The Barbershop Seven (131 page)

'No, seriously,' said Blackadder, not letting him away with cheap jokes, 'what did Lou say? I know we look like a bit of a team 'n' all, but then it also means I know her better than most. You've got to watch her. She's not one to trust. What did she say?'

Well, he thought, doesn't do any harm to give her a bit of the truth, doesn't mean I have to mention the part about her and JLM being bosom buds.

The waitress arrived at the table, sensed the change in atmosphere, as surely as JLM had sensed the change in the weather, so did not make any light remarks, as she had been doing throughout the evening. Cleared away the cheese board, piled plate on plate, asked if they wanted more coffee, which was a bit daft seeing as neither of them had touched what they already had, and made a swift exit.
Having a fight at no.3
, she said, when she returned to the kitchen.

'She said that I wasn't Barney Thomson. Not my body, not my brain.'

'Who are you then?' asked Blackadder suspiciously.

'Just some unknown guy with amnesia. I've been brainwashed to think I'm Barney Thomson, so I do. I might as well be him, if no one else is.'

Blackadder toyed with the salt cellar. Tapped a finger on top of it.

'If that's the case,' she said, and her words drifted off. Had carelessly begun the sentence without knowing where it was going. Whether or not it was true, and how was Barney supposed to know, it had a ring of truth. The story she'd told him had been given to her by Parker Weirdlove. How far would she trust
him
?

'What?' said Barney, but she had no reply. She toyed with her spoon, finally lifted her coffee now that it was cool enough to drink without slurping.

He shrugged it off, and eventually the conversation moved on from Dr Louise Farrow, but the tide had turned, the feel of the evening had changed, with words barely spoken. And so, at the end of the night, each was vaguely suspicious of the other, and they parted with a kiss on the cheek and, at least on Barney's part, no little regret.

***

L
ate in the evening, the cooling north wind having risen, Winona Wanderlip arrived at the town centre apartment of Parker Weirdlove. He greeted her on his doorstep without enthusiasm, ushered her in quickly, stood in the hallway in his t-shirt and boxer short pyjamas that he'd been wearing in bed. She had stepped out in a white blouse and thin skirt, unprepared for the cooler weather. Goose bumps on her arms, flush around the cheeks, fabulously erect nipples.

'You know you shouldn't come here,' said Weirdlove, quoting a line from two out of every three 9pm movies on Channel 5.

'Did you hear about Trudger?' she said, and Weirdlove could feel the shiver in the voice. Not being caused solely by the cold outside. Knew she was afraid.

'Where are your bodyguards?' he said.

'Gave them the slip,' she said, and she shrugged her shoulders at the look he gave her. 'I couldn't let them know I was coming here.'

'Well, you shouldn't have come here,' he said, sternly. 'Look at you, Winnie, you're scared.'

'I'm not bloody scared!' she cried. 'But there's only me, Benderhook and Malcolm left from the original cabinet.'

'Duh huh!' said Weirdlove, smacking the palm of his hand off his forehead, 'well why are you out without your bodyguards then?'

'I needed to talk to you,' she said. 'And I can take care of myself,' she protested.

'That'll be why you're terrified, then,' he said.

'Stop saying that! I'm not terrified, just because I'm a woman.'

'Look at you! You're shivering, you've got goose bumps all over your body, and your nipples are like big lumps of play-doh.'

She swallowed, looked down at her chest, shook her head in embarrassment, turned, walked a few further feet down the hall, turned back to face him.

'Christ!' she said, exasperated. 'All right, I'm scared. I'm fucking terrified! Are you happy, Parker? Six of my colleagues are gone, probably murdered, there are only three of us left, four including Jesse, and I could be next. They're going for us one by one, and the police know dick! We're sitting ducks. So what if I shook off the bodyguards, did they do Trudger any bloody good?'

'Only 'cause he let them out his sight,' said Weirdlove coolly.

'I'm not letting someone watch me wipe my arse, Parker!' she yelled. 'We're supposed to be living in a civilised society. Look, I'm here now, whether you like it or not. Are you going to offer me a drink?'

Weirdlove breathed deeply, considering his position. It wasn't entirely unheard of for JLM to show up at his place, although it was rare and he would be unlikely to instigate a search of the premises. Even so, it would be unfortunate if Wanderlip were to be discovered at his flat under these, or any other, circumstances.

'Personally, Winnie,' he said, a little more casually than he was aiming for, 'I don't think you've anything to worry about. Not at this stage.'

'What does that mean?'

'I just,' he began, 'look, I think you'll be fine. Whoever this is, maybe they're not aiming at the cabinet, you never know.'

'You're kidding me, right?' she said. 'You're saying that someone is just haphazardly murdering people in Edinburgh, and bugger me, but if it isn't just the case that, entirely at random, the victims have all be part of the cabinet. Fuck me, who would've thought? Odds have to got to be, say, at least fifty to one. Maybe even double that!'

'Winnie,' he said, 'calm down.'

And, to her surprise, he opened the door again.

'I'd give you a coat,' he said, 'but if JLM saw you he might recognise it as mine.'

The objections to the stupidity of that came to the tip of her tongue, but the fact that he was throwing her out was the far, far greater slight.

'Don't do this, Parker,' she said.

'I'll speak to you, tomorrow,' he said coldly. 'If we get the chance, although we're going to be pretty busy.' Last day with Vogts and Eaglehawk. Maybe it was time to cultivate friends to shore up his position. But then, only the right kind of friends. 'Tomorrow,' he repeated firmly, when she didn't move.

Wanderlip hesitated, felt the old familiar rage well up inside her. Count to a million, don't completely cut yourself off from him, she thought, even though he deserves it. You never know, you never know.

And so, stabbing her fingernails into the palms of her hands, she walked quickly past him and on down the stairs which led to the front door.

Parker Weirdlove watched her for a few seconds, but closed the door before seeing her vicious glance over the shoulder. He held his hand against the door for a while, as if considering his position, and then walked slowly back down the hall and into the bedroom.

'Well,' said the man who was sitting up in his bed, reading House & Garden. 'Nipples like big lumps of play-doh, eh? I wish I'd seen that.'

Weirdlove scowled, shook his head, pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead!

––––––––

M
innie Longfellow-Moses returned from The Hague curiously late. Jesse was sleeping soundly, the sleep of the self-righteous, empty cup of diet hot chocolate on his bedside table, along with some musings that he was jotting down, intent on formulating them into a book of some description for publication in the next year or so. It would be his
Mein Kampf
, his
Das Kapital
, the broad statement that laid down the founding principles of Mosesism. She lifted his notebook, cast an uncritical eye over the misty ramblings on the future of the welfare state, and how the best way to promote a good health service is to have a healthier population, and the best way to ensure that people are healthier is to hit them in their pockets if they're not.
You'll see
, he'd jotted down,
how quickly people cut down the fags and fish suppers, start jogging to work and cramming in the apples and pears, as soon as you make them have to pay for their trips to hospital.
It would be a guiding principle. The state would help those who helped themselves. And it was a sure-fire way to get away from the modern culture of lack of self-responsibility. Everyone would be in charge of their own destiny.

The perfect society, that was the conclusion he'd reached. And he'd written those words at the top of the page as a good title for the work. It won't be a long book, his final thought had been as he'd drifted off to sleep, but it's not about length, it's about history.

Minnie Longfellow-Moses placed the notebook back on JLM's bedside table, couldn't even summon the interest to smile wryly.

'That'll get you far, Jesse,' she said softly, and she turned and walked into the bathroom.

***

W
inona Wanderlip took a long time to get off to sleep, a thousand political intrigues and connivances scrambling about, part of a giant muddle, in her head. The cabinet murders, the deaths of so many ineffectual people, it was so utterly pointless. It had to be someone close to them, someone with a vested interest in the cabinet's handling of the country. Perhaps it was that old spy thing; where they'd cause a plane crash to cover up the fact that they were assassinating one person. It might be the same here; they were really only after one member of the cabinet, but they were killing them all to make it look like a more general vendetta.

That, and so many other conspiracies, feasted on her imagination as she lay listening to the sound of traffic on the South Bridge. What use had the police been? They had interviewed everyone in the parliament building about ten times, and they hadn't a clue. They must've spoken to someone who knew what was going on, or someone who was responsible, and they'd been unable to notice. And what use were the two officers, one sitting outside her bedroom door, the other in the sitting room? What were they going to do when a killer silently broke in through her window in the middle of the night and struck her down?

The police were no use, the case of Trudger had shown that the bodyguards were no use. It was going to take a spark of inspiration to solve the mystery, and by Scooby Doo, if she wasn't just the woman to do it. And if, in the course of her investigations, she was to discover that Jesse Longfellow-Moses was in any way implicated in proceedings, then it might turn out nicely after all.

What to do about Parker Weirdlove, and what had become of their special relationship, was another question which vexed her greatly. So much so, that she had turned the picture of him which sat beside her bed, face down on the table. Tonight she did not want him watching over her while she slept.

***

A
s for JLM's team:

Parker Weirdlove slept very easily. No trouble visiting the old land of nod, when you have justice and honesty as your passport. All it takes is a little self-belief.

Veron Veron slept equally well.

The Reverend Blake began the long night alone, but did not continue as such all the way through.

Dr Louise Farrow sat up late into the evening, surfing, checking everything from FBI files to a variety of medical histories, until there came a knocking at her door.

Dr Rebecca Blackadder got back to her room, sent a few e-mails, wrote a few notes, considered a few things. Went back out again after midnight, had a couple of drinks, and was not unaccompanied when she returned to her room at a little after two.

The Amazing Mr X stayed awake all night, worrying over whether he should have taken the night off, leaving the job of guarding JLM to the two untried police officers. The Amazing Mr X never slept.

Barney Thomson, be he either composed of the old Barney's brain, body or memories, or a combination thereof, lay awake for several hours, bedroom curtains open, staring at the ceiling. Neither restless nor unhappy, brain a gentle buzz, thinking about Blackadder, wondering if there was a real connection between them, and wondering if he had just done the right thing. For on returning to his room, he had bitten the bullet and placed the flag in the window for Solomon and Kent. Solomon had arrived an hour and a half later, minus his Robin, had listened to Barney's reservations about Dr Blackadder, had cracked a few gags, and had gone on his way. Barney had thought to raise the matter of Solomon's tale of his past, but had decided to leave it for another day, and a clearer head.

And Father Michael had a very interesting evening, which involved sex, murder and rock 'n roll, which would've gone down very badly with his superiors had they known about it. The Catholic Church hates rock 'n roll.

***

J
ames Eaglehawk and Conrad Vogts had another long evening, which stretched into the wee small hours of the morning. A mixture of business and pleasure; on the one hand plotting Eaglehawk's ascension to power in the Scottish Executive, with German and European backing, on the other, reminiscing about long nights in the Bavarian Alps, filled with beer, women and tall tales of beer and women.

James Eaglehawk and Conrad Vogts were becoming firm friends. Jim and Bertie, as they now knew each other.

Poor old Jim Eaglehawk. A simple man who, despite being very careful, despite spending years in politics watching his back and avoiding uncertain alliances, was blinded by his own duplicity into not seeing the duplicity of others. And so, he did not see Conrad Vogts coming, not in the least.

***

W
hich does not leave many people to be considered.

The vast population of Edinburgh slept soundly, or not, in their usual manner, quite unconcerned about the bloodletting that was taking place in the Executive. Earlier that evening there had been rival radio phone-in shows; Radio Scotland against Radio Forth. Radio Scotland had been discussing the massacre of the cabinet; Radio Forth had been discussing whether there should be strip bars in the centre of Edinburgh. Radio Scotland had fifteen calls, twelve of which had asked them to talk about something more interesting. Radio Forth had three hundred and twenty-seven calls.

So, that just leaves the last two members of the cabinet, who have more or less been absent from the narrative up until now. Malcom Malcolm III of the Clan Malcolm, Minister for Health, and Fforbes Benderhook, Deputy First Minister. You might be thinking, well they're shadowy figures, they might well have something to do with the general slaughter of all their compadres. Or you might be thinking that they're nothing more than the red uniformed guys who used to beam down to the alien planet with the big spunkmeister himself, Cpt James T.