Colour Plates

“Are you looking for anything in particular, sir?”
“Well I do have a penchant for the works of Arthur Rackham.”
“You like Arthur Rackham?”
“Passionately. I am a scholar of his art. I trust you have some first editions.”
“We do. We also have some rare items in stock. What, say you, of Wagner?”
I didn’t realise that people could speak like that these days. Perhaps I might kill two people. One for the dough and the other as a hobby. I don’t know who Arthur Rackham is anyway, besides why is he mispronouncing the ‘Hart-to-Hart’ actor’s surname like that?
“I don’t care much for him. Not even the Valkyries.”
“I detest the Valkyries.”
Oh dear, he’s found a friend. I thought that organised crime carried an air of vulgarity about it. The golden chains around their porcine necks, the Aunt Sally like faces of their contemptuous women who like to go in for that sort of thing. Taste was not usually found amongst the thugs and knuckleheads who were proprietors of gymnasiums and nightclubs funded by junkies and dope fiends. Which is probably why they paid me handsomely to kill him. Hold on! I’m actually starting to like the old codger. No. Control yourself. You have to be professional. Do the job; shoot him with your gun, then make it clear to your clients that he is dead at your hands by whatever means you have at your… Oh, Mother Mary and Joseph! Where is it? Oh, Gordon Bennett!
“O joy! I thought I was alone but that’s the irony of feeling alone. You’re actually swamped in a multitude of lonely people. Eleanor Rigbys are we. So, yes, no interests in Richard Wagner have I.”
Richard Wagner! Who?
“A pity sir as we have these two beautifully leather-bound editions of ‘The Rhinegold and The Valkyrie’ and ‘Siegfried and The Twilight of The Gods.’ Thirty-four colour plates in the former but only thirty in the latter. Yet more exquisite than ‘The Rhinegold and The Valkyrie’ I think you’ll agree.”
I wonder if I might find anything relevant in my orange Sainsbury’s bag. Swan Vestas, fire lighters, milk, sausages. I could pork the swine to death if need be. Shame there are no security cameras to capture the moment. I’d have to work out another way to provide proof of contract. Give them their money’s worth. Though, perhaps I shouldn’t mourn such a lack of precaution. It is nice to be in a building with a man who can only see the holy in humanity. Anyway, who’d want to steal twelve Billy Bunter novels?
“Many of these colour plates have never been reproduced elsewhere. Unless you have access to the original paintings these books provide the only means to viewing them. There is rumour that many Rackham originals went up in smoke. Lost to prosperity. Fire to the likes of the man on the street.”
Inspiration!
“A scurrilous rumour. I deny that such barbarism can ever happen to such beautiful works. A virgin may be raped but beauty is always free from harm.”
Quite. “Quite.” I and the shopkeeper are united in our discomfort. A-ha!
Thank the good Lord in Heaven above for modern technology. From the phone, to the fax, to the personal computer that revealed the dark truth about Gary Glitter. All with connecting wires, connecting leads. Ideal for causing an accident at the top of the stairs. Ideal for persuasively squeezing out that last breath.
“May I have a look at the contents of those books?”
“Take a seat if you please.”
Hm. Pretend you’re interested in…erm…Izaak Walton’s ‘The Compleat Angler.’ Compleat? Didn’t the bugger have access to spellcheck? Oh! Arthur Rackham’s illustrated this one. I wonder how much it is. Couple of quid, three pounds. Fair price for a second hand bookshop.
“Oh, now this one is beautiful.”
“Divine, sir. We do have some Rackham originals ourselves. All protected by framing.”
My God! What a reaction! That bookseller is practically doing my job for me. Though I wouldn’t chuckle as lightly as he is. I am a killer after all, not a sadist.
“I can see you a fine connoisseur of Arthur Rackham. Please continue perusing the books and I shall go into the backroom to obtain a few originals for your perusal. Are you okay sir?” Better nod my head. “Thank you for your understanding tolerance. Be with you in a moment sir. It is a delight to serve a gentleman. There’s far too few these days.”
Well, ‘La-di-dah’ but also ‘Hurrah’.
Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Pause for a moment. Now!
“Mister Hargreaves.”
“Hello? O Jesus Christ! Chriii-aaack! Achhh! Achhh! Ulk! Ulllk! Urrrk! Kach! Kach! Urrrrlllgh! Ullllgh! Achhhh! Urrrrrk!”
I thought this particular method would ease over time. I’m definitely out of practice. Guns are too easy but they do leave a nice trademark, a sort of artist’s signature. By gum, his neck is a fat beast. Use all your strength Cyril, use all your might. Come on, come on. “Urrrk.” Done. I hope he didn’t have anything important to say that needed to be said, hate to have cut him off in his prime. Now to give my investors their money’s worth. Hmmm. Now what did that bookseller say about those many Rackham originals?
© Clinton Morgan 2011