The Barbershop Seven (128 page)

'In historical events,' said Blackadder, 'great men – so-called – are but labels serving to give a name to the event, and like labels they have the least possible connexion with the event itself.'

'Very good,' said Barney. 'Tolstoy?'

'Totally,' she said, taking a surreptitious sip of coffee.

'Very nice. You must ...'

There was a noise at the door, and they looked up to see three police officers standing in the entrance. Barney looked at Blackadder, caught the merest hint of worry before it was removed quickly from her face.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' said the plain clothes officer of the three, to the few who remained in the restaurant by this time, 'can I ask you all to please remain in your seats. There's been a reported incident in the building, and we need everyone to stay where they are for the time being. Someone will be along to speak to you soon. Thank you for your co-operation.'

A be-suited civil servant with a pole up his bottom rose from his seat to toddle off and protest about how busy he was, and couldn't he be an exception? Barney looked back at Blackadder, raised the merest hint of an eyebrow.

'Another minister, do we think?'

She nodded.

'Yeah,' she said, 'I was going to say. I heard someone mention it before I came in. Apparently Kathy Spiderman's been reported missing, although no one knows what's happened to her.'

'Oh,' said Barney. And he fiddled with his cutlery, scraping the last remnants of food from his plate. And you didn't think that another one of these clowns going missing was worthy of a mention? He looked up at her, to see what was going on inside the head, but the face was as inscrutable as ever. 'She was Justice, was she?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'Whatever that was supposed to mean.'

Barney nodded. How many left? How many more would die before he had actually discovered anything worthwhile for Solomon and Kent? But then, it wasn't his business. Why should he feel this weight of expectation?

'How many of them are left now?' he asked. 'Cabinet ministers?'

Blackadder stared at the ceiling, as if she had to think about it.

'Five,' she said, lowering her eyes, 'including JLM, of course. And assuming that Spiderman's really gone, and she's not just sitting in some cubicle somewhere crying because someone's hurt her feelings.'

'Right,' said Barney, trying to sound casual. Assuming that undercover detectives usually sound casual as they go about their business. 'Who're the other four?'

Blackadder gave a little knowing nod – Barney assumed, again, that it was the nod of someone who knew the person she was speaking to was in the employ of Federal agents – and started counting them off on her fingers.

The two uniformed police officers had taken up position at the door; the plain clothes character had gone off somewhere to beat someone up.

That's just an unfair generalisation.

'Benderhook,' she began, 'JLM's deputy. An all right kind of a guy if you want, say, a punchbag in your living room, or someone to rest your feet on while you're watching telly, but otherwise he's a complete woose.'

'A perfect politician.'

'Exactly. There's Trudger McIntyre, Environment & Rural Development. Just the most inept of men you could imagine. No idea about politics whatsoever. Only got the job because JLM shagged his wife once, McIntyre knows about it, and blackmailed himself into the post.'

'Fine behaviour,' said Barney.

'Totally. Malcolm Malcolm III of the Clan Malcolm, Health. Bit of an idiot, but heart in the right place, all that stuff. Very interesting family history of mental problems, which he shows signs of inheriting, but I haven't spilled the beans on that one just yet.'

'Except to me.'

'I can trust you,' she said, and you know, thought Barney, there might just have been a wee bit of an edge to the voice. 'Which leaves Wanderlip, who's as much of a bane to JLM as anyone is going to be. Minister for everything else. Bit of a nippy sweetie.'

Barney nodded. Didn't know any of them, but then, why would he?

'Of course, there's the two who've just been promoted in because of the first two deaths, and then there'll be three more promoted in,' she said. 'And so it goes on.'

'Who'll be next?' said Barney suddenly. That was what really mattered now. That was what always mattered; whose neck was next in line?

'Could be any one of them,' said Blackadder, the shrug in the tone as much as her shoulders.

'You, em,' said Barney, unsure if he was getting into very obvious routine questioning territory, 'must have done profiles on all the victims for JLM.'

'Yeah,' she replied.

'Anything there to connect them?' he asked.

'What?' she replied. 'The Cabinet thing isn't enough? The fact that every few days they all used to sit down in the same room together isn't, like, a connection?'

'Well,' said Barney, a little on the defensive, 'you know, sometimes you draw obvious conclusions, and sometimes those obvious conclusions are wrong. That's all.'

Blackadder nodded, gave him an appreciative look.

'You're right,' she said. Then she paused, toyed with her spoon, ran her finger along the edge of her coffee cup, said, 'You seem interested. In these murders.'

Barney did the casual thing, which he almost had to a tee.

'Isn't everyone?' he said. 'The cabinet's getting murdered one by one. Jesus, it's huge!'

'And yet,' said Blackadder, 'no one in the country gives a shit.'

And that was about the size of it. Barney held her gaze for a minute, then looked away. Drifted lazily around the few groups who were now marooned in the restaurant. One or two in hushed conversation; a group of three men who were talking about the Rangers-Feyenoord game that night; a couple discussing whether Scotland were ever going to beat England at Twickenham again; four women debating the merits of vibrators with revolving peas inside them, you know the type. These were people who worked in the parliament and even they didn't care that another member of the senior-most committee in government had gone AWOL.

It seemed to make sense, suddenly. Whoever was carrying out these crimes wasn't doing it for political motive. Why bother? Why do something this bad, for this little effect? So, if it wasn't political, it was personal. A grudge. Maybe against the cabinet as a whole, or perhaps for every death, there was a different reason.

'Come to dinner with me tonight,' said Blackadder suddenly, breaking into his rare insight. 'I know a place, outside the city.'

Barney looked deep into the dark eyes. Go out of the city. That was a strange thought. Despite all the murder and chaos so close by, he felt strangely safe and protected in the city. But then, she was a psychologist. Maybe she knew; maybe that was why she wanted him to go with her for the evening.

'All right,' he said. Heart beating just a little bit faster at the thought of a night out with her alone. The added imperilment of uncertainty. 'That'll be nice.'

'Yeah,' she said, smiling wickedly, 'it will.'

––––––––

J
LM was staring intently into the mirror, regarding his hair with grave uncertainty. He was back in his office en suite; Weirdlove was not in attendance, still cosseted with Vogts and Eaglehawk; The Amazing Mr X was at his station by the window, B-52 at the ready; Barney was poised behind JLM, waiting with an almost total lack of enthusiasm for his boss's pronouncement.

'It's too short!' JLM ejaculated eventually. 'Too damn short, Barn!'

'That's 'cause you jumped about like a jack-in-the-box while I was cutting your hair this morning,' said Barney. 'If you're going to live by the sword,' he added, 'you're going to get a shite haircut.'

JLM hurrumphed. He was going to have to speak to the press, again, and for all the cabinet ministers that were dropping like flies, frankly he just knew they were going to ask him about his hair.

He looked at his watch, pursed his lips, shook his head. Another fifteen minutes and he was going to be out there, on the lawn at the side of the parliament, shirt sleeve weather, sun on his nearly bald head, overlooking Holyrood Palace, prepared with all manner of concerned statements about the quickly diminishing cabinet, and they were going to ask him what he was doing with his napper.

'Could you do me hair extensions or something?' he said, cocking his head to one side.

'You need hair to attach the extensions to,' said Barney glibly.

'Yeah, yeah, I suppose,' said JLM. 'What about implants then, you know like Elton John and all that mob?'

You'd look like a fucking idiot!!!! thought Barney.

'That'd be great,' said Barney. 'But we'd have to pluck hairs from your pubes to implant into your head, and it's not like you don't have hairs in your head. You just need to let them grow.'

'Pubes?' said JLM, frankly shocked.

'Yeah,' said Barney. 'That's why Elton John didn't mind. I mean, those kinds of guys pluck their pubes anyway, don't they?'

'Do they?' said JLM. He looked troubled, believing everything his barber told him, and looked away.

'Any other options?' he asked, after shivering through the thought of his pubic hairs being physically extracted.

Barney took a pace back and studied the hair again. Here we go, he thought, back in the old routine. Give the customer a bit of bullshit, spin the usual crap, get them to feel good about themselves.

'What about purple dye, or something?' said JLM.

'Look,' said Barney quickly, before JLM suggested a wig, spray paint or crayon, 'you hair's fine. It suits you. It's the whole Michael Stipe thing going on. The voters'll love it, the press'll think you're cool'

'You reckon?' said JLM, already buying into his new superstardom.

'Absolutely,' said Barney. 'You know, I wouldn't be surprised if you got asked to model some new suit or other on the Milan catwalks. You could be the face of Scottish Euro-chic with this haircut, you know what I'm saying? You'll be the toast of, I don't know,' hesitated Barney, momentarily running out of bullshit, 'Monte Carlo and all that mob. St Moritz.'

JLM looked critically at Barney in the mirror. Bloody rubbish, he thought, but when your ego is hungry, it'll pretty much eat any old gruel thrown its way.

'Sounds good,' said JLM suddenly. 'You know, you might be right. I like it.'

And he looked at his shit hair through new eyes.

'Really,' said Barney, 'the press are going to be more interested in the disappearance of Kathy Spiderman. This is the perfect time for you to be statesmanlike. Proud, dignified, not cowed in the face of all this murder and mayhem. Defiant in adversity, resplendent and magnificent against the odds, prepared to look the terrorists of the world, or whoever it is that's perpetrating these crimes, squarely in the eye, and to declare that Scotland will not be defeated, democracy will be not be vanquished, and that you, Jesse Longfellow-Moses, will not be shaken in your determination to make Scotland great once again.'

Even The Amazing Mr X gave Barney a bit of a sideways glance.

JLM turned round, rising from his chair.

'Brilliant, Barn!' he said. 'Bloody brilliant! Can you write all of that down quickly? You think you can do that? Do you?'

'If you're desperate,' said Barney.

'Brilliant,' said JLM. 'Right, I love that stuff. Maybe you can start writing speeches for me. Champion. Let's go and kick some arse.'

For the first time in their acquaintance, Barney and The Amazing Mr X exchanged a knowing glance, and then they were charging from the bathroom, on their way to prepare JLM for the biggest press briefing of his tenure.

***

J
LM gave a long speech, before taking any questions. He outlined his government's and his own personal stance on the murders; the way ahead; the full force of the law was looking for the perpetrators of the crimes; Scotland would not be broken; blah, blah, blah, blah. Spoke for a full fifteen minutes – with passion, fluency and heartfelt courage – before the first question. Which was:

'First Minister, Russell Hargreaves, Scottish Daily Mail. What's with the new haircut? You look like a wank.'

***

B
arney returned to his room a little after six. Due to be picked up by Rebecca Blackadder at seven. Just under an hour to relax, listen to some Hoagy, catch a bit of the news on the TV – Scotland Today were to lead with the claims of
fix!
surrounding the ejection, at the latter stages, of the Scottish entrant on Big Brother, followed by a feature on JLM's hair, followed by talk of Celtic asking Pele to come out of retirement for £125/week, and finally, squeezed in before the weather and a story about a little girl who'd spilled her ice cream, the account of Kathy Spiderman's unexpected disappearance – have a shower and get garbed up in as plain an outfit as he could find in his wardrobe.

Of course, when life seems simple and laid out before you on a plate, it generally goes tits up. There was a woman waiting for him as he let himself in. Sitting facing the door, jacket off, gin and tonic in her cool paws. Legs crossed, outrageously chic spectacles removed, so that her piercing blue eyes became even more striking. Not that she was especially attractive, although there was a certain vicious beauty about her mouth.

Dr Louise Farrow was the latest JLM babe to pitch up at Barney's place.

'Hi,' said Barney, closing the door behind him, not in the least surprised to see her. It pretty much only left Veron Veron to show his face and give him advice. And X, of course, although he was fairly confident X wouldn't have anything to say. 'You took your time.'

She smiled.

'Thought I'd let some of the shit get flushed away before I made an appearance.'

'Very thoughtful,' said Barney, and he went to the fridge, cracked open a beer, and slumped down into the seat opposite her.

She had left the office about twenty minutes earlier than Barney, although he had barely noticed. Of all of them, she was the one who came and went the most. But then, of all of them, she probably had the least to do. JLM hadn't actually been ill, even slightly, since he'd ascended to power.