The Earl

by Adam Leeder

About the Author: Adam Leeder lives on the east coast of the UK. His debut novel Diaspora was shortlisted for the New Anglia Prize, sponsored by the UK's National Centre for Writing.

Excerpt

I used to be a real detective, back before what I’d euphemistically come to know as ‘the disgrace.’ Top brass had wanted me disciplined, a payoff with a public flogging attached. I saved them the job and quit. Three trains later I’d ended up at the Earl, out on a peninsula, as far away as I could get without money or a boat.

The Earl Hotel (which Earl was never clear) had thrived in the fifties when the beachfront and pier brought the holidaymakers from London. The function room names betrayed The Earl’s heyday. The Atlee Room. The Coronation Suite. By 2019, straw hats and leather suitcases had been replaced by lost souls seeking refuge from wars both foreign and domestic. The postcards and ‘wish you were here’ sticks of rock did slow trade at the front desk and I was the Earl’s de-facto hotel detective.

The job didn’t resemble Hammett or Chandler’s private dicks. My role was less about smart suits and martinis and more about thick socks and brown paper bags. I chased down people who skipped out on their rent and kicked out folks who stood between the residents and getting clean. My fees covered my rent. I did my business at the breakfast table. In a place like that, I was never short of work. It filled the frequent gaps between meals, or the less frequent gaps between women.

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