Sam Skerrett 2 - Skerrett comes to England

Heres the first installment of as new Skerrett...

Sam goes to England. 1.

Two years had passed, so I was surprised when I got a call from Granny Osman. I picked up the phone.

“Sam, Sam Skerrett, it’s Granny, I’m worried about Louis, he’s got himself mixed up with a girl, a strange girl: How about you fly over here, I’ll pay.”
Fly: to England? Except for three years in Nam: Old Sam has never been out state!

“You know how he is, first girl to flutter a pair of eyelashes at him and he’s jelly in her hands, not only that, this one’s a bit of a looker!”

So Louis found himself a broad. Good luck to him, as long as she didn’t have a sideline in Oriental ornaments, everything should be all right.

Business was bad, Greta had married Red Knuckles and started a family, there was no one to answer the phone while old Sam was out on a case. Not that there were that many cases anymore. I’d tried an answering machine, but it was Greta who pulled them in.

“There’s a flight to Heathrow at eighteen hundred hours, your time.” Granny said.

So it was settled, I was off to London. I packed my pyjamas, my toothbrush, and my trusty Kodak: can you still get Brownie six-twenty film?

The flight was delayed, and I was transferred to the ‘red eye’: Umm, a glass of red eye would go down well just now.

I settle back and a hostess with plums in her mouth brings me a Scotch. I wake up and it is daylight, we are circling Heathrow.

I arrive at the terminal and Granny is waiting at the barrier. She has a card with ‘Sam’ written on it…

Mike

Here's some more of Skerrett's trip to Good old Blighty...

Skerrett England 2.

Granny greeted me like a long lost son.

“Why Sam, I’m so glad you came, I’m afraid I haven’t been one hundred percent honest with you,” Granny began.

“I sort of figured that ma’am,” I replied.

-“Louis’ new girl friend, she’s a nice girl and everything, the kind of girl any Grandmother would be proud to see her darling boy with: but..”

“ I figured there’d be a but, a small word with a lot of consequences,” I said.

“Sam, she has enemies, they have sworn to hunt Louis down: like a dog.” Granny explained.

I was about to turn on my feet, but Granny grabbed my arm, for an old lady she had a grip like a vice.

“I knew, if any man could sort it out it would be you,” She said.

We walked together to the car park, Granny stopped at a silver Toyota MRX2i, “Jump in,” she said.

“Nice car,” I noted, as I got into what was to me, the wrong side of the car.

Granny drove me to London, she was the little old lady from Pasadena, she had a lead foot, and it was on the accelerator!

We arrived at Granny’s penthouse, overlooking the BT tower, Louis was already there, waiting, with a girl on his knee, she was a stunner. A trim Blue eyed temptress with what looked like natural blonde hair. She wore a stud in her eyebrow, and a ring in her nose, connected to her earring by a chain.

“Sam,” Louis began, “I’d like you to meet Sarah.”

“Howdy Ma’am,” I said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”


Mike

"Hi there Louis", I added. I could not believe my eyes. When you consider Dockyard Doris and that Russian tennis star with biceps like a navvy, well, there was no comparison. Louis had scrubbed up well under Granny's ministration, but still - there is no accounting for taste!

"How did you two meet", I asked?

Granny got in first. "Louis was visiting one of our joints in Soho, when Sarah turned up looking for a job".

"I just looked at her assets and knew she was the girl for me" Louis added.

Sarah giggled and gave a Marilyn pout.

"Louis babe, I have to get home. You know it's my father's birthday, they will be expecting me. Besides which you three will have lots to talk about. 'Bye Mrs Osman", she added.

Louis followed her out of the room. Granny looked thoughtful, then said

"Louis is a good, sweet boy, but he needs a lot of looking after. I'm havingf to postpone my retirement until this is sorted out. I can't get down to serious knitting just yet. The sweater I promised you is on hold".

'Dear sweet boy' - were we talking about the same Louis Osman? I thought I had better come up with an idea to earn my keep. "Perhaps I should follow her tomorrow, see where she goes, who she sees - what do you think?"

"Right, get over your jet lag and get onto it in the morning. I have had a bed made up for you here".

Yawning deeply, |I followed her out of the room.

Next morning, after a good sleep, I was up bright and early, well, early anyhow. Granny was still at the breakfast table. "i've asked Louis to show you round this morning. He is meeting Sarah for lunch - so you will be free this afternoon"

"Don't you get ideas about my girl", said Louis.

As he spoke there was the noise of post coming through the door. Just one letter, and that addressed to louis. He paled as he ripped open the envelope
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. KEEP AWAY FROM SARAH OR YOU WILL REGRET IT.

Jennie

Skerrett. England 4.

I rose at six thirty the next day; Granny was already in the kitchen.

“Take a shower, Sam, while I fix you a full English Breakfast,” Granny said.

I had a quick wet and a shave and made my way back to the kitchen, where Granny had the breakfast ready.

A Full English: Danish Bacon, Irish recipe sausages, Italian Tomatoes
and Dutch Mushrooms, French Bread and New Zealand Butter. Yum Yum!

I left the house at eight a m and found my quarry at Charing Cross Railway Station, she bought a copy of the Daily Mirror, and a ticket to Erith, wherever that was. So I bought a ticket to the same destination and boarded the train. She read her paper, and got off the train at Erith. I followed her out of the station and we both boarded a bus, she bought a ticket to Greenfields Drive, so I did likewise. When she alighted, so did I and followed her to a quaint white painted, pebble dashed bungalow on a red brick base. A Man opened the door to the bungalow. He was tall, stooped, with wavy grey hair and horn rimmed spectacles. I walked on. Let her get inside, then walked back. Crouching at the windowsill, I could see them drinking tea and eating small cakes. If this man was sending out death threats Ill eat my hat. Wait, she’s pouring a third cup, who can it be for? The door opens.

“Mr Skerrett, I thought I’d bring you some tea, it must be most uncomfortable crouched there like that.” Sarah told me.

“Good morning Ma’am, I’m just making sure everything’s OK.” I told her.

“Come inside, Mr Skerrett, before the neighbours see you and call the police.” She said.

I followed her into the bungalow, into a room lined with books, to where the man sat in a high backed wicker chair of Indian design: sipping his tea.

“So,” he said, “You are the American Private Eye!”

“That’s right sir, Louis has received a number of death threats, and I’m here to find out who sent them.” I said.

-“Well, you wont find out here: French Fancy?”

“No, plain American.” I replied.

-“No, Mr Skerrett, would you like a cake?”


Mike

What a strange behaviour, to offer small cakes covered in coloured icing so early in the morning and after the huge breakfast I'd just eaten was bizarre to say the least.

"Who's your friend", I asked Sarah?

"Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. May I introduce my father. These French fancies were left over from his birthday party last night. I visited him when I left Granny's apartment, as you know. Indeed I stayed overnight, but things are very difficult, and when I got back to my flat early this morning, I found this letter through the door".

Sarah handed me a piece of paper on which was written

STOP PLAYING WITH FIRE OR YOU WILL REGRET IT.

I put two and two together rapidly. It looked to me that the same hand was responsible for both Sarah and Louis' letters. What should I do next was the question.

"Do you have any ideas as to who is behind this", I asked?

Sarah's father shook his head slowly and then seemed to come to a decision.

"I think you need to know something of the background. My grandfather was the leader of an East end mob - a bit like Corleone, but without the dead horse. He was very powerful and indestructible it seemed. My father would not join the family firm and my uncle, Jack took over the firm when grandfather died. Well, I think they have fallen on hard times and have been hoping to do a deal with Granny Osman's mob".

"So why are they threatening me", asked Sarah?

"I don't know, but perhaps it has something to do with Louis and his American connections", said her father.

At that moment there was the roar of a motorbike outside and a screeching of brakes. I yelled "get down" and conveniently fell on top of Sarah, just as a bullet whizzed past my ear and embedded itself in the chair where Sarah had been sitting a few minutes before. The cyclist gunned his machine and roared away before we had time to react.

Sarah and her father both looked at me. "Shall we tell the police", said Sarah.

I made a decision. "Look, first of all, can you get a knife so that I can dig out the bullet. We are obviously being followed, so can you arrange for a cab to pick us up at the back of the house? We will go and have a parley with Granny Osman".

Jennie

Its been ETMA week for me, but heres a new instalment.

Skerrett.

I hooked the slug out of the chair, wrapped it in my handkerchief and placed it in my pocket.

“You know Miss, Louis and his Granny are mixed up in some crazy stuff, you should be careful,” I said.

“I know,” Sarah said, “I work at one of Granny’s Soho clubs, I only sell tickets and make the tea, Mr Skerrett, but some of those girls: Well!”

I made a mental note to check out one of Granny’s emporiums; after all, I didn’t really know what the old Dame was up to.

A Taxi collected us at the back alley, as we sat in the back of the cab, I decided to probe Sarah about her past.

“Well Mr Skerrett, after my Mother died, Daddy took a job in Italy, as schoolmaster to a Count, well, he taught the Count’s children,” Sarah told me.

It seems she wanted to talk, so I decided to listen.

“The Count’s wife was a dusky skinned lady, from the Middle East, I believe she was a Princess, in her own right; She had a daughter about my own age, and she was called the “Princess”, Princess Shamila, everything the Little Princess had, I had, the Count’s wife saw to it,” Sarah explained.

I nodded.

“But when the Count died suddenly, we returned to England, though they still pay Father a handsome pension,” Sarah said.

“What did the old Count died of?” I enquired.

“He was shot by his brother-in-law, I don’t know the circumstances, but the brother in law only got six years, The Judge called it a ‘Crime of Passion’, Sarah revealed.

The Taxi pulled up outside Sarah’s flat, I asked the Driver to take me on to Granny’s place, overlooking the B T Tower.

Granny was baking a cake, she had just poured the mixture into a tin and I was greeted by the sight of a forty-year-old man sitting on the floor running his finger around the bowl and putting it in his mouth.

“Do you think Louis is ready for marriage?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s done it since he was a little boy,” Granny replied.

“I’m going to check out your club this evening,” I said.

Granny took two tickets from the tea caddy and handed them to me.

“Here you are Sam, front row, centre, complimentary.” She said.

Mike, the scribe

Where are you Jennie, I wrote this:-

Skerrett England 7?

At eight-thirty a black London Cab dropped me at “Granny’s” that was what the purple neon said over the door, underneath in a sign written hand was written “Pole and Lap dancing.”

A thirty-two stone man with a shaven head and wearing a black suit took my ticket.

“Go right in,” he told me, “any friend of Granny’s”.

The décor was reminiscent of a cheap Chinese Restaurant, flock wallpaper and subdued lighting, either that or Granny was too cheap to buy hundred-watt bulbs, or the lights were one hundred-watt but thick with nicotine.

I sat in the front row and a girl in a basque took my drinks order. I asked for red-eye, but they didn’t have it. So I ordered a Martini. I looked at the stage, surprisingly there was no pole: How were the girls going to dance?

A familiar voice caught my ear, it was Granny, she sat next to me.

“You know Sam, Pole and Lap Dancing are supposed to be popular, but this place is loosing money hand over fist, I don’t understand it.” She told me.

The spotlight flickered into life, the fat man climbed onto the stage.

“One two, One two, Ladies and Gentlemen, Granny’s proudly presents, Dimitri and Dobra Durtislav.” He announced.

An ancient gramophone crackled into life, and I sat and watched, wondering what Dimitri and Dobra were going to do.

Well they did a selection of Polish folk dances and left the stage, what followed was worse, Nanouk and Nell: from Lapland!

A Group of businessmen from Greenland cheered, but I did not join in. I didn’t feel like cheering.

“Don’t they take their clothes off?” I asked.

“Why Sam Skerrett, wash your mouth out,” Granny told me.

Just at that moment a sandbag, used for ballast fell from the lighting gantry barely missing Nell, I leapt onto the stage and examined the bag, the rope had been cut, and tied to the bag was a note, it read.

“YOU HAVE HAD ENOUGH WARNINGS.”

Mike.

Nanouk stomped over to me, the tassels on his Lappish boots swinging like some poor schmo from a gallows. With a hand the size of a breezeblock he took the note from me.

"Is omen!" he intoned, "no more you snoop around here, Mr Skillet, no more!"

With that, the dumb palooka ran off backstage, still holding the note.

"Don't worry about him," Nell began, "he isn't too bright; he can't even count unless he can see his fingers."

I looked down at the stricken sandbag, its contents spilling all over the floor. Nell squinted down at the sand.

"Something don't seem right," I said, half to myself.

"You mean apart from people cutting sandbags loose and trying to drop them on us?" Nell inquired, her head on one side. I couldn't help noticing she spoke very good English.

This is the first time I had bothered to take a proper look at Nell. She was tall, slim and blonde with piercing blue eyes and an expression that told you that here was a broad not to be messed with.

Nell bent down and let some of the sand run through her fingers. She stuck out her tongue and licked her fingers.

"I know things are tough for you guys out in Lapland," I began, "but eating sand? C'mon!"

"Shut up and think, Sam," said a voice by my ear. It was Granny. Nanouk cowered behind her, trembling, "why would anyone put sand in their mouth?"

But I had no idea.

Nell smacked her lips thoughtfully.

"It's not sand," she announced, "and Granny, if I were you, I'd check the other sandbags, too. If they all taste like this, you could be in serious trouble."

"I'm not the only one set for serious trouble, Missy," answered Granny, "I think you'd better tell us who you really are."

Skerrett England 9.

“Now then Granny, tell me how this sh*t got into the sandbags.” I said.

“Honestly Sam, I don’t know,” Granny told me.

I licked my thumb and ran it in the powder, then I put it in my mouth, I was nearly sick.

“What is it Sam?” Granny asked.

“Not what I thought it was: Its foundation powder, Lady’s face powder!” I spat.

“That’s right,” Nell said, “Not very good face powder either!”

“Who would fill a sand bag with face powder?” Granny wondered.

But I had a hunch; there was a make-up artist I knew, who was run out of Hollywood,
limp wrested, cravatted, pink shirted: Mal Factor!

Mal Factor had left Hollywood after narrowly escaping jail on a charge of selling adulterated delicatessen goods. It seems he hadn’t been able to make both ends meat. He made the mistake of selling his pies to an undercover cop. He disappeared shortly afterwards: perhaps he had come to England.

“Tell me Granny, do you have any make-up artists working here?” I asked.

“Well,” said Granny, “I did, but I had to get rid of him…”

We were interrupted, Granny didn’t get to finish her sentence, Granny’s heavy of a doorman came over.

“There’s a foreign looking Gentleman, asking for Skerrett P I.” He told us.

I turned to look toward the door standing in the archway was…

Skerrett 10.

None other than Mal Factor himself, he had with him a Nubian Honey with the worst boob job I’ve ever seen. This broad had huge hands, like shovels.

“I thought I told you to leave town,” Granny warned as he stepped forward.

“No then Granny, don’t be rash, I was the one who placed the face powder in those bags, you and I both know what was really in them!” He said, “and what’s more, that dancer you’ve got here, that Nell, supposed to be from Lapland, she’s a cop, an undercover British Fed.”

“I thought so,” I said, adding, “Hi Mal.”

“Hi Sam, I’m sorry I had to leave Hollywood in such a hurry after the Feds found that stuff at my apartment, I didn’t get chance to thank you.”

“No worries Mal, I knew you hadn’t lived there for months, you’d sub-let it to a tenant,” I said.

“At least the Police believed you!” Mal confirmed, “But what brings you to England?”

“I’m on a case, right now I need to find Louis,” I said.

“Don’t disturb him,” Granny told me, “He’s dealing with a private matter, in the cellar.”

I made my way downstairs, I heard the sound of machinery coming from a side room, I kicked open the door, and saw Louis, crouched over a shredder, he was surrounded by men’s magazines, thousands of them, every one the same issue of Sierra (why are men’s magazines in England all called after Ford cars?). I picked up a mag, it fell open at the centrefold, it was Sarah wearing only a smile: she wasn’t even wearing her facial jewellery.

“Put that down,” Louis warned, I gazed at him, he was holding a Smith and Wesson…


Mike

Skerrett 11

“O.K. Louis,” I said, “You think you’re going to fill me full of holes, well before you do, there’s a few home truths you oughta know; those sandbags, most of them are full of make-up, but one is full of class A narcotics, that Lap dancer is an undercover cop, someone’s trying to kill your girlfriend, and if you think I believe the rubbish show I’ve seen here tonight, then you must think I’m a dumb ass from Palookaville.”

Louis lowered the gun, “O K, Sam,” he said, “I told Granny she wouldn’t fool you, we’re in trouble Sam, and I guess you know it, it’s the rival mob, times are hard, there used to be enough money about to run two clip joints in the same street, but the Internet put paid to that, why go out when you can see it all at the click of a mouse button. The rival mob wanted to team up, but Granny wasn’t having any of it.”

Just then Sarah burst into the room. “Haven’t you got rid of those magazines yet?” She asked.

“So it is you,” I said.

“It is not me, it’s my twin sister Jayne, she works for my Uncle, he runs the rival mob, he wants Jayne to marry Louis, but Granny won’t hear of it,” Sarah explained.

“If you were out of the way, the coast would be clear for Jayne,” I thought out loud, “With Granny away on a narcotics charge and you out of the way the two gangs would be united: by marriage.”

Mike (The Scribe)

I turned, there was a voice behind me. A goddam limey with: a tuxedo, black shirt, white, tie and a trilby hat, under his arm was a violin case.

'O K, Skerrett, I want a word with you,' he said as he opened the violin case, 'What do you make of this?'

'Phew', the guy was a musician, lead violinist in Granny's crumby orchestra, and someone had taken his instrument, in its place was a Ukulele with the strings cut, and wedged into the sound hole a baby's nappy, size newborn and obviously used and more than a day old.

'This case is getting weirder and weirder,' I said to no one in particular.

'The missing violin had a label inside which said "Stradovari",' the musician told me, 'I bought it on e-bay for forty quid, it was weird, the guy took it off sale as soon as I bid, he said he wanted me to have it.'

'Strange', I noted.

'And it was delivered the same day by courier,' he added.

Mike (The Scribe).

"The same day?" I remarked, incredulously, "Then he was desperate for you to have that violin."

We both looked at the stricken ukelele in its place. Cautiously, I lifted the instrument and turned it over. The contents of the diaper dripped onto my shoes. Man, what a stench.

I racked my brain but could find nothing of importance about the uke. I turned to the unfortunate fiddler.

"Nothing important," I began, "It's full of sh-"

"- So are you, Skerrett," said Granny, "Have a proper look this time."

She pointed to the soundhole. Inside was a label, like you'd see on most guitars, I guess. It appeared to be handwritten.

Carefully removing the diaper and pulling back the broken strings, I could get a closer look.

OSMAN & Sons
Manufactuers of Fine Qality Intruments
"The Old Family Firm"
28 Smith St
Be there tonight.

"Nice writing," I observed, "shame about the spelling."

"And the thinly-veiled death threat?" asked Nell, sweetly.

I turned to face her. She had shed the Lappish garb and stood in her best plain clothes outfit, an outfit that said, look at me, I'm an innocent bystander, not a cop, honestly.

"What do you think, Granny?" I asked, "Do we go in and nail those guys?"