Bandyloo races through Poshtown and across the south end bridge (which conveniently has no toll booth, on account of every second plank of wood being broken). He screeches to a halt at the start of Douglas Street, turns around in his seat and faces Anzia and I. I’m properly calm, but Anzia is a bundle of nerves.
“I can’t keep lying,” he says.
“You’re not my type,” I say.
“I’m not really a bounty hunter,” he says, ignoring me.
“Then we really need to talk about your wardrobe,” I say, “because what you’re doing now? Totally not allowed for the average joe.”
He leans closer, his voice a fierce whisper.
“I’m with Interpol,” he says.
“Interpol?” Anzia asks.
“Worldwide cops,” I sigh. “Like the local cops, but he speaks so many languages he doesn’t have enough brain cells left over to tie his own shoes.”
Bandyloo ignores me again. I’m starting to feel like I’m not part of my own conversation. It’s like the rest of my life, sure, but I was hoping I could make a clean break sometime. Especially with a guy dressed like this.
“I’m on a case right now,” he says, “hunting this Scarlet Lemming. That’s my deal. I hunt Nazi-seized artwork and artifacts around the world. Spent a good long time in South America, hunting for paintings, and that’s when I heard about the Lemming.”
“So you… you’ve done this a lot?” Anzia asks, doe-eyed again, the little twerp.
“Miss, I’ve been awarded the Medal of Bravery by the president of Norway himself.”
“Wow,” she says. “Norway.”
“Don’t get so excited,” I snap. “They suck at hockey, so who knows what they consider brave.” I glare at Bandyloo. “So if you’re working for Interpol, why are you pretending to be a bounty hunter?”
He checks over his shoulder, leans in close to the headrest, whispering even more quietly than before.
“Getting back the artifact is only half the battle,” he says. “I have to dismantle the organizations that make this possible. And you can’t do that from the outside. You need an in.”
“So this is a sting?” asks Anzia.
“That’s right,” he says. “It’s the way it was with the Phoenix.”
“The Phoenix!” she bubbles. “Oh my gosh!”
“What’s the Phoenix again?” I ask.
“The companion to the Scarlet Lemming!” Anzia says, reaching for her tablet. “The two of them have been traded since the Spanish stole them from South America, and I think… I thought the Phoenix was lost at least a century ago!”
“Not lost, miss,” says Bandyloo. “Hidden. Found it in Moldova. Hidden in plain sight. Had it mounted on the front of a Hummer, were driving it around town like nothing’s nothing.”
“That’s amazing!” giggles Anzia. Hey, if she gets excited enough by him, maybe she’ll leave me alone!
“The point is,” Bandyloo says, “you don’t want to be on this case. No matter what you think it’s worth, when I find the Lemming, I’m taking down Highthorne and your friend Wilkes, and whatever money they’ve promised you will go away forever.”
Ha! The fool doesn’t realize that I haven’t been promised any money anyway! The sucker! The jokes on… er… well, still me. Fuck.
“So you’re going to arrest Wilkes,” I say.
“That’s right,” he says.
“Could you maybe shoot him dead instead? We can bribe you. Anzia, crack open that tablet again and—”
“That’s not how it works,” he says. “I’m not after money, mate. I’m after justice.”
“Justice won’t pay the bills,” I say knowingly.
The doors unlock suddenly, and he stares at it, as if he’s trying to telegraph some kind of hint to us. Almost like he wants us to leave or something. In the crappy part of town. The bastard.
“I’m warning you as a professional courtesy,” he says. “Get out of this case while you can still can. It won’t end well.”
We get out and he speeds off. I shove my hands in my pockets, squeezing the veggie-tail photos for moral support. This is not the way I wanted the day to go. If Bandyloo beats me to the punch, Wilkes will tattle on me out of spite, and I’ll be in deep shit. On the other hand, if I actually do find the fucking Lemming, Bandyloo will probably figure out pretty quick where I went, and I’ll be screwed in a whole other way. But I can’t turn it into the cops either. I should have had Anzia save her savings so we could run away to Bermuda together. Not that I want to spend any more time with her, but she is loaded. Relatively speaking.
God my life is depressing.
I think my only choice is to find the Lemming and make a run for it. There aren’t any dead bodies floating around this case, so I doubt anyone’s going to really care if I suddenly disappear. This is my one chance for a better life. I’ve gotta do something about it.
“We need to find that Lemming!” I say triumphantly.
“How?” asks Anzia.
“Shit,” I say, realizing I have no plan. “What would you do?”
Anzia looks shocked by the question. She puts a hand to her chest like she learned to catch her breath from 1940s melodramas.
“Me?” she asks. “I… I don’t know!”
“Fine then, you idiot,” I snap. “You had your chance to be a detective and you blew it. Fuck off while I think.”
I storm off in a truly petulant fit. I feel like I’m 16 years old. Oh my god, she’s rubbing off on me!
“A dog!” she shouts to me.
“What?” I ask, turning around.
“A dog! A bloodhound! Maybe a bloodhound can track the Scarlet Lemming from Seamus’ scent!”
I squint at her. It’s a fucking stupid plan, but given the circumstances, I think fucking stupid is probably a better plan than any alternatives. The only problem is that I don’t have a bloodhound, and I don’t think I could rent one at this late hour. The only thing I have that’s even close is…
I sigh.
A short jog later, we’re standing outside my apartment door, the key in the lock and a stern look on my face.
“Okay,” I say. “I have to warn you: I live alone and don’t have a housekeeper.”
She nods, inhaling deeply.
“You probably don’t want to take another breath for a few minutes,” I say.
We go inside and are quickly stunned by the sights and smells. I haven’t really been home for a month, because I haven’t paid rent in six, and I’m avoiding a confrontation with the landlord. The floor is littered with shit and shredded cushions, the walls are scratched all to hell, and there’s a definite sense of horror about the place. It’s nicer than when I left.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a dark figure comes bounding at us. I duck behind Anzia, and she’s quickly toppled to the floor, her face layered with licks and foul-smelling fur. She starts laughing, petting the beast like he deserves affection.
“Oh what a cute doggie!” she laughs.
“Anzia, meet Winston. If he gives you any trouble, punch him. I do.”
She lets him lick her face all over, which is probably not a great idea since I bet he ran out of dog food a few days ago and has probably started eating his own excrement. I fish his leash off the coat rack and latch him up, pulling him off her. They’re both enjoying it too much, and I hate happiness.
“If there’s a scent to be followed, old Winston here will… well, he’ll probably overpower it. But it’s better than nothing, right?”
Anzia isn’t listening to me at all. She pets Winston on the head and makes smoochy-smoochy faces at him.
“Can I hold the leash?” she asks. I hand it over to her and roll my eyes. The blind leading the fucking stupid. What could go wrong?
