Trapped In The Bargain Basement (Hobson & Choi - Case Three)

By Nick Bryan

“You've heard of conspiracies within conspiracies? I wish conspiracies WOULD hide inside each other, instead of turning up everywhere I go."

Angelina Choi returns for her final day of work experience at the Hobson Agency - is there a job waiting afterwards? Should she walk away for her own good?

While she mulls it over, they're hired by the massive EastVillage shopping centre to investigate a spate of muggings. But do the management know more than they're letting on?

As Hobson and Choi wrestle with commercialised corruption, will Angelina finally squeeze in her first date with Will the Hot Receptionist? Can anything emerge from the smoking crater of Hobson’s love life?

Trapped In The Bargain Basement plunges grimly comic London crime series Hobson & Choi to new depths, after climbing to #1 in Dark Comedy on Amazon and breaking records on Jukepop Serials.

Also included: Wuff! - The Markus Tail, a book-only bonus short story. Discover the bone-gnawingly tense origin of H&C’s furriest, friendliest character.

PRAISE FOR HOBSON & CHOI SERIES
“If you’re looking for a fast paced, funny read, you can’t really go wrong with the adventures of Hobson & Choi.” - The Bookish Outsider

“The chemistry between the two main characters is irresistible, and it drives the story forward... If you're tired of the same old private eye story, check this one out.” - C.A. Sanders, Author of The Watchmage of Old New York and Song of Simon

"This first instalment in the Hobson and Choi series took me on a twisty turny crime adventure which kept me guessing till the very heart stopping end!" - Tales of Yesterday

“I love the characters Hobson and Choi, they're a fantastic duo that really make these books!” - The Book Moo
“Hobson and Choi's first case is a gripping read that will have you laughing, tearing up a bit, and unwilling to put it down.” - Virginia McClain, author of Blade's Edge

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Bryan
• Release date: Oct 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310106545

Nick Bryan

Nick Bryan is a London-based writer of genre fiction, usually with some blackly comic twist. As well as the almighty detective saga Hobson & Choi, he is also working on a novel about the real implications of deals with the devil and has stories in several anthologies. More details on his other work and news on future Hobson & Choi releases can be found online at NickBryan.com or on Twitter as @NickMB. Both are updated with perfect and reasonable regularity. When not reading or writing books, Nick Bryan enjoys racquet sports, comics and a nice white beer.

Book preview

ONE

Good Morning

Yesterday, Angelina Choi saved a cute dog from a miserable life of drug smuggling and rescued a neighbourhood from drowning in garbage. In the mind of any sane person, surely she was a hero?

Or at least she should get points for trying? A pedant might point out the Peckham trash-stacking situation was her own fault. But still, all the grumpy whiners on Twitter calling herself and her boss selfish and childish must be over-reacting? She’d argued with a couple of them and they’d just taken the piss out of her.

Not long ago, trending on Twitter seemed the highest reward possible, an end in itself. Now she was close to deleting her account and taking a sledgehammer to the family wireless router. Her parents wouldn’t notice for a week or two.

Frustrated to the point of exhaustion that Thursday night, Angelina ended up falling asleep on top of her duvet. Her face crushed up against her smartphone, half-dressed in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. When she opened her eyes, a pastel-blue blanket was draped over her.

Could yell at her Mum about entering without explicit permission, they’d argued about it in the past. But both sides’ opinions had formed and nothing would change them now. Just like the internet, really.

Angelina slid the phone onto her bedside table and rolled over to stare up at the white ceiling. Her job performance might be shaky, but at least there’d been no more bloody corpses this week. She even had a date with Will the Hot Receptionist that evening and wasn’t scared. Yes, despite reeking of cheap lager after a pub fight last night.

She definitely needed a shower before heading out to work. Already discarded her trousers at some point, but this blouse stunk. Swinging her legs off the bed, her shaking fingers unbuttoned the blouse halfway. At last, a final fact slotted back into her mind: today was her last day of work experience. Maybe her last ever day as an amateur detective, if she wanted it to be.

Angelina’s muscles tensed up, stomach swirling and unsettled. Her toes curled and uncurled into the carpet. She made her way to the shower, slower and more thoughtfully than most mornings.

*****

Wuff! Markus barked. Wuff!

His muzzle was inches from Hobson’s face. The bulky detective thrashed around in his sleep. A heavy fist swung up to defend his body from whatever unseen attacker. At the last moment, he opened his eyes and saw a big, black doggy face. His limp hand dropped to the mattress, bounced once and fell to rest.

Uhhh, he said.

Wuff, said Markus.

Hobson lifted his hand back up and stroked Markus on the head, hoping to pre-empt any further noise. Hobson never owned a pet before, not even a hamster, so a full-sized four-legged friend took some getting used to.

His house was bare, huge spaces between all furnishings to allow for his considerable size. The excitable black-and-grey dog could dash around for a while without smashing anything.

Hobson bought some cheap dog food on the way home last night, which he later emptied into one of his larger, wider cereal bowls. Another he filled with water. Then he mumbled a bitter Shit! after realising there wasn’t another bowl left for his breakfast.

Still, dog ownership might entail more than buying a third bowl and the odd can of food. He’d tell his lackey to google it later. Hobson sat up in bed, rubbing the dog along the haunches as it licked his shoulder. Idly, he imagined a future in which he was a regular canine person, taking Markus for walks and so forth.

He wasn’t sure he could. A dog was for life, not just the day after you rescue them from drug dealers. Maybe Markus should go to a nice shelter somewhere for his own good.

And speaking of keeping smaller, dependent beings about the place: Choi.

He liked her, even suspected she was a good influence on him somehow. Maybe he could find someone familiar with this always-online world who wasn’t an often-terrified under-18, but she seemed keen. Hobson liked to stick with people once he found one he could stand.

Still, the kid needed to go back to school. Did she want to ditch off her A Levels to hang around his office? Should he let her even if she did?

Hobson didn’t know, and couldn’t put off deciding forever. To underline that fact, his alarm blared out an ugly sequence of beeps. 7AM was here.

*****

So did you decide how you felt about your last day, Angelina? asked her Mum.

They sat at the dining room table, after Angelina autopiloted through her showering, make-up and clothes routine. Only a small breakfast stood between her and the front door.

An array of ornaments and clean picture frames stared down, daring her to misbehave. Backing them up were her mother’s tiny laser-pointer eyes, glaring down from her ridiculous height. Her adoptive Mum was tall, white, sturdy and garnished with gigantic hair that fluffed out from her head in a weird natural perm. Meanwhile, Angelina was short and slight, East Asian, hair neat in a small bob just starting to grow out. She liked that right then, as it covered her face.

On her return last night, feeling emotional, Angelina admitted she wasn’t sure whether to stay on at the Hobson agency. She already regretted it.

I dunno, she said, shovelling another heap of milky flakes away. Hopefully it’ll work out okay.

Is Mister Hobson going to give you a good write-up for school, do you think?

Hm. She couldn’t quite suppress a laugh at that. She had the relevant form in her pocket, and if nothing else, he’d definitely sign it and write ‘Choi did well’. Maybe get him drunk first.

Hope so, she managed.

Her next spoonful of cereal was so stacked, she gurgled and struggled to swallow.

Well, hope it all works out. You did some good work on that kidnapping.

Yeah, Angelina nodded along. That was fun. Well, you know, her voice started to descend into a mumble, we helped.

Exactly. Are you coming straight home tonight?

No, ah, I think Hobson and some other people wanted to get food or something. Cos it’s my last day and stuff.

Okay, fine, she nodded, a flicker of disapproval visible. Good job Angelina hadn’t said ‘I’m going on a date with a guy two or three years older than me’.

With visible effort, she gulped down a final golf-ball sized chunk of breakfast, clattering the spoon into the bowl. Raced through to the kitchen and placed it in the dishwasher, then went for the front door where her coat and bag waited for her.

Well, she called out, see you later, Mum. I’ll give you a text when I know when I’m coming back.

Okay, Angelina, she loomed around the corner into view, don’t be out too late, okay?

Okay. She smiled and went back along the way to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Diplomacy done, Angelina clanked open the locks on the door and raced out down the way, stopping for another quick wave. Could text to let her Mum know she’d reached the bus stop safely, but that might be overkill.

*****

One downside to his new office in trendy East London: Hobson needed to alarm much earlier to be in for nine. Gone were the days of rolling out of bed at half eight and falling down the road. His flat was in the wilds of Bermondsey, sitting a few streets outside Peckham and envying it. So a brisk fifteen minute walk to the station at Queen’s Road, then an Overground commuter train across to Dalston. So far, his biggest regret about moving wasn’t East London itself, but rush hour transport.

After all, it wasn’t his fault he was twice the size of other people and now came accompanied by a huge dog. Why did fellow passengers hold it against him? He tried to sit down at first, shoulder crushed up against a window, but his left leg only spilt into the next seat over. He wasn’t sitting in the legs-askew ‘Look how big my balls are!’ pose, yet still sticking to a single chair proved a challenge.

Wasn’t Markus cute enough for these commuters to cut him some slack? Yes, they were up at the shitty bumcrack of dawn for jobs they hated, but must they bring everyone else down too?

Eventually, Hobson gave up and retreated to the small foyer-area by the door. Markus thought this meant it was time to get off, so dashed back and forth across the square of carpet, as if enrolled in military dog school. People kept tutting, but fuck ‘em.

The train rattled into Dalston, and Hobson tugged Markus’s lead with some relief. Not that he’d made any effort to restrain the dog, but did people have to be such dickheads?

Only as he was getting off did someone mutter about selfish prick, wrecking neighbourhoods for a laugh. Ah, he realised, people weren’t just bitchy because he used one-and-a-quarter seats. God bless the internet for bringing us all together, eh?

He marched up the high street, stopping every so often so passing strangers could pet his new furry friend. At least this deflected them from recognising Hobson himself.

Not to mention: once he reached the Inspiration Gestation Station, he needed to walk past Jacq on reception. Hadn’t really spoken to her since their fumbled in-office sexual encounter the other day. Every dog-stroking break delayed him another few minutes.

*****

Angelina rounded the last lamppost, enjoying the way no one left their rubbish out in this part of London. Skipped up the road, past a Mexican restaurant decked out like a Wild West saloon, round a pub, near a newsagent, and between large blocks, up the driveway which set the Inspiration Gestation Station back from the street.

With all the time they spent elsewhere, her new workplace didn’t yet feel homely. Still, as she walked up the paved approach, a comfortable familiarity settled. Yes, even after seeing a dismembered corpse in one of the stairwells last week.

A guy in a Hawaiian shirt from elsewhere in the building gave her a wave, and she fluttered a hand back at him. How lovely.

The glass door dashed away from her hand and she entered the cartoon pasture. Nothing but a long white-blue-green-flowery expanse; a right-skewing L-shape with Jacq’s desk in the back corner and the lift at the other end.

The receptionist herself gave everyone the usual smile, nod and chummy query about their welfare. Angelina could see how Jacq worked as a receptionist around here. Always friendly, welcoming, no inconvenience too inconvenient, relaxed and happy in a way Hobson never managed.

Jacq finished laughing at a joke cracked by the Hawaiian shirt man. Curly light-brown hair bounced on her head, oh so full of life, until she turned to see Angelina. Rather than a big grin and chirpy greeting, Jacq fell quiet, hand drooping down to her side. Her green cardigan went from jolly to a sullen field of moss. Did Hobson say something yesterday about Jacq acting odd?

Jacq, hi, Angelina stopped by her desk, is everything okay?

Jacq went a little red and swung her eyes down to her converse shoes. I’m fine. Just a bit tired. Is, um, Hobson in yet?

If you’ve not seen him, I guess not.

I suppose, Jacq said. She nodded and her lips moved, as if scolding herself.

So, okay. Angelina wasn’t sure where to go with this. Was Jacq having a PTSD moment? She almost witnessed a stabbing only last week, seemed upset about it for a while too. See you later?

An exchange of waves, and the daisy-painted lift was already there to whisk her away. Thank Christ for that. She checked her phone during the ascent, then pushed through a door into her office.

And realised the lights were already on.

She glanced around to see her boss ensconced in his side-room, smacking his keyboard too hard. He only looked up when Angelina said: Hi?

*****

Considering he was the big brave hero of his own story, Hobson didn’t feel great about this cowardice. He should talk to Jacq, and if he did it right now, there was a floppy, affectionate dog to distract her. Ideal.

But no. Couldn’t face it, and he was having trouble putting his finger on why. Did he think she’d assume they were now dating and/or married? Was he avoiding the awkwardness of rejecting her? Did he even want to reject her? Maybe he’d spent too long hanging around that sixteen year old girl.

Nonetheless, once he reached the IGS, rather than striding up to the front door, he veered off around the building. He remembered the reports around Pete Vole killing Matt Michaelson saying the killer escaped through ‘a rear entrance’. Beyond a childish snicker, he hadn’t investigated it. Still, this meant there had to be a tradesman’s entrance, a parcel point, or…

Hobson rounded the back cuboid of the Station, Markus pattering behind him. There it was: the Inspiration Gestation Loading Bay. A van-sized square hole closed off by a shutter, road running out the back, a red metal door at one side. No vans right now, but the card-panel by that door looked a fuckload like the one at the main entrance.

Sure enough, he pressed his keycard into place and the lock disengaged with a hollow clunk. He took hold of the moulded red handle and pulled it away. Inside, only darkness for a few seconds, until the machines sensed his presence and the whole place lit up. The glow revealed a dull, grey concrete decor, surprising for this building. A couple of levels, space to reverse and unload, control panel for the shutter. Most crucially: a back door into the building itself, guarded only with yet another card-lock. Hobson pulled Markus along, shushing him even though there was no reason to be quiet.

Another quick click, and he was in a corridor with a lift at the far end. A press of those buttons, and he was striding into his own office. Good spycraft, Hobson thought to himself. Awkward situation avoided. Probably shouldn’t do this every day.

Hobson took Markus off his lead, expecting him to go bouncing around the office. Instead he curled up next to the desk where Hobson sat, sniffing his own feet and seeming sleepy.

Strange. Nonetheless, shouldn’t look a gift dog in the mouth. For the first time in days, Hobson looked at his enormous work email backlog. Choi would be so proud. Only a few of them were rambly abuse about the Peckham bin-bombing.

Speaking of the intern, she walked in a few minutes later, wearing a tidy brand of business casual and taking huge steps. He only spotted her when she looked over from the entrance and said Hi?

Morning Choi, he waved out from behind the computer. Wanna pet my dog?

Maybe later. She dropped her handbag on one of the many vacant desks and came over to his door. Hey, you don’t know what’s up with Jacq do you? Seems a bit off, I’m worried she might relapse into sobbing on sofas.

He made sure not to twitch. Dunno.

Fair enough. Might call Emily later.

Okay, Hobson said, voice speeding up. So, Choi, been looking at some of these emails, think I’ve got an interesting case. The same bloke has emailed seven or eight times.

Wow. Choi’s eyes sparked up. What about?

Gonna be interesting, it’s a part of London I’ve never dealt with before. You might have some ideas though.

Right…

Before Hobson could deliver his punchline, the office phone rang. Both of them took side-glances at it.

You wanna get that?

Why me? Choi protested.

It’s probably a salesman or a journalist and I don’t want to. You’re still my work experience kid for another eight hours, you get the nuisance calls.

Ugh.

Pulling a stroppy face but giving up nonetheless, Choi picked up the phone.

Hello? After a few moments, her face relaxed, Oh Emily, hi! I was thinking about calling you.

Hobson wondered if he could grab the damn handset and stamp on it.

Well, the kid continued, it’s Jacq, she seems a bit down, I was wondering if…

Another gap, her whole face dropped. "Hobson did what?"

Choi’s judgemental, simplistic teenage eyes levelled down on him.

Oh, fucking hell, she concluded.

Balls.

TWO

Modern Life Is

Angelina would rather it were a journalist or double-glazing salesman on the phone, to be honest.

She’d taken the handset from Hobson, said Hello? and readied herself for a determined voice trying to sell her bulletproof glass.

Instead, a stern woman said: Hi Angelina, it’s Emily.

Oh, Emily, hi! I was thinking about calling you, actually.

Really? What might that’ve been about? Emily said, like a teacher.

Well, it’s Jacq, she seems a bit down, I was wondering if…

Her concern seemed to set Emily off. About Jacq? Is this anything to do with your boss sleeping with her and then avoiding her, pray tell?

"Hobson did what?"

Angelina spat that out more vehemently than intended. She narrowed her eyes at Hobson, determined not to look pathetic about being left out of the gossip. Instead, she spat out: Oh, fucking hell.

Meanwhile, Emily’s voice kept sharp in her ear: Yes. So can I speak to Mister Hobson now, young lady?

"I’m afraid Mister Hobson’s busy right now, Miss Allen. And next time you come to visit, please refrain from stealing our dog."

I think you’ll find it was Lettie who…

Angelina beeped off the call. Tapped the phone against her hand a few times, then looked up at Hobson. He hunched forward in his seat, like some monstrous crouching statue.

His hands clenched in front of his mouth, eyes watching her. For a moment, after she swore at him, his face paled out, but that window soon closed.

So, she said, hating the brittle tone of her own voice, you… with Jacq?

Hobson laughed and dropped his hands to the desk. "Choi, if you want to talk about it, you’re gonna need to be able to say it."

Shut up.

Angelina felt a blush spread across her cheeks. Okay, so, she said, forcing herself not to stammer, you’ve spoken to Jacq and everything’s cool, then? If you’re so comfortable and chilled out about… that whole thing?

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, turning away to