Lightning

 

 

Press

Lightning Press

“JP Confidential, no case too large…I’m sorry to have kept you, how may we help?”

“How confidential are you?”

“Oh great! Loonies!” he thought. He fought back the urge to drop the receiver, to scream obscenities into the mouthpiece, to ask “How long is a piece of string?” and settled for humility.

“They don’t come any more confidential, madam,” he said. “I personally guarantee to take all my clients’ secrets to the grave.”

“Whose grave?”

“Anyone you care to mention.”

“Who are you? The owner?”

“Yes, Hymie Goldman.”

“Are you Jewish?”

“Is the pope Catholic? Look, I’m a busy man; do you need a detective or a telephone chat line?”

“I may have a job for you. Meet me tonight and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”

“Sure. As long as it’s… .” He was going to say “legal” but thought better of it. Surely rejecting a case for purely legal reasons was unethical.

“As long as it’s what?” she queried.

“It will keep till we meet, lady. When and where did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Eleven sharp at Ritzy’s nightclub. You know it, I presume? Let’s say the Glitter Lounge…no, better make it outside.” She didn’t want to be seen with him and she hadn’t even met him. He had always been a fast worker, he reflected ruefully.

“Certainly, but how will I know you?” he continued.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

The line died.

Hymie was already fantasising about fat fees and how he was going to spend them, when the doorbell rang downstairs, shattering his reverie.

“Your nine-thirty is here, Mr Goldman,” announced Janis, efficiently.

“Who or what is a nine-thirty, Jan?” he responded with vague bemusement.

“Why, an appointment, of course.”

“Are you sure? An appointment? But the bailiffs aren’t due until later. Who’s it with?”