And Elvis smelled sweetly even there.
Captain Lynch had once told me about the odour of sanctity, which issues from the incorruptible bodies of the saints. He had personally sniffed Saint Bernadette of Lourdes, he told me, and could confirm the smell. She smelled of lilacs.
I had a good old sniff at Elvis. And yes, he smelled of lilacs, too. And my sniffing awoke the King of rock ’n’ roll and I had to back off in a hurry.
Elvis roused himself and yawned and saw me and said, ‘Hey, Laz, sir. Have you been awake all night, guarding me?’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Yes, I have. I will add that to the bill, if you don’t mind.’
‘Nope,’ went Elvis, and he straightened his hair. ‘I was having me a weird old dream there. And my brother was there, and he was Death, and-’
I said, ‘Really?’ and yawned a bit myself.
‘Do you think it might mean something?’ Elvis asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it. You leave the thinking to me.’ And Elvis made the face of relief. ‘I love it when folks say that to me,’ he said. ‘Colonel Tom, or the movie director, or some Jimbo that the manager of Caesar’s Palace has had sent up to my room.’
I opened my mouth, but then closed it again. We wouldn’t go into that.
‘I could do breakfast,’ said Elvis. ‘Peanut butter and banana-stuffed French toast with cinnamon butter and maple-beer syrup, washed down with strawberry shasta.’
‘Sounds delightful,’ I said. ‘Do you think you could get it delivered? ’
‘Am I Elvis?’ said Elvis.
And I agreed that he was.
And so Elvis made a phone call from the phone that Fangio had denied all knowledge of to Mama Cass. Or perhaps he’d had it installed later, in case any other rock icons needed to use it. Elvis, for instance. [24]
And soon as you like, Elvis and I were chowing down upon peanut butter and banana-stuffed French toast with all the trimmings and the strawberry shastas.
And I rather enjoyed mine. And Elvis clearly enjoyed his. Because he telephoned for further helpings. And then Fangio came down in his dressing gown and Elvis made another call for even more breakfast.
‘I don’t normally do my own phone calls, you understand, sir,’ he said to me, ‘but as this is a special occasion.’
‘And it is for me, too,’ I said. And it was – breakfast with Elvis. But I wasn’t happy any more. I just had too many things all gnawing away at my mind.
‘So,’ said Elvis, when finally done with breakfast, ‘are we going to my brother’s night club now? So you can lure him onto the roof and send him on the long and final journey down?’
‘Ar-harr,’ went Fangio. ‘Can I come too and watch that?’
‘Ah, no,’ I said.
‘Do you mean “Ah-harr, no”?’ asked Fangio.
But I just shook my head.
‘So what is your plan, Mr Woodbine?’ asked Elvis.
‘Well,’ I said. And I made a face suggestive of deep thinking. ‘This is not something that can be rushed into. It will be necessary to set up a surveillance network. Plot your brother’s every move. Work out graphs and pie charts. Get sample opinions from the general public. Do market research into key areas which may need re-examination to determine prime targets. Define-’
‘Why are you reading from the copy of Advertising Executive Today magazine on the bar counter?’ asked Fangio.
‘Shut up,’ I said to him.
‘Oooh,’ went Fangio. And he mimed the holding up of a handbag.
‘We can’t just go in all guns blasting,’ I said to Elvis.
‘Why not?’ asked the King of rock ’n’ roll.
‘Because, for one thing, I am not certain whether it can be proved that your brother has actually broken any laws. I know I’ve seen him do-’ And I cut myself short. I didn’t want to mention what had happened to Laz to Fangio. But regardless, I couldn’t prove anything. Not, I agree, that it mattered, as he was going to have to be killed. I just didn’t really want to be around when the actual killing was done.
‘That’s no reason not to shoot him,’ said Fangio. ‘It sounds like he’s a wrong’n. That’s good enough for me.’
‘So do you want to do the actual shooting?’
Fangio stuffed peanut buttery stuff into his face. ‘Not as such,’ he said. ‘But if you want him throwing out of this bar, then I’m your man.’
‘I will bear that in mind.’
‘Why doesn’t Elvis shoot him?’ asked Fangio. ‘It’s a family affair, after all. As Sly Stone used to say when he drank in here. Before I threw him out.’
‘Uh uh,’ said Elvis. ‘I can’t kill one of my own, no matter how evil nor intent on the extermination of all human life they may be.’
‘I’ll just make a note of that,’ said Fangio. ‘Not that anyone I tell will ever believe you said it.’
‘Mr Woodbine must do it,’ said Elvis, ‘because this will be Mr Woodbine’s greatest ever case. The one everyone will remember him for. And be forever in his debt-’
‘Hold it there while I get a pencil,’ said Fangio.
But Elvis continued, ‘This case will be the case for Lazlo Woodbine. And who but Lazlo Woodbine could solve this case? My evil brother must be tracked to his secret lair and destroyed. And the world will be saved and all the world will honour Lazlo Woodbine for saving it.’
‘Got it,’ said Fangio, raising a pencil. ‘One more time, if you will.’
But Elvis shook his head. ‘Mr Woodbine will deal with this,’ he said. ‘And he was right – I must return to Vegas and prepare for my tour. I will leave this case in the safe hands of Lazlo Woodbine.’
And he reached out a hand to me and I shook it.
And Fangio stuck his out for a shake, but Elvis did not shake his.
And then Elvis said, ‘I have your address, Mr Woodbine. I’ll have further money sent on. And you know my address – keep me informed, if you will. And thank you, sir. The whole world will thank you when this is done. But I can thank you now.’
And then he sort of bowed. And did that thing where he whirls his arm about and goes down on one knee. And he produced from another pocket a silk scarf, and this he hung about my neck. And then he swiddled from the bar. My bar. Like that.
Just like that.
Elvis had left the building.
And I looked at Fange.
And Fangio looked at me.
And we shared a moment. An Elvis moment. And it was a special one, too.
‘Who was that masked man?’ asked Fangio.
‘Why, don’t you know?’ I said. ‘That was the Lone Ranger.’
And then we both laughed and shared another moment. And I came almost close to being happy, but not quite.
‘So what would your plan be now, Laz?’ asked Fangio. ‘If you are no longer going for the four-location format, how do you intend to deal with this Case of Cases, this Case to End All Cases, this Ultimate Case, this Case Beyond-’
‘Shut up!’ I said to Fangio. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘Do you wish to indulge in further pirate repartee? Or do some more guessing-the-ingredients-of-cocktails humour? Or should we simply talk the toot and see what comes to pass?’
‘It’s a Woodbine format thing, talking the toot,’ I said.
‘I’ll miss that, then,’ said Fangio, sadly.
‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty to think about, training for your new career.’
‘My what?’ asked Fangio. ‘I mean ah-harr-harr-harr. My what?’
‘New career,’ I said. ‘Don’t forget, I own this bar now, so you can consider yourself sacked. And I’ll take over behind the bar. Where I can think about this case in peace. Dawn of a new era and dawn of a new format, eh? Lazlo Woodbine, Private Eye/Barman. Hold on, it’s coming to me – Lazlo Woodbine, Private Barlord. A pint, a quip and another case solved.’
‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ said Fangio.
‘I am,’ said I. ‘But not entirely. I wish to employ my newly developed Tyler Technique to this case. Which, I agree, will be the Biggest Case That Ever There Was. It would appear to be my fate to deal with this evil being that is the brother of Elvis. So, Fange, today will be the dawning of a new era in crime detection. And it will all begin here. What is today’s date, by the way?’