Free Romeo's Tune (1990) by Mark Timlin

sleep the clock round.’
    ‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’
    ‘All the time, but not today. You’ll feel better for some food. Otherwise you’ll wake up in the middle of the night without a bite in the place, and you’ll be tempted to go out, and you’ll get lost and it’ll be my fault and I’ll have to carry the load of guilt for the rest –’
    ‘OK, OK, I surrender. But just basic shopping and eat and rim.’
    ‘Good,’ I said.
    We switched on the fridge and left the flat. I stuck a note on the door for the caretaker. We went round to the Co-op and bought the bare necessities for survival. I handled the finances as Josephine looked bewildered at the prices. Then we shot down to The Greyhound in Dulwich. I could tell she was beginning to flag. She was game though and got through a small soup and French bread and a large gin. I ate the soup too, and it wasn’t bad, and drank a pint of lager.
    Finally she turned to me and said, ‘I’m really out of it, Nick.’
    It was the first time she’d used my name and I liked it a lot.
    ‘Yeah, sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you home.’
    I drove her back to the block of flats and left her standing in the drive with her Co-op bag in her hand. She waved to me as I turned the corner and as I was alone I let a big grin spread right across my face.

8

    T he next morning I was sitting in my usual seat looking out over the rainy streets again. The snow had moved away across the Atlantic and left a legacy of fine grey drizzle. I was thinking about the American girl I had met and not much else.
    Around eleven the phone rang. Cat had returned for food and I’d trapped her in the office in preparation for a trip to the vet’s. She stiffened at the sound and I picked up the receiver.
    ‘How’re you going?’ enquired a deep voice.
    ‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘Algy. Remember me?’
    ‘Sure. How are you going?’ For some reason I liked the guy and was glad to hear from him.
    ‘Just dandy. What are you doing?’
    ‘Sitting, thinking.’
    ‘Sounds good but dull. Do you fancy coming over? McBain would like to see you.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Business.’
    ‘What kind of business?’ I asked.
    ‘Come over and find out. I don’t know what he’s up to.’ I just bet he didn’t.
    ‘When?’
    ‘Whenever. We’re not going anywhere.’
    ‘Today?’
    ‘That’s favourite.’
    ‘About an hour then.’
    ‘Fine, blow your car horn like this’ – he gave me a Bo Diddley beat down the phone – ‘and I’ll open the gate.’
    ‘Security?’
    ‘Bollocks to security. It’s too cold and wet to hang around in the garden.’
    ‘You should get an entryphone.’
    ‘Pigs might fly.’
    ‘Where are you calling from anyway?’ I asked. ‘I thought there were no telephones at your place.’
    “The back seat of a Bentley.’
    ‘I might have guessed. I’ll see you soon.’
    We put down our telephones in unison. I told Cat she’d got a reprieve from the vet’s. She sneered at me. Pregnancy had only marginally improved her disposition. I fed her, left the fire turned down low and split. I took the Jaguar.
    The South Circular was crowded with drivers who suddenly couldn’t drive anymore because of a centimetre of rain; But I cut and hacked the big car through the traffic and was in Richmond in less than an hour.
    I drew up outside the gates of McBain’s place and hit the horn just like Algy had told me. The gates swung open immediately. I crunched the car down the overgrown drive and parked it in front of the house behind an old Bentley Park Ward Continental with a dented rear wing. The number-plate read ALG IE. The big man himself was standing in the doorway of the house. I climbed out of my car and walked through the cold rain, up the stone steps towards him.
    ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked as a greeting.
    He was well on the way, I could tell. I am a detective after all. In one of his giant hands was a can of Red Stripe Crucial, in the other was the