Authors: Ray Banks
The trouble is, which local agencies does he use?
When I round the corner on Stockport Road, I see the most likely candidate. Can’t make out the name of the place, because it’s been obscured by a wall of young people, could well be students. A picket, a protest and enough placards to tickle even the most apathetic bloke’s curiosity.
If I needed any more evidence, a girl turns to reveal her sign: GOT PLUMMER PROBLEMS?
Apparently so. I head for the door. A girl with ginger dreads, her hands full of bright yellow leaflets, steps in front of me.
“You going in there?”
She has a look on her face like I’ve just eaten a dog hair sandwich. On white bread.
I try my best smile on her. “Y’know, I thought I might.”
“You’re not thinking of renting from here, are you?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?”
She presses a leaflet into my hand. A badly photocopied picture of Donald Plummer on the front, nicked from the newspaper article, so he’s gurning something rotten. I look up at the student. She knows who Plummer is, but she doesn’t know me. That’s fine; I can live with that.
“Read that,” she says. “Be prepared.”
“Okay. You going to let me past?”
“You want to cross the picket, you can cross the picket. We won’t stop you.”
Like they’re a serious threat.
“Thanks ever so much,” I say, and push inside.
A bell rings as the door opens. A stringy lad with a full beard is sitting opposite a severe blonde woman in a beige suit that looks too much like a uniform to be flattering. The lad’s wearing a biker jacket — either vintage, or new and fashionably scuffed — and seems to be in the middle of an indignant rant. Two mates with him, one with a rugby shirt and the features to match, chewed ears, coloured cheeks and heavy features. The other is a girl who looks like a dinner wouldn’t kill her, a metal stud shining in her nose. Charity and friendship bracelets hang off one wrist, the kind of doe-eyed girl who makes Bono lie awake at night thinking he’s just not doing enough.
“Pending a full investigation?” says the stringy lad. “You’re not going to tell him where to go?”
The blonde woman blinks slowly. “I appreciate your concern, David. And you know, we have discussed this with your student representative.”
“You haven’t discussed it with us.”
A smile, tight and condescending. “We don’t deal with you.”
“You know as well as I do that those people don’t know their arse from their elbow.”
“That’s as maybe,” says the blonde woman, “but that’s who we’re dealing with at this moment in time. We have to go through the proper channels, I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Do you want more picket lines?” says David, turning to his two mates for support. “I mean, we
can
arrange a rolling picket if you want.”
“As long as it’s peaceful, you can do whatever you think is right. It’s a free country.”
“Right you are, it’s a free country.” Nods from behind him, the most emphatic from the skinny girl. “I’m free to speak my mind, and I’m free to organise protest—”
“David, if there’s nothing else …” The blonde woman nods my way. “There’s a gentleman I should really attend to.”
David stops talking, twists in his seat and looks at me. His lips go thin, then he nods to himself. Pushes his chair back, gets to his feet and holds out his hand to the blonde woman. All business, frosty now. She takes his hand, but only for a moment.
“We’ll be back,” he says.
The agency woman smiles at him. “I’m sure you will.”
I watch the students leave, hear the bell ring again to signal their departure. Then I turn to the woman. The badge on her jacket reads MEG. Can’t say the name suits her. With that nose, she looks more like a Diana.
“What can I do for you?” she says.
“I need a little information. About a landlord.”
“Donald Plummer.” A statement.
“Read my mind. I didn’t know you were a
mystic
, Meg.”
Not a flicker of a smile at that one. Just a barely suppressed sigh as she says, “We’re not dealing with Mr Plummer at this moment in time, pending a full investigation.”
“Pending a full investigation?” I’m all mock concern. “You’re not going to tell him where to go?”
Her mouth twitches. Could be, the ice is thawing.
“Bet you’re sick of saying that,” I say.
“You have no idea.”
I pull up a chair opposite her and Meg clicks into official mode again. “Are you looking to rent in the area?”
“Nope. I need information about Donald Plummer.”
“I told you, we’re not dealing—”
“I know, pending a full investigation. That’s not a problem. If you’re not dealing with him, you can tell me how many properties he has on your books.”
“I said, at this moment in time,” says Meg. “We may well deal with Mr Plummer again in the future.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?”
“Well, until that time, I’m afraid we have to keep Mr Plummer’s details confidential.”
“The Data Protection Act,” I say.
“If you like. Really, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do, Mr—”
“Innes.” I wait for recognition, get a blank look. “But let’s say I’m a prospective tenant, alright? If I came in here wanting to rent, but I didn’t want to find myself in a slum—”
“We don’t let slum properties, Mr Innes.”
“You know what I mean.”
The smile returns, but it’s the same one she gave David. “We would not be in a position to let one of Mr Plummer’s properties at this time.”
“Meg — can I call you Meg?”
“It’s on the badge,” she says. “And I think you already have.”
“So, Meg, do I have to go through every one of your houses and find out which ones you’re not allowed to let? Is that the only way of doing this?”
“No.”
“Then how would I go about getting a list of properties from you?”
“You?
You
wouldn’t.”
I grin. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Meg, I’m working on behalf of a client.” I pull out an old business card, smooth down the edges and place it on the desk between us. “I’m a private investigator. And, as such, any information you might want to share is entirely confidential.”
Meg doesn’t touch the card. She barely looks at it. Just enough to get my name. “Callum Innes.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re the one who saved the little boy.”
Finally.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t recognise you.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
She waves a hand at me. “You’re heavier in real life.”
“I take a good photo.” Everyone’s got an opinion about my fucking weight. “Now, I’m not after a list of Plummer’s houses, but I do need to know if you’ve prepared a list like that for anyone recently.”
“We wouldn’t do that. It’d be a breach of the contract with Mr Plummer.”
“Right.” I sit back in the chair, then lean forward to disguise my gut. “Nobody else would’ve done that list?”
“My boss, perhaps. At a push.”
“Is he here?”
“No. And I sincerely doubt he would have done that anyway. It’s—”
“Breach of contract, you already told me.” I get out of the chair. “Look, tell you what, you hang on to that card, okay? Anything turns up, I’d appreciate it if you could let me know. It’s very important.”
“Is this anything to do with the fire?” she says.
“Ah, that’s confidential.” I nod towards the card. “But it’s worth bearing in mind.”
“Mr Innes?”
As soon as I’m out of the letting agency, I back up at the sight of an outstretched hand, someone lurching in front of me.
The beardy student, what’s his name,
David
. Looks like he’s been waiting for me to come out. The rest of the students are milling around, the picket already tired and restless and it’s not even mid-morning. Sun beating down on them, only going to get hotter, I’m not really surprised some of them are wilting. The girl with the ginger dreads is still going, though. Made of sterner stuff, obviously.
“David Nunn,” says the student, his hand still out. “Didn’t get a chance in there.”
I give his hand the same touch-shake that Meg did. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to be somewhere else.”
He grins, showing even teeth. “That’s cool. I understand. You’re a busy man.”
I make a move to go. Feel his hand on my arm and turn a bit too quickly for him. He drops his hand.
“You got something you need to say there, David?”
“You didn’t ask how I knew your name,” he says.
“Reckoned you heard us talking in there.”
“No.” He’s still smiling. Nobody can smile this much and mean it. “I read about you in the paper.”
“Ah, right. You want me to sign something for you?”
That confuses him for a second, then he shakes his head and the smile drops from his face. “No, I’m not interested in your autograph.”
“Right. Well …”
“Are you working right now?”
“Yeah. Kind of busy, to be honest, so—”
“I was just thinking … Well, I wanted to introduce myself anyway.” He looks around him, then back at me. “Did someone give you a pamphlet?”
I reach into my pocket, bring out the list of Plummer’s properties along with the yellow paper, hold both up and gesture towards the girl with the ginger dreads. David looks at the pamphlet. His eyes flicker to slits for a split-second, then he’s all smiles again.
“Listen, make sure you read that, yeah?”
“I will.”
Another move to go, but he catches me again. Getting sick of this fucking hand on me, and I’m about to say something when he interrupts.
“You’ve got an office, right?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“I was going to say, if you could do us a favour, you could take a stack—”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ben, mate, come over here for a second. You could take some leaflets, give them out to your clients, what d’you think?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, already waving his rugby player mate over.
“I don’t think my clients would be interested.” I smile, but my heart’s not in it. “A right selfish bunch of bastards, most of them.”
“It’s the Lads’ Club, right? The one up in Salford?”
I don’t answer him. Thinking he probably got that from the newspaper, asking me questions so I’ll have to answer. Stalling me so he can push more of these fucking pamphlets on me.
“What about the lads that go there? Some of them must be students.”
“Not really a student kind of place, David. You’ll excuse me.”
The rugby player appears next to him, and David makes another grab for my arm. I slip out from under.
“Ben, could you get some leaflets for Mr Innes? He needs to take some with him.”
“Really, Ben, is it? Ben, there’s no need. You’ll be wasting them.” To David: “You give me those leaflets, they’ll go straight in the fuckin’ bin, I’m telling you.”
“Hey, just spread the word,” says David. “That’s all we need. Seriously, every little helps, y’know? Look, I’m just happy to meet you, Mr Innes. What you did in that house … that was something. Not everyone who can just
act
like that, totally without thinking.”
“You’d be surprised. I do it a lot.” I’m watching Ben head for a blue VW Beetle, one of those newer curvy monstrosities. He reaches into the back seat, pulls out an armful of pamphlets and brings them over. I hold my hands up. “No. Really, I’m not taking them.”
“You’re not?” says Ben. The big guy almost looks hurt. “Okay.”
“I really can’t, Ben. I don’t have my car with me. I’d be carrying them on the bus.”
“Okay,” says David, suddenly cold. “Whatever. Thought you’d appreciate the cause. Doesn’t matter that you don’t. You take care of yourself, okay?”
And he disappears into the picket, slapping people on the shoulder. Every time he touches someone, they seem to get this wee energy boost. They stiffen and straighten up on his approach. Yeah, he’s definitely the leader of this picket, and what’s weird is that people willingly accept that. When he touched me, all I felt was a bit sick.
I look back, and Ben’s still standing there with his arms full of leaflets.
“How’s the boy?” he says.
I squint at him. “What boy?”
“The one in the house. The one you saved. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. Last I heard he was alright. A bit shaken, you know how it is.”
“And the rest of the family? You reckon they’ll be alright?”
I start to back away from Ben. “I’m sure they’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay. Well, you keep up the good work.”
“You too, mate.”
I turn away from the picket, head back up to the bus stop. I stop to light a cigarette, pull the leaflet out of my pocket and I’m about to chuck it into the nearest bin when I change my mind. When I reach the bus stop, I give it a read, see if these guys know anything that I don’t, see what my client’s up against.
GOT PLUMMER PROBLEMS?
You’re fucking right I do. There’s a picture of him on the inside, too. Underneath that, a list of accusations:
DONALD PLUMMER does NOT maintain his properties.
DONALD PLUMMER SUB-LETS his properties.
DONALD PLUMMER THREATENS students with BOGUS LEGAL ACTION if they complain.
DONALD PLUMMER has ILLEGALLY EVICTED tenants.
What Plummer calls his “accelerated procedure’ is broken down, chewed up and spat out.
The eviction process is something that should be handled in the first instance by a COURT OF LAW. Should any tenant be in the unenviable position of unwittingly renting a Plummer property, they should IGNORE all attempts at eviction and report such instances to either the student representative or David Nunn.
KNOW YOUR RIGHTS!
I crumple the leaflet into a ball, and force it into an overflowing bin by the bus stop. Take a drag on my Embassy, let the smoke drift out through my nostrils. I can feel the nicotine kick in now, reckon I should’ve chased it with some codeine because I can feel that wee stab of guilt in my gut.
Like I should’ve known better. Should’ve had an ounce of sense, used my brain a little bit, but I needed the work too much to admit what I was doing.