Free Zip Gun Boogie by Mark Timlin Page A

short black skirt. There were two cocktail glasses on the low table in front of her, empty except for the dregs of some creamy-coloured drink. She looked happy enough about it. ‘Hi, Dodge,’ she said. She had an American accent. A real one as far as I could tell from two words.
    â€˜Lindy.’
    â€˜Who’s your friend?’ She looked up at me through her false eyelashes.
    â€˜Nick Sharman. He’s a private dick.’
    At the word ‘dick’ she raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d had ‘horny’ tattooed on her forehead. ‘Hi, Nick.’
    â€˜Hi, Lindy.’
    â€˜What can I do for you guys?’
    â€˜Nick wants to ask you some questions.’
    â€˜Sure, I’ve got nothing else to do except put another coat of varnish on my nails.’ And she moved languorously on the cushion of the sofa. The way she said it and the way she moved I suddenly realised I liked her. Few Americans, and as far as I could see even fewer people in the rock business, could appreciate irony. ‘Sit down, do,’ she said. ‘Sam, get my guests some drinks.’
    I was beginning to like her more and more. I sat on the sofa opposite and I could see quite clearly up her skirt and that she was wearing red pants. Very small red pants. She knew I could see, and I knew she knew, and it seemed to suit us both just fine.
    â€˜What’ll you have, gents?’ asked Sam. I wondered if the guys from Premiere Security had to go on a bartending course before they qualified for their jobs.
    â€˜Gin and tonic,’ I said. Lomax looked daggers at me. I ignored him.
    â€˜Beer,’ he said.
    â€˜Get me another Brandy Alexander, Sam honey, will you?’ said Lindy.
    He went over to the bar and started rattling bottles.
    â€˜We’ve just been to see your husband,’ I said.
    â€˜Great,’ she replied without any real show of enthusiasm.
    â€˜He’ll be home tomorrow.’
    â€˜Great.’ Ditto.
    â€˜You’re not pleased?’
    â€˜Sure. It’ll be good to have Trash back. Then he’s in the studio for a month, or rehearsing, or on tour. Fine. I see lots of him.’
    â€˜You could be with him now.’
    â€˜Who the hell are you to tell me where I can or can’t be?’ she said angrily, and closed her legs and pulled her skirt down. Which did nothing to improve the view.
    Sam brought over the drinks. He gave me a mournful look as he gave me mine. I tasted it. It was fine. ‘Thanks,’ I said to his retreating back. ‘Who was here when your husband snorted the smack?’ I asked Lindy.
    She thought for a moment. ‘Trash, me, Pandora and his two little friends, Chick and Seltza.’
    I lifted my eyebrows again.
    â€˜Roadies,’ she said. ‘We were partying.’
    â€˜Anyone else?’
    â€˜Seltza’s old lady. His English old lady. What’s her name, Dodge?’
    â€˜Patty,’ said Lomax.
    â€˜And Chick had a chick with him.’ She smiled a ghost of a smile. ‘And Trash’s dealer came by.’
    â€˜Does he have a name?’ I asked.
    Lindy looked at Lomax who nodded. ‘Sandy,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure he didn’t…’
    â€˜Someone did,’ I said to her. ‘Anyone else?’
    â€˜Sweetheart.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Sweetheart. She’s a PR person with On Line.’
    I looked at Lomax. ‘They’re our PR company over here,’ he explained.
    â€˜And Turdo dropped by,’ said Lindy.
    â€˜Who?’ I said.
    â€˜Turdo,’ said Lomax. ‘Another roadie.’
    â€˜Sounds delightful,’ I said.
    Lomax and Lindy didn’t comment.
    â€˜Was that it?’ I asked.
    â€˜I think so,’ said Lindy.
    â€˜I’d like to talk to them,’ I said to Lomax.
    â€˜Sure. Anytime you like.’
    â€˜And this guy Sandy – how do I get hold of