The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag Read Online Free PDF Page A

somewhat easier to understand. I
said I was sure that I had, but I couldn’t remember what. And then I said, yes
I could, and wasn’t it Johnny Quinn who wrote The Million Dollar Dream? And
Sean said he thought it was, and also Sailing to Babylon, and something
about tears.
    ‘Tomorrow’s
Tears,’ I said. ‘I’ve got that book somewhere.’ And
we talked a bit about what we could remember of Johnny Quinn, which didn’t seem
to be much, and his books, which seemed to be even less. And at the end of the
evening Sean said that he’d really like to read Tomorrow’s Tears again
and I said, ‘Let’s go back to my place and I’ll see if I can find it.’
    And we
did. But I couldn’t.
    We
searched through all my paperbacks, but Tomorrow’s Tears was nowhere to
be found. ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘I’m going into Brighton tomorrow, I’ll see if
I can pick up a copy at Waterstone’s.’ Sean said to get whatever Johnny Quinn
books they had in stock and he’d pay me for them next time he saw me. And we
both got quite excited about the prospect of reading some Johnny Quinn again.
    Which
turned out to be a pity, really.
    The
chap at Waterstone’s was very helpful. I asked him if he had any Johnny Quinn
books in stock and he said the name rang a bell and he’d have a look. He had a
look and said that no, sadly, they didn’t. So I asked him if I could order some
and he said he didn’t see any reason why not and cranked up his computer. But
he couldn’t find a mention of Johnny Quinn. ‘Are you sure it’s Johnny Quinn?’
he asked. And I said I was sure that it was, and he said he felt sure that it
was too. But we couldn’t find him although there were several books with
similar sounding titles to the ones I was looking for.
    ‘They
must all be out of print,’ said the very helpful chap. ‘Perhaps you should try
the library.’
    The
lady at the library was also very helpful and she employed her computer.
But she couldn’t find any Johnny Quinn books either. ‘That’s odd,’ she said, ‘because
I’m sure I remember reading one of his books when I was at school.’ But she
couldn’t find him and eventually she got tired of looking and suggested I try
one of the specialist bookshops in the area.
    So I
did. In fact I went to each and every one of them. The chaps who ran these
shops were also very helpful and although they all felt certain they could
remember old Johnny and had enjoyed reading his books, none of them had a
single one in stock.
    I must
confess that by mid afternoon I was beginning to feel a little stressed.
    At the
very last shop I visited, the proprietor, a very helpful chap, grew quite
lyrical over the recollection of Mr Quinn. He’d once had a girlfriend, he
said, who had named her cat Toothbrush, after a character in one of his novels.
    Toothbrush?
I didn’t remember any character called Toothbrush!
    ‘Are
you still in touch with this old girlfriend?’ I asked.
    ‘No,’
said the proprietor with a sigh. ‘She died.’ And his face became sad, and he
said he was going to close up early and he hustled me out of his shop. And I
too became sad and went home.
    But by
now the search for a Johnny Quinn novel was becoming something of a crusade. I
was determined that I would lay my hands upon one, come what may. By fair
means or foul.
    I
decided to try the fair means first.
    So that
evening I went through my personal telephone book and called everyone that was
listed in it. I called all my friends, and old friends too, some of whom I hadn’t
spoken to for years. And I called business acquaintances and even the doctor
and the dentist, as I had their numbers. Some of them felt sure that they had
read Johnny Quinn, and I waited anxiously while they looked through their
bookshelves before returning to the phone with the reply I was coming to dread.
    Gilly,
an old friend from college days, rather put the wind up me when I spoke to her.
She said that she’d had a Johnny Quinn book but she’d