Page 26 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“None taken.” Phil was smiling, so I guessed it was true. “Tom’s not about to be arrested. They just asked a few questions about his psychic demonstration.”
“Ooh, that reminds me,” Gary piped up. He looked at Darren. “The hobby. Shall you tell him, or shall I?”
The hobby? What hobby, and did he mean mine or his?
I wasn’t even sure I had any hobbies, unless you counted the cooking. Oh, and slobbing out in front of the telly with my bloke.
“I’ll tell ’im, pumpkin. See, Geoff, that’s the leader of the Stompers, he was wondering if you’d be up for doing mates’ rates on a job for us. Course, I told ’im I don’t reckon it’s your line, but I’d ask you anyhow.”
I was getting a bad feeling about this.
Darren took a swig of beer, belched, and carried on. “See, it’s our hobby. Some turd borrowed it while we was watching you do your stuff, and we found it shoved in the ’edge with a flippin’ great dent in it. Geoff’s hopping mad. So he was hoping you could do, like, a reading on it or something. Find out who done it.”
“Okay, what? I haven’t got a bloody clue what you’re on about. What do you mean your hobby? And what do you want me to read, for God’s sake?”
“He means the horse, Tommy,” Gary put in. “Well, the horse’s head worn by one of the dancers. It’s called the hobby. From hobbyhorse? Or maybe that’s where hobbyhorse came from. Do you know, sweetie pie? Which came first, the hobby or the horse?”
“Hang about,” I interrupted before the plot got totally lost. “What exactly do you expect me to do with a horse’s head? And, oi, keep it clean. There’s no Tory politicians round here.”
“Spoilsport.” Gary pouted and took a sip of his piña colada.
Phil put his beer down on the table. “He wants you to see if you can get any vibes off the horse costume. Anything that might tell you who damaged it.”
I frowned at him. “That’s not what I do. You know it isn’t.”
“Could be linked to the murder—if you saw someone wearing a papier-mâché horse’s head, you’d assume it was one of the Morris dancers, wouldn’t you? Might be a good way to sneak up on the victim without anyone knowing.”
“What? It’d be a bloody awful way to sneak up on anyone. You think the witnesses wouldn’t have remembered a six-foot-tall horse man?” And great, now my nightmares about stranglers were going to be even more colourful and disturbing.
“Might not hurt to see what you can get from it.” Phil’s tone was that careful I’m not judging you one he uses when interviewing people, so naturally enough, I got all defensive.
“It’d be a total waste of time. I don’t get vibes off things unless they’re hidden, all right?” Whose talent was this, anyway?
“Have you tried?” Gary asked.
“I don’t need to try, all right? I know how it works. Hidden stuff. And water. That’s it.”
Darren shrugged. “’S all right. I’ll tell Geoff you’re not interested. No worries.”
“I’m not . . . not interested. It’s just not my thing, all right?”
“Yeah, ’s what I said, innit? I’ll tell ’im. Don’t get your kecks up your crack.” Him and Phil shared a look, which didn’t make me any happier.
“Did you have any premonitions before you found her?” Gary said, leaning forwards.
“Not exactly,” I said, just as Phil came out with a huff and a “He doesn’t do premonitions either.”
Everyone stared at me.
Great. “It wasn’t like I knew anything was going to happen before it did, all right? It was just that the trail I was following felt . . . I dunno. Wrong. Nasty.”
They all nodded solemnly.
“Do we have to talk about this all evening?” I said, picking up my beer and realising I’d finished it already.
“Course not,” Darren said brightly. “So anyhow, you and Phil set a date yet? Got the venue sorted?”
Bloody marvellous.
