Daisy and Bernard (The Blind Sleuth Mysteries 3)

Chapter 10

There was a new recruit among the homeless sleeping in the bushes of the little park. The regulars were not glad nor welcoming; they never were when fresh competition showed up. But the new recruit was out of the ordinary and did arouse some curiosity. For one thing, he was rather youthful, looking even boyish and thriving, in a plump kind of way, his smooth baby face sporting only the slightest wisp of a beard. Fresh competition indeed. He also had a posh accent.

Another thing that couldn't escape the notice of the regulars was that the chappy came begging for food as soon as he saw anyone putting anything in their mouth. Hungry little bastard! This was very bad form. When they retired into the bushes for the night, these panhandlers wanted to be left in peace to enjoy the fruits of their daily scrounging. They beat off the newcomer mercilessly, scolding and cursing.

Jonathan sighed and unfolded his blanket. At least this group didn't mock his accent. He resigned himself to go to sleep on an empty stomach. This was still far better than doing backbreaking work all day long and spending your earnings on a bed in a dosshouse. In fact, that last consideration had led to the first step. On a mellow late summer night Jonathan had seen some ghostly figures congregating in the bushes at the edge of a playground. He had jumped over the low fence and joined them. It had been his first night out in the open. Perfectly all right, albeit a bit chilly towards the early hours of the morning. He then invested the money he'd saved on the dosshouse to buy himself a blanket. It was also better to collect some banana boxes beforehand, at the back entrance of a greengrocer's, to use as a mattress. And so he had been perfectly happy, changing his location every night, resorting to covered shelters like porches and underpasses when it rained, taking the blanket with him to work in a kit bag every morning. Why had he never thought of that before?

Then once, for a couple of days, he hadn't been able to find any work and ran out of money. Again he just imitated the homeless he had recently joined and spent the day panhandling at the entrance of a busy Tube station. He was successful at first and started wondering why he should work at all, when it was so easy and restful to be a beggar. But then it soon turned out that he was really too young and prosperous-looking to thrive as a panhandler. In fact, even the most generous souls would give him advice rather than money. "What is a fine young man like you doing on the streets? You have your whole life in front of you, don't throw it away!" Talking down to you like you were their dog.

Then he had pinned all his hopes on the charities that catered to the homeless. You only needed to line up with your colleagues for a while and they would give you a bowl of soup and a big chunk of bread. But here again, Jonathan had been singled out for a sermon about his "potential", his "prospects" and his "future". They even asked him to join them and help them distribute the food to the others! Next thing, they would be inquiring about his background and fishing for his identity... There was one chap in a wheelchair in particular, who appeared to be very nosy and much interested in his case. Jonathan never returned to the food line, and as he hardly collected enough to sustain himself, he now had to go through the rubbish bins as well. It beggars belief what perfectly good foodstuffs people throw away! Still, even so it was hard to find enough to eat. Jonathan suddenly realised that he'd always had a big appetite. On the other hand, he had no intention of ever taking on one of those backbreaking odd jobs again.

Jonathan was still dreaming of a criminal career. With the money left from his last job, he had gone to a DIY-store and bought himself a nice, fire red crowbar. He put it in his kit bag together with his blanket and carried it along at all times. Now that he no longer worked, he had all the time in the world to go looking for promising locations that might be in need of a good burglar. Dreaming of brilliant capers and pulling his blanket snugly around his shoulders, Jonathan settled down on his cardboard mattress, the crowbar safely tucked away in the bag by his side.

But just as he was about to lose himself in sleep, a hand roughly pawed his shoulder and a familiar voice croaked, "Johnny-John! Look what I've got here!"

He groaned and turned around to face the man, who was holding up a chocolate bar, still half in its wrapper, with only one bite out of it. "Look what people throw away, it's a disgrace!"

It was old Paul, the king of beggars. He was one-eyed, his right eye socket spectacularly hollowed out and mangled, and one-armed, the stump of his left arm always prominently on display, at least when he was panhandling. The first lesion had been caused by a barroom brawl, the second by a work accident on a building site. In both cases, Paul liked to reminisce, he had obtained a load of money in compensation and had lived like a king for a while. Now that he'd lost his home, he still lived like a king among the beggars. He was a well-spoken man, and that was the reason why no one around here ever mocked Jonathan's style of speech either. But this apparently well-educated panhandler never had any trouble collecting money. With his scars, his grizzled looks and his ostentatiously tattered outfit, he was the most obvious and legitimate object of pity. His clothes were held together by safety pins and pieces of string. Money just streamed into his paper cup.

"Are you hungry, Johnny-John? Do you want it?"

Paul had had no trouble at all to worm this name out of the younger man, he could trick people into telling him their secrets as easily as he tricked others into giving him their precious money. "Well, what do you say?"

"Yes... Yes! Paul. You know bloody well I'm always hungry."

Jonathan had already disentangled one arm from his blanket and was reaching out for the treat like a child.

"A-a-ah! I want a kiss first!"

That was another thing about Paul: he was an old fairy, for ever lusting after the plump young man. Jonathan knew what he had to do: he offered his face to the old beggar and closed his eyes. Very slowly, tenderly, Paul leaned forwards and kissed his lips. Ugh! Then he handed over the chocolate bar with a magnanimous, toothless smile.

Jonathan grabbed the prize and sat up at once. You didn't want to stay lying down with that old lecher hovering over you. As he sat there devouring the sweet, the old man fumbled in his trouser pocket, and just as the young man thought that he was about to pleasure himself—the old bastard!—his hand came up waving a ten Pound note. "Look what I have here, pretty boy! I had a very generous sponsor today; we talked for more than an hour; I turned on the old charm on her. That's hard work, believe me."

"Well, bully for you, Paul. Just be careful that no one steals it, waving your money like that..."

"Thanks for your concern, darling boy. Now I was just thinking; I'm very much in the mood. How about a romantic date, just you and me?"

The chocolate was already gone and Jonathan was smacking his lips despondently.

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

"You know that all-night place just off Piccadilly? We could have us some delicious fish and chips, or sausage and chips if that's what you'd rather have, and a couple of beers of course."

Jonathan's mouth started watering again, the juices in his stomach seemed to be flowing already at the vision of the food that the old lecher had just conjured up in his mind. But he knew from experience that there would be a price to pay. There always was, and this offer of a complete meal, including drinks, was unprecedented. "So what's the catch, Paul?"

"No catch, pretty boy. Just don't call it that. As I said: I'm in a romantic mood. And you know what would make me completely happy tonight? After a nice, hearty meal, when plenty of beer will have relaxed you a bit, we go together to the Gents, and in the cubicle of your choice you let me have my way with you..."

"That's a tall order, Paul..."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad! You just let me do my thing; I'll be gentle about it."

And after a while, as Jonathan said nothing, the old beggar waved his ten Pound note again, and said, "Think of all the sausages you can savour tonight!"

"All right, all right! But on one condition: I don't want to do it in the loo. I know another place where we can be alone and have plenty of room and peace and quiet. Just let me pack my things..."

With his back turned to the old man, he stuffed his blanket into his kit bag, and fingered the fire red crowbar for reassurance.