Page 16 of Copper Script
Fowler began a response but managed to stop it on the first plosive, though it wasveryplosive.Joel probably shouldn’t be winding him up to this extent.He was too rigid, and that sort of self-control was liable to explode.
Which reminded him.
“Anyway, I’ve held up my end of the deal,” he said.“I’ve told you how I do it, and what I said.Now you tell me, who wrote the second paper?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
What he’d have liked to say wasThat hand was hot as hell and I want its owner’s name and address.Any ideas?It was the kind of stupid risk he might have taken a few years ago, reckless and angry, a wild punt with a magnificent fuck on one side of the scale and God knows what dangers on the other.
He was probably too old to be that stupid.But notthatmuch too old, so...“I was intrigued,” he said.“Well, it’s an intriguing hand.Corseted, I think I said, and someone ought to cut the laces.Does that sound right to you?”
Not a twitch, not a flicker.Fowler’s face was unnaturally still.
“And you promised to tell me,” Joel added.“Are you going to break your word, Detective Sergeant?”
“It’s...a friend’s.A friend of mine.”
Ooh, the rotten liar.In both senses, because a child could spot the fib there.“That’s interesting.A lady friend?”
“Excuse me?”
“I was wondering if she’s single?”
That had come out of his mouth too fast for his brain to stop it, and he thought,Oh shit, as the dark red bloomed on Fowler’s cheeks.
And then the bastard said, “Are you interested?”
“I’m a single man myself, Detective Sergeant,” Joel flipped back.“Footloose and fancy-free.And I appreciate a well-filled corset, so I thought you might introduce me.”
“What if I told you my friend was an octogenarian gentleman with six cats?”
“I’d say you were lying through your teeth.If one is allowed to accuse the police of such a thing, even when it’s clearly true.”
“I’m here in a private capacity,” Fowler reminded him.“I can’t put you in touch with my friend, I fear.”
“At least pass on my advice.Get someone to cut those laces for you before you pop.”He gave it just a second, and finished, “...is what you should tell her.If you’re that sort of friend.”
He was pushing this, he knew, but he could no more resist the temptation than fly.“Don’t you think?”he added.“Better out than in, don’t they say?”
“That reminds me,” Fowler said.“When we discussed my friend’s handwriting you saidI betand then stopped.What did you bet?”
It was ridiculous he should have remembered that, or expected Joel to remember.It was even more infuriating that Joel did.
“Oh, I don’t think I should say,” he temporised.“I spoke without thinking.I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful to a lady.”
“I won’t repeat it,” Fowler said.“I’d just be interested to know.”
“Still.It was trench talk, if you know what I mean.”
“I was in the Navy, but I expect it’s much of a muchness.Say what you meant.I shan’t take offence on my friend’s behalf.”
“Well, if you insist,” Joel said.“When I read your friend’s letter, I thought that was someone who, in the right circumstances—the right hands—would bang like a barn door in the wind.Oh, will you look at the time: I’ve a client arriving any moment.It’s been an absolute pleasure, Detective Sergeant.Drop by whenever you’re passing.”
He ushered the slack-jawed policeman out.Then he put his back to the door, slid down to the floor, and laughed himself sick.
