‘A PI? Like that one from the old TV series with the big moustache?’
‘You mean Magnum?’
‘Actually, I was thinking of Miss Marple.’ The man laughs uproariously at his own joke, slapping his palm on the bar counter. It’s probably the most entertained he’s been all day.
Franklin reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out his wallet. He thumbs through the many business cards it contains – one for each of his many fake identities. He has in fact taken on the mantle of a relationship counsellor before now. He has also been an airline pilot, a cancer specialist, an international banker, a psychotherapist, a fitness coach, a plastic surgeon, and – for the benefit of one woman who had lost all faith in men – a gay dog groomer, that being a gay groomer of dogs rather than a groomer of gay dogs (and, to be accurate, the word ‘gay’ never actually appeared on the business card).
Franklin locates the card he’s looking for and passes it across. The man takes it and does his best to aim his eyes at the writing.
‘Franklin B Goodman. That’s quite a name. What does the B stand for?’
‘It’s like the S in Harry S Truman.’
The man squints at Franklin. ‘Huh?’
‘It doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just a letter.’
‘People do that?’
‘Sometimes.’
The man studies the card again. ‘Franklin B Goodman. Private Investigator. Our Eyes are everywhere. How many are in your firm?’
‘Actually, I work alone. Wouldn’t sound the same if I put My Eye is everywhere.’
The man goes to hand the card back, but Franklin says, ‘You can keep it if you think you’ll be needing my services.’
‘And why would I need your all-seeing eye?’
‘You just said, didn’t you? About your girlfriend?’
‘What? Wait… what? You’re not actually suggesting…’
Franklin shrugs, like it’s no big deal. ‘It’s what I do. You’re worried about your girlfriend, right? Well, I could check it out for you. Let you know one way or another. It shouldn’t take long. Discretion guaranteed.’
The man seems to be mulling over the idea, but then he tosses the card onto the counter. ‘Nah. It’s crazy. Forget it. I don’t do that kind of thing.’
Franklin takes the card and drops it into the side pocket of his jacket. ‘No problem. It’s not for everyone. Listen, can I get you a beer?’
‘A beer?’
‘Yeah. Beats drinking alone.’
The man looks at his empty glass. ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll have another pint of the IPA. But first I need a slash.’
He clambers down from his stool, and without its support almost goes crashing to the ground. Regaining his balance, he zig-zags his way to the toilets.
As soon as his companion has gone, Franklin quickly scans the beers on offer behind the bar. Everything on draught is designed to cause inebriation, and he doesn’t want to risk provoking the distrust of his drinking colleague by having a bottle of zero-alcohol beer placed in front of him.
He signals to the bartender, who scoots across. Franklin hands over his barely touched drink. ‘Do me a favour and throw that away, will you? Give me a pint of bitter shandy – more lemonade than beer. Can I also have a pint of IPA and a single vodka, please?’
The bartender works efficiently, but Franklin only just has time to toss the vodka into the IPA before the drunkard enters the room again. As the man completes the tricky manoeuvre of getting himself back onto his barstool, Franklin slides the adulterated drink in front of him, then raises his own.
‘Cheers,’ he says.
‘Up your bottom,’ says the man.
Franklin gulps down some of the gassy liquid. The sweetness makes it tolerable, which is useful because he’s realised he may be here for some time. His bait hasn’t been taken yet, but he feels he’s so near. He needs to dangle it again without being too obvious about it. This might be a time for a change of topic, to act as an interlude.
‘I bet you get some interesting cases,’ says the man.
Or maybe we’ll stick with this, Franklin thinks.
‘Actually, most of it is pretty mundane, although I have had one or two strange ones. A few months ago, there was a woman who had this really overweight cat. She hired me to find out if one of her neighbours was feeding it when it went outside.’
‘And were they?’
‘Yup. Giving it all kinds of treats.’
‘What did she do when you told her?’
‘That’s the funny bit. She went to her neighbours’ house to have it out with them, only she left her front door open, and the cat got out and was hit by a car.’
The drunk nearly spits out his much-loved beer. ‘That is fucking hilarious!’
‘Yeah, it’s one of the more memorable cases.’
When he’s finished laughing, the man becomes more contemplative.
