Booking In. Jack Batten

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ cheekbones and ears and breasts.”

      “While the women inhale his halitosis?”

      “Yes,” Charlie said, taking time over her words. “His breath problem. That’s a tough one to bear, if you’re the girl. The worst moments — god, this is kind of hilarious when I think about it. I mean, working together, I inhale a lot of his bad breath, but the worst moments are what he calls the Midnight Manoeuvres. This is when he and I go back to the store after dinner, sometimes way after dinner, like beyond midnight, which is where Fletcher gets the name from. We restack books, do a bunch of things we didn’t have time to finish during the day. And the whole time, when we’re working till two or three in the morning, Fletcher’s breath gets stinkier and stinkier.”

      “The breath thing can be easily cured, I understand.”

      “All the girls he approaches have warm feelings about him for different reasons. They may not want him for a boyfriend, but they don’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him about the halitosis, never mind advising him about how he can lick it.”

      “It would take a diplomatic touch, no doubt.”

      “Or a blunt-speaking person.”

      “No women have been up to the job?”

      Charlie shook her head. “Why don’t you do it?” she said, wearing a large smile.

      “Me?” I said. “You think I should tip off Fletcher about his unbearable breath?”

      “God knows you’re blunt.”

      “Fletcher and I already don’t much like one another.”

      “Then you’ve got nothing to lose.”

      “True.”

      “In fact,” Charlie said, “him being your client at the moment, it might be useful for you in the long run to help him get rid of a problem he doesn’t know he has. He’ll be grateful and therefore more co-operative or whatever you need him to be.”

      Charlie stood up, all set to depart.

      “‘See Crang for pure breath,’” I said. “I can put that on my business card right after the barrister and solicitor part.”

      “It makes a catchy slogan,” Charlie said, the smile still on her face.

      She shook my hand and went out through the open door and down the hall to the elevator.

      I walked over to the window and looked across Spadina. The cute parkette on the other side was named after Matt Cohen, the deceased novelist who had once lived a couple of blocks farther north on Spadina. A lot of writers had lived in the neighbourhood. Many still did. Margaret Atwood sightings were frequent in and around the Annex.

      Down below, Charlie Watson emerged from the building and turned south. She had a no-nonsense walk, all purposeful. But what had been the reason for her visit to me? The stuff about Fletcher’s sensitivity had the feel of baloney. I got the faint impression she was trying to pry information out of me about the big break-in. Not that our conversation had ended up going in her favour. Maybe she really wanted to enlist me as a halitosis-breaker on behalf of Fletcher.

      Nah, it couldn’t be that.

      Could it?

      But, kind of ridiculous as it sounded, maybe it’d be useful to my own purposes if I tipped Fletcher off about the halitosis thing. I do him a favour, and he reciprocates. Something like that might work to my benefit.

      Chapter Ten

      The sign over aisle number three in the Shoppers Drug Mart on Bloor a half block from my office told me that the aisle offered products that promoted “Mouth Health.” My first walk down the aisle was devoted to reconnaissance. The second time through, I began picking up items for purchase

      I chose two brands of toothpaste. One was marked “Breath Pure” and the other didn’t mention breath but promised “A Refreshed Mouth.” I put both in a shopping basket. Next, after much scrutiny of the dental floss shelves, I settled on two brands. The first came equipped with mint flavouring, while the second described its product as possessing “Nature’s Taste.” Alongside the floss, there were two sections of toothpicks. I ended up with three varieties. One package contained the familiar wooden toothpicks that thoughtful dining establishments offered at every table. The second, way more sophisticated, had a five-inch-long shaft with rubbery knobs at either end in just the right size to flick the gunk out of the tricky spaces among the molars. And the third was the Cadillac version of the second, this one sporting a more metallic-looking knob in place of the rubber, the metal done up in a gold shade. My shopping basket was already two-thirds full.

      In the category of toothbrush, I went for two of the dozens of varieties, both brushes looking bushier than the norm, both guaranteeing to “ferret out disease-causing bacteria.” One bragged about the new whiteness it would bring to the teeth. The other took whiteness for granted.

      I checked through my basket of implements, all of them devoted to the elimination of halitosis, and decided they covered the field.

      I carried the basket to a counter where no one else was lined up to pay. The cashier was a solidly built woman in her forties. She adopted a smirky expression when I plunked down my basket, and she seemed to be applying a lot of thought to the choices I’d made.

      “I see what your problem is,” she said.

      Should I tell her the stuff wasn’t for me? No, I thought, why complicate a simple drugstore transaction?

      “But I think you’ve overlooked something,” the cashier said.

      “What’s that?”

      “A lot of my customers have the same mouth embarrassment as you.”

      Maybe I should just breathe on the woman and let her know I had no reason to feel embarrassed.

      “Mouthwash,” the cashier said.

      She had a point.

      “I’ll hold your items on the counter while you go back for the mouthwash,” she said. “Pick one that advertises ‘breath sweet and clear.’ You’ll see what I mean.”

      Back in the Mouth Health aisle, I found the mouthwash the cashier was talking about. It came in three shades of purple. I got two bottles of the most garish tint.

      “There now,” the cashier said when I showed her the two bottles. “Your mouth’s going to smell so luscious, you’ll love yourself.”

      “Can’t wait.”

      “You married?” the cashier asked.

      “Next thing to it.”

      “She’s going to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.”

      “Listen,” I said, “I appreciate your advice, but the toothpaste and all the rest of the stuff is for a friend.”

      The cashier stopped packing my purchases and looked up СКАЧАТЬ