Cherchez La Femme (1976)

Cherchez La FemmeOriginal Work by Mark Venn

Times were hard. I was down to my last cartridge pen refill and wondering where my next Coke was coming from. But I hadn't spent six years in this concrete jungle without realising that only the tough survive, and I'm no quitter. Trouble was the last thing I needed, but it came my way in the form of three torpedoes, and from the look on their faces they weren't here to play patsy. I recognised one immediately, a pint-sized punk called Rooney, just out of diapers and eager to play the heavy. His friends were a couple of gorillas who made Tarzan look like Lionel Blair. I was pushed against the wall.

"Hi, Marlowe," Rooney grinned. "We heard you been a naughty boy." "Hi, Shorty," I replied, "How are things between you and Snow White?''

Rooney was clearly upset by this remark and began testing the resilience of my stomach muscles with a fist like a sledge-hammer.

"Wise-guy, huh?'' he sneered. "You'll be laughing the other side of your face after we've kicked your head in."

I didn't quite get the logic of this, but the sentiment was clear.

"Like I was sayin', Marlowe, you been a naughty boy. You haven't been payin' your Protection Fund recently, and I'd hate someone to find your crumpled body lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs, if you get my meaning."

"Get to the point, Rooney," I gasped.

"Mr. Big wants to see you. Are you going peacefully or will Andy and Pete here have to 'escort you'?"

I agreed to go. I didn't want to hurt Rooney's feelings. I was going to do that later with the aid of a crowbar. I was pushed into a dark office, where I saw a figure moving in the shadows. And some figure! There emerged from the darkness a leggy broad. She moved towards me. Questions raced through my mind: Who was she? What was she doing here? Was she giving me the eye? This baby needed investigating and I was the guy to do it.

"Are you here to see Mr. Harness?'' she asked.

"Why? Are you his bodyguard? If you want we can take turns frisking each other."

"Cool it, Toots," she said. "I don't even know your name." "I'm Christopher Marlowe." "I'm Lauren McCallan. Kiss me."

Unfortunately, our passionate embrace was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Big himself, Lester Harness.

"That will be all, thank you, Miss McCallan," he said. "Leave my guest alone and get outside. If I want you, I'll whistle. I apologise for my secretary's behaviour, Mr. Marlowe. She has, as the French would say, 'un penchant pour anything dans trousers'."

This was the first time I had seen Lester Harness outside of a newspaper headline. I knew him to be the boss of one of the biggest ''firms'' in the entire system. But I also knew that he was gradually losing his position as top dog. He had inherited a vast empire from "The Don'', who had taken twenty years to build a small-time book-peddling business into an organisation feared by thousands who had come in contact with it. But "The Don'' had left and in Harness's hands the empire was crumbling. He spoke.

"Mr. Marlowe, I have heard of your reluctance to pay Protection Fund money, and it alarms me. Normally I would not quibble over a paltry 85 pence. I would just break both your legs. But I need your assistance."

He paused and undid his tie.

"Okay, Marlowe, I'll get to the point. Someone is trying to muscle in on my territory, a takeover, and I'm powerless to stop them. I'm being taken over, incorporated, pushed under. I stand to lose everything. Mr. Big will become Mr. Number One Schmuck."

He paused again to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Of course, we've always been threatened. For ten years 'The Don' lived with the threat, and when he tried to act against it, they gave him the works!"

He feigned tears, but I was unimpressed by this show of emotion. "The Don'' was not "given the works': he was given "The Complete Works of Wagner'' as a farewell present. "The Don'' was no meat head; he got out while the going was good, leaving Mr. Big holding the baby.

"These are your problems: I can't help," I said, "but if you want a reference..." I got up to leave.

"Mr. Marlowe," he purred, "your overcoat looks somewhat shabby. If you want, I can have you fitted for a concrete one!"

I sat down and decided to help my old buddy, Mr. Big, as best I could.

"I have a proposition, Mr. Marlowe, that will benefit us both. Thanks to many generous donations from the grateful families of former clients, I have stashed away ten Big Ones in a secret bank account. It's yours, all of it, all Ten Grand. All you have to do is take my place as Mr. Big for a year or so, enough time for me to get out of the country and far away."

"Are you crazy?'' I said. "I can't impersonate you. We don't even look alike."

"It'll work, I know it will. You don't have to do anything. Just hide in my office all day, answer the 'phone and sit in your chair drinking coffee. No one will be able to tell the difference, and by the time they do I'll be miles away."

"I can't do it," I said. "It's too risky. "Think of the Ten Grand." "It'll never work." "Think of living all the time in my office ..." "It's against my principles." "... with Miss McCallan."

"When do I start?'' I asked.