On the Sixth Day of Christmas
Dec. 30th, 2005 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
franceslievensPrevious parts
“Hey man, none of my girls has gone missing. And if one of them would go AWOL on me I'd hunt her down and make sure she would be working for no-one no more. And why do you barge in here asking questions for anyway? I thought they got rid of you at the station.”
Gavarni was leaning heavily on his crutch (comfort had finaly prevailed over pride). He wasn't letting this remark get to him. “Well Rocco, a girl was found dead. She was doing your streets. There are two options for you: she was one of your chicks, which implies you have something to do with her death, or she wasn't, which implies you have something to do with her death. Either way it's not looking good for you.”
“Either way, Gavarni, you can't protect me no more, so I have nothing to tell you.” Rocco, proud of being a selfmade man, but just living of the crumbs in the whoring business, straightened his thin moustache with one wet finger. A golden tooth shone in the corner of his mouth. Eyes filled with contempt looked at Gavarni. The ex-detective only smiled.
“You will tell me who that girl was, eventually.” Before Rocco could detect what was happening, he was lieing on the ground, clutching his knee.
“Bastard! Son of a bitch! You...”
Gavarni was leaning on his crutch again, which he had used so effectively to trash Rocco's knee. It wasn't so badly damaged that he'd have to go to the hospital, but he'd probably limp for a couple of days. “I might have left the police force, but that doesn't mean I've given up caring,” Gavarni hissed in the pimp's ear and walked away.
“You've signed away your life with that blow, Gavarni! You hear me? You're inches removed from dieing!”
The fat guy didn't react to the yelling and walked on, until he stopped dead in his tracks a bit further down the road. He turned to his left and smiled at the person trying to hide in a darkened doorway. “Miss Saunders! Having fun following me around?”
They were having eggs and bacon. Gavarni was cleaning his second plate with a piece of bread. “Hmm,” he said, “best eggs and bacon in the city they have here. Want more coffee?”
Miss Saunders didn't register his question until he was standing next to the table holding up his empty mug. “Oh, I'm sorry, yes please.” With growing astonishment she had witnessed Gavarni's eating habits. First he had only considered the more greasy dishes from the menu. Second he had eaten his first plate by the time she was having her fourth bite of eggs and bacon. Third he had talked and talked and talked all throughout their dinner – although tea was presumably a better word, taking into account that the wall clock at the café said it was 4:30. What surprised her even more was how Gavarni was connecting the little things he knew about the case, how he was rearranging the pieces of this puzzle until he was satisfied with it. It seemed he just needed her as a sounding board for his wildest guesses on how the naked body of this young whore (they were certain it was the same whore who had received the necklace) ended up in the canal.
“You should take up writing crime novels,” she told him when he returned to their table with mugs filled with fresh coffee.
He smirked at that thought. “A respectable job for an old detective,” he said, “I prefer solving crimes. Making them up isn't my cup of tea, or coffee.”
“This crime isn't one you should be solving. And there is still the possibility she took her own life and that there is no crime at all.”
“There is a crime,” Gavarni answered sternly, “She was dead before she hit the water.”
More questions for miss Saunders: how on earth did he get his hands on that information? But she didn't press the matter. Probably the same way he got hold of her name and address.
“And you, miss Saunders, where do you fit in all this?”
“I gave a silver necklace away to a tramp.”
“Is that all? I can't presume you knew her? There is mr. Wednesday and mr. Sunday...”
“Well I guess I'm not a one-man kinda gal.”
Gavarni looked straight into her face and sighed. She wasn't going to tell him more than that. “And she doesn't even have a name.”
“Layla.” At the puzzled look of the fat guy miss Saunders repeated what she just said: “The whore, her name is – or was – Layla.”
“Hey man, none of my girls has gone missing. And if one of them would go AWOL on me I'd hunt her down and make sure she would be working for no-one no more. And why do you barge in here asking questions for anyway? I thought they got rid of you at the station.”
Gavarni was leaning heavily on his crutch (comfort had finaly prevailed over pride). He wasn't letting this remark get to him. “Well Rocco, a girl was found dead. She was doing your streets. There are two options for you: she was one of your chicks, which implies you have something to do with her death, or she wasn't, which implies you have something to do with her death. Either way it's not looking good for you.”
“Either way, Gavarni, you can't protect me no more, so I have nothing to tell you.” Rocco, proud of being a selfmade man, but just living of the crumbs in the whoring business, straightened his thin moustache with one wet finger. A golden tooth shone in the corner of his mouth. Eyes filled with contempt looked at Gavarni. The ex-detective only smiled.
“You will tell me who that girl was, eventually.” Before Rocco could detect what was happening, he was lieing on the ground, clutching his knee.
“Bastard! Son of a bitch! You...”
Gavarni was leaning on his crutch again, which he had used so effectively to trash Rocco's knee. It wasn't so badly damaged that he'd have to go to the hospital, but he'd probably limp for a couple of days. “I might have left the police force, but that doesn't mean I've given up caring,” Gavarni hissed in the pimp's ear and walked away.
“You've signed away your life with that blow, Gavarni! You hear me? You're inches removed from dieing!”
The fat guy didn't react to the yelling and walked on, until he stopped dead in his tracks a bit further down the road. He turned to his left and smiled at the person trying to hide in a darkened doorway. “Miss Saunders! Having fun following me around?”
They were having eggs and bacon. Gavarni was cleaning his second plate with a piece of bread. “Hmm,” he said, “best eggs and bacon in the city they have here. Want more coffee?”
Miss Saunders didn't register his question until he was standing next to the table holding up his empty mug. “Oh, I'm sorry, yes please.” With growing astonishment she had witnessed Gavarni's eating habits. First he had only considered the more greasy dishes from the menu. Second he had eaten his first plate by the time she was having her fourth bite of eggs and bacon. Third he had talked and talked and talked all throughout their dinner – although tea was presumably a better word, taking into account that the wall clock at the café said it was 4:30. What surprised her even more was how Gavarni was connecting the little things he knew about the case, how he was rearranging the pieces of this puzzle until he was satisfied with it. It seemed he just needed her as a sounding board for his wildest guesses on how the naked body of this young whore (they were certain it was the same whore who had received the necklace) ended up in the canal.
“You should take up writing crime novels,” she told him when he returned to their table with mugs filled with fresh coffee.
He smirked at that thought. “A respectable job for an old detective,” he said, “I prefer solving crimes. Making them up isn't my cup of tea, or coffee.”
“This crime isn't one you should be solving. And there is still the possibility she took her own life and that there is no crime at all.”
“There is a crime,” Gavarni answered sternly, “She was dead before she hit the water.”
More questions for miss Saunders: how on earth did he get his hands on that information? But she didn't press the matter. Probably the same way he got hold of her name and address.
“And you, miss Saunders, where do you fit in all this?”
“I gave a silver necklace away to a tramp.”
“Is that all? I can't presume you knew her? There is mr. Wednesday and mr. Sunday...”
“Well I guess I'm not a one-man kinda gal.”
Gavarni looked straight into her face and sighed. She wasn't going to tell him more than that. “And she doesn't even have a name.”
“Layla.” At the puzzled look of the fat guy miss Saunders repeated what she just said: “The whore, her name is – or was – Layla.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-12-30 07:09 pm (UTC)What'll you do when you get lonely
And nobody's waiting by your side?
You've been running and hiding much too long.
You know it's just your foolish pride.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.
I tried to give you consolation
When your old man had let you down.
Like a fool, I fell in love with you,
Turned my whole world upside down.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.
Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.
...
no subject
Date: 2005-12-31 01:45 am (UTC)Layla
Elke maandag rond half vier
Wacht ik op jou, hart in m'n keel
Je staart me aan, het lijkt een droom
Een lach, een hand, soms een woord
Je stelt geen vragen, je bent blij
Want het is maandag, 't is half vier
Layla, ik zie je graag
Layla Layla, ik vergeet je niet
Layla, ik zie je graag
Ohoh, en niet alleen vandaag
Elke maandag, middernacht
Je wordt wakker, je knijpt me zacht
Je staart me aan, het is geen droom
Jij bent de onmacht, ik voel de pijn
Jij bent de waarheid, ik heb de schuld
Je stelt geen vragen, je bent blij
Layla, ik zie je graag
Layla Layla, ik vergeet je niet
Layla, ik zie je graag
Ohoh, en niet alleen vandaag
Layla, ohoh Layla
Layla, ohoh Layla
Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla,
Layla, Layla, Layla
Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla,
Layla, Layla, Layla
Elke dinsdag rond half zeven
Maak jij je klaar, we hebben nog even
Ik breng je weg, een lach, geen woord
Een deur slaat dicht, het lijkt gewoon
Ieder droomt z'n eigen weg
Dan maar tot maandag, rond half vier
Layla, ik zie je graag
Layla Layla, ik vergeet je niet
Layla, ik zie je graag
Ohoh, en niet alleen vandaag
Layla, ohoh Layla
Layla, ohoh Layla
Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla,
Layla, Layla, Layla
Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla, Layla,
Layla, Layla, Layla
Aaaaaahaaaaaah aaaaaahaaaaah
Aaaaaahaaaaaah aaaaaahaaaaah
Aaaaaahaaaaaah aaaaaahaaaaah
Aaaaaahaaaaaah aaaaaah
no subject
Date: 2005-12-31 07:11 pm (UTC)Each Monday around half celebrate.
I wait on you, heart in my throat.
Your tail myself on, it a dream appears.
A laugh, a hand, sometimes a word.
You put are glad no questions, you.
For it is Monday, is half four it.
Layla, I see you are eager.
Layla Layla, I will not forget you.
Layla, I see you are eager.
Ohoh, and not only today.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-01 09:24 am (UTC)Ik zie je graag = I like you / I love you.
Je staart me aan = You gaze at me.
And one thing isn't translated: Jij bent blij = You are happy.