Dangerous in Love - Dangerous Davies 02 (21 page)

'I came here before
’
said Davies. 'When I had a look around. But it was shut.'

'Like I say, it nearly always is,' said Curl. From his cluster of keys he selected two and turned the door locks. 'They turn up now and again and take some of their stuff, or bring it in.' He pushed the tall door and, as it swung inwards, turned on a powerful light. Davies and Mod stopped in astonishment. The copious building was hanging with coloured figures, dummies, some of them huge: Humpty-Dumpty, Pinocchio, a snarling giant, a massive duck; row upon row of rag figures, their legs and arms hanging bonelessly.

'Blimey,' said Davies, 'what a pantomime.'

'Exactly right,' enthused Curl. He threw out his small hands as though presenting the extravaganza to a great audience.

Mod said: 'One of the Seven Dwarfs is missing.'

'Sleepy
’
agreed Curl, moving towards the bright, bug-eyed group in a corner. They were hanging over a rail, their outsized heads propped up. The security man bent down into the dark part of the wall and pulled up the figure of Sleepy. 'He seems to really doze off,' he said, putting the head beside the others.

'Where's Snow White?' asked Davies.

'Ah, now you're asking,' answered Curl. 'She used to be here and I used to come up and see her. Almost every night.' He looked suddenly abashed. 'I liked to give her a cuddle,' he said.

'I see.'

'They took her away somewhere. I miss her.'

Mod coughed to clear his embarrassment and began to wander into the interior of the amazing shed. Some of the figures were gigantic, suspended like airships from the ceiling. 'They supply people all over the world,' said Curl, following him with some relief. Davies stood for a few moments studying the dwarfs and then followed them into the central aisle of the warehouse.

Curl was throwing his hands about. 'Carnivals, Hallowe'ens, Mardi Grasses, all things like that. The big heads are very popular. They have huge special vans to collect them because they don't collapse or come to pieces. Some of them do, but not many. Look
...'
He strode out enthusiastically. 'Look at Humpty-Dumpty
...
now you won't tell, will you? Just watch.'

As they watched, he lowered the gigantic head by a pulley, manoeuvring it like an attendant with a balloon until he had it hovering above him. Another relaxation of the pulley and the great, grinning head dropped over his. Curl's small body became even smaller under the monstrous shining cranium, his legs danced grotesquely. Davies and Mod laughed wildly at first as Humpty-Dumpty began to bounce around but then they stopped. The huge smiling egg had come to a standstill, and the small uniformed lungs underneath were panting. 'All right,' shouted Davies, not sure whether Curl could hear. 'You can come out now.'

'I can't,' came a wistful echo from within. 'You'll have to help me. I can never get out of this one.'

Davies looked at Mod. They moved in together and, to Curl's hollow-voiced instructions, they manoeuvred him below the pulley, turned the massive egg to the right and then half-left. Three tugs on the pulley and, like a swiftly rising moon, the head ascended leaving a perspiring, smirking Edwin Curl below. 'I always get jammed in that one,' he explained bashfully. 'I was in here for hours one night, trying to get out.' He looked at them, almost a plea. 'It's good fun though, isn't it?'

'Terrific,' said Davies flatly. 'Have you tried all these others, then?' He began to walk deeper into the cavern. Painted faces grimaced and laughed from shelves and rafters. There was a line of trousered dummies hanging from a rack.

'Death Row, I call that,' said the little security guard. 'It's creepy, isn't it?' He opened a locker and produced another bottle of whisky. 'I keep this in here in case it gets me down
’
he explained. 'We'll have to drink from the bottle, though.' He handed it to Davies. 'You first,' he offered.

Davies took the Scotch. 'From another well-wisher?' he asked as he raised it. Curl shook his head. 'I'm not sure where that came from,' he said. 'In the security business you often get stuff and you can't remember where it turned up from.' After he had taken a swallow, Davies passed the bottle to Mod. He kept his eyes on Curl. 'You're a bit of an actor, Edwin
’
he said. 'In secret.'

'A thwarted one
’
said Curl, looking down at his uniform. 'I'd rather have a packed audience than a packed lunch any day. But I never will, not now.'

Davies patted him on his slight shoulder. The friendship immediately revived the little man. 'Want to try?' he asked. 'Would you like to have a go, Mr Lewis?'

They had replenishments from the bottle and then Mod agreed to try one of the heads, and chose a wizard. The head was not as large as some, but was pinnacled with a tall, pointed hat. Davies and Curl helped him into the aperture and lowered it to his shoulders. They stepped back and Mod assayed a few clumsy and drunken steps. 'Magic,' said Davies. 'Bloody magic'

'Now you,' encouraged Curl. The whisky and the game had heightened his voice and his miniature face was earnestly pink
’
There's a big old policeman around here. He's ever so funny. I've put him on before now.' They walked down a wide aisle, leaving Mod incanting and making wizard movements in the background.

'There
’
said Curl pointing up. 'Police Constable Fuzz. Isn't that a lovely helmet he's got.'

Davies looked up. The giant policeman looked down. It was like a threat of things to come. Curl handed him the whisky as if in encouragement. 'All right
’
said Davies hazily. 'I might as well get used to it.'

Curl lowered the head and demonstrated how Davies should manoeuvre himself into it. Still doubtfully, but egged on by Curl and the whisky, he pushed his head up into the massive head of PC Fuzz. He almost panicked. It was close, smelly and dark in there. But his eyes found the observation holes and he peered out into Curl's gleeful face. 'This way, this way, Mr Davies
’
enthused Curl. 'Let's go and see the Wizard.'

Relentlessly the liquor swilled within Davies's stomach. He staggered a few steps, feeling the head wobbling over him. 'We're
off
to see the Wizard,' he began to sing unreasonably. 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.'

He could hear Curl chortling with delight. 'Come on, come on!' He rolled down the aisle towards the open area inside the entrance to the building. Mod was meandering under his disguise and Davies danced in to join him. It was as though the pantomime had given them a new and novel inebriation. They circled each other jovially and were joined by Curl wearing the gross features of Mrs Spratt, Jack's wife who would eat no lean.

The swollen trio circled each other, letting out toots of laughter, stifled by their encumbrances. Mod and Curl collided and it was Mod who staggered back, tripped and was flung backwards on the boards. Davies and Curl gathered to view the felled Wizard whose seemingly small arms and legs kicked desperately. 'Trust you,' Davies called at him. 'Spoiling the game.' He struggled out of his head and was annoyed to find himself streaming with sweat. It was running down his face, his neck and down the front of his shirt to his stomach. Curl divested himself of Mrs Spratt and they went to Mod's aid. They succeeded in righting him and then eased the carnival head from his shoulders. 'God, I thought I was done for then,' he trembled. His face was wet. 'It's just like drowning.'

It was four in the morning before they returned to 'Bali Hi', Furtman Gardens. They had accepted more of Curl's Scotch to assist the recovery from their exertions in the theatrical warehouse and were now convivially and unsteadily carrying a square suitcase between them.

'Not a sound,' warned Davies. 'Not a snort. All right?'

'Not a sound,' agreed Mod. He looked about them. 'Good job they keep the street lights on.' 'If anything goes wrong,' said Davies, 'just scarper.' 'Scarper,' confirmed Mod.

They paused outside the hushed silhouette of the house. Davies put his hand over his mouth. His eyes were shining like a boy's. They carried the case below the window of Mrs Fulljames's bedroom. Mod fumbled with the fastenings. Davies took over. The top of the container opened like two trapdoors and there slowly emerged a mechanical top-hatted clown. The head was on an articulated extension. Davies pulled a lever and it rose, two feet from its box, until he pressed the control again and it stopped. Another touch and it rose a further three feet so that its head was on a level with theirs, its fixed grin in their faces. The two drunks looked at each other and smirked. 'Now,' said Davies. He pulled the lever further and the clown's garish head began to rise on its long mechanical neck. Entranced, they watched it ascend until the painted, grinning, top-hatted head was directly outside the landlady's window. Their cheeks were puffed, their ribs shook.

Davies made a tapping motion with his hand and Mod pushed the supporting apparatus forward so that the brim of the clown's hat knocked on the curtained glass. Three times they did it, and then withdrew the head until it was a foot clear of the window. The clown was looking directly at the curtains. Nothing happened. 'Again,' whispered Davies.

At that moment they saw the bedroom light go on above them, and then the curtains were fiercely pulled aside. There was a second's pause and then the most terrible echoing screech, followed by a second. 'Christ!' exploded Davies, staring up. 'Run!'

Taking the wildly waggling head with them, they scampered around the corner of the hou
se. Mrs Full
james's screams still rent the night. Lights were going on in the house and in others in the street. Around the corner, Davies pressed the lever which lowered the toy head back into its case. 'Hurry up, hurry up,' he pleaded. Mod was already running, down the short garden and through the back gate into the narrow alley. Kitty began to howl hollowly in the garage.

Windows were banging up and heads appearing. 'Wait for me!' gasped Davies. 'This thing is heavy.'

He caught up with Mod and, both carrying the case, they lumbered along the alley and out into the main street. Everywhere was deserted. Panting and howling with mirth, they reached the shops and Harry's All Night Refreshments.

'Back again, Dangerous
’
said Harry, rising from behind a newspaper.

'Take this, will you, mate,' puffed Davies, offering the case across the counter. 'It's not nicked or anything.' He had to wipe his eyes. Mod was doubled up over a stool. A police car siren was sounding easily in the streets.

'You're sure?' said Harry.

'Would I pass hot property on to you, Harry?' asked Davies. 'Two coffees, please.' Still doubting, the stallholder took the case. 'As it's you, Dangerous,' he said. He regarded Mod. 'What's so funny?'

Davies leaned forward and opened the flaps. 'Look,' he invited. 'It's only Topper the Clown.' Mod again became convulsed.

Harry peered down at the clown's hatted head. 'How long do I have to keep him?' he asked solidly.

'Only till tomorrow
’
said Davies, breaking up again. 'We'll collect him then.'

Harry put the case at the rear of the premises where he cooked the food. 'Anything else, gents?' he called.

'Two bacon sandwiches,' Mod called. He was still wiping his eyes. He looked at Davies apologetically. 'You don't mind buying me breakfast, do you?' They both began to laugh again. Harry looked over his shoulder and shrugged. Gradually they subsided. They drank their coffee. Mod picked up Harry's newspaper and began to scan it idly. He put it down and then leaned over and re-read something closely. Glancing towards the back of Harry, busy at his frying pan, he carefully tore a small square from the newspaper. Davies was listening for noises from Furtman Gardens and did not see what he did.

'And may I
inquire where you persons were last night?' Mrs Fulljames said between taut lips; pronouncing 'persons' so tightly that it emerged as 'poisons'.

Having just entered the room, Davies and Mod looked innocently at each other and then at the occupants of the evening table. 'Us persons?' inquired Davies eventually. Cautiously they took their seats.

'Indeed,
you
persons,' repeated Mrs Fulljames.

'You weren't in your beds,' put in Doris spitefully.

'Mrs Davies,' said Davies, leaning towards his estranged wife. 'I hope you did not enter my room, or Mr Lewis's.'

'It wasn't necessary,' retorted Mrs Fulljames. 'You didn't appear when all the noise was going on. It was
I
who went to your rooms.'

'What noise was this?' asked Davies. He looked only briefly towards Mod.

Mrs Fulljames dabbed her eyes and paddled the ladle around. Steam joined her tears. 'It's disgraceful,' she trembled.

'Disgusting,' put in Doris fiercely. She nodded her head like a hammer. 'Look, you've made Mrs Fulljames cry.'

'No he hasn't,' rejoined the landlady. She wiped the vapour from her face. 'Take more than
him.
Terrorizing women.'

Davies appeared stunned. Mod held out his hands. 'Terrorizing which women?' asked Davics. 'Us,' replied Doris briskly.