A vignette from the private detective novel I’m working on. It’s a bit raw, but I think it has
potential. What do you think?
Some background. Blain, the narrator, runs a detective agency in Norwich His real name is
Just Blain, thanks to an Edwardian grandad, but he keep this quiet. Though when
questioned he’s honest and says,’Just Blain.’ Everyone takes that at face value, and thinks
he imagines himself some Philip Marlow character.
He has two partners. Lou (Taluleh Lafayette Dubois) is from near Baton Rouge, and is of
Louisiana/Texan parentage. This gives me some scope for playtime with her accent,
cadences, speech patterns, and turn of phrase.
Suki, her lover, is the third partner. She’s Sri Lankan by origin, hence her mouthful of a name
Sukanindranthanan Baderanaike, and hence known as Suki. She was brought up in the UK.
She’s a forensic accountant. Suki doesn’t say much, but when she does speak it sticks.
Sunny Patel is the office manager. He’s affable but rules Blain and Lou with a rod of iron in
an ermine sleeve. Suki is far too organised to need managing, and anyway Sunny is a bit
scared of her.
The company is just getting off the ground, and they’re all having a planning meeting.
Norfolk Broads
Sunny started off. ‘Suki, you’re still on the builders’ merchants case, yes?’
‘How’s that going Suki?’ I like to keep up with my partners’ endeavours.
‘Straightforward. Two more days. People are stupid.’
That was as far as Suki would go into the case of the vanishing profits. Or so I thought. She
suddenly grinned, giggled, and said, ‘Bricks. Whoever would have thought of stealing
bricks?’
‘Heavy, bulky. Not paricularly high value.’
‘Correct. There may be some other things. I’ll find them.’
Sunny broke in. ‘Lou, you’re on security for the Norfolk Broads.’
‘Aw shoot.’
‘Money in the bank Lou.’ Sunny tends to be more commercially astute than Lou or me,
which is just as well.
You may not be acquainted with Norfolk Broads. It was intended to follow in the vein of
Footballers’ Wives. Lots of women drifting around in diaphonous lingerie and masses of
bling, serially seducing greenkeepers, groundsmen, washing machine repair men, while
husbands are at work earning the money to support this lifestyle. It was supposed to be
prime time viewing, but nearly ended up stranded in the outer fringes of terrestrial
afternoon schedules. However, because it was set in Norfolk it developed a strong regional
following. Then students loved the bad sets, the bad acting, the bad story lines which they
could mock while lying around forking spaghetti hoops out of the tin, instead of being at
lectures. It became a hot favourite in residential homes. A more surprising part of the
demographic was a huge following in the ABC professional classes. This ensured some
rather unexpectedly high value advertising, and this kept things running well beyond what
you might have expected to be the expiry date. It went from cult status back to important
prime time.
To be fair, the producers put in a really nifty hook. In each episode of Broads, there would
be on the soundtrack a snatch of the theme music from the programme, as if someone off
camera was watching TV. At the end of the episode, viewers were invited to ring in (on a
premium rate line of course), and answer a question along the lines of:
What was Estelle doing when the Norfolk Broads theme was on during the show? Was she
a/ Having a massage?
b/ Having a manicure
c/ Having a glass of champagne in the jaccuzzi?
d/ Having it off with her best friend’s fiancé?
I made the last one up, by the way.
There was a text reply service too. They made a fortune, and the producers ended up
making money on each show. Everybody was happy.
Apart from Lou. She likes working security, but some of the Broads cast drive her absolutely
up the wall.
‘Who am I protecting from the Injuns?’
‘Gillian McConnell.’
‘Shoot, there’s more goddam botox in her face than a can of beans gone bad.’
‘And Blain, guess what? You’re on parade too.’
‘Get out of here!’
‘Yes. Gillian and Lance...’
‘Lance Grant? He’s even more botoxed than Lou’s bad can of beans! And he’s orange! And
he has yellow hair! He’s had so many facelifts that lovable dimple in his chin is his navel!’
‘Blain don’t be a goddam jackass.’
‘And he wears a pinky ring!’
‘Shut up, Blain!’
‘He does so wear a pinky ring,’ I muttered.
‘Blain, I won’t tell ya again.’
Sunny put us even deeper into our misery. ‘Gillian McConnell and Lance Grant – or Estelle
and Jimmy Cunningham, the happily married couple of stage and screen, and unhappliy
married couple in real life – are opening a theme bar and restaurant in a pub out near
Horning. Norfolk Broads on the Norfolk Broads. There’s a book signing there too. Estelle and
Jimmy-A Broad and In Depth. Supposedly penetrating insights into how Gillian and Lance
overcame poor upbringings, fought the odds, rose to be stars... Some stock photos of life on
set, a quick picture tour of their house. Hello! but in 280 pages.’
‘Christ, can their fans actually read? Can the golden couple actually write?’
‘Blain I toldyah not to be a jackass. Course they caint write; they have enough trouble
following the goddam autocue. But the Grandma Moses squad thinks the lifestories are for
real, so all we have to do is hold ‘em off, have lunch, and smoke rubber outta there.’
‘There’s something else.’
‘Jeez Sunny, you’re as welcome as sores on a hog.’
‘The PR company have decided to stage a scene. You know, old dear tries to hit
Gillian/Estelle with a handbag, old geezer berates Lance for being a spineless coward. Lou,
you fend off the bagswinger, Blain you talk the old guy out of it. Hustle them off behind the
screens, shake hands, say goodbye.’
‘Fuck, they don’t pay me enough for this.’
‘They do, Blain. Five hundred is a good morning’s work.’
The next day Lou and I were picked up in a big people carrier, one of those where you can
arrange the seats in any one of 19 exciting ways. Some TV company minion was driving, and
Lou and I sat in the back facing Gillian/Estelle and Lance/Jimmy. There appeared to be some
bad blood between the stars, and Lance leaned conspiratorially toward me to expound on
latest movements in the stock market. I think he forgot he was Lance and had become
Jimmy; Stanislawski eat your heart out. Meanwhile Gillian became Estelle and swapped
gossip with Lou. More accurately she bored her with gossip, but Lou is far too well brought
up to let it show to anyone who didn’t know her as well as I do.
Gillian suddenly leaned forward and yelled imperiously at the driver, ‘For God’s sake,
Matthew, how much further? I can’t tell you how much I hate Norfolk. Too much sky.’
‘About another five miles, Miss McConnell. Maybe ten minutes.’ I was beginning to like
Matthew. He was young, enthusiastic, competent, and remarkably sanguine about the bad
behaviour of his almost famous passengers.
‘Time for a little lift.’ Gillian reached in her handbag, took out a small mirror, adjusted her
hair, checked her makeup, then laid out a huge double line of coke from a baggie. Lou
looked at me, I looked at Lou. Lou hit the window switch, and as the window slid open
grabbed the mirror and the baggie, and hurled everything out into the slipstream. The effect
was not exactly unexpected.’
‘You fucking bitch! Why’d you do that, you stupid cow? Do you know who I am?’
‘Sure I do ma’am. You are Gillian McConnell. I’m Lou Dubois, and my job is to look after you.
Now you may be a method actor an all, but cording to my contract one thing I’m supposed
to do is stop you getting too much into character, and that sure includes you arriving in a
state that Estelle might find normal. No drugs on my watch. Ma’am.’
Estelle was in full possession of the facts and her faculties now, and she flounced back in her
seat. Grant chuckled. Estelle wasnt happy about this.
‘Shut up, you superannuated corpse. You’d be dead by now without drugs! And where
would you be without those little blue pills, eh?’
No reply.
We got to the pub with no further incident. Leaving the two squabblers in the car, Lou nad I
had a quick word.
‘How do you want to play this, Lou?’
‘Wadda you think?’
‘Your show is what I think. Dubois Security got this gig; I’m just a gun for hire.’
‘Let’s go have a lookee see, meet the other security guys, chat up the police on traffic
management.’
‘I’ll leave the chatting up to you. You’re better equipped.’
‘You’re a goddam sexist knothead.’ But she grinned.
The general security guys we’d worked with before.
‘Blain and I will look after the stars. If you can deal with crowd control, honey, I’d sure
preciate that. No pushin in the crowds; y’all know what a pensioner can do with her elbows
in a jam.’
‘No problem, Lou. None at all. We’ll be on it.’
They haven’t clocked that Lou and Suki are lovers, and there’s not one of them would miss
out on the opportunity to impress a Southern belle.
While Lou continued charming birds out of the trees I sneaked in through a back door,and
took a look at the menu and the venue. The menu really was a bit much. Apart from
branded beers and wines, everything had a Norfolk Broads theme. There was a champagne
cocktail named after Patricia, an unterbitch in the cast, which I assumed was equal parts
champagne, vinegar, and bile. For starters? How about les huitres aux larmes d’Estelle?
Oysters are hideous anyway, but to have them prepared in Estelle’s tears... As for the entrée
grille mixte á la Jimmy? Think for a while about griddles and the name Jimmy.
Setting aside the OTT menu it looked OK. Modern light decor, a good sized bar , plenty of
space between the tables, good quality linen, heavy cutlery. For after the ceremonial
opening, there was a signng table, with a marquee outside for selling the books, photos, and
ther memorabilia. I guessed that that would mean less of a ruck at the signing; those who
were too embarrassed to be seen could buy a something in the marquee and sneak off.
The waiting crowds were a mixed bunch. A load of Goth/Emo/crusty/skanky students trying
very hard to look post-ironic, but actually simply looking stoned. Mobs of elderly women in
their Sunday best. A few awkward looking professionals. Lots of locals simply out for the
exctiement, and a lot of people clearly having arrived while holidaying on boats on the
Broads – the real Broads, not the stroppy actors in the car.
‘OK, Blain, let’s go gettem. I’m gonna tell Matthew to get up by the fire exit over there; it’s
right by where the Terrible Twins are gonna be, so can get em out in a hurry if we need to.
He’d better keep the engine running.’
We ushered Estelle and Jimmy through the good natured crowd to the door of the theme
bar. This had a deep blue ribbon across it, and the landlord, in the company of various minor
dignitaries, was holding a pair of ceremonial scissors. All this fuss for a TV programme.
Reporters, paparazzi, even a couple of TV crews. This was a big thing around here. There
was some speechifying, a cutting of the ribbon, and the place erupted. Lou and I got Estelle
and Jimmy safely ensconced behind the siging table, taking our places either side of them,
as the mob surged around, oohing and aahing at the many photographs and odd bits of sets
from Norolk Broads.
So picture the scene. Four of us behind the siging table. Lou, Estelle, Jimmy, me. Outside
there was a ruckus at the sales marquee. Old women have remarkably few scruples about
scrapping; it was like a jumble sale when the doors first open. Then the queues started to
form. Estelle and Jimmy were charm itself, smiling, asking questions, finding out
grandchildren’s names, personalising every signing. Consummate professionals.
I leaned behind the stars to talk quietly to Lou.
‘Seems to be going OK.’
‘Seems so. Hafta say, Blain, every time I see you in a suit I hafta to revise my opinion of yah.’
‘Why thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.’
‘Get sharp. Setup two approaching.’
In the queue were a woman dressed to the nines like Barbara Cartland, and her
man/husband in his dapper Sunday best.
‘OK, I got them.’
The handbagger and her male accomplice. I thought I recognised them as a housekeeper
and handyman couple from one of the early episodes, but nobody else seemed to notice.
Then Lou leaned over to me again.
‘Blain. What do you think of the woman just in front of them?’
I looked. Everybody else seemed to be in excited, chatty pairs or groups, but there was a
smartly if conservatively dressed woman on her own. She looked neither left nor right, just
at Estelle, with a vague distant smile on her unremarkable face. In her hands I could see a
book with the gaudy cover of In Depth.
‘A bit earnest, maybe, but it takes all sorts.’
‘The book’s wrong, Blain. The cover doesn’t fit the book.’
‘Hey, you’re right. We’d better warn these two.’ ‘I turned to Grant. ‘Get ready to move.
There may be trouble.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. They all love us. And the setup? Well, there they are, here we are, just
as scripted.’
‘Lance, I mean it. Let me do my job. If it goes off, stand up and get behind me. Stay close but
stay behind me.’
I could see Lou giving the same instructions to Gillian, who merely shrieked with laughter,
patted her on the knee, and clearly told her not to be a sillybilly.
Now the woman was in front of Gillian.
‘I can’t tell you how much I love the show.’
‘Thank you, darling.’
‘I can’t tell you that, because I hate it, and I hate you.’ Then she started shouting. ‘This is the
Book you need!’ She ripped the sleeve off the book in her hands, brandished the volume in
Gillian’s direction. ‘Theo Praxis! This is the book you need! The Rites of God! You Jezebel!
Harlot! Whore of Babylon!
I already was on my feet, Lance behind me, and Lou leapt up, grabbed Gillian, and turned
her out of harm’s way, standing between her and this mad woman, who now reached into
her handbag and made a lunge. Sadly Gillian, being of very little brain, had grabbed Lou’s
arms from behind, shrieking hysterically ‘Keep her away from me!’ Lou was a bit hampered
in doing this as she couldn’t move her arms without breaking Silly Gilly’s fingers, and the
woman’s swing with whatever had been in her handbag caught her square on the forehead.
It didn’t seem to hurt, but Lou did look briefly puzzled before yelling, ‘Lets go. Blain, you and
Lance first. Gillian, let go of me you dumb heifer and head for the fire exit. Get in the car.’
It wasn’t our finest moment, but so far our charges were unharmed. As we all headed out, I
glimpsed the crowd control guys, firmly but gently restraining Mrs Theo Praxis. They also
seemed to be trying to avoid her being lynched by a mob of peasants armed with pitchforks
and burning torches; the OAPs had smelt blood and were baying for more. Out of the fire
exit, into the car (women and Lance first), and Matthew dropped into gear and sped away.
As we retreated I saw the mob erupt from the fire exit, still intent on the signing, sod the
attack They’d turned up and they wanted their dues, the all important signatures, and they
were madly angry at being deprived. In the resultant melée, a couple of stoned students fell
in the water, which added to the general confusion. It was a farce. What Lou calls a
clusterfuck.
‘Gillian, you sure are dumber than a duck that’s lost his momma. What in hell were you
doing? I got smacked in the face cos a your dumb tricks. I said get behind me, not grab me
like a damn grizzly!’ She touched her forehead, looked at her fingers; they were red.’
‘Shoot, am I bleedin? Didn’t feel like it was that bad... Just what are you grinnin at, Blain,
you jerk? I’m bleeding, and it’s goddam funny?’
‘You aren’t bleeding, Lou.’
‘So what’s this on my goddam hands?’
‘Ink? Paint?’
‘What the hell you talking bout, Blain?’ I’d never seen her so angry.
‘At best guess, I’d say you got whacked with a potato cut. You’ve got a huge letter A on your
forehead.’
‘What?’
‘A For Adultress. I’d imagine Gillian was the intended target, but you did your job. You took
the bullet for your client. Well, you took the potato for her.’
‘Shit, a potato. I bin attacked with a whole heap of things, but they were all more dangerous
than a goddamm Idaho diamond.’
At this point, Lance burst out laughing. Gillian was quiet, just the right side of losing it, but
Lance was having a field day.
‘Gillian, my dear, I applaud you. Who else could stir up such hatred and venom that moves
someone to attack you with a religious tract and a root vegetable?’
‘Shut up, you supercilious bastard.’
‘But it’s so funny, my dear. Just so funny. If she’d got you, the red and your hair... What a
terrible clash.’
‘You made no attempt to protect me, you selfish bastard! I’m your wife and you still left me
to the wolves!’
‘Oh, hardly wolves. Miss Dubois, I must congratulate you. You acted with fortitude and great
presence of mind in rather trying circumstances. I know how hard it can be to get any sense
out of Gillian when she gets hysterical.’
‘Hysterical? Hysterical? I was the one who was attacked!’
‘Yes, ma’am, it was you who got attacked. But if’n you’d all followed my instructions, we’d
have got out without any goddam barroom ruckus, and without me looking like I got caught
in friendly fire in a raid on a Baton Rouge cathouse! Next time, you do what I damwell say,
or you’re on your own.’
‘You can’t speak to me like that!’
‘Ma’am, I just did.’
‘And very well said too, if I may say so.’
‘Shut up, Lance.’
Matthew, bless him, at this point said over his shoulder,’ Try these, Miss Dubois.’ In his hand
was a packet of makeup remover pads. ‘I found them a few days ago. They may work.’
‘Thank you, Matthew.’
Lou removed a pad, looked at Gillian, who shrugged.
‘No chance, sweetheart. My mirror’s about five miles away on a grass verge somewhere.’
‘Here, Miss Dubois.’ A small mirror appeared in Matthew’s hand. ‘Found this too. I wiped off
the talcum powder. Or whatever it was.’ I decided I really liked him.
‘Thanks.’ Lou took the mirror, looked at herself. ‘Goddam! Sure musta been a damn big
tater.’ A quick scrub with the pad. ‘Holy moley, it ain’t shifting! This is stubborner than a
Carolina mule!’ Scrub. ‘Oh my. It’s not moving.’
‘You’ll have to wear a hat with a veil. Or a fascinator would do the trick. You’ll look like a bit
parter in a scifi bar scene.’
‘Blain, shut the hell up, or I swear I’ll smear you with honey and stake you out on an anthill.’
‘Just trying tohelp, Lou.’
Again Matthew came up trumps, handed a headscarf over his shoulder.
‘Here Miss Dubois. Try this.’
‘Yeah Lou. Tie it like a doo rag, you’ll look like a biker’s bitch.’
‘That’s it Blain. You are going to be found deader than a roadkill skunk.’