casa blanca

8.30 a.m. and I was up with the larks. I didn’t need a watch to tell the time, I was so close to Regent’s Park I could hear their wings flap. Two things struck me about that morning: one, the milk hadn’t been delivered, and two, Faisal was sitting in my best chair waiting for daylight to jolt my brain into action. “Morning Bob”, he said with an uneven grin yellow with menace. He carelessly flicked my card towards me. It spiralled down onto the rug, where it lay accusingly between us.


I looked away. Faisal's teeth were criss-crossed like lattice work and wouldn’t win any prizes for dentition. Pulling myself together I reached for my hat. It was a frosty morning and my ears were chilling out. “Cigar?” I proffered my box of King Edwards and wondered what he wanted. “No thank you.” He stood up and walked to the door. “I thought you were smart, Bob. I thought you had class. But I’ll tell you now, If Lola’s not back by this afternoon, you’re dead meat.” An unseen hand squeezed my heart and wrung it out. “What about Lola?” I asked, trying to keep calm. Faisal studied me for Bad Acting Syndrome. “You mean you had nothing to do with it?” My stomach sank, taking my gastric juices to hell and back. If fortune is a woman, then misfortune must be Lola Lamont’s middle name. “She was taken in the night”, Faisal sneered unbecomingly. “There was no sign of a struggle so I thought she’d gone off with you.” Typical of Faisal to cloak his compliments in accusations. I tried to think, but could only cogitate while chewing on a Rodeo. Then I tried a useless question and asked if he had any enemies. This promised to be a never-ending roll call, so I waved him into silence. “Never mind”, I said hastily, as I buttoned myself into my raincoat and pulled the belt tight. Humphrey Bogart was never more impressive - alive or dead. Faisal’s house was on the other side of the park, a lion’s roar away. Although it didn’t seem right that noble beasts were locked away while he roamed London, this was no time for philosophy. Lola’s window had been expertly removed, the glass left leaning against the inner wall of the room. I sniffed the air for that familiar scent: CFC-free, pump action, ozone friendly - no-one sprayed like Lola. Or shook, either, judging by the amount of talcum powder trodden into the oriental rug. Faisal dogged my footsteps while I inspected the clues: it was obvious the kidnapper was still on the premises. As all Faisal’s acquaintances had the brains of a gnat, this didn’t narrow the list of suspects. I gave up any attempt to assess the possible volume of Faisal’s brain and followed the tell-tale trail of paw-prints to the room across the hall. Inside, the kidnapper was fumbling with cartridges and scattering them across the polished floor. I sniffed. The air was pungent with a moist, lardy smell, last encountered at the race track around Fat Al’s stand. So we didn’t have to stick a pin in the telephone directory to come up with a likely candidate.

“FAT AL!” I bellowed. “You are surrounded! Give yourself up.”

“Bob, BOB!”

Lola’s husky contralto hit me like a weight in the back of my pasterns and I stumbled as I burst through the door, skating an ungainly figure of eight on the loose cartridges dropped by Al. He was sweating so much Lola slipped from his grip like a bar of soap and swooned into my arms. I executed a triple salko and camel spin, snatching the gun from Al’s greasy paw as I passed him by.

“Hands up, Sucker”, I grinned, as Lola squealed and covered my face with wet kisses. With effort I remained ice-cool under Lola’s passionate onslaught. Not so Faisal, whose sub-molecule brain was rattling in its skull with the effort of keeping calm. I extricated myself from Lola’s stranglehold and brushed a long blonde hair from my shoulder. “Yours, I believe”, I said gruffly, giving Lola a gentle shove towards her keeper.

My heart was in a vice and my body still tingled where she had leaned against me. Fat Al was trembling all over, whether from fear or the aftermath of a night with Lola, I couldn’t say.

“So you thought you’d take my girl, Al”, said Faisal, shaking his head in pretended sorrow. Fat Al hung his head and tried to make out Faisal was talking to someone else.

“He’s looking at you, kid”, I said softly, ignoring Lola’s giggle and the flicker of warning in Faisal’s eyes. If I couldn’t be happy, I’d settle for content, and scoring points off Faisal would do for starters. I’d captured the bad guy, captivated the goodtime girl and now had a crisp new tenner tucked into my hatband. One fine day I’d tuck Lola’s arm in mine and wave goodbye to Faisal forever. I practised the wave as I sauntered out the door.

“Abyssinia”, I growled.

“Not if I see you first”, came the swift reply.

So there was life on Planet Faisal. Maybe when the oxygen finally ran out Lola would be ready for some real atmosphere. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be too long a wait: the only things that keep Faisal’s brain cell in his head are the plastic bags he wears on his ears while eating dinner.