I’ll be ready for her.’

Juliet looked as though she was reserving her own opinions on that one, but she let the point go. ‘Bind Asmodeus well,’ she said, getting out of the van. ‘If he gets loose - really loose, with no anchor in your friend’s flesh to hold him back - you can’t imagine the harm he could do.’

But on that point she was wrong. My imagination is just fine, and I know what will happen if Rafi’s passenger ever finds a way to step off the bus.

‘I’ll be careful,’ I promised.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, with no hint of sarcasm in her face or voice. ‘I know you take no unnecessary risks, Castor. Not by your own definition.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Shall I tell you now how flawed your definitions are?’

‘Give Sue a kiss from me,’ I said. ‘Platonic. On the cheek. Nothing threatening.’

‘She has my kisses.’

‘Then I guess she’s doing okay.’

Juliet smiled with real and sudden warmth. ‘Oh yes,’ she agreed. With a final wave she stalked off into the darkness, and was gone more suddenly than the darkness itself could fully explain.

There was a Judas window in the back of the cab that let me look into the rear of the van. I slid it open and peeped through, although there was really nothing to see. Nothing to hear, either: the silence was absolute.

‘You okay, Rafi?’ I ventured, after a few moments.

No answer. Well, better nobody home than Asmodeus taking Rafi’s calls. And better that he sleep all the way to where we were going, because it would make unloading him at the other end a lot less complicated.

I wound up the window and drove away. I still had to get to Lambeth and back tonight, and I wasn’t looking forward to the drive. Or to what was waiting at the other end of it.

But I did what I had to do, which - when it comes right down to it - is the epitaph to most of my days. I handed off to Imelda’s people down in Elephant and Castle. There were two of them: handsome black men of few words who were ten years my junior and could have folded me backwards until I broke if the notion had come into their heads. I gave the van’s keys to the taller of the two, who wore a beanie and bands in rasta colours and had a braided beard that impugned the manhood of any man he met. He waved the keys at me like a schoolteacher waving a pointer.

‘Imelda wanted me to say this to you,’ he rumbled. ‘And she wanted me to say it slow, one word at a time.’ He tapped the keys against my chest five times, once for each word. ‘Don’t - make - me - regret - this.’

Being on his turf and his time, I took the insult with as much good grace as I could muster. ‘You ever get any snarl-ups south of the river?’ I asked.

He gave me a suspicious scowl. ‘What?’

‘The beads,’ I clarified, pointing to his beard. ‘Do they get in the way when you muff-dive?’

His eyes widened and his mouth set in a tight line. ‘Man, you’re asking for some real—’

I nodded, making the wrap-it-up gesture used by studio floor managers. ‘Tell Imelda I’m grateful,’ I said. ‘And tell her I’ll sort this out soon. She’s got my word on that.’

South Circular. Kew Bridge. North Circular. In Pen’s car now, which at least didn’t handle like a barge, but I was at the end of my rope, physically. Tiredness kills. Ask anyone. The only thing that kept me awake was surfing the news channels to find out if I was a wanted man.

Pen was waiting in the kitchen with all the lights on. She wanted a debriefing, which was extensive and occasionally hysterical, shading eventually into alcoholic.

When I rolled into bed at last, drunk with fatigue and spent adrenalin and a great deal of actual alcohol, I fell into sleep like a man stepping off the edge of a cliff. On the way down, I thought with a slightly numbed wonder about all the shit that was going to hit all the many and various fans when the morn’m when thing came.

And decided to sleep until noon.