D= They Ate the Truth

I don't waste time being jealous, instead I play squash with Bill.
He beats me, I don't seem to have a lot of energy and shots I normally
stretch for I just let go. We talk about nothing much afterwards, he
tells me of some cases he's been working, I don't tell him anything
about what I've been doing. As always, we drink two pints of lemonade
up in the bar while I fiddle with a beer mat.

While I'm at home trying to find something on television that I haven't
seen before, I'm not being jealous either. To be honest, she was clear
with me from the off that she was married, that was her excuse for
involving me - 'I'm having an affair and I don't want my husband to
find out'. It's not her fault that I took this to be a lie in the light
of events that followed.

I don't call Lorrie, but I might not have done that anyway. No sense
being too clingy. Let her wait a while, let her start to think that
she's missing me.

I read once of this imaginary game called Finchley Central. Two players
take it in turns to name London tube stations. The winner is the first
one to say Finchley Central. The ideal time to say it is just as your
opponent is thinking that he will say it on his next turn.

Relationships are a little like that. The ideal time to ring a new
partner is just as they are starting to think that maybe they should
ring you. That way you don't seem needy or overkeen and you also get
the kudos of being the one bold and confident enough to make the
call.

What do I know about relationships ? Up until this weekend, I've only
had charity shags in the last two years. Most of them from the same
woman. Friend of mine, cold hands.

When I shave in the morning, I use far too much lather. It always comes
out that way, you apply slight pressure and get a palmful of the foam
which you have to wash off.

I get to work and there's already a man waiting, with Rachael looking
disapprovingly at me for being late. He's not really a man so much as a
boy who has bought himself a suit. Probably TopMan. It looks cheap. I
know he'll be wearing Lynx aftershave. At least the trousers are the
same colour as the jacket.

"Mister Reilly, " Rachael says to me, "He's been here twenty minutes.
"

She's reproaching me for being late for someone I didn't even know was
coming. She smells like vanilla, so I forgive her.

I go into my office, start thinking about my mother's Newton Cradle,
five steel balls suspended by strings that I used to clack together.
Maybe I should get something like that, to play around with while I
talk to clients.

This Reilly boy comes in, sits down. He seems really awkward and sits
with his hands folded in his lap. This is a stance I recognise - it is
supposed to make you look confident and stop you worrying what to do
with your hands. Instead it makes him look like he likes touching his
nuts.

"Morning, " I say to him, "What can I do for you? "

He hands me a pale blue plastic folder, inside which is a CV. I don't
learn a great deal from that, other than that as he works for a coffee
shop and used to be in an independent bookstore, he may not be able to
pay for the time he's occupying.

"Great, " I say, "Now, what can I do for you ?"

He clears his throat, "Well, Mister Chandler, I may not have any
experience, but what I lack in practical knowledge, I more than make up
for in enthusiasm. "

"Good for you kid, " I say. I don't plan on saying much else. He's
either going to come out with it soon or else I'm going to buzz Rachael
and have him moved. Me prompting him is not going to do any good.

"As you can tell, I have taken courses in photography, so that might
come in useful. And I've read up on the law, so I know about that.
"

This politeness, the position of the hands.

"Are you asking me for a job ? " I say to him.

He blinks at me. "Yes, that's why I've come to the interview. Is this
an initiative test ? Do you want me to tell you what sort of earrings
your secretary was wearing ? I notice things, sir, and I made some
notes. "

"There isn't an interview, " I tell him, "You've been? misinformed.
"

He reaches into the pocket of his cheap suit. If I was smarter, I'd
have expected a piece, but I'm dumb, so wait for him to pull out a
letter, folded longways into thirds. He hands it to me.

It looks like my letterhead, and tells him that he should attend at the
offices at eight thirty prompt for the interview. It is signed, but not
by me.

"Where'd you get this ? " I ask him.

"It came in the post, " he says.

I tell him not to get smart with me and regret my tone. He's just a
kid, just like I was, a kid with stupid dreams about glamour and
mystery.

"There's no job here, " I say to him, "And you're better off with the
coffee. This isn't like the books - most of the job is driving out and
giving a man court papers that he doesn't want to take off you. "

"But, the advert, " says Reilly, looking like he's going to cry, "It
said you needed someone to train up, maybe to be a partner. It said
excellent prospects, it said senior detective going away long-term
sick, enthusiastic bright young person needed to provide cover. "

Great, I think, as I show him out and ask Rachael to flash him a little
leg, the day is twenty minutes old and I've crushed someone's
dreams.

I see six more of these people for interviews, the process gets quicker
and quicker.

At around lunchtime, another guy comes in, older with a face that has
seen things. His hair is very blonde, more Scandanavian or Germanic
than English and his voice is very polite, he speaks in a gentle,
measured way. His hair is choppy, busy.

He sits in my office wearing a cream linen suit with a cornflower blue
shirt, eating a Magnum ice-lolly with precision. If I was hiring, this
would be the one. He has a bright, impassive face and eyes that see
everything that's going on. Also, you have to have steady nerves to eat
something chocolate in a linen suit.

"No jobs here, " I say.

"Really, " says the man, "I heard you were going away. Maybe long-term
sick. No work for eight or nine months, I heard. "

"Are you threatening me ? " I ask.

"Perhaps obliquely, " says the man, "I'm Alastair, by the way. "

It isn't his real name.

"A friend and I, " says Alastair, " We had a bet a while ago. Can you
guess who won ? "

Of course not, I tell him.

He continues to eat the Magnum, moving the stick, rotating it so that
he eats it evenly, he eats with real deliberation.

"We were wondering, " says Alastair, "About which food would be more
boring on its own, rice or pasta. I ate nothing but plain, boiled
pasta, Matthew stuck with rice. Every meal, exactly the same, with a
glass of water. Who do you think got bored first ?"

I buzz for Rachael but she doesn't answer.

"Come on, " says Alastair, "Which of us do you think lasted longer ?
"

"You did, " I say, "But only because you cheated and drizzled olive oil
onto it. "

He gives me a thin, watery smile.

"Next question, " he says, "What was the first record you played from
your parents record collection on your own ? "

I'm thinking of standing up. He reads my intention and spreads out a
palm, indicating that I should stay where I am.

"Simon and Garfunkel, " I say, "Just The Boxer, over and over. "

"What frightens you more, being blind or being unable to speak?"

"Okay, " I say, "Do you want me to be intimidated ? I'm intimidated.
Okay ? You've had your fun, jerking me around with fake interviews and
bizarre questions. "

He looks so pleased with himself, I have to puncture this.

"How is Chesterton ? " I ask him and study his face, which he makes
blank. I tell him, Chesterton's training is like a fingerprint. Throw
odd questions at the subject, confuse him so that eventually they'll do
whatever you want. Plus, if they go to the police to report it, the
police won't believe a word of it. Classic men-in-black approach.

"I prefer linen, " says Alastair, but I can tell he's a little
rocked.

"Shouldn't this be a two-man job? " I ask, "That's more usual, isn't
it?"

He shrugs, "When we did the rehearsal it seemed really hammy, " he
says.

"Let's move things forward, " he says, slightly cross, "You broke the
rules Chandler. You did something without a licence. I need to see the
bugs that did it. "

"I'll need to open the cabinets for you, " I say, "But you're wasting
your time. The ones I used are burned. These are all empty. "

Alastair nods to himself, "Thought so. Still, you don't mind if I take
a look, do you?"

He hums, la la lie, la, la, la, la, la, la, lie, as I bring out the bug
cases. They are fairly lively, unsurprisingly. This man has done some
things in his time.

"Have you been watching me ? " I ask, as I set them down on the
table.

He laughs, "No, we were watching the girl. She only had one reason to
come here. "

I feel queasy, "Is this where you warn me to stay away from her
?"

He adjusts the cuffs of his linen jacket, pulling them down slightly,
"No, not at all. Spend as much time with her as you like. She doesn't
know anything. Not someone I'd choose to sleep with, but I'm just here
for the bugs."

I'm not sure whether that is a relief or not. I show him the boxes. He
looks over each of them, he knows something about bugs, enough to tell
that these are empty, and he also has a healthy respect for them. I'd
expect that from someone in Chesterton's mob. His face is hard to read,
I can't tell if he's disappointed or pleased that the bugs who purged
Lorrie's are dead.

He holds out the empty stick, which is shaped like a paddle, "You got a
bin?"

His attention turns for a moment, and I take my chance, picking up one
of the boxes and holding onto the mechanism that opens it.

"Wait a second, " I say, "I've got some questions for you. "