Double Jackson Page 5

  Jack doubted the poor sod would want to. Mind you, he had no compassion for the wayward Bryan. He'd messed them around once too often.

  "I have to be at the studio at 6:00 a.m.," Jack said. "Non negotiable––assholes, doubles, or not. I have a job to do and I'm not doing anything to help this dickhead mess with my life. He's doing a good enough job as it is. Er, I suppose I'd best ask how he's doing."

  "Bastard's just been released from intensive care and checked himself out. ICU must have been a bowel-moving gut reaction to the big, famous Carrick being hurt."

  Jack snorted. "Ha. Load of shite."

  "True, and my boss says no one's pressing charges again."

  "Shit. If it was really me, I bet they would," Jack said in disgust. "What next?"

  "Bed." Dave looked at Tina, who stood up and hugged Jack.

  "It'll all sort out eventually."

  "God, I hope so. Oh fuck, what now?" Dave's phone buzzed. "It's Craig Busby, the boss. He's outside and wants to come in."

  Jack nodded. "You better let him in, then." At this rate it wouldn't be worth going to bed. "Tina, do you feel up to sorting some more nibbles and coffee?" He guessed she'd feel happier being busy.

  "Definitely." She almost ran out of the room. Jack looked over to Coll and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "What next?"

  Coll moved toward him and held him tight. His breath was warm on Jack's neck, and the vanilla and citrus aftershave they both favored teased Jack's nostrils. Jack sagged against Coll and allowed himself the luxury of relaxing in the warmth of his husband's arms for a few seconds. The noise of the front door closing made him straighten up. "We should have just stayed in bed. It would have been a helluva lot better."

  "We needed to get up for condoms." Coll reminded him. "They were in the bathroom. And your tummy rumbled at the moment. So we would have needed food."

  "Hah! Next time we have an afternoon delight I'm taking supplies for a week with us."

  Coll rubbed Jack's arm in solidarity. "I'll do the same."

  The door opened. Jack took a deep breath and turned around to see Dave's boss and another man enter the room.

  It was as if he was staring in a mirror.

  Chapter Ten

  Coll stared at the two men and then at Jack, who had gone a whiter shade of pale. The similarity between Jack and his double was easy to see. Together they were easy to differentiate, and to Coll they were chalk and cheese. However, apart? It was easy to see why people were taken in.

  "Anyone recognize him?" Detective Chief Inspector Busby, aka Craig to them all, asked. "William B. Janner. Pretending to be Jackson Carrick. Now, as long as you let everyone know you're only a lookalike, there's no law against that. But when you don't admit to that one, somewhat important detail, well…"

  The guy scowled. "I didn't say I was him. I just didn't say I wasn't when people asked for pictures and stuff. Though why women want a scruffy asshole like him in their photos? Who knows… I mean, he's gay and not likely to fancy them, is he?"

  "So why go to Sasha's, then?" Jack asked. His hands were pressed into fists so tightly his knuckles showed white. Coll prised open one clenched fist and entwined his fingers and Jack's with a slight squeeze.

  Jack flashed him a grateful smile, although Coll could see it was an effort. Coll nudged him in the side, and shoved him toward the table. If he didn't lean or sit, Coll thought Jack might fall over or fall on the guy and use the spare fist.

  "Why are you trying to discredit my husband?" Coll asked. "What’s he ever done to you, except provide you an opportunity to make a bit of money?"

  "Eh?" The guy looked puzzled. His arsy attitude had disappeared faster than a snowball in the Sahara.

  "Lookalikes. People often want them for charity do's or parties and stuff." Surely he knew that?

  "Oh, no… god, no. I'm just a poor and impoverished Ph.D. student." He held his hand out to Coll, who took it, somewhat bemused by the change of subject, and the guy's attitude. "Bill Janner, pleased to meet you." They shook hands and then Bill turned to Jack who leaned against the table with his feet crossed at the ankles.

  "Look, Mr. Carrick, It was supposed to be a lark, or so I was told. Some guy wanted me to appear in all the sorts of places you wouldn't normally go to, and not deny anything if people asked if I was you. He said you knew all about it and it was publicity for some new TV show or another. Hell, I'm trying to get by on peanuts so any extra money was welcome. Okay, I admit gullible was my middle name, because when he said to have a grope and stuff, ‘asshole me’ did it. Then I got scared and ran." He dropped his eyes to the carpet. "I was set up, wasn't I? All for a few thousand pounds. Look, if it's any help, I'm sorry. But I needed the money, and when this bloke said I was your double and there could be a career in being you, so to speak, I saw my student debt shrink." He held his hand toward Jack. "Now I've been arrested, and let off with a caution, but it makes it even worse."

  Jack looked at Coll. "Is this guy for real?" He whispered the words. "There is no problem if you do it properly." He raised his voice. "I have no worries with that. I know of at least two other people who do me, so to speak, and I can tell you now, you look a lot more like me than they do. But, for fuck's sake." He thumped the table and everyone in the room either jumped or flinched, depending on their character. Bill Janner went white, swayed on his heels, and dropped his hand back to his side as if he'd been bitten or scalded.

  "Look, I am sorry. I'll do anything I can to help sort this mess out. I'm not a villain. I'm guilty of sheer stupidity and gullibility, I'll admit that, but not criminality."

  He was a picture of misery, but Coll had little sympathy. The guy had done his best to kill Jack's career stone dead. No one wanted to take a risk on an actor with a death wish, or a tendency to get into trouble.

  "As you say." Craig Busby looked toward Jack. "Over to you now. He's not my problem now, and more's the pity. Well, not yet."

  The glare he gave Bill made the man bite his lip, and Coll would have sworn there were tears in his eyes. At that moment he looked nothing like Jackson Carrick.

  "Jack?" Coll lifted their joint hands and rubbed them over Jack's cheek. "Why not meet the poor guy half way, eh? That way we might well get to the bottom of it. Cooperation not humiliation, or sheer bull headed obstination."

  "There's no such word," Jack said but his eyes were brighter, and he looked less likely to start a ruckus.

  "Nope." Coll agreed with him. "But if there was, it would fit you perfectly."

  He turned to Fizz who was standing at the back of the room, listening intently to everything that was being said. Coll knew he was floundering, and well out of the realm of his knowledge. Ask him about The Battle of Britain, or the American Revolution and he'd be fine. Quiz him over the winners of the Easter Haighill flower show, and he'd have the facts and figures uppermost in his mind, and have written the piece in the local paper. But talk look-alikes and TV shows and he was lost. He and Jack rarely watched TV, much preferring to listen to music, play tennis, or––shock and horror––garden. In the winter they used their home gym, and he painted whilst Jack did cross-stich. They were, they both admitted, happy homebirds.

  "Fizz? What next?"

  Jack seemed happy to let Coll lead, and Coll was happy to do so. Their relationship had always been one of equals. Somehow, in the way of people happy and in love, each instinctively knew when to step forward and take charge or stand back and follow.

  "We sit down and talk?" she suggested. "Craig, if you're not involved you don't need to stay."

  He chuckled. "Here's your hat, don't let the doorknob hit your ass on the way out?"

  Fizz dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Something like that."

  Craig stared at Bill who visibly trembled. "You, mate, are this close," he held his two forefingers an inch apart. "From Mr. Carrick making a formal complaint about you. One which I'm sure would stick." He turned and left the room. A few seconds later the front door banged, and they heard a c
ar engine rev.

  "So." Coll looked at the people left. "I reckon we need to assure Bill here we're all okay, people, and not prone to beating innocent look-alikes up." He used Bill's first name on purpose, and Bill seemed to relax even more. Some of his color returned, and he shuffled his feet, and cleared his throat.

  "Thank you."

  "Okay, so more coffee and we plot?" Fizz said.

  "More coffee and we plot." Jack agreed with her.

  "I'll make the coffee. Dave, get the cheese out. It's gonna be a long night, and so no one will have time for nightmares." When food and drink were needed Tina was to the fore. "Bill, do you have anyone worrying where you are?"

  He shook his head.

  "Good, then with Jack's agreement you'll sleep in Taggart. Fizz, you'll be in Vera."

  Jack gave a crack of laughter. "You've confused him good and proper. This is Tina, my housekeeper. She rules us, and Dave there, her husband and a copper. With an iron fist in a velvet glove, as they say. All the rooms are named after TV Detective stories. Ours is of course Miller." Coll was relieved to see Jack's good humor was restored. He never held grudges, and Coll knew Jack couldn't stay angry for long. His rages could be spectacular, as he blew up, had his say, and cleared the air. Then it was all over. As he had often said to Coll, life was too short to brood or hold grievances.

  "Er well, no, there's only me at the moment. My love life is non-existent. I've almost finished uni, I've got the promise of a research job, and then maybe I can start living a normal life." Bill laughed, self-consciously. "Trouble is once I'm involved in work, nothing else exists."

  Coll looked at Jack, and mock-punched him on the shoulder.

  "Yeah," Coll said. "I know someone else like that. Perhaps you do have more in common than you think, eh?"

  Chapter Eleven

  "Hutton Cranswick." Jack tilted his chair on to the back two legs and swung it forwards and backwards. "Why?"

  Bill bit his lip. That was a trait Jack rarely used. It would have rung alarm bells to anyone who knew him. "Well, he called himself Tanner. It was only when Mrs McAllister showed me those pictures and I recognized him that I found out he wasn't Tanner at all. Why though?"

  Jack shrugged. "I have no bloody idea." He picked a pickle from a plate on the table, which looked like a hoard of ravenous children had rampaged through it. Once covered with plates of food, it now had the cob end of a loaf, a tiny wedge of cheese, and a few pickles and crackers left on it. They had all been mighty hungry.

  Now at three a.m., Jack was shattered, wanted his bed, and had the good sense to ring his TV series director, and explain what was going on. The man had sworn several times, but accepted the need for Jack to sort things out and rearranged filming so Jack could ignore his five a.m. alarm call.

  "Success." Fizz stretched her arms high in the air.

  Jack smiled to himself as Bill's eyes followed her actions, and the guy's eyes widened as the soft material of her top stretched over her bra-less breasts. Fizz had often said she was compact and had no intention of wasting good motorbike accessories money on unneeded boob accessories. Bill might have no time for anything other than work, but his brain obviously did take time off, when the occasion warranted it.

  "Success?" Jack asked her.

  Beside him, Coll hid a yawn behind his hand and on the other side of the table Dave filled his cup of stone cold coffee, and drank it in one gulp. Tina had long given up and gone to bed. She'd apologized and said she'd be up early to make sure there would be breakfast for everyone when they wanted it.

  Jack shuddered. Iced coffee—with ice—was all well and good, but not cold dregs. "Anyone want a proper cold drink? If I have any more coffee I'll be jumping."

  He didn't wait for an answer but got up and collected iced water and glasses before he returned with them to the table.

  "Success." He prompted Fizz as he poured water out.

  "Yeah." She took a glass and chinked it with Jack's. Around the table, everyone looked more alert than they had for hours. "It was the name Tanner. It rang a bell. I know, or I think I know." She corrected herself. "I think I know why Hutton Cranswick might be behind all this.”

  "I'm glad you do," Jack said. "Because it's as clear as mud to me."

  "Shh, let me tell you." Fizz glared and spoiled it by yawning. "Hell, bed is calling."

  Jack agreed with that. He wanted his bed and his lover. In any order, but with a houseful of guests, he reckoned it would be in the order he thought about it. However, he wanted to know Fizz's theory first.

  "Sorry, go on."

  "Well," She drank some water and cleared her throat. "Do you remember about five, six months ago, I was contacted to see if you were interested in doing another TV series? One about an ex-copper or something? And you said no, because it was a rip off of Miller?"

  Jack searched his brain. It was like a light bulb going on in his brain. "And it was called…"

  "Tanner," they both said at once.

  "Fuck me." Jack bit back a grin as Coll mouthed 'yes please' at him. "But I turned it down, and I have no idea who else was up for it."

  "Hutton Cranswick, for one," Fizz said. "I've remembered something else as well. So I checked my emails again, and, there's one just in asking if you'll reconsider because the person they had trialed has been let go. Not suitable. I've done some digging, and guess what?"

  "Hutton is the unsuitable one?"

  "Got it in one. I'm betting he found out they were going to contact you, and decided if he wasn't getting the job, he was damned sure you weren't."

  "Wasn't there competition years ago?" Coll asked. "Just when we got together? I'm sure that was the name of some shitebag who was badmouthing you everywhere and calling you names."

  Red-hot rage filed Jack and he badly wanted to thump something in lieu of pummeling the aforementioned Mr. Cranswick.

  "Oh shit, yes. We were both in a stupid, short-lived soap when I first started out. He objected to my name and said I was trying to swing on his coat tails or something. I pointed out the only similarities were that our last names both started with C and ended in K. I guess I made it worse by saying my name was the one I was born with, and he was a good ten years older than me."

  He chuckled as he remembered the guy's squeaky high-pitched voice and his palpable annoyance. That memory lifted his spirits and dissipated his rage as fast as it had come.

  "Oops, no wonder you're his public enemy number one," Dave said. "And now he thinks you're going to pinch a role he thought was his."

  "He can think all he wants," Jack said. "I'm not. But in the past there have been a couple of run-ins. A BAFTA, and a guest appearance on Desert Island Discs, come to mind."

  "His star never shone very brightly," Fizz said. "But it's definitely dimming rapidly these days. Once this gets out it'll be the last straw, I reckon."

  "No," Jack said.

  "No?" Fizz looked puzzled.

  Across the table Bill and Dave had the same expression on their faces. Coll gave him the thumbs up.

  "No, I'm not stooping to his level, and dropping him in it. He's doing a good enough job on his own. Bill?" He turned to the young man who had sat quietly since he'd revealed the name of his alleged employer.

  "Yes?"

  "Have you been paid yet?"

  Bill blinked. "Ah, half of it. Shall I send it back?"

  "Oh no." Jack shook his head. "I doubt you'll see the rest if my plan works. But I'll make it good and more. I'm going to hire you."

  "Way to go, Jack." Coll slid over, ruffled Jack's hair and kissed his cheek.

  "You are? How?" Bill leaned forward and put his elbows on the table to cup his chin. "Why?"

  "Because Hutton Cranswick, the actor, not the place is a shit. The place isn't. It's friendly, welcoming and pretty. I've driven through it." He ran a hand over his chin. The stubble itched. Someone would need to do some chin hair level comparisons when he got back on set. He'd forgotten to trim the wannabe beard that morning, and the event
s of the day—all of them—had put it right out of his mind. "Where was I?"

  "Offering me a job, I think. But I'm a grad student."

  "And my almost double," Jack said. "I reckon if we play down the last few days, and just say oh I dunno, Fizz will think of something, and then announce you're now working for me rather than against me, and market you as my endorsed double it would all go well. I know Fizz is often asked if there's anyone she'd recommend, above board, to do appearances, and we've always said no. Well, now I think we can say yes, if you're agreeable? We can work it round your schedule."

  Jack sat his chair back down onto all four legs. "What do you say?"

  Bill shook his head.

  What?

  "I don't know what to say. Are you sure?"

  Whew.

  "I'm sure, if Fizz is?"

  "Oh yes. And we'll start with a joint appearance tomorrow afternoon. My office, so we can announce it. I don't think we'll mention a lot about what's gone on. Just as long as we make it known it wasn't Jack being an asshole."

  "I'll say it was a dare gone wrong." Bill said. His demeanor changed and he sat up straight.

  "That's about it. No need to drop Hutton in it any further. Let him do it." Jack stood up. "Sorry all, but I'm for bed. I might not have to get up in around ninety minutes as per usual, but what's the betting my internal alarm will hit me hard?"

  Coll followed suit. "And that means my internal alarm will be hit by his and I need to get up at seven for school." He yawned. "Ugh, the D-Day landings are so good to teach, but I need my wits about me. I have thirty essays on that to mark by Wednesday. Luckily I'm only in tomorrow to invigilate. I finish at noon tomorrow so I can be around for whatever. Jack, I'll see you up there." He sketched a wave. "Night, all."