It was a tricky one.

Of course, if I stayed, I could go on being a private eye. And it was quite clear from the success that I had enjoyed thus far that I was really born to this particular profession. And there was the matter of being in The Sumerian Kynges. Because Mr Ishmael had our equipment and he had promised to make us successful.

It was every boy’s dream, wasn’t it? To be a private eye and a rock ’n’ roll star. All bases covered. How cool would that be? And I hadn’t forgotten about being cool. And just how important that was.

‘Speak to me,’ said Mr Ishmael, for I was still in the back of his limo, and although I couldn’t see him now as the vehicle was completely fogged up with cigar smoke, he could clearly see me. Because he then said, ‘You have a very silly look upon your face.’

‘I am cogitating,’ I told him. ‘Weighing up the pros and cons. Trying to make a considered judgement.’

‘Unnecessary,’ said the enigmatic Mr I. ‘I will make the big decisions for you, thereby saving you the mental energy. The added benefit being that I will arrive at the correct decisions.’

I shook my head and made a wary face. ‘I can’t make any sense out of any of this,’ I said. ‘It’s all too much for my brainbox.’

‘Then leave it to me, young man. More scotch?’

‘Yes, please.’ And more scotch was poured into my glass.

And then Mr Ishmael touched his glass to mine and said ‘cheers’. And we drank.

‘It is all very complicated,’ said Mr Ishmael, ‘and it may take years to unravel. All the loose ends must be carefully tied together. If we are to succeed, we must tread a careful path et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Et cetera?’ I queried.

‘You know the form,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘It would go on in that vein. But you probably don’t want to hear any more clichés.’

‘I’d appreciate some comforting ones,’ I replied, ‘such as “it will all come out in the wash” and “all will be well that ends well”.’

‘It will all come out in the wash,’ said Mr Ishmael.

‘That’s comforting indeed,’ said I.

‘But I will have to drop you off here. I have a luncheon engagement at the Wimpy Bar. Important American contact, I want to make an impression. You know how it is.’

‘Yes, but-’

‘A Double-Decker followed by a Multiple Pile-Up.’

‘I don’t think I’ve tried that one, but-’

‘And two Coca-Colas with ice and straws.’

‘Yes, but-’

‘So, keep in touch.’ And with that I was ushered from the limo.

As in, the door on my side was opened and I was ejected at speed. It was done with skill, however, as my glass and my cigar were snatched from my hands as I was flung from the car and into the street.

I rolled to an uncomfortable standstill in a gutter.

I rose unsteadily to my feet and dusted myself down. Where was I? I looked to the left and the right. I was outside my house, which was something at least. I sighed, brushed further snow from my person and trudged, fairly trudged, up my short garden path.

I rang the doorbell and my mother answered this ringing.

My brother was just finishing my lunch. ‘It was a shame to let it go to waste,’ said he. ‘Christmas pudding, mince pies and gay cream.’

‘Gay cream?’ I queried.

‘Why did you run away from those Jehovah’s Bed-Wetters?’

‘Jehovah’s Wet-Nurses,’ I corrected my brother.

‘So, why did you run?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said. ‘It was all a misunderstanding. And why are you looking so happy? Aside from the fact that you’ve managed to eat my lunch as well as your own?’ For my brother was grinning fit to burst.

‘I have decided to eschew the speedboat and the sports car and invest my money in opening a private detective agency.’

‘Oh,’ I said. And, ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Would you care to go into partnership with me? We could cover each other’s backs, as our colonial cousins will have it.’

‘You and me in our own private detective agency?’

‘We’d need to take on a young woman, as secretary and receptionist. She’d need to be blonde with very big bosoms.’

‘Why?’ I asked, and my brother stared at me.

‘Right,’ I said once more. ‘Enough said.’

‘So if you want the job, it’s yours.’

‘It’s tempting,’ I said, ‘but I have only one question. And it is an important question.’

‘Ask away, my brother.’

‘Which one of us will wear the trench coat?’ I asked.

And so it came to be. My brother rented the rooms above Uncle Ted the greengrocer’s. These rooms had been empty for a very long time, due, we were told by Uncle Ted, to their evil reputation. They were cursed, some said, and haunted by a headless Druid policeman.

But Uncle Ted held to his own opinions. ‘So,’ said he, ‘a few folk have gone mad in these rooms. There has been a suicide or two. Murders have been committed and folk have gone missing. But what do you expect for three pounds a week and a share in the electricity bill with downstairs?’

‘We’ll take it,’ said my brother.

And Uncle Ted crossed himself.

We didn’t have much in the way of furniture. There was a desk included (‘It carries with it a terrible reputation,’ Uncle Ted told us) and a chair. One chair that it was rumoured had once belonged to Satan. But we were going to need a filing cabinet and a water cooler and another desk and another chair for the big-breasted blonde to sit at and on. And Andy was going to need a chair to sit in, because I intended to have the one that was there. For it swivelled. And how cool is a swivel chair?

And we were going to need a calendar. And a telephone and a business diary and have something etched on the glass of the door, if this was going to be a real private eye’s office. Something like-

PRIVATYLER

I suggested.

ANDY INVESTIGATIONS

Suggested my brother.

And so we reached a compromise:

LAZLO WOODBINE PRIVATE EYE

It was a blinding compromise.

‘We will do it by turns,’ I explained to my brother, for I, as I’ve said, was a natural at this. ‘One week you can play the part of Laz and wear the trench coat and the fedora. And the next week it will be my turn.’

‘And what if a case takes more than a week to solve?’ asked Andy.

And I raised my eyebrows at this. ‘Don’t you ever watch TV?’ I asked him. ‘TV cop shows? They always solve the case in a single episode. And that’s only an hour. No case could possibly take more than a week to solve.’

‘I like the cut of your jib,’ said my brother. ‘But I am now beginning to wonder whether putting the name of a fictional private eye upon the door might put off potential punters?’

‘No no no,’ I said. And I raised my ear-brows. ‘People still write to Sherlock Holmes, asking him to solve their cases.’

‘That is absurd,’ said my brother. ‘They don’t, do they?’

‘They do,’ I said. [12]

‘Then they must be mad,’ my brother said.

‘Misled, I think,’ said I.

‘Misled indeed, writing to Sherlock Holmes to ask him to solve cases.’ And my brother laughed. ‘When everybody knows that he retired to the Sussex Downs to keep bees.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘The Sussex Downs and bees.’

And so that is how we set up. I hadn’t heard from either Toby or Neil for a while and we had not been doing any further rehearsing. Mr Ishmael hadn’t contacted me about anything either. So, until something did happen on the music front, there would be no harm in pursuing a career in private-eyeing. Everything was working out perfectly.

So I pushed away all those horrible thoughts about zombies and the Necrosphere and all the rest of it and concentrated on the job in hand.