Free GBH by Ted Lewis Page A

him in Muriel’s the other day; of course he was well aware that I’d know all about it. We had a few words.”
    “What did he have to say?”
    James smiled again.
    “He bought me a drink. You know what he’s like; in buying me a drink, he wasn’t conceding defeat. He was demonstrating that in the larger battle, he’d be the final winner. I sometimes wonder why he doesn’t wear a pair of six-shooters.”
    “And he said?”
    “Oh, nothing specific; the usual heavy irony, not disguising his real meaning. He mentioned he knew of a flat just gone vacant in Brighton. Ideal for the weekends. Sounds super, I said. I asked him for the number of the estate agents. He said how would he know?”
    I shook my head.
    “Poor chap,” James said. “He’s never been the same since he discovered the meaning of the term Macho .”
    Then I told James about the business over the accounts. He asked me what I thought the outcome would be.
    “Well,” I said. “I don’t doubt I’ll suss it out, wherever it’s happening.”
    “Oh, of course. What I meant was,” he said, “would you say that the final outcome will prove fatal?”
    “It couldn’t be otherwise, could it? You know every possible consequence if I just put him in the hospital. Not everybody’s a Henry Chapman.”
    “Oh, naturally.”
    There was a silence.
    “But?” I said.
    James shook his head.
    “Look,” he said. “I know in one respect it would be perfectly safe. With you, one doesn’t assume anything else. The only thing that occurs to me, in the present climate, so soon after the last unpleasantness, is that perhaps you could afford not to pursue this particular business with your usual thoroughness. Of course, Farlow’s stupid. But at the moment, and particularlyat the moment, he’s simply not going to stop thinking and looking and even shithouse rats can see in the dark.”
    James’s using that kind of language always disturbed me in a vague kind of way.
    “Do you know the kind of money that’s involved?”
    “Well, I can imagine, of course.”
    “In any case, it’s not the money. It’s the principle I can’t afford.”
    “Quite.”
    “I’m not going to sit up there on the top floor while there’s someone down here on the street smiling at my expense.”
    “I can quite see that.”
    “And as you say, I don’t own a building contractor’s for nothing. Those concrete mixers cost me a lot of money.”
    “Nothing,” he said. “I’m worried about nothing. Everything you say is absolutely true.”
    “Then what?”
    James drank some more of his wine.
    “Well,” he said, “this time, he’s already looking. The last time he cocked it up himself, and before he’d even realised it, you’d moved and then everything was as before, in other words, purely academic.”
    “Go on?”
    “This time, supposing one of your men disappears off the streets, he’ll know it’s not the Shepherdsons, not least because of his involvement. Therefore—however long it takes him is neither here nor there—he will conclude that your man is no longer on the street because of you.”
    “I can’t see that it’s any different from the previous situation.”
    “It’s just that he’s already looking; that’s all I’m trying to say.”
    “James, last time he and the Shepherdsons went to the trouble of setting up Arthur and the other two, Christ, if he couldn’t nail me then …”
    James waved a hand in the air.
    “I know. It was only a thought. I knew you wouldn’t mind my mentioning it.”
    “Of course not. I appreciate the concern. But, honestly. Don’t worry. I’m a very careful driver.”
    James smiled and took out his cigar case. He opened it and offered me one, as he always did, and I declined, as I always did.
    “By the way,” he said, “I meant to ask you. Have you seen the new Russell movie? Honestly, it’s unbelievable. Beautiful. Quite his worst so far. It’s so gloriously bad. I’ve seen it twice already.”
    While he went on