TWENTY-ONE
"That one called Charlie is an imbecile! What is all this talk of Coffee? I simply don't get it, collector."
Randall sat casually on the sofa of his plush hotel room and watched Ishrel pacing the floor. This time he had made the demon look like a clown complete with green curly wig, white face and red nose. But the most amusing thing about the get up was that ironically it actually made Ishrel look genuinely creepy. Ishrel frowned and put his hands behind his back as he paced looking at the floor. He had appeared just after noon the day before expecting news on Larry MCulloch's location and wasn't best pleased at the lack of movement, so much so that Randall had to remind him that they weren't actually picking up the Hotel bill for their stay at Leeds' prestigious Queen's Hotel.
"How hard can this be?" Ishrel asked still pacing. "This was your idea collector, remember that. You were the one who insisted on employing humans to locate McCulloch. And all they do is sit around talking about the pros and cons of Latté coffee. Sometimes I swear you do this type of thing to vex me."
"Relax," Randall told the clown. "They're just the babysitters, they have all kinds of people after McCulloch, besides it's only been a couple of days. The one called Bill has just taken a call from one of his associates, and I'm sensing he's got news on Tommy Whitaker."
Ishrel turned to face him, yep genuinely creepy. Randall would have to think of some other incarnation or he'd be having nightmares. "They've found Whitaker?" Ishrel asked.
"Feels like it," Randall answered.
"But why didn't they contacted you straight away?"
It was a good question and one Randall knew the answer to. "Guess they're afraid I'll go in all guns blazing. They still think I'm a hit man remember?"
The demon let out what was as close as he could get to a laugh, which sounded more like a strangled gagging sound. "If only they knew how much you hate guns." He said
"Hmm," was all Randall said in reply. Although over the last couple of days Randall had grown comfortable around Fraker and Charlie he knew deep down they didn't trust him, or to be precise Bill Fraker didn't. Charlie was an open book and he and Randall had connected almost immediately, so much so that he somehow felt there was something of a collectors spirit buried in Charlie's subconscious, and that was something he wanted to explore later if given half a chance. But Bill had remained at a respectful distance obviously all too aware of the danger he posed to the two of them. Randall knew Fraker would want to check out Whitaker's location first, perhaps even attempt to persuade the Lawyer to come quietly to save his own neck.
Ishrel jumped forwards and wrung has hands as if strangling an imaginary neck. "We should go next door and throttle it out of them!" He said.
"You mean I should," Randall corrected him. "You're just the observer, remember that Ishrel,"
"Huh!" Ishrel grunted indignantly and aimed a kick at an expensive looking lamp on the table which didn't so much as wobble. "Fuck pig!" He shouted. And Randall caught an actual edge of emotion in his usually colourless voice which made a refreshing change.
"Time is on our side, Ishrel," Randall said as the demon spun away from the table in disgust. "Let Fraker do his detective act if he so wishes. Besides that will give me a chance to speak with Charlie alone."
"Collector recruitment is not within our remit, Randall. Anyway the man is a fuck wit!" He paused then added. "But having said that, I believe that is the primary requirement for becoming a collector." A ghastly smile cracked his grease painted face.
Sarcasm now? Randall mused. "You know Ishrel, you're getting more human every day.” The smile fell right off the clown’s face.
"Now you are just being nasty," it said.
. . .
“Christ on a bike, Charlie. What are you doing?” Fraker had come into the room looking for his coat to find Charlie with a glass pressed against the wall between theirs and Randal's room. Charlie shushed him with his hand and pressed his ear to the glass.
“Randall's talking to himself again,” Charlie whispered as if the American could hear him through the wall.
“Will you come away!” Fraker scolded, he wondered who he was supposed to be babysitting sometimes. He spotted his coat laid on the back of a chair and grabbed it.
“'Ere where are you off to?” Charlie asked and finally came away from the wall.
“I've just been on the phone to Barney, he's got an address where Whitaker might be hiding out. I'm going to have a look see.”
“What now? It's nearly midnight.” Charlie said idly tossing the glass from hand to hand.
“We've not on office hours, Charlie,” Fraker eyed the glass, it was only a matter of time before Charlie dropped it. Hand eye coordination wasn't his best suit. “Put that down,” he said.
Charlie put the glass on a table. “I'll get my coat,” he said.
“No, you stay with the Yank,” Fraker said pulling on his coat, he looked out of the window, at least it had stopped snowing. “I think it’s best we keep him away from Whitaker for the moment,” he continued. “If Whitaker is at this place I don't want Randall making a scene. Maybe I can persuade Whitaker to give up McCulloch without any nonsense.”
“Okay,” Charlie said clearly not happy at being left behind, but Fraker knew he would do as he was told. The truth was if there was to be a showdown, Fraker didn't want Charlie anywhere near it. He would rather face the wrath of a pissed off Hit man over Charles Walker senior anytime. Besides, the kid was becoming too pally with the Yank, just like Fraker feared he would.
Whitaker, Whitaker, Whitaker. Fraker had been racking his brains all day trying to think where he knew the man from. He knew he was McCulloch dodgy Lawyer and that he had done work for Mister Lyne from time to time but he just couldn't picture him.
“Here, Charlie,” Fraker asked. “Where do I know this guy Whitaker from? It's been driving me mad.”
“You remember him,” Charlie said. “Flash git, always drives around in a Porsche.”
“Narrow it down a bit mate.”
“He's the lawyer who got Rob Murdoch off that murder charge a couple of years back. The boss used him a couple of times.”
Fraker still couldn't place him. He shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” Charlie said. “You remember, always dressed to the nines. Late twenties. Perfect hair.”
An image flashed into Fraker head and he instantly remembered the lawyer. Tommy Whitaker, he of the perfect hair. “Oh, Christ of course,” he said. “I remember the hair. And if I'm not mistaken I seem to remember you thought he was the dog’s bollocks too.” Suddenly it all came back to him, although Fraker had never actually met Whitaker, he remembered Charlie fawning all over him several months back when Mister Lyne had asked him to drive the Lawyer around while he was defending Rob Murdoch.
“Sob off,” Charlie said defensively. “I admired him, that's all. I was with him for a couple of weeks during the whole Murdoch case.”
Mad dog Murdoch. Fraker had the misfortune to meet the man a few times and each time it had ended in someone getting their head kicked in. He was an enforcer of the old school variety and a real nasty piece of work. Fraker remembered the murder case but hadn't realised it was Tommy Whitaker who had been the magician who had got the lunatic off.
“Mad dog Murdoch,” Fraker said. “Was as guilty as sin, I remember that much. You'd think his nick name would have tipped the jury off a bit. Mad as a hatter that bloke.”
“Hell aye,” Charlie agreed. “And there was no doubt Murdoch did it. Got caught red handed. Literally. But oh, you should have seen Whitaker tear the defence to shreds.”
Fraker could see Charlie's eyes glaze over as he remembered. It was another case of him idolising the wrong type of person, like Randall. And it was something Fraker knew he would have to stamp out and sharpish.
“It was a thing of beauty, Bill.” Charlie added. “You sure I shouldn't come along? I'm sure he will remember me.”
“No,” Fraker said flatly. “I don't need you fawning all over him.”
“Fuck off,” Charlie snapped. “Like I said, I just admired the guy. You didn't see him in action.”
“Charlie, he had the Judge in his back pocket.” Fraker said.
“Yeah, I saw the photos,” Charlie said and screwed his face up at the memory. Then brightened. “Oh, but he still had to sell it to the jury. Make it look genuine.”
Fraker remembered the outcry. Murdoch not only got off, but got fifty grand compensation on top. He had to give Whitaker credit for that if nothing else. “Lawyers,” he said. “Give me a straight talker any day of the working week, mate. You can't trust people like Whitaker, Charlie,” he warned. “Or McCulloch for that matter.”
“I know,” Charlie said again on the defensive.
“Charlie, about this Yank,” Fraker said, he paused for a moment he knew he would have to be careful how he put this.
“What about him?” Charlie said eyeing Fraker with suspicion.
“Nothing, just I know what you're like...” Charlie made to protest but Fraker cut him off. “All I'm saying is I don't want you getting too matey with him.”
“What do you mean? He seems alright.” Charlie said.
“Yeah, but we're here to do a job, Charlie, and so is he. And it's not a nice one. I don't want you talking or hanging around with him any more than you have to.”
“I don't know what you mean,” Charlie said with a look that was dangerously close to a pout.
“I know what you're like that's all, you're a nosy git and I bet you think he's the bees knees already just from a couple of days. Just like Whitaker.”
“Bollocks,” Charlie protested.
“Fine, just don't forget what he is.”
“Stop treating me like a kid, Bill, for Christ sake.” Charlie turned his back on Fraker and looked like he was about to storm off into his bedroom.
“I'm just saying,” Fraker said defensively. “Charlie, look at me.” Charlie reluctantly turned to face him. “All I'm saying is that this fella, nice as he might seem, is trouble, he's a Hit man for Christ sake.”
“I know,” Charlie said softly and this time without attitude. “As soon as we find where McCulloch is, we bugger off.”
“Good lad.” Fraker slapped him playfully on the arm and buttoned up his coat. “If we get messed up in a shooting, we'll go down for just as long as he does.” Charlie nodded in response. “And quite frankly Charles.” He added. “You are not the prison type my friend.”
“Can't argue with that,” Charlie said with a shrugged. “I’m far too pretty for prison.”
Happy that peace once more reigned between them, Fraker headed for the door. “Right, I'm off before Randall comes in. I swear that guy never sleeps.” He turned back to Charlie who gave recovered the glass and was back over at the adjoining wall to eaves drop once again. “And Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
If he asks, you have no idea where I've gone, be vague. See ya later.”
And with that Fraker left to face the cold night air, and hopefully the beginning of the end of their relationship with the Yank.
The door had already shut when Charlie said to the empty room. “Vague? You haven't even told me where exactly you are going.” He let out a grunt seeing he was alone and returned to his covert surveillance.
Back in his room, Randall didn't need a glass to know Fraker was gone. He had Ishrel.
The demon fair danced through the connecting wall between the two rooms. “You were right, collector, they have a lead on this Tommy Whitaker....” His voice trailed off as he looked down at his latest incarnation, curtesy of Randall's vivid imagination. “Oh, for fucksake, really?”
“Why not, since you're going to be my little detective for a while,” replied Randall to Ishrel who was wearing the cheap Halloween mask from before (the creepy clown face long gone,) but was now also dressed as Sherlock Holmes, complete with a tweed three piece Victorian suit and of course a deer stalker hat. He had kept the demon short to add insult to injury so he only stood three feet tall.
“One day, Collector,” Ishrel warned, “one day.”
“So, you were saying?” Randall asked nonchalantly.
The demon sighed and tried to gather up as much dignity as it could. “The one called Fraker has a lead on the possible whereabouts of Tommy Whitaker.”
Randall jumped up from his chair and went over to the window, he pushed back the curtain and looked down the three floor to the street below. “Told you they could be useful, we have been looking for McCulloch for weeks now, and they've got the best lead we've had, in just a couple of days.”
“So, what next?” Ishrel asked.
“You follow Bill. If he has found Whitaker, find out what he knows and where he is, and if he can be of use to us. Come back here and lead me to him. I'll do the rest.”
“You know Whitaker might not actually know where McCulloch is.”
“I'm sure he doesn't, exactly,” Randall said coming away from the window. “But I'll bet your fancy hat he can contact him, then we can trace McCulloch location from there. So you think you can keep up with Bill old man?”
“Huh!” Ishrel grunted and put his hands on his hips. Randall laughed out loud at the absurd figure he cut and the demon spun on his heels and headed for the door.
“See you soon Holmes.” He said as Ishrel disappeared. And he had the feeling that someday he was going to pay big style for all the humiliation he had heap on the demon over the years. Which reminded him, he would have to remember to say 'No shit Sherlock,' at some point when Ishrel got back. Yes he would surely reap some shit for all this one day, but hell it was just so much damn fun not to.