Strange Loyalties

31

I had once seen Marty Bleasdale defuse a potentially ugly incident in a pub. A man who had picked an argument with him was beginning to get threatening.

‘Has anyone ever told you,’ Marty said, and those around him waited for the telling insult, ‘that you’ve got pianist’s fingers?’

The remark had arrived from so far away that the other man contemplated it as if an alien had landed. Then he managed to fit it into the context he was trying to create.

‘Ah could rattle out a tune on you, anyway.’

‘Do you do requests?’ Marty said. ‘Ah like Prokofiev. Something from Romeo and Juliet.’

The tension dissipated in laughter. The man hesitated, then laughed along. It had seemed an almost accidental dismantling of threat but it involved two qualities which Marty had in plenty. One was skill in dealing with people. He may have felt his years as a social worker hadn’t effected much improvement in other people’s lives but they had certainly made Marty very difficult to nonplus. He had not only obliged the man’s aggression to force its way through laughter. He had also made the man express it not in his own terms but in Marty’s. By the time the classical allusions turned up, the man wasn’t too clear about where he was or what the rules were.

The other quality was nerve. Like a bomb-disposal expert, Marty was able to deal calmly with an explosive situation because, if his techniques didn’t work, he had prepared himself for the consequences. I think the man understood that. The person from whom the outlandish talk was coming was rough-faced and pony-tailed and dressed like someone who wasn’t worried what other people thought, and his eyes didn’t flicker. Marty had a certain style. He gave the impression that circumstances were meeting him on his own terms.

That was why, when I received word at the hotel that Marty was rehearsing with a new group at the Getaway, I felt some uplift in my spirits. Whatever practical results a conversation with Marty might or might not have, it shouldn’t do my mood any harm. When I went down the long flight of stairs that led to the basement bar, I found Brian and Bob were the only two customers. They were drinking beer. From the rehearsal room at the back of the place interesting sounds kept starting up and breaking down into cacophony.

‘It’s the happy wanderer,’ Bob said.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Brian said. ‘Could you direct me to the nearest murderer?’

Brian’s remark was a mocking echo of one I had once made. Ricky Barr, the owner, came over.

‘At last, Jack,’ he said, ‘you’ve decided to come where the culture is.’

‘If Marty Bleasdale’s culture,’ I said.

Ricky was one of the more benign expressions of success. He had made a lot of money in the music business before buying the Getaway. Now he provided a venue for all kinds of struggling musicians and gave them rehearsal space and recording facilities at minimal rates. His ambitions were fulfilled, he had a happy family life and he wanted to share the superflux.

‘What are you drinking?’ he said.

He brought Brian and Bob beers and myself a whisky and water.

‘I’ll see if they can spare the maestro,’ he said.

‘I’ll talk to Marty on my own,’ I said to Brian and Bob.

‘Oh-ho,’ Bob said. ‘We set up the interview and then get locked out the room.’

‘You know what Marty’s like,’ I said. ‘One polisman makes him jumpy. Three could cause a fit.’

‘It’s all right,’ Brian said. ‘We’re just happy to have been of service.’

‘Who said you have yet? Depends what kinda mood Marty’s in. He might decide to tell me nothin’.’

I went to the other end of the big, split-level bar and sat down. As Marty came out of the rehearsal-room with Ricky, his eyes checked off Bob and Brian. Marty was wearing a baggy shirt and jeans and cowboy boots. He had a fine, silk scarf knotted round his neck.

As he sat down at the table, he said, ‘Ah feel surrounded. Three’s a crowd, eh?’

‘They’re not involved, Marty. Just the two of us.’

‘That’s nice.’

Ricky brought him a drink.

‘What’s that?’ I said.

‘Jack Daniels,’ Marty said. ‘That’s what Ah’m on this afternoon. Ah change ma tastes by the hour. Got to try everything in this world.’

Disconnected sounds were still coming from the rehearsal-room.

‘Rehearsing?’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t think you rehearsed jazz.’

‘Tomorrow’ll be the first time we’ve played together.’

‘But Ah thought you were supposed to improvise with jazz.’

‘Oh, is that what you do? We’re just building the trellis. Give the roses room to grow. Rambling roses.’

‘Hm.’

‘Do yourself a favour, Jack. Don’t try to be clever about it. Just come and listen.’

‘I’ll see if I can manage.’

‘Anyway, you’re not here to write a preview. Are you?’

‘I want to find Melanie McHarg,’ I said.

‘Melanie Who?’

‘Do yourself a favour, Marty. Don’t try to be clever about it.’

We sipped our drinks and smiled at each other and Marty looked round the room.

‘Ah’ve met her,’ he said. ‘Of course, Ah have. So what?’

‘So where is she?’

‘Ah’ve met Thelonius Monk, too. Ye want me to tell ye where he is?’

‘You could save that for later. I want to find her, Marty.’

‘Good luck. If Ah was her, ye wouldn’t find me. She’s had enough troubles lately. Ah’d be off an’ runnin’.’

‘But you’re one of the places she would run, are you not?’

‘Not known at this address,’ he said. ‘Ah’ll have to get back to the clarinet.’

‘Before you do,’ I said.

I could see Brian Harkness and Bob Lilley laughing and nodding at something they were talking about. Ricky was standing against the counter, reading a newspaper. The jazz-group in the rehearsal-room was making aural shapes I didn’t recognise. In those three mysterious preoccupations, I felt how the meaning of things withholds itself and hides among the endless banality of its proliferations. I sensed that, if this moment, too, were allowed to pass without revealing its small cache, the truth Betty Scoular knew was there might never be declared. The only pressure I could put on Marty was the truth. He would have outmanoeuvred anything else.

‘The reason I want to talk to her. It seems obvious that Matt Mason wiped out Meece Rooney. It looks as if he also killed another man. About three months ago. Melanie could help us get at Matt Mason. Ah think she might also help herself. She must be trying to come to terms with her past. And see if there’s a future. Maybe if she stopped just being the victim of her life. The way it looks as if she has been. And started to pay it back. Make it take on a shape she gives it. Maybe that would help her. I think they call it rehabilitation.’

I hoped the social worker’s instincts weren’t quite dead in Marty. He looked through me, as if he were checking my file for trustworthiness.

‘What way could she help?’ he said.

‘I’ve got an idea. Something she could do for us.’

‘What would that be?’

‘That would be for me to ask. And for her to decide yes or no. Not for you to decide, Marty.’

‘You goin’ to put pressure on her?’

‘There would be no pressure. Just ask her and let her make up her mind.’

‘She’s tryin’ to come off it cold turkey, ye know. She’s not in great shape. The way she is, a twig droppin’ on her be like a fallin’ tree. Timber. You’d have to leave it entirely up to her.’

‘That would be the deal.’

‘Ah’ll see.’

He finished his Jack Daniels.

‘See quick, Marty,’ I said. ‘Time’s short here.’

‘It’s shorter than you think,’ Marty said. ‘Melanie’s leavin’ for Canada tomorrow.’

‘Then let me talk to her today.’

He thought about it. He shook his head.

‘No way. That way we narrow her choice. She might feel pressured into it. What Ah will do. Ah’ll see her tonight. Ah’ll speak to her. Ah’ll let ye know if she wants to meet you. That’s it.’

‘It’s maybe not enough. It doesn’t leave us a lot of space for fancy footwork. I can’t see her till tomorrow?’

‘Jack. Maybe you can’t see her at all. How do Ah get in touch?’

I gave him my room number at the hotel. As an afterthought, I also gave him Jan’s telephone number. Going back to rehearsal, he turned.

‘Oh and, Jack,’ he said. ‘Don’t try to put a tail on me, eh?’

‘Who would I get to do the job?’ I said. ‘Your shadow’s got trouble keeping up with you.’

I joined Brian and Bob at their table. The vagueness of my arrangement with Marty didn’t impress them. It didn’t impress me much either. The music reflected the continuing uncertainty of where I was — all the disparate elements I had tried to bring together still hadn’t fused, were still looking for the timing and inter-connection that would make them cohere. Jan was a part of that uncertainty. Where had I found the arrogance to give Marty her phone-number? I didn’t know what she had decided. Maybe after dinner tonight I’d be lucky to reach her by postcard.