Читать книгу The Confessions Collection - Rosie Dixon, Timothy Lea - Страница 70

‘We can’t go on like this,’ says Sidney.

We are sitting in a cramped bed-sitting room listening to the smell of the curry from the Indian restaurant next door. It is the kind of pong that you can respond to with all your senses – a yellow cloud rolling towards you with a noise like a rubber mat being peeled off a wet window pane.

‘You mean Mrs. Bandanaike?’ I say, referring to our landlady.

‘No. Yes. Everything! How many of those bleeding things have we sold now?’

I rack my brains. ‘Two – four – one on Thursday – then there were the four duds – the girls sold three – one that bloke threw out of the window – we had three returned – then there was the one that blew up – Friday was a good day, wasn’t it? We sold four. Now let’s see. Altogether, taking into account returns and damaged stock –’

‘Get on with it!’ hisses Sid.

‘Four.’

‘Four!’

‘It might be five. I can go and check the stock list.’

‘You shouldn’t have to check the bleeding stock list if we’ve only sold four! Oh, it doesn’t matter! We’re doomed. We’re up the spout.’ Sidney buries his face in his hands.

‘It’s not good, is it?’ I say soothingly.

‘“Not good”? Stuck in this bleeding dump eating curry buttees? It’s costing me two hundred quid every time we sell one of those bleeding cleaners.’

‘The product’s not right, is it?’

‘Not right! I had a look at one the other day. You know what it says on the bottom?’

‘No, Sidney.’

‘It says “Made in Hong Kong” in Japanese. I had it translated. They’ve never seen Mount Fuji, those bleeding things.’

‘That’s breach of contract, Sidney. It must be.’

Sidney grimaces. ‘No. I checked that too. It never says anywhere that they were made in Japan; just to highest standards of Japanese craftsmanship and all that guff.’

‘Have you talked to Ishowi about this?’

‘I’m getting him up here. Why should he be lording it in Hoverton while we’re sweating our guts out in this bleeding dump?’

‘I thought you reckoned the north was a good idea, Sid?’ Sidney turns on me savagely. ‘Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I? Does that make you feel any better? They’re just the same lot of miserable, moaning gits as you get down in London only you can’t understand what they’re saying. Except for the coloured ones. They speak proper.’

The sound of a gong punctuates Sidney’s outburst.

‘There goes the supper gong,’ I say. ‘Do you fancy anything?’

‘I never know whether it’s the supper gong or the temple gong in this place,’ moans Sid. ‘What is it? Curry on toast again, with stewed guavas to follow, I suppose. That woman can’t even make a decent cup of tea. Diabolical it is. You’d think she’d know how to do that, wouldn’t you? Bleeding stuff was probably growing in her back yard.’

When Sid gets in this kind of mood it is difficult to reason with him, but I think the situation serious enough to continue trying.

‘You’ve actually paid Ishowi the money, have you, Sid?’

‘I’ve paid him some. The rest becomes due when the full consignment arrives at Hoverton.’

‘When does that happen?’

Sid picks up a letter and waves it at me. ‘It’s happened. I got this from Ishowi today. “Honoured to inform you that nineteen thousand Nuggets arrived today, colour Yangtse-yellow”.’

‘That’s in China, isn’t it?’

‘I wish I was. Blimey! Nineteen thousand of the bastards. What are we going to do?’

“Are you covered against fire?’

‘Timmy! Really! I don’t know where you get these ideas from.’

‘My relations mainly. Have you got a better idea?’

‘I’ve only had one idea – and that’s a thousand to one outsider. I know a big bullshitter who used to be at Funfrall Enterprises with me. He’s got his own import-export business now. If I go to him and suggest a merger, he’ll reckon I’m in trouble and, being the kind of sod he is, he might just try and buy me out for peanuts. I’ll lose on the deal, of course, but I paid so little in the first place I can’t go down too much.’

Knowing Sidney, I am not so certain that I agree with his last statement but I don’t say anything.

‘What about the girls?’

‘I’ll give him the option of taking them over. They’re a good publicity gimmick!’

‘And what about Ishowi?’

‘He can go and start training to become a Kamikazi pilot any time he likes.’

So next day Sid pushes off to see his old business associate and I make a half-hearted attempt at unloading a few more Nuggets. I don’t get very far because I bump into this bird who is having trouble starting her car. I don’t know much about engines but I get stuck into it and find that there is something wrong with the differential. By the time I have fixed it I am covered in grease and the bird offers me the use of the bathroom. Well, one thing leads to another, and by the end of the afternoon it is a question of vive le differential and the car is still in the garage.

I decide to pack it in after that, the Nugget selling I mean, and I get back to Mrs. Bandanaike and the smell of curry that leaves footprints, just in time to be greeted by an enthusaistic Sidney.

‘I did it! I did it!’ he exults. ‘Brother but it was close though. The bleeding product worked so well he nearly agreed to my terms for a merger and was prepared to put up some promotional money. He couldn’t believe that I would ever sell out of such a good deal.’ Sidney hugs himself delightedly.

‘But you managed to pull it off, Sidney?’

‘Yeah, but it took a bit of doing. I had to persuade him that I was a bit gulliver – stupid, you know.’

‘Gullible? Yes, Sid. You were able to do that all right, were you?’

‘Eventually, Timmo. I had to box pretty clever though. Not let on too much.’

‘No, Sid.’

‘Not appear too sharp for the way I was trying to present myself. Know what I mean?’

‘Yes, Sid.’

Eventually he has finished congratulating himself and he tells me that Ernest Truscott, that’s the name of the mug, wants us to introduce the Nugget to his sales force at a meeting they are having shortly. Truscott is very impressed by what he has heard about the Daughters of the Cherry Blossom and wants them there as well. Also, Ishowi in his Samurai clobber.

We have a few celebratory drinks out of a bottle of nerve tonic Sid keeps especially for such occasions and decide that it would be a good idea to go round to the hotel and tell the girls about the new deal.

‘They’re nice girls,’ says Sid reflectively as we make our way to the Grand, ‘but they have been a bit disappointing saleswise. Didn’t have the tenacity I was expecting.’

‘I think you miscalculated there, Sidney,’ I say wisely. ‘They’re not pushy like English birds, are they? They’re taught to serve.’

‘I suppose you’re right. Maybe I should have given them more supervision. If only we’d have had a few bob for advertising they could have been very useful.’

We go into the foyer of the Grand and Sid marches up to reception.

‘Are any of the Japanese ladies back?’ he says. The girl looks slightly surprised.

‘The masseuses, you mean? They’re all up in the sauna now, I think.’

‘How many Japanese have you got staying here?’ asks Sid.

‘Just the twelve,’ says the girl. ‘They’re the only ones we’ve ever had.’

‘Where is the sauna?’

‘Top floor. You’ll see the queue.’

She is not kidding. We can hardly push our way out of the lift for the crowd blocking up the corridor. As we are pressed back against the wall Spring Fragrance goes past leading a pink-faced businessman who is sweating like a suet pudding. His collar stud has popped open and he is carrying his jacket over his arm.

‘Clum this way,’ says my little friend. ‘After lie down and deep massage you will feel differelent in all resplects.’

‘O-o-h,’ says the man ecstatically, ‘o-o-o-o-h!’ Immediately the crowd redoubles its efforts to get near the sauna and Sid and I have a fight on our hands to make any headway at all.

‘Two-timing little sluts!’ hisses Sid. ‘So this is what they’ve been up to. I could never understand why they were distributing all those leaflets.’

He shoulders protesting customers out of the way and forces his way through the half-open door to the sauna. Happy Spirit is waiting inside with outstretched hands.

‘Two plounds pleese,’ she says.

‘Now, wait a minute –’

‘Two plounds or I blake your arm—Ah, Mr. No-get. It is you. Only one plound please.’

I am looking past Sidney and when the door into the hot chamber opens it is like looking at a white seal colony. Fat, melting bodies are huddled together whilst nubile nippons in towelling togas pound and massage. They might be working out on heavy punchbags. In the outside chamber men are lying on divans and the air is heavy with the hum of Noggett Nuggets. Like giant vibrators they are being propelled up and down the backs of the dripping, groaning inmates, and in one case a slender nippon is actually walking up a man’s back with her Nugget.

‘This much better use for ploduct,’ says Happy Spirit persuasively. ‘Business vlery glood.’

‘Yes, but you’re supposed to be working for me!’ storms Sidney.

‘Slurely Mr. Ishowi told you about actlivities?’ says the girl sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I think that why we stayed in Hotel.’

‘Mr. Ishowi put you up to this, did he?’ snarls Sid, turning an unpleasant colour.

‘Oh yes. This is what he say we clum to England flor.’

‘What were you doing in Japan?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘Slame thing. We work for Mr. Ishowi in his whorehouse. The Golden Tearoom in heart of old Tokyo. Unfortunately, what goes on there slo unspleakably flilthy it closed down by Japanese authorities. The flightened Lord Longflord and Missy Whitelouse see it and export of family saloons diminish dlamatically.’

‘So you’re all geisha girls?’ gasps Sid.

‘Oh no. Much dirtier than that,’ says Happy Spirit pleasantly.

‘Where are the rest of the girls?’ I ask.

‘They below helping customers lie down comflortably.’

‘I’m going to kill that bastard Ishowi,’ grits Sid, ‘I’m going to tear him limb from limb.’

‘I wouldn’t fancy trying, myself,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s see what’s happening downstairs.’

When we get down to the St. Denis suite it is even worse. St. Denis would not like it at all. There is a long line of beds on either side of the largest room on which those who have had a sauna are supposed to be relaxing. Relaxing! Some of the things that are going on you would not credit if you saw them through your own flies. The tricks those six girls get up to are a living testimonial to the industry and ingenuity of the Japanese race. And the noise! Screams, giggles, screeches, moans.

‘I don’t know why the hotel doesn’t put a stop to it,’ I say.

‘Why don’t you ask the manager,’ says Sid. ‘He’s the one on the right of the third bed on the left. Better wait a minute though. He’s probably been taught not to speak with his mouth full.’

It is terrible, isn’t it? I mean all the men are so fat and flabby. Dirty old sods, they should buy magazines and think about it.

Sidney, of course, is furious. Not because he has any moral scruples but because he did not come up with the idea himself. As usual in such a situation he turns on me.

‘Blooming marvellous partner you are, aren’t you?’

‘What do you mean, Sid?’

‘Obvious idea like that staring you straight in the eyes and you don’t see it!’

‘What about you, Sid?’

‘That’s right! Blame me! Marvellous, isn’t it? I’m supposed to think of everything, aren’t I? I dream up the whole proposition and I can’t even leave you to chase up a bit of detail – I can’t drive myself twenty-four hours a day you know. I can’t have my eye on everything.’

‘Do me a favour, Sid.’

‘Well, it’s not good enough. These birds have been making monkeys out of us.’

‘They had a head start with you, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, well—hey! Wait a minute! Don’t start giving me any of your lip –’

‘You don’t need any, Sid. You look like half a rugby ball as it is.’

‘Now, listen! –’

‘I’m sorry, Sid. Just my little joke. Look, Sid, I don’t think you can blame the girls too much. They were only doing what Ishy told them.’

‘Ishy! I’ll make him wishy he’d never been borny! That bleeder was the one who demanded that the girls stayed in a hotel. He’s been making a fortune out of this caper while we’ve been eating blancmanges made with curry powder.’

But, of course, Sidney cools down eventually when he realises that we want to present a united front to idiot boy Truscott. Settling up with Ishowi can wait until we have unloaded the Nuggets.

For that reason he manages to keep something approaching a smile on his face when Ishowi glides into town on the four-twenty. To my relief he is alone.

‘Ah so,’ he says. ‘Thanks to British Rail we meet again.’

‘You haven’t brought your nieces with you,’ I say, stating the obvious.

‘No. They fly back to Japan.’

‘I don’t expect they needed planes,’ murmurs Sidney, ‘not unless they had a lot of baggage.’

‘Not bad news, I hope?’ I say.

‘Oh no. Quite reverse. They selected for Japanese ladies volley-ball tour of Russia.’

‘May God preserve Tamara Press,’ I say. If those two manglers cannot get a regular place in the team, what can the rest of them be like?

Because it is our last night Sid and I have booked ourselves into the Grand and we grudgingly take Ishowi back there with us. He is no sooner through the door than he starts practising little karate chops. ‘I read in browny that there is sauna here,’ he says. ‘I think I try.’

‘“Browny”?’

‘Small guide.’

‘Oh yes. Look, Mr. Ishowi, I’d like to have a word with you before you take that sauna.’ And Sid leads Mr. I. away towards the tea lounge. When they return there is a very thoughtful expression on the wily oriental’s mug and he is shaking his head.

‘I think I do business with English gentlemen,’ he says sadly. ‘I very surprised you behave like this behind my back.’

‘I have no wish to talk about the matter at further length,’ says Sidney with commendable dignity. ‘If you want your money you will have to do as I say. Tomorrow we leave for Blacksea.’

Blacksea is a seaside resort about thirty miles away where Truscott is introducing the Nugget to his luckless field force. We arrive there about midday. Sid has hired a coach and the scene when we leave the Grand is quite amazing. A crowd of middle-aged men, some with damp towels over their arms, throngs the foyer, a few sobbing uncontrollably. The sight visibly affects Sid, mainly because it is another reminder of the loot he has lost out on, and he does not say a word all the way to Blacksea. The girls sing the Eton Boating Song without stopping to draw breath, turning it into my least favourite song after the first half dozen miles.

Ernest Truscott is a small, fat man with a leaking mouth he is trying to plug with a small, fat cigar stub. He is wearing a beautifully cut suit and is pretty well cut himself.

‘Ee, what a loovely bunch of tarts,’ he says as the girls trip off the coach. ‘Which way does it go then, eh? I bet you can tell me that now?’ He nudges Sid in the ribs and winks at me and I bet that all the birds at Funfrall Enterprises went out and got pissed the day he left the building for good.

‘Good to see you again, Ernie,’ says Sid unconvincingly. ‘Got all your lads lined up, have you?’

‘They’re arriving after dinner. We don’t want them all blotto with booze, do we?’ says the last of the big spenders. ‘I thought we’d have a little roon through and then I’d buy the ladies a drink. You can tell me—er, which—er, woon—er, you know?’ The elbow goes in a few more times and we all wink at each other to confirm that we know it is not just used for stirring your tea.

Truscott conducts the rehearsal with a large scotch in his hand and is dead keen on playing up the Japanese bit. He decides that the conference should open with a gong being bashed and the Daughters of the Blossom doing an oriental soft shoe shuffle. When the audience has been lulled into a relaxed frame of mind, another bash on the gong will introduce Mr. Ishowi. He will come leaping on to unveil the Nugget, wearing his Samurai kit and swinging his sword. After a few grunts he will hand over to Sidney who will demonstrate the product. I like the sound of this very much because it means that I am not going to have to do anything, and the way Mr. Truscott is rabbiting on this caper sounds like amateur night at Deptford Rep. – something to be avoided like a dose of the how’s your father.

Eventually Truscott is satisfied that everybody knows what they are doing – or more precisely, what he wants them to do – and trips off to the bar to bore the knickers off the nippons, while Sid and I retire to check over the Golden Nugget – the only one we have ever found that works. It still seems to be functioning to a standard beyond the manufacturer’s wildest dreams, so we leave well alone and join Truscott at the bar for a pre-conference sup-up and suck-up. He is stumbling fitfully into top form and quickly slips his arm round Spring Fragrance’s waist.

‘Eh, darling,’ he says with a round of winks, ‘do you know what “jig jig” means?’

‘Yes,’ she says disdainfully removing his hand, ‘it is crude euphemism for “fuck”.’

Most men might have been a bit taken aback by that but Truscott thinks it is marvellous. He is the kind of bloke who reckons a girl fancies him if she only tells him to piss off. He goes on getting more and more plastered and by the time lunch is over he is staggering about like a dying buffalo – or in his case, overweight doormouse. He must be the only bloke in the room who would have to stand on a soap box to give Spring Fragrance a goodnight kiss.

A section of the dining area is screened away behind a curtain and, when I peer through, I can see rows of chairs which are beginning to fill up with what are obviously salesmen. You can tell that by the expression of bored resignation that haunts their dead eyes. They are men who have heard it all before and know they are going to have to listen to it again.

‘Right. Into battle, lads,’ says Truscott, slopping half a glass of brandy onto the carpet. ‘I’ll say a few words and then it’s on with the dancing girls, eh? Your Jap bloke gone to put his creamola on, has he?’

‘Yes, he’ll be down in a couple of minutes,’ says Sid looking at me for confirmation. I nod.

‘Well, I’ll get on with it then.’ He is about to push through the curtains when he turns and puts down his glass. ‘Don’t want the lads to think I’ve been drinking,’ he winks.

The ‘lads’ are probably able to come to this conclusion without the aid of props because Truscott trips over the curtain as he makes his entrance and staggers into the lectern which topples over slowly to hit the floor with a loud crash. Truscott’s restraining hand arrives seconds too late. Two salesmen crack their heads together scrambling to retrieve the lectern and Truscott raises his hand for the silence which is already his own undisputed property.

‘Right lads, I’ve got a few surprises for you today and that was one of them. Now, I expect some of you are saying, “Hello, here cooms old ugly mug with another load of rubbish about getting your calls in and using your point of sale material”.’ Truscott looks into his audience’s faces enquiringly. ‘Well, you are, aren’t you? It’s no good saying nowt. I know what you boogers are thinking!’ The expression on their faces does not change. ‘Well, it isn’t rubbish! This firm spends a fortune on point of sale material and I expect you to use it. Not light bonfires with it, or give it to your kids to make patterns with. Anyroad, it’s a subject I’ll return to later so don’t think you’ve heard the last of it. Now, for those surprises I was talking about. As you know I’ve always prided myself on my eye for a product with sales potential and I think that what you’re going to see in a minute will persuade you that I’ve coom oop with another winner. I cood go on for hours about it but I’m certain you’re getting tired of my voice – who said that? ! !’ His eyes probe the room. ‘Watch it! Watch it! It’s not a good time to be looking for a job, especially with the references I give.’ He glares at his audience for a full minute before continuing. ‘Now, if you’ve all got yourselves under control, I’d like to introduce you to some charming young ladies who have a few things they’d like to say to you.’ He waves an arm behind him and the Daughters of the Cherry Blossom come on singing the Nugget song.

The audience’s reaction goes through a stage of amazement to one of delight and I confirm this fact to Mr. Truscott who has surrendered the stage and is swigging brandy beside me.

‘They’re great, aren’t they? Great!’ he says. ‘Tell you who’s going to like them – Sam Hideyoshi.’ He indicates the third row of salesmen and I see that there indeed is a besuited, bespectacled male nippon looking so like his fellows that I would have failed to notice that he was not a son of Albion unless it had been pointed out to me. ‘He’s my best salesman that one. Works like a black—eh! Did you hear that? No, but seriously, he’s a good ’un. Hard as bleeding nails. He’d slap his own moother in the clink if she got behind with her payments. Sometimes, when he’s messing about with the lads, he’ll pile half a dozen competitive products on top of each other and cut through the lot of them with one swipe of his bare hand.’

‘Fantastic,’ I say admiringly.

‘Aye, it is. Hello, look who’s here. It’s your old Japanese Samovar. Did you see that picture on the telly? Marvellous. I fell asleep, mind you, but it was very good. They put them on too late, you know.’

Ishowi is looking mean as a one-penny tip and I notice that his jaw is twitching again. That, and his rolling eyes could make you decide not to hire him as the entertainment at your kiddy’s birthday party.

‘Eeh, but he looks a proper caution, doesn’t he?’ says Truscott giving me a playful dig in the ribs. ‘He’s going to wake them up all right.’

I do not know it then, but Truscott has just uttered one of the great understatements of history.

‘Alright lad, you’re on,’ says Truscott, shoving Mr. Ishowi towards the stage. ‘Get out there and wow them!’

Ishowi crouches like a crab and putting one hand on the scabbard of his sword, clasps the hilt menacingly with the other.

‘Yu! Yor! Yoo! Y-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-w ! ! !’

As the battle cry wells up from his belly he launches himself through the curtains and I watch the eyes of everybody in the first three rows open wide with terror. Well, nearly everybody in the first three rows. Sam Hideyoshi merely leans forward unbelievingly in his seat.

‘Yoh huh! ! Yoh huh! ! Yoh huh! !’ Ishowi is now hacking lumps out of the air and puffing himself up like a lovesick bullfrog. Beside me, Sidney clasps the Nugget to his bosom and prepares to step forward.

‘YE-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ow! !’

The roar does not come from Ishowi but from row three. Hideyoshi has leapt to his feet and his face is purple.

‘Yor! Yor! Yor!’

At this point things start to happen fast. Hideyoshi charges the stage and Ishowi drops his sword and snatches Sidney’s Nugget. Why he should decide to cast down his weapon in the presence of an enraged attacker is soon explained when Hideyoshi snatches up the sword and connects with a double handed blow that should make Ishowi two different people. Instead there is a noise like somebody being slapped across the chops with a wet flounder and it becomes obvious that Ishowi’s samurai sword is as phoney as an eight-day week. Our boy is much better off with the Nugget and he delivers a nifty backhander that sends Hideyoshi staggering back into the fast retreating audience. Undeterred, Sam rips a steel-framed chair apart with his bare hands and goes for Ishy again.

While this unseemly agro is reducing the room to a shambles both Nippons are screaming at each other at the tops of their voices and the Daughters of the Cherry Blossom are flitting in and out of the action like agitated butterflies. Truscott and Sid are hiding under a table. Quite what is happening is perhaps best described by trying to reproduce the interchange between Ishowi and Hideyoshi as it is subsequently reported to us:

H. ‘YE-O-O-O-W!! Your face is known to me, unworthy dog.’

I. ‘I think there must be some mistake –’

H. ‘You have brought shame upon the land of the setting sun by traducing the words of our most noble emperor and broadcasting calumnies to the running pigs!’

I. ‘Are you sure you haven’t mixed me up with –’

H. ‘You will die!’

I. ‘Now steady on.’

H. ‘Die !!’

I. ‘Let’s talk this thing over like sensible human beings –’

H. ‘DIE !!!’

I. ‘I was only trying to do what seemed best at the time.’

H. ‘DIE!!! !’

I. ‘General MacArthur said I helped to shorten the war by several years –’

H. ‘Die!! DIE!! DIE!! Do not run, dog. Stand and fight like a man.’

I. ‘And save hundreds of thousands of lives. Of course most of them were American but –’

Ishowi ducks and weaves and every few minutes gets into a position from which he can deliver a few words whilst Hideyoshi swings non-stop. Whatever you think of Ishowi, you have to admit that the supplier of the Nogget Nugget is a born survivor. But how long can be keep his bonce out of harm’s way? He is beginning to wilt visibly, whilst Hideyoshi seems to have boundless energy. The same thought must have occurred to Ishy because he makes a last despairing lunge with his Nugget and then turns and races out of the room with Hideyoshi in hot pursuit. Truscott’s salesmen and Hotel staff scatter in all directions. Still clutching the Nugget, Ishowi dives into an office and the key turns in Hideyoshi’s face.

For a moment there is silence broken only by Hideyoshi’s heavy breathing and the sound of Sidney thinking out loud.

‘If we could get the cleaner out we would be able to get on with the demonstration,’ he says.

‘I kill him,’ says Hideyoshi.

‘This is terrible!’ moans Truscott. ‘What’s the matter with you, Sam lad. Have you gone mad?’

‘I’m sorry Mr. Truscott but that man is a war criminal and he must die.’

‘But he helped us,’ I bleat.

‘Precisely.’

‘Could we do the demonstration first, and then you can kill him?’ pleads Sidney. ‘It really is a shame to have got all your men together and –’

‘We can’t have anybody killing anybody,’ gasps Truscott. ‘Think of the publicity. Come on, Sam lad, pull yourself together. Let him out.’

‘He must die.’

‘Oh my gawd.’

‘Better get the police.’

‘Oh no.’

‘That’s the manager’s office,’ says a prune-faced receptionist. ‘He’s not going to like this.’

‘Booger what he likes,’ says Truscott. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Hand the Nugget out of the hatch and no harm will come to you,’ says Sid, speaking through the keyhole, ‘and don’t forget the attachments.’

‘Shoot oop, you fool,’ snaps Truscott. ‘I’m not interested in the bloody cleaner.’

‘But Ernest –’

‘Shoot oop, he’s trying to say something.’

Sure enough, through the door we can hear Ishowi’s voice, clear and unwavering:

‘I, Ishowi Mifune, have been unworthy of the great trust placed in me and have decided that there is only one honourable course of action open to me –’

Hideyoshi nods his head in satisfaction.

‘He’s coming out?’ says Sid.

‘He is going to slit his belly.’

‘Oh, no!!’ Truscott bangs his fist against his head. ‘He can’t do that!’

‘He has found the path of honour at last,’ says Hideyoshi solemnly. Now he can be welcomed into his father’s house.’

‘Oh, my gawd!’ exclaims Sid.

The voice from within the room continues ‘– it is my intention to commit ritual Hara Kiri and to beg the forgiveness of all for my unworthiness. Since the instrument of much of the suffering I have lately caused is within my grasp, I intend to employ that. Excuse one moment while I connect the attachment.’

‘Oh no, he can’t!’

‘Not with a Noggett Nugget.’

‘Think of the publicity.’

‘It’s better than nothing I suppose,’ says Sid thoughtfully.

‘Are you mad?’ yells Trustcott. ‘“Jap uses Nugget cleaner for ritual disembowelment”. What kind of publicity is that?’

‘Quiet please,’ says Hideyoshi holding up a hand. ‘Please respect silence for Hara Kiri.’

‘We can’t just stand here and let him do it. There must be another way in.’

‘Smash the door down.’ But, even as we speak the high pitched whine of the Nugget freezes the words in our mouths.

A black-jacketed manager speeds to our side.

‘What’s happening in there?’

‘A man is killing himself with a vacuum cleaner.’

‘Very tidy of him.’

Truscott winces. ‘This is not a joke.’

‘Ssh!’ says Hideyoshi.

‘I hope this spot of unpleasantness isn’t going to turn you against the product,’ whispers Sid to Truscott. ‘We can soon get another one in. It won’t take –’

‘Give over, will you!’ groans Truscott. ‘I never want to see another cleaner as long as I live. I think I’m going to throw oop.’

‘Typical of our bloody luck that he’d have to take the only bloody cleaner that works,’ snarls Sid in my ear. ‘He could have died of old age before he did himself in with some of them.’

‘Shut up, Sid.’

The Nugget continues to drone on and suddenly there is a disturbing variation of pitch that sets my teeth on edge.

‘It’s taking a long time, isn’t it? I always said the motor on the new batch was underpowered.’

‘Shut up, Sid!!’

‘Grab hold of this!’ A party of Truscott’s salesmen have found a bench and, despite Hideyoshi’s protests that it is very bad form to interrupt, they are preparing to use it as a battering ram. There is no rush to be first man on the bench but eventually we line up across the hall and make a stumbling run at the door. Crunch! The first charge does nothing more than jar our fingers but on the third sortie there is a splintering noise and the door springs open.

‘Well –?’ For a moment I choose not to look. When I do I can see nothing but the Noggett Nugget propped against a chair with its motor still running. There is no sign of Ishowi. Maybe the manager was right. I glance gingerly towards the dirt bag.

‘The safe!’ The manager races towards the open safe. Smoke is rising from the area of the lock. ‘There were the staff’s wages in there.’ We follow his eyes to a small grill above a filing cabinet. It is open.

‘The cunning bastard!!’

‘He used the Nugget to open the safe.’

We all turn on our heels and race to the front of the hotel but there is no sign of Ishowi,

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘He won’t get far.’

‘I would not bet on that.’ Hideyoshi shakes his head wisely. ‘Many men have searched for that one for many years. They have not found him yet.’

To my surprise Sidney is suddenly looking chuffed. He picks up the Nugget and glances at the attachments.

‘Yes, just as I thought. The flange spiggots have been worn down. We’ll have to get another one. Perhaps we can do this another day, Ernest.’

‘Yes, yes,’ says Truscott, wiping his forehead with his spotted handkerchief. ‘Why don’t you give me a ring about it. I’m going to be tied up for the next few weeks but we may be able to fit something in after Christmas. Ooh, when I think about what might have happened –’ he shakes his head and shudders.

An hour later Sidney and I are in a London bound train with the Daughters of the Cherry Blossom and Sidney is whistling. Actually whistling.

‘Now will you tell me why you’re so happy, Sidney?’ I beg him.

‘Because I know where Ishowi has gone.’

‘Where?’

‘He’s gone to burn down the Nugget warehouse, Timmo. A bloke like that – thief, traitor, halfway round the twist. That’s the kind of thing he would do. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?’

‘But how do you know that, Sidney.’

Sidney dives a hand into his pocket and throws a packet of Swan Vestas on the table.

‘Because I’ve got the matches here, Timmo. Come on, let’s go and join the ladies.’

THE END