Page 9 of The Killer’s Mark

Monica Costelloe shook her head and chuckled. If the American kid did have a problem, she’d come to the right place. Poe hadn’t worked much since he and Tilly had taken the office on the top floor, but if anyone could help her, it would be them.

Esmerée walked up the stairs. She passed a door with Lesley Sykes, Talent Agent stencilled on the glass. It opened, and a sweaty man peered out. He was overweight and underdressed. His face was beet red; his nose was fat and round.

‘Are you here for The Wizard of Oz audition?’ he said hopefully.

‘Do I look like a fucking Munchkin?’

She stomped up the next flight of stairs. There was a commotion going on in the tattooist’s. Some asshole was twisting another asshole’s ear while a scared-looking geek hopped up and down biting his lip. Esmerée ignored them and carried on up to the top floor.

There were two offices. Left and right. She walked to the office on the right. Read the sign. Nigel Flowers. Palmist. He must have seen her shadow outside, as he opened the door immediately. What was it with this place? Didn’t anyone have anything better to do than hassle her? Nigel the palmist was as thin as Lesley the talent agent was fat. He had a sparse moustache and a patchy beard. He looked like an anaemic Mr Miyagi.

‘Are you here for a—’

‘Go back to the commune, you basket-weaving asshole.’

Esmerée spun on her heel, leaving Nigel open-mouthed, and marched up to the door on the left. She stopped when she saw the stencilled sign.

Washington Poe & Tilly Bradshaw

Gumshoes For Hire

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ she muttered. ‘Gumshoes? What a pair of jerks.’

She stared at the sign for almost a minute. This is a bad idea, she thought. Then she took a deep breath and knocked.

And became the very next case that walked through Poe and Bradshaw’s door.

Chapter 4

Poe was in a slightly better mood as he jogged back up the stairs. William had offered him a free book and Indica had offered him a free tattoo. He’d declined both. For now. He was always looking for his next read, and William had some decent hard-boiled American crime fiction on his website, and Estelle had mentioned getting matching tattoos a few weeks ago. Maybe he could surprise her.

‘We’re in here, Poe,’ Bradshaw called out as soon as he stepped into the office.

We?

He pushed open his office door. Bradshaw and a weird goth girl were sitting at his meeting table. Bradshaw was sipping a fruit tea. She wasn’t supposed to drink fruit tea in his office, just as he wasn’t supposed to eat pies in hers. The girl had a can of Coke. Full fat.

‘Hello, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Indica had another idiot customer. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Good. This is Esmerée Blue.’ She held his eye. ‘She’s our new client.’

‘She is?’

‘Yes, Poe. She is.’

The girl rolled her eyes. Said, ‘Is this asshole the other gumshoe?’

‘She says the bottom thing a lot,’ Bradshaw explained.

Other than that it was American, Poe didn’t recognise her accent. It wasn’t one of the obvious ones like Boston or the Deep South. It might have been New York, but if it was, it was refined. Wall Street not Skid Row.

‘How old are you, Esmerée?’ he asked, taking a seat.

‘What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Because if you’re under eighteen, which you clearly are, you can’t legally sign a contract. And if you can’t sign a contract, you can’t hire a PI.’