Maid of the Mist by Colin Bateman Page A

it was bigger than the biggest thing you ever thought of, you couldn't cut me a deal?'
    Stirling clicked his tongue. 'If it was bigger than the biggest thing we ever thought of, sure we could cut you a deal. If it was that big.'
    'Mark . . .' Corrigan said.
    Stirling stepped forward and slipped into Corrigan's vacated seat. 'Hey . . . c'mon, Pongo, don't spoil the show, tell him about the convention.'
    Pongo snorted up. It wasn't pleasant. 'I didn't mean to kill the girl,' he said, his voice weak and high, 'it was an accident. I really didn't. But I can't go to prison. I can't. I have such plans, big plans. I wanna write a proper album. Proper songs. Songs that mean something. I don't want to be the fucking corporate entertainment at my father's convention.'
    Corrigan leaned back against the door and folded his arms. 'Who's your father?'
    'The Old Cripple.'
    'The Old Cripple?'
    'The Old Cripple.'
    'Who the fuck's the Old Cripple ?' Corrigan said.
    'He's a superhero for the disabled,' Stirling said. Then said: 'Tell him.'
    Pongo shook his head despairingly at Stirling. That's why I need the FBI! If he hasn't heard of. . .'
    'Son . . .' Corrigan began.
    'I know! No FBI. OK, OK!' Pongo's nose cracked audibly as he wiped it on his sleeve again. He tried to steady his breathing again. 'My father,' Pongo said. 'The Old Cripple. Everyone knows him as the Old Cripple. He's running a convention in town right now. Horticultural convention.'
    'Town hasn't smelt so good in years,' Corrigan said.
    'Except, it isn't flowers they're conventing about.'
    'Conventing?' said Stirling.
    'What is it, son?'
    'It's drugs. Drugs. A drug convention.'
    'Like medical and pharmaceutical?' said Corrigan.
    'Like heroin and cocaine and acid and Ecstasy and every fucking drug in the world.'
    'Oh, right. I see.' Corrigan looked at Stirling.
    'He's serious,' Stirling said.
    'Uhuh.'
    'I swear to God. Every major drug baron in the world is here. They're carving up the world. Signing deals. I swear to God. They do it every year. Different location.'
    'I think,' Corrigan said, 'we might have noticed.'
    'I'm telling you the truth. I swear. I mean, I mean . . . Jesus . . . it's not the sort of thing you make up . . .'
    'Unless you're coked up and facing murder one.'
    'For fuck . . . I mean . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I can prove it. . . I mean, I can name names, I can do that. Get a pen, get a pen . . . get paper . . . get paper . . .'
    He was starting to lose the thread.
    Corrigan sighed. They'd have to get a statement out of him one way or another; perhaps giving him paper would get him started. They'd have to contact his people, his father, whoever he was, maybe his record company, get him a lawyer. Before dinner there'd be a suit from New York or LA organizing bail.
    Stirling got him paper. 'What're you playing at, Mark?' Corrigan asked as he hurried back.
    'I think it's brilliant,' said Stirling. 'He's fucking deranged.'
    He made a great show of putting the paper down and brandishing a pen. 'Right then,' he said, 'there you go. Get some of those names down; we'll soon get this convention sorted out, then we'll see what we can do about these charges.' He stopped and scratched his head. 'Of course, if they really were international drug dealers, they wouldn't be staying here under their real names, would they?' He winked across at Corrigan.
    'Of course not!' Pongo exclaimed. 'But they're here. Here! Right here! Shit, shit . . . OK. . . the names . . . the names . . . I'll give you some names. You check them out, you check them out and then tell me whether I'm crazy. I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy. You'll see.'
    He sniffed up hard, then bent suddenly to the paper and started to scribble. Stirling looked across at Corrigan and winked. 'How many names you reckon you'll have for us, Pongo?'
    Pongo didn't look up. 'Don't know. Maybe twenty, thirty.'
    'Not a very big convention, then.'
    'Shit, man, those are only the names I can remember! There's a