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discoveredinalj2009-12-24 04:27 pm
kiwisue.livejournal.com) wrote in discoveredinalj2009-12-24 04:27 pm
Entry tags:
Discovered in a Christmas Stocking - day 24
Hello, all – hope you've got your pencils at the ready *g*. This is a short case fic with a difference - YOU do the work. Within the story there are five clues (I've given you the answer to the first one). Each is numbered, so you won't have any problems locating them. Each is a song – a title, an artist or a lyric.
Your task, should you decide to accept it, is to identify the songs and the artists, then use that information to work out what Bodie and Doyle need to know.
You can enter your answers in comments. Comments will be screened until the end of the challenge, at which time I'll reveal the answers and reply to everyone. Have fun!
The Ballads of Billy Redmond
Doyle sighed. "Should 'ave gone down Hanger Lane."
"I'd have paid money for that advice half an hour ago, if I'd known this was going to happen."
"Except if you'd known you'd never need to pay! Very clever, Bodie."
They were stuck on the Westway flyover, a jack-knifed articulated lorry in front of them and a mile of blocked traffic behind.
"Dunno why we're bothering," Doyle continued. "You really think Billy Redmond'll have anything to give us?"
"Look, he's a mate, okay? He was a good bloke, before the drugs and booze got to him. And if a mate who's a good bloke and has never let you down in his life calls you and says he knows how John Coogan is running his drugs operation from behind bars..."
"I know. You want to talk to him."
"That's the idea."
"Presuming he's there and something approaching sober."
"He'll be there. And he never has a drink before the sun's over the yardarm."
"When's that?"
"Probably right about now."
*****
It wasn't like Bodie to be late. Billy was getting worried. More worried, rather. He'd swallowed a couple of pills before heading to the pub, something to take the edge off the shakes. They helped, but not enough. He looked around nervously, worried that someone was watching, that they knew why he was waiting, taking up space, sipping an orange juice all by himself. And then he worried that he looked suspicious, and he wanted another pill, but he was pretty sure he'd left them back at his bedsit. It was safer that way.
*****
They had been on their way back from Oxford when the call came through. A waste of time that trip had been, Doyle thought. Just some local policeman with an overactive imagination and, it had turned out, not a whiff of anything at all criminal, let alone anything connected to the man they were after.
Now they were chasing something that was probably just as much a waste of time. Except Bodie knew the bloke - interesting that he'd never mentioned his name before now.
"How did you meet him?"
"Ah, he was a Petty Officer on my first ship. A good seaman and a great bloke to have on your side in a fight. But he lost his rating after a while. When I got back to England and caught up with him he was down to working colliers on the Irish Sea."
"Yeah, but you said he's landside now – what happened?"
"His last ship was the Nellie M."
Doyle's eyes widened. "Very unlucky! Although no-one got hurt, right?"
"No, but his nerves took a hit and he went back on the booze in a big way. He couldn't get a berth after that."
****
He wanted a real drink, but he knew he shouldn’t. He checked his pockets anyway, finding a handful of change and a scrunched up five pound note. Maybe he should put a few coins in the jukebox. Music was good. It made him feel almost normal again, almost safe. He went up to the machine, started looking through the selections. There were some good songs in there, songs from the days when he’d travelled the world’s oceans, before he fucked up and found himself on the wrong coal ship out of Liverpool. He read the titles, tried to decide which ones to play, but couldn’t settle on anything. The way his mind was jumping they all reminded him of why he was here, waiting for Bodie. *You're mad, Billy Redmond*, he told himself. *You don't owe Bodie a thing. You stopped fighting each others’ battles years ago. Don't do it… don't take the risk.* And yet… like a sea bird caught in an oil slick, sludge-heavy with fears and forebodings he stood there, helpless. Eventually he gave in to his first impulse and drifted over to the bar.
*****
The lorry finally moved off and the banked-up line of cars slowly followed. This restoration of forward mobility, however, did little to appease Doyle.
"Took them long enough. Anyway, how did Billy find out about Coogan’s operation? We've had tabs on all his visitors, including his girlfriend, his lawyer and half the bloody British Olympic committee, and if it hadn't been for the Dutch connection we'd never have had a clue."
"He works cleaning Coogan’s gym. Starts at six, finishes by eleven and down the pub by eleven thirty. Anyway, he picked something up in the changing rooms."
"Yeah, well that can happen if you’re not careful."
"Ha-ha."
Doyle wasn’t finished. "If I ever meet those Drug Squad idiots who lost track of the courier outside Heathrow…"
Bodie concentrated on his driving.
*****
Doyle hung back and let Bodie walk into the pub first. It wasn't hard to work out which of the handful of drinkers was Billy: he was slumped in a booth near the jukebox, an almost empty glass in front of him. Lank strands from badly cut hair fell across a tired, weathered face. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. Doyle mentally subtracted ten years.
"Hello, Billy." Bodie was all warm affability. "Been keeping out of trouble?"
"Bodie..." Billy looked up, looking pleased. Then he spotted Doyle and his eyes narrowed. "Oi! Who's he? Y... you dinnt say 'bout anyone...." His voice slurred, faded.
"He's okay, Billy." Bodie lowered his voice. "Remember I said I had a copper for a partner? This is him - Doyle."
Billy nodded. As he did so, he slipped further forward in his seat until he was almost face down on the tabletop. Bodie rolled his eyes at Doyle, but he bent down and, taking Billy by the shoulders, levered him gently upright again.
"C'mon Billy, wakey, wakey, old son. We're going to have a nice chat, then I'll buy you a feed and take you back to your gaff, OK?"
"I'll get drinks," Doyle announced, before going over to the bar and ordering a large lemonade and two vodkas with orange.
"Friend of yours, is he?" There was a note of concern in the barmaid’s voice.
"Yeah. Well, friend of my mate really. Is he a regular?"
"He's been coming in here for the last few months. Usually nurses a pint or two until afternoon closing, and then he heads off. Only he’s been a bit, well, down lately, if you know what I mean."
"Drinking the hard stuff and paying with five pence coins, is that it?"
She murmured something that sounded like agreement. "It's a pity. He seems like a nice man."
"Ta, love." Doyle paid for the drinks. "We'll look after him."
He returned to the table. Bodie had a hand on Billy’s shoulder, holding him up, little shakes punctuating some tall tale or other.
"…Monty hid his stash in the blower pipes and the heat made the bottles explode - remember?"
Evidently Billy did. "It rained scotch in the wardroom… t… took weeks to get the smell out."
Doyle handed over the drinks and sat down.
"Cheers, mate." Bodie said, and raised the glass to his lips. An odd silence fell on them then - Billy took a sip of his lemonade and nodded vaguely in Doyle’s direction without raising his eyes more than a few inches. Doyle sat back, waiting for Bodie to make the first play.
"OK, Billy. Tell me about Coogan."
"No!" The effect on Billy was electric. He jerked upright, red-rimmed eyes flickering side to side, anxious. "Nuh… no names."
It was going to be a tough one. Doyle decided Billy needed a push.
"Well, we can have a nice friendly chat here. Or," he paused ominously, "we c'n go somewhere a bit quieter. Your choice."
Billy looked as though he was ready to make a run for it. Which, Doyle thought, would be interesting, as from the look of him the man would have trouble standing, let alone walking.
"Give it a rest, Doyle." Bodie, playing good cop right on cue. "It's OK, Billy, no-one's taking you anywhere. But you wanted to see me, remember. I'm very grateful. Our mutual friend 'as been sent away for a short holiday of the all expenses paid variety. We’d like to make it a longer one – much longer. And knowing he's still pulling the strings on the streets is a good start."
"You see, Billy, we don't just want the puppets," Doyle added softly. "We want the puppet master."
Billy appeared to consider this, although it was hard to tell. He swayed slightly in his seat, licked his lips as though they were bone dry, and raised his glass with a shaky hand. Doyle resisted the urge to reach out and steady him. He couldn't blame Billy for being afraid – Coogan had a well-deserved reputation for taking bloody revenge on anyone who crossed him. It was sheer luck that he’d been caught and convicted on a relatively minor matter of tax fraud at the same time that a shipment of uncut heroin – twenty pounds of it – was on its way to Coogan's distribution network.
Operating under instructions, Customs had let the courier through, but then the police had lost track of him. The Dutch police had told them that there was a meet planned, no other details available.
Coogan held the strings all right, despite his unscheduled stretch in gaol. They’d thought at first that one of his lieutenants, the lawyer perhaps, now that Paulie was dead, would carry on in Coogan’s name. But it looked as though Big John was determined to run the show himself. They’d analysed every message, every communication between him and his underlings and come up with a pattern; odd phrases that might be code for something, a thing Coogan did with his little finger tapping on the table that might mean a 'see here' to his listener (or not), but nothing that would tie it all together until Billy had contacted Bodie.
"All we need is who, when and where," Doyle told Billy.
*****
He heard the copper speak… who, when and where, as though from the end of a long tunnel. It was a struggle to stay conscious – what was wrong? He shouldn't be this bad. He’d only had a couple of scotches, a couple of pills. Or had he? He checked his pockets again, fumbling. His fingers touched a foil packet. Fuck. Must’ve had more in there and he wouldn't have remembered taking them, would he.
They were waiting for him to say something. If only he could find the words to tell them what they wanted to know. He had to do it, because Bodie needed him, just like he had back then, when he was a cocky kid learning the ropes.
Bodie was different now. He'd matured a lot, and he was tough. Very, very tough, Billy could tell from the way he carried himself, the way he talked. But he was still Bodie, right? He knew Bodie, knew how loyal he was, how good he could be to people he trusted and cared about.
Billy wanted to return that trust, but his throat had seized up – no way could he put what he knew into words. There had to be a way… he looked around, and his gaze focussed on the jukebox.
Songs… they were safe, they told stories, he could make them tell his story. Everything was there, he wouldn’t have to explain, and Bodie, maybe even Bodie’s surly friend, would understand.
"Gim… gimme me some coins. For the music."
*****
Billy staggered the short distance to the jukebox, hanging onto the back of the bench for support. He slammed the coins into the slot, punched the buttons. Then he wove his way back to the table and collapsed into his seat.
"Who, when and where? Lissenup, copper," an obvious dig at Doyle, "y… you got it."
The music started.
Saturday night I was downtown
Working for the FBI… (1)
Now what the fuck was this about, Doyle wondered. He gathered Billy was trying to tell them something by playing the songs, and given the order of questions he’d been asked, this could be the “who” – the link between the overseas suppliers and Coogan, the distributor. But it could be 'where' just as easily. Well, he didn't think Billy was trying to trick them. And then there was the woman…
Doyle's eyes met Bodie's. "Looks like the Olympic Committee’s off the hook, at least."
"The nightclub singer?" Bodie'd been having the same thoughts, then. Chantelle (no last name), aka Sandra Bostock from Chelmsford, Coogan's most recent intimate companion and singer-in-residence at the club he owned in Chelsea. Reports on her varied – anything from 'dumb brunette' (McCabe’s assessment) to 'smarter than she lets on' (Ruth’s). Privately, Doyle agreed with Ruth.
"Maybe. Hey, Billy," Doyle snapped out, "this is on the level, right? Wouldn't want to spend a lot of money at the Toucan Room for no reason."
"Yeah, you win a prize. But save your money - 's not there." And after that astoundingly clear announcement Billy slid slowly and almost gracefully forward onto the tabletop. Doyle tried to rouse him again, but he was sound asleep, so he took his jacket off and tucked it under Billy’s head. Billy squirmed about a little then subsided again.
"Hope the rest of his clues don't need an interpreter." Doyle grumbled. "And stop grinning. It isn’t funny, Bodie. The courier left Heathrow on Saturday and today’s Monday. I'm feeling inclined to take Billy here for a ride down to headquarters where we can talk to him properly, instead of sitting here listening to greatest hits!"
"If you'd shut up for a minute, you’d realise we've got plenty of time." Bodie was looking at him with unconcealed amusement. Smug bastard. Doyle stopped grumbling anyway, and started paying more attention to the music. It had changed.
There's no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away (2)
"That's straightforward enough," he allowed, feeling slightly more cheerful. "Alright, how many more are we going to have to sit through? How much did he put in?"
"Two or three, I guess. He definitely picked more than three."
"Might as well enjoy the music, then. It's your round."
Bodie rolled his eyes at that, but he headed for the bar nonetheless. Doyle checked Billy again – still breathing, still sleeping peacefully, if a little too soundly. Resting, his features smoothed out and he looked years younger, nearer to the slightly senior shipmate he must have been when Bodie had first gone to sea.
Billy Redmond had done himself some damage over the years. His skin had an unhealthy tinge to it and his cheeks and nose wore a scattering of broken veins. Yet for all his apparent fragility, both physical and mental, Billy had done something few others had dared to do for the sake of his friendship with Bodie. Whatever had been between them had gone deep, then. Why else would Billy have risked so much?
But why do we go on in spite of mistakes, in spite of destruction
Life can be fun depending on your situation.(3)
The next song came on and Doyle groaned. He'd hated it from the first time he'd heard it, and it was all the worse for having to pay attention to it right now. As a clue it wasn't all that useful either. Thousands of possibilities. They didn't have the manpower to cover them all.
Oh well, at least Bodie had bought him a pint this time.
"Tah." He waited until Bodie sat down again. "Billy here's scared of his own shadow. Why would he contact you after all this time? Hell of a risk, that, grassing on Coogan."
"Well..," Bodie looked a little discomfited, Doyle thought. And distant, the way he always was when some past memory surfaced. "It was his mum."
Doyle waited.
"Before I jumped ship, a couple of times Billy took me home with him. Mrs Redmond was a nice lady - still is, although she’s in a nursing home now. She cooked the best steak and kidney pudding I’ve ever eaten…"
"I'm not interested in your stomach, Bodie," Doyle warned.
"Listen, if you think I've got an appetite now, you should have seen me when I was seventeen. Oh, all right then. It was just after I got back to England, while I was waiting for my army application to go through. I wasn't sure what Billy was doing, and I decided to call on his mum. No-one answered the door, and the neighbours said they hadn't seen her for a couple of days, thought she'd gone away. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I had a feeling something was wrong."
There was something wonderfully endearing about Bodie trying to maintain his uninvolved, cool façade, in the face of evidence to the complete contrary.
"I broke into her house," Bodie continued. "Found her lying in the hallway. She'd fallen down the stairs a couple of days before, couldn't reach the phone to get help. Hit her head, broken her leg - I did what was needed, that's all."
"But Billy was grateful, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And you've kept in touch ever since?"
"Off and on. I didn't tell him I worked for CI5. Must’ve figured that one out for himself."
Gears turned, silence fell. Billy slept on. Then from the jukebox came a driving, exuberant drum beat and a wailing sax theme that had Doyle tapping his fingers to the rhythm even before the song itself began.
You say that you love me (say you love me)
All of the time (all of the time)
You say that you need me (say you need me)
You'll always be mine (always be mine)(4)
He chuckled a little. It couldn't be that simple, could it? It didn't quite add up, but nothing else fitted that he could think of.
"I know the song, but it means nothing. No connection." Bodie shrugged, looking puzzled.
“That's because you’re Liverpool, mate. Don't suppose you went to many second or third division games in London. Whereas I was working here. Keeping the peace."
"Ah. The penny just dropped."
"Doesn't feel right, though. Not the sort of place I'd pick for a meet. Too open. And there's something else bothering me. It's a big coincidence, Billy working for Coogan. I wouldn't mind betting that he got that job on purpose. He'd have known about the Mather inquiry."
From the stunned expression on Bodie’s face, Doyle realised his partner hadn’t considered that possibility.
"Jesus. The daft bastard." Bodie shook his head.
"If it helps us get Coo…." Doyle stopped, as the barmaid came over to pick up their empty glasses.
"You were going to look after him, you said," she accused.
"He's OK. Just needs to sleep off the booze." Doyle said, trying to placate her. It wasn’t a particularly classy pub, but they probably had rules about sleeping drunks.
She sniffed. "He's not drunk. Three single scotches...."
Shit. "Right, love. Thanks for the info."
Bodie was already rifling through Billy’s pockets. He found a battered wallet, keys, a handkerchief… and an empty bubble pack. He held it up for Doyle’s inspection.
"Librium, 10 milligrams. Eighty milligrams at most. 'S not exactly a lethal dose, even with the alcohol. He'll sleep it off," Doyle said.
"Yeah, but we don’t know if that’s all he's taken. How many he’s had over the last twenty-four hours. What he's eaten, if he's ill... we should take him to a doctor."
"We haven't heard all the clues yet," Doyle protested. Then he saw Bodie’s face. "You really care about him, don't you?"
"I need to make sure he’s alright."
It wasn't just that, Doyle was certain. Billy had put himself on the line for Bodie, out of loyalty and gratitude, and now Bodie knew, he wasn’t going to let it go. Had to balance the scales again, in his own way. Always in credit, never in debt, that was Bodie. And when Bodie decided something needed to be done, well, he was his partner, wasn’t he. He’d back him up, all the way.
"C'mon then. Let's get Sir Collapse-a-lot here to the hospital."
Between them they managed to revive Billy enough to get him to his feet. There was a patch of saliva on Doyle’s jacket, but he shrugged it off – he’d had worse things happen to his clothes. Under the watchful eye of the barmaid they shuffled Billy slowly towards the door. As they went outside, Doyle heard the music change for the final time.
Well you're dirty and sweet
Clad in black don't look back and I love you(5)
He laughed again, no holding back this time. "By George, I think I’ve got it!"
"Well done, Sherlock. Are you sure?"
"Oh, I think so. It's as clear as crystal, after all."
END
List of songs and the clues they contain:
1. Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress (The Hollies) – Chantelle/Sandra, Coogan’s go-between.
2. Ruby Tuesday (The Rolling Stones) – Tuesday. She’s meeting the courier on Tuesday.
3. A Walk in the Park (Nick Straker Band) – she’s meeting him in a park.
4. Glad All Over (Dave Clark Five) – the song is the home game chant of Crystal Palace F.C.
5. Get it on (T Rex) – there aren’t too many songs about dinosaurs *g* so this clue is the name of the band, not the song itself. Chantelle is meeting the drug courier on Tuesday in the dinosaur garden, Crystal Palace Park. Thanks to Billy's clues, CI5 will also be in attendance *g*.
A hint if you need it:
Everything is in London and all the answers can be found using Google or Wikipedia.
Title: The Ballads of Billy Redmond
Author: Kiwisue
Slash or Gen: that's a good question - I initially said it was gen, there's certainly nothing here that a genner couldn't read. I think it depends how you situate their relationship and the number of signs or tokens you need to classify it one way or the other. In other words, let the reader decide. And I will stop burbling now and let you get on with your assignment. *g*
Archive at ProsLib: Sure
Disclaimer: I'm playing
Your task, should you decide to accept it, is to identify the songs and the artists, then use that information to work out what Bodie and Doyle need to know.
You can enter your answers in comments. Comments will be screened until the end of the challenge, at which time I'll reveal the answers and reply to everyone. Have fun!
The Ballads of Billy Redmond
Doyle sighed. "Should 'ave gone down Hanger Lane."
"I'd have paid money for that advice half an hour ago, if I'd known this was going to happen."
"Except if you'd known you'd never need to pay! Very clever, Bodie."
They were stuck on the Westway flyover, a jack-knifed articulated lorry in front of them and a mile of blocked traffic behind.
"Dunno why we're bothering," Doyle continued. "You really think Billy Redmond'll have anything to give us?"
"Look, he's a mate, okay? He was a good bloke, before the drugs and booze got to him. And if a mate who's a good bloke and has never let you down in his life calls you and says he knows how John Coogan is running his drugs operation from behind bars..."
"I know. You want to talk to him."
"That's the idea."
"Presuming he's there and something approaching sober."
"He'll be there. And he never has a drink before the sun's over the yardarm."
"When's that?"
"Probably right about now."
*****
It wasn't like Bodie to be late. Billy was getting worried. More worried, rather. He'd swallowed a couple of pills before heading to the pub, something to take the edge off the shakes. They helped, but not enough. He looked around nervously, worried that someone was watching, that they knew why he was waiting, taking up space, sipping an orange juice all by himself. And then he worried that he looked suspicious, and he wanted another pill, but he was pretty sure he'd left them back at his bedsit. It was safer that way.
*****
They had been on their way back from Oxford when the call came through. A waste of time that trip had been, Doyle thought. Just some local policeman with an overactive imagination and, it had turned out, not a whiff of anything at all criminal, let alone anything connected to the man they were after.
Now they were chasing something that was probably just as much a waste of time. Except Bodie knew the bloke - interesting that he'd never mentioned his name before now.
"How did you meet him?"
"Ah, he was a Petty Officer on my first ship. A good seaman and a great bloke to have on your side in a fight. But he lost his rating after a while. When I got back to England and caught up with him he was down to working colliers on the Irish Sea."
"Yeah, but you said he's landside now – what happened?"
"His last ship was the Nellie M."
Doyle's eyes widened. "Very unlucky! Although no-one got hurt, right?"
"No, but his nerves took a hit and he went back on the booze in a big way. He couldn't get a berth after that."
****
He wanted a real drink, but he knew he shouldn’t. He checked his pockets anyway, finding a handful of change and a scrunched up five pound note. Maybe he should put a few coins in the jukebox. Music was good. It made him feel almost normal again, almost safe. He went up to the machine, started looking through the selections. There were some good songs in there, songs from the days when he’d travelled the world’s oceans, before he fucked up and found himself on the wrong coal ship out of Liverpool. He read the titles, tried to decide which ones to play, but couldn’t settle on anything. The way his mind was jumping they all reminded him of why he was here, waiting for Bodie. *You're mad, Billy Redmond*, he told himself. *You don't owe Bodie a thing. You stopped fighting each others’ battles years ago. Don't do it… don't take the risk.* And yet… like a sea bird caught in an oil slick, sludge-heavy with fears and forebodings he stood there, helpless. Eventually he gave in to his first impulse and drifted over to the bar.
*****
The lorry finally moved off and the banked-up line of cars slowly followed. This restoration of forward mobility, however, did little to appease Doyle.
"Took them long enough. Anyway, how did Billy find out about Coogan’s operation? We've had tabs on all his visitors, including his girlfriend, his lawyer and half the bloody British Olympic committee, and if it hadn't been for the Dutch connection we'd never have had a clue."
"He works cleaning Coogan’s gym. Starts at six, finishes by eleven and down the pub by eleven thirty. Anyway, he picked something up in the changing rooms."
"Yeah, well that can happen if you’re not careful."
"Ha-ha."
Doyle wasn’t finished. "If I ever meet those Drug Squad idiots who lost track of the courier outside Heathrow…"
Bodie concentrated on his driving.
*****
Doyle hung back and let Bodie walk into the pub first. It wasn't hard to work out which of the handful of drinkers was Billy: he was slumped in a booth near the jukebox, an almost empty glass in front of him. Lank strands from badly cut hair fell across a tired, weathered face. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. Doyle mentally subtracted ten years.
"Hello, Billy." Bodie was all warm affability. "Been keeping out of trouble?"
"Bodie..." Billy looked up, looking pleased. Then he spotted Doyle and his eyes narrowed. "Oi! Who's he? Y... you dinnt say 'bout anyone...." His voice slurred, faded.
"He's okay, Billy." Bodie lowered his voice. "Remember I said I had a copper for a partner? This is him - Doyle."
Billy nodded. As he did so, he slipped further forward in his seat until he was almost face down on the tabletop. Bodie rolled his eyes at Doyle, but he bent down and, taking Billy by the shoulders, levered him gently upright again.
"C'mon Billy, wakey, wakey, old son. We're going to have a nice chat, then I'll buy you a feed and take you back to your gaff, OK?"
"I'll get drinks," Doyle announced, before going over to the bar and ordering a large lemonade and two vodkas with orange.
"Friend of yours, is he?" There was a note of concern in the barmaid’s voice.
"Yeah. Well, friend of my mate really. Is he a regular?"
"He's been coming in here for the last few months. Usually nurses a pint or two until afternoon closing, and then he heads off. Only he’s been a bit, well, down lately, if you know what I mean."
"Drinking the hard stuff and paying with five pence coins, is that it?"
She murmured something that sounded like agreement. "It's a pity. He seems like a nice man."
"Ta, love." Doyle paid for the drinks. "We'll look after him."
He returned to the table. Bodie had a hand on Billy’s shoulder, holding him up, little shakes punctuating some tall tale or other.
"…Monty hid his stash in the blower pipes and the heat made the bottles explode - remember?"
Evidently Billy did. "It rained scotch in the wardroom… t… took weeks to get the smell out."
Doyle handed over the drinks and sat down.
"Cheers, mate." Bodie said, and raised the glass to his lips. An odd silence fell on them then - Billy took a sip of his lemonade and nodded vaguely in Doyle’s direction without raising his eyes more than a few inches. Doyle sat back, waiting for Bodie to make the first play.
"OK, Billy. Tell me about Coogan."
"No!" The effect on Billy was electric. He jerked upright, red-rimmed eyes flickering side to side, anxious. "Nuh… no names."
It was going to be a tough one. Doyle decided Billy needed a push.
"Well, we can have a nice friendly chat here. Or," he paused ominously, "we c'n go somewhere a bit quieter. Your choice."
Billy looked as though he was ready to make a run for it. Which, Doyle thought, would be interesting, as from the look of him the man would have trouble standing, let alone walking.
"Give it a rest, Doyle." Bodie, playing good cop right on cue. "It's OK, Billy, no-one's taking you anywhere. But you wanted to see me, remember. I'm very grateful. Our mutual friend 'as been sent away for a short holiday of the all expenses paid variety. We’d like to make it a longer one – much longer. And knowing he's still pulling the strings on the streets is a good start."
"You see, Billy, we don't just want the puppets," Doyle added softly. "We want the puppet master."
Billy appeared to consider this, although it was hard to tell. He swayed slightly in his seat, licked his lips as though they were bone dry, and raised his glass with a shaky hand. Doyle resisted the urge to reach out and steady him. He couldn't blame Billy for being afraid – Coogan had a well-deserved reputation for taking bloody revenge on anyone who crossed him. It was sheer luck that he’d been caught and convicted on a relatively minor matter of tax fraud at the same time that a shipment of uncut heroin – twenty pounds of it – was on its way to Coogan's distribution network.
Operating under instructions, Customs had let the courier through, but then the police had lost track of him. The Dutch police had told them that there was a meet planned, no other details available.
Coogan held the strings all right, despite his unscheduled stretch in gaol. They’d thought at first that one of his lieutenants, the lawyer perhaps, now that Paulie was dead, would carry on in Coogan’s name. But it looked as though Big John was determined to run the show himself. They’d analysed every message, every communication between him and his underlings and come up with a pattern; odd phrases that might be code for something, a thing Coogan did with his little finger tapping on the table that might mean a 'see here' to his listener (or not), but nothing that would tie it all together until Billy had contacted Bodie.
"All we need is who, when and where," Doyle told Billy.
*****
He heard the copper speak… who, when and where, as though from the end of a long tunnel. It was a struggle to stay conscious – what was wrong? He shouldn't be this bad. He’d only had a couple of scotches, a couple of pills. Or had he? He checked his pockets again, fumbling. His fingers touched a foil packet. Fuck. Must’ve had more in there and he wouldn't have remembered taking them, would he.
They were waiting for him to say something. If only he could find the words to tell them what they wanted to know. He had to do it, because Bodie needed him, just like he had back then, when he was a cocky kid learning the ropes.
Bodie was different now. He'd matured a lot, and he was tough. Very, very tough, Billy could tell from the way he carried himself, the way he talked. But he was still Bodie, right? He knew Bodie, knew how loyal he was, how good he could be to people he trusted and cared about.
Billy wanted to return that trust, but his throat had seized up – no way could he put what he knew into words. There had to be a way… he looked around, and his gaze focussed on the jukebox.
Songs… they were safe, they told stories, he could make them tell his story. Everything was there, he wouldn’t have to explain, and Bodie, maybe even Bodie’s surly friend, would understand.
"Gim… gimme me some coins. For the music."
*****
Billy staggered the short distance to the jukebox, hanging onto the back of the bench for support. He slammed the coins into the slot, punched the buttons. Then he wove his way back to the table and collapsed into his seat.
"Who, when and where? Lissenup, copper," an obvious dig at Doyle, "y… you got it."
The music started.
Saturday night I was downtown
Working for the FBI… (1)
Now what the fuck was this about, Doyle wondered. He gathered Billy was trying to tell them something by playing the songs, and given the order of questions he’d been asked, this could be the “who” – the link between the overseas suppliers and Coogan, the distributor. But it could be 'where' just as easily. Well, he didn't think Billy was trying to trick them. And then there was the woman…
Doyle's eyes met Bodie's. "Looks like the Olympic Committee’s off the hook, at least."
"The nightclub singer?" Bodie'd been having the same thoughts, then. Chantelle (no last name), aka Sandra Bostock from Chelmsford, Coogan's most recent intimate companion and singer-in-residence at the club he owned in Chelsea. Reports on her varied – anything from 'dumb brunette' (McCabe’s assessment) to 'smarter than she lets on' (Ruth’s). Privately, Doyle agreed with Ruth.
"Maybe. Hey, Billy," Doyle snapped out, "this is on the level, right? Wouldn't want to spend a lot of money at the Toucan Room for no reason."
"Yeah, you win a prize. But save your money - 's not there." And after that astoundingly clear announcement Billy slid slowly and almost gracefully forward onto the tabletop. Doyle tried to rouse him again, but he was sound asleep, so he took his jacket off and tucked it under Billy’s head. Billy squirmed about a little then subsided again.
"Hope the rest of his clues don't need an interpreter." Doyle grumbled. "And stop grinning. It isn’t funny, Bodie. The courier left Heathrow on Saturday and today’s Monday. I'm feeling inclined to take Billy here for a ride down to headquarters where we can talk to him properly, instead of sitting here listening to greatest hits!"
"If you'd shut up for a minute, you’d realise we've got plenty of time." Bodie was looking at him with unconcealed amusement. Smug bastard. Doyle stopped grumbling anyway, and started paying more attention to the music. It had changed.
There's no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away (2)
"That's straightforward enough," he allowed, feeling slightly more cheerful. "Alright, how many more are we going to have to sit through? How much did he put in?"
"Two or three, I guess. He definitely picked more than three."
"Might as well enjoy the music, then. It's your round."
Bodie rolled his eyes at that, but he headed for the bar nonetheless. Doyle checked Billy again – still breathing, still sleeping peacefully, if a little too soundly. Resting, his features smoothed out and he looked years younger, nearer to the slightly senior shipmate he must have been when Bodie had first gone to sea.
Billy Redmond had done himself some damage over the years. His skin had an unhealthy tinge to it and his cheeks and nose wore a scattering of broken veins. Yet for all his apparent fragility, both physical and mental, Billy had done something few others had dared to do for the sake of his friendship with Bodie. Whatever had been between them had gone deep, then. Why else would Billy have risked so much?
But why do we go on in spite of mistakes, in spite of destruction
Life can be fun depending on your situation.(3)
The next song came on and Doyle groaned. He'd hated it from the first time he'd heard it, and it was all the worse for having to pay attention to it right now. As a clue it wasn't all that useful either. Thousands of possibilities. They didn't have the manpower to cover them all.
Oh well, at least Bodie had bought him a pint this time.
"Tah." He waited until Bodie sat down again. "Billy here's scared of his own shadow. Why would he contact you after all this time? Hell of a risk, that, grassing on Coogan."
"Well..," Bodie looked a little discomfited, Doyle thought. And distant, the way he always was when some past memory surfaced. "It was his mum."
Doyle waited.
"Before I jumped ship, a couple of times Billy took me home with him. Mrs Redmond was a nice lady - still is, although she’s in a nursing home now. She cooked the best steak and kidney pudding I’ve ever eaten…"
"I'm not interested in your stomach, Bodie," Doyle warned.
"Listen, if you think I've got an appetite now, you should have seen me when I was seventeen. Oh, all right then. It was just after I got back to England, while I was waiting for my army application to go through. I wasn't sure what Billy was doing, and I decided to call on his mum. No-one answered the door, and the neighbours said they hadn't seen her for a couple of days, thought she'd gone away. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I had a feeling something was wrong."
There was something wonderfully endearing about Bodie trying to maintain his uninvolved, cool façade, in the face of evidence to the complete contrary.
"I broke into her house," Bodie continued. "Found her lying in the hallway. She'd fallen down the stairs a couple of days before, couldn't reach the phone to get help. Hit her head, broken her leg - I did what was needed, that's all."
"But Billy was grateful, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And you've kept in touch ever since?"
"Off and on. I didn't tell him I worked for CI5. Must’ve figured that one out for himself."
Gears turned, silence fell. Billy slept on. Then from the jukebox came a driving, exuberant drum beat and a wailing sax theme that had Doyle tapping his fingers to the rhythm even before the song itself began.
You say that you love me (say you love me)
All of the time (all of the time)
You say that you need me (say you need me)
You'll always be mine (always be mine)(4)
He chuckled a little. It couldn't be that simple, could it? It didn't quite add up, but nothing else fitted that he could think of.
"I know the song, but it means nothing. No connection." Bodie shrugged, looking puzzled.
“That's because you’re Liverpool, mate. Don't suppose you went to many second or third division games in London. Whereas I was working here. Keeping the peace."
"Ah. The penny just dropped."
"Doesn't feel right, though. Not the sort of place I'd pick for a meet. Too open. And there's something else bothering me. It's a big coincidence, Billy working for Coogan. I wouldn't mind betting that he got that job on purpose. He'd have known about the Mather inquiry."
From the stunned expression on Bodie’s face, Doyle realised his partner hadn’t considered that possibility.
"Jesus. The daft bastard." Bodie shook his head.
"If it helps us get Coo…." Doyle stopped, as the barmaid came over to pick up their empty glasses.
"You were going to look after him, you said," she accused.
"He's OK. Just needs to sleep off the booze." Doyle said, trying to placate her. It wasn’t a particularly classy pub, but they probably had rules about sleeping drunks.
She sniffed. "He's not drunk. Three single scotches...."
Shit. "Right, love. Thanks for the info."
Bodie was already rifling through Billy’s pockets. He found a battered wallet, keys, a handkerchief… and an empty bubble pack. He held it up for Doyle’s inspection.
"Librium, 10 milligrams. Eighty milligrams at most. 'S not exactly a lethal dose, even with the alcohol. He'll sleep it off," Doyle said.
"Yeah, but we don’t know if that’s all he's taken. How many he’s had over the last twenty-four hours. What he's eaten, if he's ill... we should take him to a doctor."
"We haven't heard all the clues yet," Doyle protested. Then he saw Bodie’s face. "You really care about him, don't you?"
"I need to make sure he’s alright."
It wasn't just that, Doyle was certain. Billy had put himself on the line for Bodie, out of loyalty and gratitude, and now Bodie knew, he wasn’t going to let it go. Had to balance the scales again, in his own way. Always in credit, never in debt, that was Bodie. And when Bodie decided something needed to be done, well, he was his partner, wasn’t he. He’d back him up, all the way.
"C'mon then. Let's get Sir Collapse-a-lot here to the hospital."
Between them they managed to revive Billy enough to get him to his feet. There was a patch of saliva on Doyle’s jacket, but he shrugged it off – he’d had worse things happen to his clothes. Under the watchful eye of the barmaid they shuffled Billy slowly towards the door. As they went outside, Doyle heard the music change for the final time.
Well you're dirty and sweet
Clad in black don't look back and I love you(5)
He laughed again, no holding back this time. "By George, I think I’ve got it!"
"Well done, Sherlock. Are you sure?"
"Oh, I think so. It's as clear as crystal, after all."
END
List of songs and the clues they contain:
1. Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress (The Hollies) – Chantelle/Sandra, Coogan’s go-between.
2. Ruby Tuesday (The Rolling Stones) – Tuesday. She’s meeting the courier on Tuesday.
3. A Walk in the Park (Nick Straker Band) – she’s meeting him in a park.
4. Glad All Over (Dave Clark Five) – the song is the home game chant of Crystal Palace F.C.
5. Get it on (T Rex) – there aren’t too many songs about dinosaurs *g* so this clue is the name of the band, not the song itself. Chantelle is meeting the drug courier on Tuesday in the dinosaur garden, Crystal Palace Park. Thanks to Billy's clues, CI5 will also be in attendance *g*.
A hint if you need it:
Everything is in London and all the answers can be found using Google or Wikipedia.
Title: The Ballads of Billy Redmond
Author: Kiwisue
Slash or Gen: that's a good question - I initially said it was gen, there's certainly nothing here that a genner couldn't read. I think it depends how you situate their relationship and the number of signs or tokens you need to classify it one way or the other. In other words, let the reader decide. And I will stop burbling now and let you get on with your assignment. *g*
Archive at ProsLib: Sure
Disclaimer: I'm playing