‘No,’ cut in Liam. ‘Close to that’s fine for us, so it is.’
‘Close to it?’ One of Delbert’s bushy eyebrows rose suspiciously. ‘You actually want the noise, do you?’
Liam shrugged. ‘It won’t be a problem for us.’
‘Hmm…’ Delbert stroked his bottom lip, both bushy brows lowered, almost a scowl. ‘You gonna tell me what yer business is?’
‘It’s private,’ said Liam.
‘ Private covers a multitude of sins, lad. I may not be entirely above the board here, but there’s some things I won’t be a party to. You understand what I’m sayin’?’
Liam figured he might have to feed the man a titbit of information. Just enough to satisfy his beady-eyed curiosity.
‘Science experiments.’ He nodded at Rashim. ‘Dr Anwar here is something of a… a scientist.’
‘Science, is it?’ That seemed to appeal to Delbert. ‘What are yer… some sort of inventor?’
‘I… err…’ He looked at Liam. Liam nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose. Yes, an inventor.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Herbert. ‘Might I ask what kind of things you invent?’ He looked eager. ‘See, I also have quite an interest in the sciences, sir.’
‘Not now, Bertie!’ Delbert sat back in his chair and wiped his hands and finished his mouthful of cheese as he gave his visitors some silent consideration.
‘All right, then. I’ll show you what I got. Then you and me, lad… we’re gonna need to talk about the money.’
Delbert got up, reached for the lamp’s brass handle, lifted it off the table and waved for them to follow him. He led them down through a tight squeeze between packing crates, along a narrow tunnel, low enough that Bob had to stoop down to enter it.
They turned a corner to see by the dim glow of Delbert’s lamp an archway almost as large as Delbert’s main one. Along the left-hand wall were a few stacks of goods. Along the wall opposite were three evenly spaced alcoves.
‘The one on the left leads directly out on to Farringdon Street. I don’t use it myself, but I got keys to it. You can use that access, just so long as you’re mindful to lock it secure at night. That way you don’t need to be disturbing my business all the time. The middle one’s a small storage room. I don’t use it. The right one is the one you can have.’
He walked over towards that alcove. It receded further along than it first appeared to. Ten feet, a low, narrow tunnel. At the end a small arched oak door with a thick padlock on it. Delbert fumbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out a jangling keyring.
‘I’ll give you this key, of course,’ he said as he picked out the keyhole and inserted the key.
‘That is the only copy of the key?’ asked Rashim.
Delbert made a face. ‘Of course! Of course!’
The lock clanked loudly and the thick door creaked inwards. Liam heard it almost immediately — the muted sound of something not so far away throbbing deeply. He glanced at Rashim who smiled back approvingly.
The generator’s close by. Perfect.
‘Here we are,’ said Delbert, stepping inside. He raised the lamp in his hand and shadows danced around the empty space as they filed in behind him. Above the throb — more of a vibration sensed through the brick walls and the floor than it was a sound — they heard the faint squeak of rats scuttling for the safety of a dark corner.
The girls will just love the idea of that.
‘I don’t believe yer goin’ to get any more private a place than this, gents!’ Delbert’s voice rang off the bricks, an almost endless echo that seemed to take an eternity to finally fade to nothing. He picked up a thick candle sitting on the floor amid its own solid nest of melted wax and lit it.
With the extra flickering light, Liam took in more details of their surroundings. It was about a third smaller than their archway under the Williamsburg Bridge. And no other rooms off this space. This was it. A rectangle of stone-slab floor, about twelve yards by six, encased by a low curving ceiling of bricks. Almost a dungeon… if you let yourself think about it that way. Or like a large cabin aboard some vessel. Liam suspected that the ever-present pulsing throb would eventually be no more a distraction after a while than the engine of an ocean liner.
‘This would be an appropriate location,’ rumbled Bob finally.
And we can make it like home, can’t we?
The other place had been just as spartan and grim as this. But they’d managed to make it comfortable. Make it theirs.
‘All right, Mr Hook,’ said Liam. ‘I think you have yourself some tenants.’
Delbert slapped him amicably on the back. ‘Oh, come now, to hell with this Mister Hook nonsense! Call me Hooky, or Del if you want, young man.’
He turned to face Liam with a mock-serious glint in his eye. ‘But not Delboy. Right? I draw the line at that!’ He flexed his neck and tugged down on his waistcoat, a subconscious tic of his, so it seemed. ‘The last cheeky plonker called me that ended up with a big fat lip. Didn’t he, Bertie?’
‘Uh… it’s Herbert actually.’
Delbert sighed. ‘Now, boy, let’s not show off in front of the clients. Right, then! Let’s go and discuss the rent, gentlemen!’
He led Liam and Bob out of the room. Rashim remained behind, taking in the space a moment longer.
‘You’re really an inventor, sir?’ asked Bertie.
Rashim shrugged. ‘More a quantum technician really.’
The young man didn’t understand the term, but seemed impressed with it all the same. ‘Well, that sounds jolly exciting, sir.’ He offered his hand to Rashim. ‘I do hope we shall have a chance to talk some time. I’ve got some ideas I’d love to share with you, if you’d care to…?’
‘Uh? Oh… sure, Bertie.’ Rashim shook his hand. ‘Yes, we’ll talk some time.’
‘Pft! You know, Dr Anwar, I hate it when Delbert introduces me with that damnable nickname. It’s only him that calls me Bertie. No one else!’
Rashim snuffed the candle out and stepped back out of the room to follow the others before the receding light of the gas lamp dwindled to nothing and they were left in the pitch-black darkness.
‘Herbert,’ the young man called out after Rashim. ‘My name’s actually Herbert.’ But Rashim wasn’t listening; he was trying to catch up with the dwindling lamp light.
The young man was alone in the gloom, the skittering of emboldened rats emerging now it was almost wholly dark again. ‘I was jolly well christened Herbert George Wells! Not bloomin’ Bertie.’
But Rashim had turned a corner and was gone.
Chapter 46
7 October 2001, Harcourt, Ohio
Sheriff Marge McDormand cradled the mug of green tea in both hands as she stared at the computer screen in front of her.
‘Hell of a crazy world,’ she muttered to herself.
‘What’s that, Marge?’
‘Nothing, Jerry,’ she replied. She looked past the computer at her husband, sitting in the desk opposite hers. ‘And it’s “Sheriff” during office hours, my dear.’
Jerry pulled a biro out of his mouth and sighed. ‘It’s not enough I’m your office boy?’
‘The term is “Deputy”, hon… and that’s only until we can find someone else to stand in.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m sure we’ll find someone soon. Then you can go back to being a kept man.’
She looked back at the screen. Quiet day in Harcourt. She’d done her rounds this morning. Nothing much to write up. A stolen car dumped outside Gary’s Bar. No harm done to it other than the driver’s-side window forced and the steering column’s plastic hood broken to jack the ignition. That and giving Henry Learry — the town drunk — a lift in the squad car back home to his anxious wife. Marge had found him fast asleep behind the wheel of his truck after a night binge-drinking, still way too soaked to be trusted to drive the thing home safely.