SS Glasgow Castle 19 Chapter Nineteen

Halfway through the afternoon, the house got busy. It started with excited comings-and-goings up and down the stairs; a few moments later, I saw the chubby young female living down the hall open the gate to the backyard. A Rent-Wreck van backed in, and I retreated from the window. I sat down on my bed, and spent the next few minutes listening to the sound show staged in the stairwell: there was a female voice insisting 'no, this way', plus a.s.sorted b.u.mps, thumps, and m.u.f.fled curses. Someone was moving into the meat merchant's mansion.

Kross arrived almost immediately following the departure of the Rent-Wreck. He knocked, and I invited him to come in. He didn't. He stuck his head in and gave me a look. I was standing by my bed (it was pretty difficult to stand anywhere else in my cramped room), and gave him a look back.

He said:

"I'm back."

He sounded odd; he sounded guilty! This was a new, sheepish, reduced-price Kross, and I adjusted my stance accordingly. I said:

"I can see that."

"Can you give me an hour or so before we talk?"

"Sure." He began withdrawing, and I added: "Wait. Aren't you forgetting something?" and held out the key to his flat. It had been in my pocket throughout the afternoon.

"Oh that," he said. "I've got another. See you in an hour, then." And he f.u.c.ked off.

It turned out to be one of the longer hours of my life - for once, life wasn't happening too suddenly. It stretched like chewing gum, and this put me on such high alert it bordered on paranoia. I wasn't bothered he'd discover I'd searched his flat: I put the card back exactly as I'd found it, and anyway what could Kross say - I see you've found my card? I'd say yes, didn't you want me to?

What bothered me was his new, uncertain tone. The troops had come to expect a confident Kross leading them to swift victory, and his long face rippled the ranks with anxiety. I caught the first deserter - a really silly thought that Kross was, after all, a conman - and shot it without mercy. But others appeared, and had me writhing at one point. By the time that terrible hour was up, I was a bundle of nerves.

Kross knocked me further off my balance right away.

"I haven't got Greenbottle's book," he said, the moment I entered and closed the door.

"Why?"

"Sharon had lent it to a friend, and the friend left town for a while. Two weeks in Cancun. What's worse, it seems she took it with her."

"She took Greenbottle's book to read on the beach? Come on. How do you know, anyway?"

"It wasn't in her apartment." He smiled as he said it, and I construed it as a knowing smile. I said:

"You broke into her apartment?"
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"No. Sharon visits it once a week to water the plants. I hung around till she did, and went along with her."

"She let you toss her friend's apartment?"

"I didn't toss it," he said impatiently. "I'd told Sharon I wanted to see the book, didn't I? We looked all over the flat together, but couldn't find it. You want to talk to Sharon to confirm it? I'll give you her number."

"No, I don't want to talk to her," I said. There was a longish silence.

"If you want to back out, I'll understand," he said eventually. "Seeing the book with your own eyes was part of the deal. So, do you want out? Just one condition: that you keep your mouth shut about the whole business."

"I have to think about it," I said. Kross looked at me and said:

"Fine. But make up your mind by tomorrow afternoon, all right? By three. I have to be at the airline office before four. I'll need your ticket if you're opting out."

I considered this for a little while. Then I said:

"Would you mind if I asked you a couple of things?"

"Not in the least. Fire away."

"How did you work out the loot's worth around a million? I mean it has to, if a third amounts to between two fifty and four hundred."

"I did a bit of research. Read up on a couple of guys that captained s.h.i.+ps in Connacher's time. It was a risky occupation, but a very rewarding one. Each eventually made around a million in today's money. Seemed a reasonable a.s.sumption to make. I'm pretty sure what we'll find won't be less than over half a million."

"You found a couple of guys just like Connacher? How?"

Kross smiled and said:

"The Internet is a wonderful thing."

I felt a small shock, as if he'd discovered that I didn't trust him and had been double-checking on his story. I said, a little too quickly:

"Here's your key. I actually spent some time here, admiring your beautiful statuette."

"I'm glad." He seemed to mean it. Why not? His ruse had worked.

"I'll see you tomorrow around two," I said.

"Great. You sure you don't want to ask me about anything else?" I hesitated. Our eyes met briefly, and I said:

"It can wait."

I got back to my room, locked the door, and called Tad. He wasn't in. I called him ten minutes later. He was out. Out, out, out. It was close on midnight when he finally answered the phone.

"At last," I said.

Tad informed me that he was a free man, free to come and go as he pleased. He went on to ask me what was up, then quickly answered the question himself. The Australian hotshot creative director was insisting on Kornik and Hansen, the sharpest creative team in town! He was offering remuneration in the six figures, company cars ('And I won't take anything less than a Lexus,' warned Tad), comprehensive health, dental, and life insurance, plus immunity from prosecution should we murder one of the market research people.

I said:

"Tad, please. Tad. Do you remember that you refused to go to the interview? Tad?"

"Separate suites when we have to travel," said Tad. "First cla.s.s, naturally. Plus complimentary limousines, Dom Perignon champagne - none of this Moet Chandon bulls.h.i.+t, and I mean it - and of course grand-f.u.c.k wh.o.r.es and premium cocaine."

I finally twigged Tad was high on c.o.ke in addition to being drunk. He seemed to be doing well, since this was a Monday. I was pleased for Tad. I said:

"Actually, I'm calling about that thing were looking for on the web the other day. Manage to find out anything?"

Tad informed me that he hadn't - he was concerned with a search for higher things, he said, such as true knowledge. In sharp contrast with just about everyone else, he knew he knew nothing, and was proud of it. He -

"You stole that line from Socrates," I interrupted. "You f.u.c.king writers are always stealing from someone. So: you didn't look, or you looked and didn't find anything?

"I looked and didn't find anything," said Tad with dignity. "Plenty of swallows. Plenty, but none featuring a Hansen. Very odd."

"What about Avery?"

"Big pirate. Big, biiig pirate. Very rich. Veeeery rich. Died of starvation. Very sad. Anorexia doesn't choose... this means you!" said Tad.

"Tad," I said patiently, "Did you post those queries you talked about? And if you did, could you pull them?"

"Tomorrow," said Tad. Then he started singing: tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're always a day away - little orphan Annie on nose candy.

"I'll call you again tomorrow," I said, and hung up.