Читать книгу The Bullet Trick - Louise Welsh - Страница 7

THE FIRST NIGHT I met Sylvie she saved me from dying. The clock has ticked round and the pages have been flipped on the calendar, its numbers switching from red to black and back, shades the same as playing-card suits, and I realise that over a year has passed since Sylvie and I first met.

In those dim days I was known as William Wilson, Mentalist and Illusionist. Conjuring was throwing off the shackles of the dinner suit and velvet bow tie. It had slipped off the family viewing prime-time TV slot and into the clubs, gone underground, kicked around with freak shows and circuses, and now the feeling was it was ripe to hit the big time again. I was one of the many who thought they might just be able to shake the profession back to life, if only I got the right break. Like a gambler waiting on the right cut of the cards.

I’d left Glasgow for London seven years ago and had been toiling through the British circuit ever since, long enough to almost recognise what town I was in, long enough not to care. I was a warm-up act for a whole trough of comedians and stand ups. The guy nobody came to see. I’d performed in the King’s, the Queen’s, the Prince’s and the Consort; done my stuff in the Variety, the Civic, the Epic and the Grand. I’d released doves across the ceiling of the Playhouse and watched them crap on the heads of the crowd in the Cliffs Pavilion. In Liverpool a woman fainted on stage and was dragged into the wings. In Portsmouth a row of sailors chased an usher through the aisles. In Belfast I slept with a girl in the Botanic Hotel.

I’d had professional excitements too. A TV scout who thought he might get me a slot that could lead to a series, an independent production company who proposed a documentary about my act. But in the end it seemed they were bigger failures than me. At least I could put a show on the road.

My agent was Richard Banks, Rich to his friends. He represented a slough of comedians, a couple of afternoon quiz show presenters and me. Rich had been an operator since the days when variety was king. In the fifties he’d mopped up the ENSA boys, the sixties had seen him branching into teenage pop and by the seventies he was a regular supplier of what he liked to call talent to piers from Brighton to Blackpool. A couple of his stable had even made it as far as Saturday Night at the London Palladium. Then entertainment had improved and Rich had moved on, signing a new generation of stand-ups to his fleet. Rich was realistic and adaptable but he was loyal too, after all, as he said, ‘Loyalty costs nothing William.’

Though you can bet if it did Richard would have included it just above the VAT in his agent’s fee. He brought loyalty up early in our relationship. He had an office in Crouch End. I’d popped in on spec, part because I was passing and part to remind him of my existence. I’d tried and failed to work a James Bond/Moneypenny routine with Mrs Pierce, Rich’s steel-grey coiffured and steelier-eyed secretary. Now she just glanced at me from behind her word processor and said, ‘Mr Banks has someone with him, but he won’t mind if you go through.’

The man in the visitor’s chair was a sprightly seventy with a boyish face that should have been in black and white but was red-cheeked, purple-veined and rheumy-eyed. He’d leaned back in his chair, his pale hair flopping away from his forehead, a brilliant advert for toupee tape. His upside-down smile was tight. We both knew my unannounced entrance was his cue to leave. Rich introduced us and I remembered the name from long ago, though I still couldn’t recall what I’d seen him in.

‘Wilson, not a very stagey name,’ he said over my shoulder to Richard as he shook my hand, trying and failing to squeeze my knuckles. I mugged a wince, just to please him, and his eyes sparkled.

‘Times change,’ said Rich, getting to his feet.

‘They surely do.’ The aged theatrical nodded his head and looked slowly round the room at the black and white photos of yesterday’s stars that mingled with the portraits of Rich’s current stable. Perhaps he was searching for a picture of himself, perhaps at his age you get used to looking at places as if you’re never going to see them again. ‘Well, Rich, it’s been lovely but I can’t sit gabbing to you all day.’ He raised his mug, pinkie outstretched, and knocked back the last of his tea with a loud slurp. ‘So what’s this one? Another comic?’

‘Conjurer.’

The elderly gent rose slowly, his thin body looking too young for his old man head, and pulled on a spotless gabardine I pegged as at least fifteen years old.

‘Conjurer, eh? Known a few of them in my time. None of them made it big, but they were nice boys.’

I leered at him.

‘I’m not a nice boy.’

‘No,’ his eyes glanced me up and down, ‘I didn’t think so. Still, nice or not I’d give the last ten years of my life to have six months at the age you are now. Bet the offers never stop coming in for this one, eh Rich?’

Rich gave a noncommittal smile and the old man laughed, suddenly spry as he gathered his hat, scarf, gloves, briefcase and a carrier bag of groceries, fluttering apologies to Richard for taking so much of his time. He winked at me on the way out and said, ‘Never mind dear, we all have our dry spells.’

I gave him a wide-boy grin and held the door open. When he was safe in the outer office, chatting to Mrs Pierce with a familiarity she’d never have tolerated from me, I took his seat, wincing against the warmth stored in the cushions and said, ‘Nobody loves a fairy when they’re forty.’

Rich gave me a long stare, as near to a frown as I’ve seen him come, then he gave me a lesson.

Stuffed at the back of his filing cabinets were the profiles of men with a million mother-in-law and darkie jokes, female impersonators, ventriloquists, crooners and jugglers. He plonked the files on the desk in front of me and I flicked through them for form’s sake. Each file had a photograph paperclipped to its top left-hand corner. Outmoded hairdos, polyester dinner suits, big bow ties and grins that had once seemed alive, but now looked desperate, caught in a mad moment twenty or so years ago.

‘I keep them on the books,’ Rich said, ‘there’s no harm in it. They don’t take up much space and it’s nice to be nice. After all, put together, these kids made me a lot of money at one time. And anyway, who knows when some post-modern ironist is going to suddenly discover one of these has-beens was a genius? But just remember son, it’s like they say in the financial ads, your shares may go down as well as up. So,’ he tapped his nose like a tipster revealing a cert, ‘remember, loyalty costs nothing.’

Once upon a time Rich had thought I might be in the new wave of conjurers, ‘the post-Paul Daniels brigade’ he called them. These days we weren’t close, but he let me call his answerphone direct. The evening this story starts was the first time in weeks he’d called me back.

‘It may not be the big time William’ – Richard hailed originally from Southend. He had a voice as loud as a McGill postcard, all whelks, beer and fat ladies flashing their drawers. I held the receiver an inch or two from my ear; there was no premium in adding deafness to my problems. ‘But there’ll be some interesting people there. You never know who you’ll meet.’ I’d made some noncommittal sound, and Rich had gone on with his spiel, selling it to me though he knew I’d take it. ‘You’ll have fun. It’s a police retirement night.’

‘Lovely, just what I need. The filth interrogating me on how I do my act.’

‘Is that any attitude to have towards Her Majesty’s finest? Anyway they’ll love it, William. These guys are into lies and misdirection big time.’ Rich paused and I could hear him dragging on his cigarette. ‘Tell you, here’s an idea, pick on the weediest one and do some funny business with his handcuffs.’ His laugh caught in his throat and there was a pause as he struggled to catch his breath. I wondered if he was lying down on his office divan.

‘That’s wonderful advice, Richard: pick on a weedy looking polis, the one with the Napoleon complex. I’ll remember that. So who am I opening for?’

‘You know these events, William. They’re not name in lights occasions, but they have the benefit of equality, there’s no headline act.’

‘OK, am I on first or second?’

‘My understanding would be first.’

‘So who am I preceding?’

‘A fine duo known as The Divines.’

‘Tell me they’re mind-readers and not strippers.’

‘They’re billed as erotic dancers.’

‘Really pitching me high, Richard, support act to a pair of lap-dancers.’

‘Don’t knock it, William. I’ve seen these girls, they need a lot of support if you get my drift.’

‘What’s the bottom line?’

‘Peachy, you could write a symphony about their bottom lines.’

I was beginning to understand why Richard had so few female artistes on his books.

‘What’s my fee?’

‘Two-fifty. Hey, who knows, maybe you could buddy up with the girls for the night? Make some of their clothes disappear?’

‘A real novelty act.’

Down the line more smoke was sucked into lungs.

‘Don’t be so bloody Scottish. Tell you what, if you get laid I’ll waive my ten percent.’

I said, ‘You’re a prince, Richard.’

And heard his laugh collapse back into coughs as I hung up the receiver.

*

That evening a bomb scare on the tube shut down main stations and the flatmate of the girl who filled in as my occasional assistant informed me that Julie had got a proper acting job. When I asked her if she fancied taking over instead she’d laughed and said, ‘After the stories Julie told me? You must be joking,’ and hung up still laughing.

I wondered if I could get a volunteer from the audience, but half-cut coppers waiting for a skin act didn’t seem promising recruitment material. Hurtling beneath the city in a carriage, pressed amongst jaded commuters who would rather take their chances than be rerouted and nervous tourists bracing themselves for an explosion, my mind drifted towards the dog track. A quick change of underground line and I could be there in time to place a bet on the third race. There was a young dog in the running that I fancied, it was untested enough to have high odds, but could do well if the conditions were right. I was onto a sure two-twenty-five from the gig once Richard had shaved his commission off the top, but if luck was on my side I could win a lot more. I thought about the money I owed my bookie and the demand for rent that the landlord had slipped under the door that morning after he’d got tired of battering on it. Next time he’d send one of his sons with a key and a couple of helpers to give me a hand shifting my gear onto the street.

We pulled into the station where I needed to switch line if I was going to abscond and I almost got to my feet, but I’d never missed a show to go gambling yet. Only addicts took a bet on their job.

The club turned out to be a private members’ place in Soho. I found the street, walked three blocks, then realised I’d overshot it and had to retrace my steps. The entrance was at street level, an anonymous green door with no sign or brass plate to distinguish it, just a number beside an unmarked buzzer. I pressed the buzzer and somewhere in the building a mechanical droning announced my presence.

There was a brief pause, then a bustling beyond the door and a Judas hole slid back with a crack. A pair of green eyes painted with emerald glitter and fringed by false eyelashes appeared behind a tiny wrought-iron grill. They stared at me unblinking, like an exotic anchorite.

I said, ‘Joe sent me.’ And the Judas hole slammed shut. When it became clear that the door wasn’t going to open I buzzed again. This time when the hatch slid back I gave my name and when that got no response added, ‘I’m the conjurer.’

‘The what?’

The voice was cockney, younger than I’d expected and full of scorn. I gave her the benefit of the William Wilson grin and said, ‘The magician.’

The eyes looked me up and down, and found me wanting. The voice said. ‘That’s funny, I thought you were a bloody comedian.’ And buzzed me in.

‘You’re late.’

The door led straight into a tiny entrance hallway divided by a counter into a reception and cloakroom. Black carpet ran across the floor, ceiling and walls. A harsh neon strip revealed fag burn melts and ooze between the jet pile. I guessed a TV design guru wouldn’t approve, but once the lights were down it would suit the musty come-alive-at-night feel of the place.

The green eyes belonged to a large pale girl, squeezed into a red and black dress whose lace-up bodice was losing the struggle to control her bosoms. She was the kind of girl old gentlemen like to pinch: ripe and big, with skin that fitted like skin should. Once you got past the hardness of her stare she’d be a fine pillow against the world. Her hair was a mass of white-gold curls, piled high and tumbling on the top of her head. A soft blush of down brushed her cheek. The overall effect was voluptuous, blowsy and somehow Victorian. My grandmother would have called her a strumpet, but I thought she looked too good for this place.

The girl lifted a flap on the counter and put it between her and me.

I smiled and asked, ‘All on your own?’

I was aiming for avuncular, but it sounded like a line that Crippen might have used. The girl ignored me and switched on the Tiffany lamp on the counter, then started to dim the overheads.

‘What’s in the case?’

‘My props.’

‘Have you got a rabbit?’

‘Aye, but he’s invisible.’

She gave me a disgusted look that suddenly revealed the teenager beneath the makeup.

‘Bill’s upstairs chatting up the tarts.’

I guessed she was used to creeps and thought of saying something to show her I wasn’t one of them, but couldn’t come up with anything other than, ‘Maybe I should go and introduce myself.’

She shrugged with a look that said she expected nothing less and pointed towards a set of swing doors.

‘Changing rooms are through the bar and up the stairs.’

The bar was a larger, more dimly lit version of the foyer. A disco light bounced a coloured spectrum half-heartedly against the walls and from somewhere an eighties chart hit, that I dimly remembered from a stint I’d done at a holiday camp in Kos, was blasting across a tiny dance floor. A few men who looked too serious to consider dancing sat drinking at dimpled copper tables. I might be late, but the party wasn’t swinging. They dropped their voices and followed me with their eyes as I passed. They would be hard men to entertain, hard men full stop. I gave them a nod and they kept their gaze level, each man’s stare a mirror of his companion’s even look. I thought of a school of fish, each in tune with the other, slipping as one through a dark ocean. I wondered if Rich had meant two-fifty before or after his cut. I always forgot to ask.

At first glance Bill looked vintage doorman. Broad-shouldered, squat-nosed and tuxedoed. He was leaning against a dressing-table, arms folded, long legs crossed. The door to the room was half-closed but I could see two slim girls reflected in the mirror behind him, one Asian, the other a Jean Harlow blonde. The blonde girl was the shorter of the two, but they looked strikingly alike, monochrome sisters, hair styled into the same short curly bob, jeans and T-shirts not identical but similar enough to be interchangeable. I was no connoisseur of ballet, but I thought I might be able to tolerate watching them dance.

Bill leaned back slowly, giving me a good glimpse of his long profile, and said in a public school mockney that made me suspect he’d got his broken nose at a hunt meeting, ‘… everyone has a good time’.

I banged my case against the banister to avoid hearing the rest of his instructions and he pushed open the door gently with the toe of his smart black shoe, revealing a quick flash of metal segs. The toe was slim, but I suspected it would be steel capped.

Bill’s move was smooth and unhurried but his expression flashed from smile to wary then to smile again as he spotted first me, then my equipment case with its motif of gold stars, and guessed who I was.

‘Mr Magic, we were just wondering when you’d appear.’

‘We thought you might come in a puff of smoke,’ cut in the blonde girl.

I said, ‘There’s time yet.’

And we all laughed.

Bill straightened up with the elegance of a sneak thief.

‘Meet Shaz,’ he put his arm around the Asian girl’s waist, ‘and Jacque.’ His free arm snaked around the small blonde. Bill squeezed his captives who staggered slightly on their high heels. He smiled. ‘Lovely. Well I guess we should leave you ladies to powder your noses.’

He kissed them twice, continental style, then closed the door gently behind him and fished out a white hanky, absently wiping his mouth before folding it back into a perfect triangle and returning it to his breast pocket. He held his hand out to me.

‘Mr Williams.’

‘Wilson.’ I didn’t like the way he’d wiped the feel of the girls’ flesh from his lips. I wondered if he would wash my handshake from his palm. I thought I might his.

‘Mr Wilson,’ he let the emphasis hang on my name as if he was amused I’d bothered to correct him. Letting me know it didn’t matter to him who I was, or perhaps that in his world one name served as well as another. ‘The girls have commandeered our only dressing room, but there’s a few cubby holes on offer if you need to change or,’ he paused, smiling, ‘fix your makeup.’

‘Are you trying to tell me my mascara’s run?’ He gave me a quick sharp look, then laughed. ‘I’d appreciate somewhere to go through my props.’

Bill showed me into a shabby bedroom equipped with two single beds draped with orange and brown floral covers and polyester valances that had long lost their bounce. He leant against the doorjamb. Leaning in doorways seemed to be Bill’s thing. He watched as I laid the suitcase on one of the beds and unfastened its clasp.

‘You based in London, Mr Wilson?’

‘Ealing.’

‘Travel much?’

‘When required.’ Bill might just be making casual conversation or he might be looking for a travelling man to deliver a parcel or two. I set a pack of playing cards on the bed and changed the subject. ‘So how’s business? Club keeping you busy?’

‘Busy enough. Keeps me out of mischief. Speaking of which,’ he turned to go, ‘anything I can get you before I start mingling with the invited guests?’

‘I could manage a white wine.’ I slapped my stomach. ‘I’m on a bit of a health kick.’

Bill smiled.

‘I’ll have a bottle sent up.’

I turned back to my case. In truth there was nothing I needed to do to prepare, but Bill still lingered in the doorway.

‘A word of warning on tonight.’ I looked back at him. ‘These guys are here for the booze and the girls, for most of them you’re an unexpected bonus.’

‘Nice to know you think I can improve on booze and girls.’

Bill’s smile looked like a threat.

‘The inspector who’s retiring is nicknamed the Magician. I think you’re more in the way of an in-joke.’

‘Good to be in.’

‘Just remember this isn’t a kid’s birthday party. If I were you I’d keep it short and snappy.’

‘Don’t worry, I know my place.’

‘Good, always best to make sure everyone understands each other. I reckon they’ll be ready in about half an hour, so take all the time you need.’

‘As long as it’s short of thirty minutes.’

Bill smiled.

‘We don’t want people getting impatient.’

I’d expected the door girl to bring up the wine, but when the knock came it brought a familiar face.

‘Sam?’

‘The one and only.’ Sam rosenswest smiled. He slid himself and a tray holding two glasses, a corkscrew and a bottle of white wine into the room. ‘How you doing?’

‘Great.’ I got to my feet and slapped him on the back. ‘Good to see you, man.’

‘Hey!’ Sam raised the tray in the air, like a ship’s waiter serving through a squall. ‘Watch the merchandise.’

I pushed the lamp on the small bedside table to one side and Sam settled the tray in the gap. ‘So how are you?’

Sam started to work the corkscrew into the bottle’s cork and grinned.

‘Never better.’

‘Nice threads.’

He glanced at his suit.

‘Yeah well,’ Sam pulled the cork from the bottle and poured us each a glass. ‘When in Rome.’ He handed me my drink. ‘How about you, William? Still a slave to the gee-gees?’

‘You know me, always the animal lover.’

He shook his head.

‘I’m not sure following form quite qualifies you as St Francis. Won’t keep you warm at night neither. You want to quit all that and get yourself hooked up with a nice bird.’

‘That’s good advice coming from you.’

Sam grinned.

‘You know what I mean. How’s old Fagin? You seen him lately?’

‘He set me up with tonight.’

‘Aha.’ He sat down on the single bed opposite me and took a sip of his drink. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got old Sam-I-Am to thank for this particular box of tricks.’

‘Yeah?’ I tried to look grateful. ‘Rich didn’t say anything.’

‘Well he wouldn’t would he? Wants to make sure of his 10 per cent, greedy sod.’

‘Cheers, Sam.’ I raised my glass in a toast, then put it to my lips and took a sip. Its cheap sourness cut through the chill. ‘Thanks.’

‘No worries, you and me go way back.’

‘And…?’

Sam laughed.

‘You may not be a whizz with girls and horses…’

‘You can add dogs to that.’

‘Ah, William.’ Sam shook his head, looking like a priest caught between sorrow at the sin and the satisfaction of being able to squeeze a few more ‘Our Fathers’ from the sinner. ‘Despite all your weaknesses, when it comes down to it, there’s no flies on you. OK there might be a bit more to tonight than meets the eye. But you just sit tight and it’ll all come out cushty.’

Sam was a young comic who had also been under Rich’s tough love care. We’d spent a long summer season together until he’d decided he could do better under new management. I’d not seen him for a year, maybe longer. In that time he’d grown leaner, but in a sleek way. He chinked my glass and knocked back the last of his wine.

‘I’d better shift myself. Bill’s got a jealous streak. He’s already suspicious about why I suggested you.’

‘You mean you and him…?’

‘Yeah,’ Sam’s face lit up. ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at him would you?’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Yep, he’s a mean queen-killing machine. For me to so much as look at a bloke is to condemn him to a cement overcoat.’

‘Maybe you should open the door then, let him see there’s nothing to worry about.’

Sam laughed.

‘Your face, William. Don’t worry. I’m just having you on. Now he’s seen you he won’t be worried.’

‘What do you mean?’

Sam got to his feet and moved to the door.

‘That’s what I love about you William, always able to laugh at yourself. I’ll catch you after the show eh? Bill likes me to stay in the wings when he’s got business on, but we’ll grab a drink, the three of us, when you’ve done your set.’ He gave me a last grin and I thought I could see a new, tougher Sam beneath the comic I’d known. It was hard to imagine this new shiny version bothering to parry some of the heckling I’d seen the old Sam spar with. He said, ‘Don’t let me down. I gave you a big build.’ Then shut the door gently behind him.

I sat for a moment, after Sam’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, wondering what I had got myself into. Then I took the bottle by the neck, slipped into the hallway and tapped at the door of the girls’ dressing room. A female voice said, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

There was the sound of another woman laughing then the Asian girl opened the door. I held up the bottle of wine.

‘I thought you might fancy a wee drink.’

Shaz leaned in the doorway, her left hip jutting towards me, right arm swinging the door slowly against her body.

‘We’ve got our own thanks.’

Through the slim gap I could see the blonde sitting at the dressing-table, intent on her reflection. Both girls were wrapped in long cotton dressing gowns, their makeup bright and showgirl thick. The door started to close on Shaz’s smile. I slid a foot into the room, and her smile died. She said in a calm voice, ‘Jacque, will you phone down to the bar and tell them we’ve got a wanker up here?’

Jacque looked up from the dressing-table. I held a hand up in surrender, but kept my foot where it was.

‘No, look, don’t, I’ve got a proposition for you.’

Jacque’s voice was weary.

‘In case you haven’t noticed we’ve got all the work we need right now, love.’

‘That’s right,’ the other girl was calm but there was an edge to her voice that had been absent before. ‘We’re going to have our hands full.’

‘It’ll be an easy score for one of you.’

‘There’s no such thing, mate.’

‘Oh, ask him what he wants Shaz.’

I looked beyond the gatekeeper at the girl in the mirror.

‘Purely business.’

She kept her gaze on her reflection; concentrating on pencilling a beauty spot on her left cheekbone, level with the corner of her eye. She frowned at the pressure of the pencil against her skin.

‘Nothing up your sleeve?’

I smiled and pulled back my cuffs.

‘See for yourself.’

She gave her reflection one last look, then put down the pencil and swivelled round in her seat. Her face looked sharper than the image in the mirror, or perhaps she was getting tired of our conversation.

‘Just ask him in, Shaz.’

Shaz bit her lip.

‘As long as he understands whatever he wants it’ll cost. We’re not here for charity.’

‘I think he knows that.’

‘Of course I do.’

The tall girl leaned back, leaving me a narrow space. I slid by, ignoring the warmth of her body beneath the fabric of her robe.

*

If I hadn’t known that we were all hired for one night only I might have thought that the girls had inhabited their dressing-room for weeks. The flex of a set of hair tongs snaked through bottles of makeup, a slick of foundation pooled on the scarred dressing-table. An almost empty bottle of white wine and two glasses sat amongst the debris. Their discarded outdoor clothes lay bundled on the bed. A white envelope stuffed with notes jutted from the pocket of a sports bag. It looked like they were on a better rate than me, but then they were the main act while I was just an in-joke.

Shaz closed the door then leaned against a paint-chipped radiator on the far wall, keeping her eyes on me. I made a brushing gesture to my nose and after a moment’s hesitation she glanced in the mirror and dusted away the frosting of white powder that lingered round her nostrils, breathing in sharp, as if trying to inhale any stray grains that had caught in the air.

‘You know that’s the Old Bill down there?’

She resumed her position, her expression blank. ‘What’s it to do with you?’

‘As little as possible.’

The other girl glanced at me through the mirror, stroking a fluffy pink makeup brush against her cheekbone.

‘The Old Bill sent young Bill up with it.’

The tall girl flashed her a sharp look and I wondered if they really were sisters.

I smiled.

‘Very nice.’

Jacque turned back to the mirror, wetting her finger and smoothing an imagined ruffle in her eyebrow.

‘Hadn’t you better tell us what it is you want?’

I opened my arms like an old-time ringmaster and said, ‘Which one of you lovely ladies would like to be my assistant?’

Jacque laughed. Shaz shook her head then reached over and took the bottle from me, tilting it to her lips.

‘You must be mad.’ She passed it to Jacque, who tipped a measure into her glass. ‘Bill would go crazy if we came down early. It’d spoil the big surprise.’

‘Is he your manager then?’

The word ‘manager’ came out wrong and both girls shot me a frown. Jacque’s voice was flinty.

‘We manage ourselves.’

‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m in a bit of a bind. The trick I want to do relies on the help of a lovely lady and the audience seems to consist entirely of ugly coppers, so there’s no point in asking for a volunteer.’

The blonde girl aimed a weary look at me.

‘You rely on a pair of tits to stop the punters noticing if you make a balls-up?’

‘Not quite how I would have put it… ’

‘But, yes?’

‘Glamour’s an element of the show, yes.’

‘Ask chubby downstairs, I bet she’ll do it for fifty.’

Shaz laughed.

‘She’d do it for twenty.’

Shaz giggled again when I asked if they were related and put her arm around the blonde girl, posing as if they were about to have a portrait painted.

‘You might not have noticed, but we look a bit different from each other. Ebony and ivory together, sometimes in harmony.’

She ruffled the blonde girl’s curls and I thought maybe I understood what they were to each other.

‘Hey, multiethnic Britain, no reason why you couldn’t be related.’

‘Only through drink.’

Jacque slapped Shaz’s hand lightly and set to repairing her hair. I gave the room a last glance, taking in the scattered clothes and makeup, the rumpled bed with its tired candlewick and said, ‘If you ladies want to make a quick escape I’d recommend you pack up your gear and leave it at the door.’

Shaz had started painting her nails the same flame red as her lipstick. She looked up at me.

‘Don’t worry. You may be the magician, but there’s not much you could teach us about vanishing acts.’

I could tell from the rumble of male voices that reached me as I went down the stairs that the lounge had grown busier. I searched out the door girl; it turned out her name was Candy, though I doubt she’d been christened that. The girls had been right. She was eager to help me in a surly kind of way. I explained what I wanted her to do, then went back through to the lounge. Bill wasn’t the only one required to mingle with the invited guests.

The disco lights glowed hazily through the sheets of cigarette smoke that shelved the air. The room smelt of alcohol, testosterone and sweat. There were about twenty of them. They’d ignored the booths that lined the walls, choosing to congregate in the centre of the room, knotting together like a fragile alliance that da break ranks for fear of treachery.

I sloped over to the bar, ordered a double malt and looked for Bill. I soon spotted him talking to a small man seated at a centre table. Bill was angled away from me, but he had the peripheral vision of a sniper. He turned and met my look, holding up three fingers, indicating he’d be with me soon. I nodded and raised my glass to my lips, letting the whisky do its slow burn down my throat, surveying the crowd.

A casual observer would have got an impression of cohesion, a solidarity of spirit. But as I slid amongst them the divisions started to come into view like the fractures in a jigsaw. They showed in the tilt of the men’s bodies, a half-turned back, the block of a shoulder. Their clannishness crossed age boundaries, but it showed in the style of their dress, the cut of their hair.

Near the centre of the room was a tight knot of dark business suits, the type you see crushed into the tube early in the morning reading copies of the Telegraph, though commuters generally had fewer buzz cuts and broken noses. Grouped around them were louder tables where the camaraderie seemed stronger. These guys were quickest to their feet with the fresh rounds. Their colour was higher, cheeks shinier. These were the ones to watch, men out of their depth who wore their smart casuals with the self-consciousness of people used to wearing a uniform. I spotted a glass or two making their way from them to the suits. The exchange seemed one way, but perhaps I’d just missed the reciprocating rounds. Furthest from the centre tables were the men I labelled serpico wannabees. These guys were dressed with a scruffy trendiness that spelt money. Their laughter had a superior edge. If I had walked into a bar in a strange town and seen this assemblage, I would have gone in search of somewhere else to drink.

The room had gone from silent to the edge of boisterous. I had a special routine for macho crowds. An unfunny string of jokes Richard had encouraged me to buy as an investment from one of his down-on-their-luck comics. I hated them, smutty schoolboy gags that no one finds funny but everyone laughs at, all lads together. I silently rehearsed, then amused myself by deciding which line of crime these men would be best suited to.

The man sipping lager near my left would be perfect old-time bank robber material. No finesse, just a sawn-off shotgun and a stare that said he was mad enough to use it. The sly-faced weasel next to him would surely be a pickpocket. The broad-shouldered grunt behind Bill’s companion would be ideal for strong-arm stuff. I identified conmen and drug dealers, pimps and burglars, then turned my mind to the man Bill was talking to. He was compact for a policeman, surely just within the height regulations. Mid-fifties, dressed in a slate-grey suit, with a blue shirt and a pink tie that matched his eyes. What would he be? It was obvious. The Boss, the mild-mannered gang leader who wore conservative suits, drank VSOP brandy and executed his enemies with a nod of the head.

Bill began making his way towards me, shaking hands, squeezing shoulders, smiling a crocodile smile that was all teeth. He patted me somewhere near my elbow in a gesture an anthropologist would probably describe as dominating, then offered me another drink.

‘No thanks, one helps, two hinders.’

‘Maybe afterwards then.’

I wanted to escape before the girls started their act, but I smiled and said, ‘If you like. So who’s the birthday boy?’

‘Detective Inspector Montgomery, the man I was talking to. Him and my dad went way back, he made himself useful at a difficult time.’ Bill smiled dryly. ‘I used to call him Uncle Monty, so I’ve got a personal interest in his send-off.’

‘Young to be put out to pasture.’

‘Law enforcement pays.’ Bill smiled knowingly. He drained his drink, putting the empty glass on the bar. ‘They’ve had their official party with wives and , testimonials and all that stuff. Tonight’s the real celebration. Just go with it.’ I nodded and Bill smiled, satisfied I was cool with whatever was going to happen. ‘Right, let’s get the music turned off and give you a big build.’

‘Why not?’

Bill nodded to the barman. ‘Crowther, switch that racket off.’

Crowther was already busying himself freshening Bill’s glass. He hesitated, unsure of which order to obey first, then did them both at once, laying the drink on the counter with one hand and killing the sounds with the other. Bill ignored him, turning the swizzle stick in his brandy and soda.

‘Remember, keep it brief. Forty-minute set max – thirty would be better.’

He took a last slug of his drink and made his way towards the small dais to present me. There was no calling for attention, no tinkling of teaspoons on glasses. Bill just stood there and the room grew quiet. I glanced at Montgomery. His face wore a small smile. The kind Stalin was reputed to wear after a good week. Bill’s voice cut through the silence.

‘Gentlemen, this is a special evening, the retirement of James Montgomery, one of the finest police officers it has been my pleasure to know, and I’m sure yours to work with.’

There were murmurs of agreement and Hear hears from the men at the tables. A couple of those near to Montgomery leaned over and patted him on the back. Montgomery nodded, whatever his attributes modesty wasn’t one of them. I wondered how sincere Bill was, why he was giving the address and not one of the squad.

‘I know you had a posh gathering on Wednesday with the Chief Constable, so you’ll have heard your quota of speeches for a while.’

There was laughter at this. Someone shouted, too true.

‘So tonight for your delectation and entertainment we have The Divines.’ There was a cheer from the audience and the sound of deep nervous laughter from some of the men. Bill held up his hand for silence. ‘A pair of very beautiful young…’ he hesitated as if searching for the right word. ‘Dancers.’ More laughter. ‘But before we meet them we have a very special guest. It’s well known that Inspector Montgomery is a worker of wonders. Indeed, he’s got so many illusive convictions he’s been christened the Magician. So, in tribute to Inspector Montgomery’s well-earned retirement I’d like to ask you to put your hands together for William Wilson, mentalist and magician.’

Half-hearted clapping scattered across the room and suddenly I thought that maybe I should start doing kids’ parties. At least some of them might believe in magic. There was a fraction of hesitation, then the barman put on the CD I’d given him and mysterioso music drifted across the room. I walked up onto the stage and stood there silently for a moment with my head bowed, hands folded in front of me, letting the soundtrack do the work, then slowly raised my eyes, keeping my stare level, my mouth serious, wishing I had a lovely assistant to flash her legs and take some of the heat off me. The music died and I cast my gaze across the room, grave as Vincent Price’s Van Helsing revealing the presence of vampires.

‘Welcome.’ I paused, making eye contact with as many of the audience as I could. ‘Gentlemen, there are mysteries beyond our control, wonders that even the greatest scientists are powerless to explain. Tonight I am going to look into the unknown and explore some of these strange and perplexing phenomena.’ The crowd stayed silent, I stepped off the dais and approached a thin man sitting towards the front of the gathering. ‘Sir, would you mind standing up for me please?’ The man got to his feet. He was tall and lank, with receding hair and a good-natured drink-fuddled face.

‘What’s your name, sir?’

‘Andy.’

‘Nice to meet you Andy.’ I shook his hand, staring him in the eyes and slyly unfastening his watch. ‘Let me ask you Andy, do you believe that there are powers we don’t understand?’

‘I believe in the DPP.’

The crowd laughed and I smiled indulgently.

‘I see that you’re a married man, Andy.’

He nodded unimpressed.

‘How did I know that?’

He held up his left hand with its gold marriage band.

‘Quite right, the powers of observation.’ I smiled round the room, giving him his moment of reassurance, then raised my voice. ‘But this evening I am going to reveal to you things that the powers of observation would be powerless to divulge.’ I made my tone more conversational. ‘Andy, I would imagine that in your profession well-developed powers of observation are essential?’

Andy nodded.

‘That’s true.’

‘A good memory for a face?’

He nodded again.

‘I believe so.’

‘Have we ever met before?’

He shook his head slowly, cautious as a man on a witness stand.

‘Not to my knowledge, no.’

‘You’ve never arrested me?’

‘Not to my recollection.’

‘So you would be surprised if I could guess your rank?’

He shrugged.

‘Possibly.’

‘Come a little closer would you please, Andy?’ The man looked around at the audience smiling. I said, ‘Don’t worry, the force is with you.’ And he stepped forward an inch. ‘May I place my hand on your shoulder?’ He hesitated and I stage-whispered, ‘No need to be coy.’ The audience laughed, the volunteered man gave a brief nod and I reached up, resting my hand gently on his right shoulder. ‘I would say, Andy,’ – ‘that you are’ – I paused again – ‘a sergeant.’ I removed my hand and he nodded to the crowd, who gave me a brief scatter of applause. I bowed, keeping my expression restrained. ‘I suppose that’s vaguely impressive. But maybe I could guess that from your age and the fact that you look fairly intelligent. So let me go a little further.’ There was an ooooh from the audience. The man stepped back, clowning a slight mince. The men at his table laughed and I shook my head in mock exasperation. ‘Calm yourself, Sergeant. I’ve told you that you’re married, but as you’ve confirmed we’ve never met before so there’s no way I could tell you the name of your wife.’

A voice came from the audience. Not unless you saw it written on the wall of the gents.

Andy shouted, ‘Oi, watch it.’ Taking the joke in good part.

I held up my hand for order.

‘I see a good-looking woman …’ The crowd ooohed obligingly again and I traced an S in the air, making it sexy like the cartoon outline of a woman’s body. ‘Her name is … Sarah … no not Sarah, something similar, Suzie … Suze … Susannah.’ The man’s face was pleasingly bemused. He nodded and the crowd clapped. I held up my hand, silencing them. ‘You have children … two lovely daughters … Hai… Hail … Hailey and Re-e-e-e-Rebecca.’ Andy was smiling now, nodding his head to the room. Again the applause and again I held my hands up to stop them. ‘You also have a dog?’ This was dodgy, dogs die more often than the wife and kids, but the group photo I’d lifted from his wallet with the names of its subjects obligingly written on the back in neat pen looked pretty recent. Andy nodded. ‘Your dog is called …’ I hesitated a beat beyond the audience’s expectation and the room grew still, half-hoping I’d make it, half-hoping I’d fail. ‘Your dog is called, “Peeler!”’ The small audience erupted into applause and I bowed, relieved to find policemen as gullible as the rest. ‘How’re we doing for time, Sergeant?’

Andy looked at his wrist, and then looked at me.

‘Has anyone got the time?’ There was a confusion of murmurs as the men I’d selected each noticed their missing wristwatches. ‘Ach, it’s fine, I’ve got it here.’

I pulled up my left cuff to reveal the half-dozen watches fastened round my wrist. As things go, they were a good audience. I fed them more facts from filched wallets, keeping the action brief and cheeky, then kicked into the finale.

‘Now, I know you’re keen to see The Divines.’ There was a stamping of feet and a jungle-drumming of hands against tables. ‘Let me assure you they are most definitely divine. But first I’ve got another young lady I’d like you to meet. Welcome to the lovely, the delicious, the truly scrumptious Miss Candy Flossy.’

Candy slunk in doing her best impersonation of a vamp. She would have looked prettier if she’d smiled, but she was doing me a favour. I grabbed her by the hips, putting myself behind her bulk and doing a leer over her shoulder for the benefit of the audience.

‘Candy’s agreed to help me out.’

There were a few wolf whistles and catcalls.

You can help me out anytime love.

You can touch my truncheon.

Feel my new extending baton.

Try on my handcuffs.

Play with my helmet.

And I thought that perhaps they weren’t such a pleasant audience after all.

There are many ways to cut a lady in half. If you have the resources you can fashion jazzy coffins fixed with bewilderments and employ a girl who can contort herself so well it’s a waste to put her in a box. But my brand of the effect relied on a not-so-innocent-looking buzz-saw of the type you might see in an old-fashioned sawmill. It was an appearance of mere penetration where others managed dismemberment. But the kind of audiences I entertained were amused by it.

I steeled a serious tone to my voice and said, ‘My final trick is so dangerous that only a very few members of the magic circle are initiated into its secrets. Should my concentration be disturbed at any point during its execution,’ Candy shuddered and I put my hand on her shoulder, ‘this young lady might lose one of her lovely limbs,’ I hooked the hem of Candy’s dress with my wand and slid it upwards. She smacked my hand away before I’d revealed more than her calves. I gave the wand an impatient slap. ‘I’m sorry. My wand has a life of its own. But I’m sure you’ll agree, gentlemen, that any injury to these fine pins would be a tragedy.’ There was a gallant rumble of agreement from the tables. ‘Therefore I’m going to ask you for silence while we prepare to amaze you.’

They were men more used to giving directions than receiving them, but they quietened down a little, the drinkers at the bar lowering their voices as they gave their orders to the barman.

I dipped them a brief bow, then made a show of pulling the saw’s fake chain, at the same time surreptitiously pressing the button that started the sound effect. The noise was as deafening as a motorbike stripped of its silencer. I’d warned Candy, but she took a step back. A show of nervousness was good, but only if she didn’t bolt. I grasped her firmly her by the arm and hissed, ‘Remember what I told you, it’s all show.’

The big girl’s breasts quivered, she glanced towards the bar and Bill gave her a nod.

She whispered. ‘You promise it won’t hurt?’

‘Do you really think I’m going to slice you in two in front of the filth? No, course not. It’s all smoke and mirrors sweetheart.’ Candy winced, but she let me sit her on the table then swung her legs up, modestly holding her skirt to her, but still revealing a flash of fishnets that drew some whistles from the audience as she sank slowly onto her back. I thought I saw tears trembling in her eyes. I gave her a wink and locked a small box around her waist, turning to the policemen and shouting over the noise, ‘Those of you who do a lot of shift work might like to know that this doubles as a chastity belt.’ I started to move the saw, knowing that from their angle it would look like I was cutting through the girl. Candy’s eyes were leaking now, but her smile was a little braver. I twisted my face, trying to look like the kind of crazed personality that might indeed saw a woman in half, but ran a finger reassuringly down her waist. I let the saw complete its journey then did an evil, heh, heh, heh to the audience. Candy looked up at me, unsure whether it was working. I winked again willing her to keep silent.

There was a wave of applause and then the catcalls started.

I know which end I’d like.

Come round to my place and do that to the Missis, that’s the only half of her I need.

Naw, mine’s talks out of her arse anyway.

I unlatched the box, grabbed a giant silk flag painted with red and black flames, shielded Candy with it while she detached herself from the equipment and got to her feet. I waved the flag three times and forced her into a bow.

‘Shit, he’s put her back together again,’ said a boozy voice from somewhere in the audience.

I slipped twenty quid into her hand and she went off to tend to her coats, while I took a final bow.

*

Bill slid into a booth with a good view of the dance floor. I slipped in opposite him with my back to the action. The mirror angled on the wall above Bill’s head caught the room in a convex swirl, flinging it back in a distorted haze of lights and colour. I sipped my drink. A Middle Eastern beat that was all drums and pipes started up. Bill put his glass down and looked beyond me towards the stage.

‘You been looking forward to this?’

I shrugged and wondered where Sam had got to. Whatever hopes I’d had of catching the last race of the night were lost.

Two tall black shadows glided across the floor. At first I couldn’t make out what they were. Perhaps the audience were confused too, they had fallen quiet, the men at the bar no longer keeping stiff-faced Crowther busy with a barrage of rounds.

Bill laughed. ‘Christ, we’re going to have a fatwa on our hands.’

He shook his head, amused, looking confident of his ability to stave off any attack. The shadows slid into focus and I realised that Shaz and Jacque had draped themselves in burkahs. They stood nun-black, with just a mesh of fabric to see through, swaying with the music, twirling round in a dance that looked traditional, but was probably made up. It was impossible to see what their bodies were doing beneath the robes, but I bet it would be lithe and smooth. The only part of them uncovered was their feet, tripping soft and dainty against the dance floor.

Together the girls raised their right hands and with a delicate move unhooked the grilles that veiled their eyes. The sparkles glistering from the makeup that jewelled their eyelids caught the light, even flashing into our dull corner. Shaz’s was pure emerald, Jacque’s switched between sapphire and diamond. For the first time since the pair had stepped onto the stage the men made a noise, a low cheer.

The girls danced on as if alone, swirling the burkahs, though now I suspected these were of thinner material than standard. They floated above the girls’ ankles, revealing painted toenails beneath black mesh and anklets of silver that clinked and trembled with each step.

Bill glanced at his watch, then suddenly, as if the girls sensed the audience’s attention was wavering, they reached out, each grabbing the other’s dark garment by the hips. There was a slight pause, a hesitation of Velcro and the dancers’ legs were revealed, smooth and stockinged, diamanté garters competing with their eyes in the sparkle stakes.

The men roared. Bill took a drag of his cigarette and turned away from the dance floor.

‘Not quite what I expected.’

I nodded towards the group of policemen.

‘They seem to be enjoying it well enough.’

‘That’s the main thing.’

In the mirror above his head the girls twirled some more, their veiled faces and covered bodies incongruous against the flesh of their exposed thighs shimmying above the dark stocking tops.

Bill seemed to have lost interest.

‘You were better than I expected.’

‘Cheers, but you weren’t seeing me at my best.’

‘Even better then.’

Out on the dance floor Shaz had torn Jacque’s top off to reveal a black brassiere, beaded fringes all a-twinkle. Jacque did a shimmy to the audience that made her bosoms shiver, then turned to her friend and returned the favour. Shaz’s bra was identical but silver-white. Their act was tacky, but it worked.

I said, ‘It’s tacky but it works.’

Bill made a face, ‘I guess you could call it tacky, but I thought you had something, with the right girl you might get somewhere.’ He looked back at the dancers. Jacque had wet her finger and placed it on Shaz’s thigh. She drew it back quickly as if scalded. ‘Let’s face it, you’d get nowhere lumbered with that fat tart.’

‘She was OK.’

‘She looks all right now, but those pale blondes wash out pretty quick.’ The girls were playing with the front fastenings of their bras now, teasing the crowd. Jacque leaned into the ringside table and let a burly man unclip hers. Her breasts fell forward and she rubbed them teasingly across his baldpate. ‘I watched you boosting those guys’ watches. You’ve got nimble digits there. Ever get you in trouble?’

‘Once or twice, as a kid.’

‘No convictions though?’

‘I learned to make it work for me.’

‘All the same, you were taking a chance with these coppers.’

‘You think so?’

‘No, not really, but you know what they can be like, there’s some touchy buggers amongst them.’

‘You get an instinct for them in my game.’

Bill took a sip of his drink.

‘I suppose you do. It’s amazing how you know things.’

‘It’s just a trick Bill.’

‘I realise that… but all the same. You were spot on every time. Maybe there’s more to the trick than you think.’

It had happened before, people mistaking dexterity and good observation for something else, but I hadn’t expected it from Bill. He passed me a cigar. We both lit up and sat silent in the smoke-scented gloom of the booth. Bill’s body was relaxed, his smile easy. A careless observer might have thought us old friends having a casual conversation. I mirrored his calm pose and waited for him to get to the point.

Sam skirted the dance floor, keeping clear of the boisterous bevy of men and inserted himself into the booth beside Bill. He nodded towards The Divines.

‘Very Tales of the Unexpected.’

Bill turned towards him.

‘A bit arty for me.’

Sam raised his eyebrows in mock exasperation.

‘There’s a surprise.’ His face grew serious. ‘Have you asked him yet?’

Bill paused like a man trying to make up his mind. I half expected Sam to cajole him, but there was a silence between the three of us almost as loud as the beat of the music and the laughter of the policemen. At last Bill sighed and put his cigar in the ashtray.

‘There’s something I’d like to know.’

He played with his glass, not taking a sip from it, just looking into the brown liquid as if the answer might lie amongst the bubbles. Curiosity and the dangerous faint hope of an easy score kept me in my seat.

‘Go on.’

‘I’d like to know what Inspector Montgomery had on my dad.’

The sentence hung in the air, a bridge between Bill’s world and mine. A bridge I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross.

Eventually I said, ‘So why don’t you ask him?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Sorry to hear it.’ I reached for my jacket. ‘I’m in the entertainment game. Complicated isn’t my scene.’

‘Hasty.’

Bill raised his index finger and I found myself hesitating.

Sam said, ‘At least hear him out. If you don’t like what he says then no hard feelings.’

My half-finished drink sat on the table before me; the cigar Bill had given me still stretching tendrils of smoke into the air. I sighed.

‘OK, go ahead.’

Bill’s smile was dry.

‘Policemen and businessmen: it’s no secret that sometimes one hand washes the other.’

‘Yet somehow no one gets clean.’

He shrugged.

‘It’s ancient history now. My dad and Inspector Montgomery had an arrangement, as I said, Monty helped my dad out at a very difficult time; he owed him and old loyalties die hard.’

‘So?’

‘My dad died three months ago.’

‘I’m sorry for your troubles.’

Bill took a sip of his drink.

‘He was only sixty-eight. It was unexpected.’

‘Natural causes?’

‘You’re not in murder central now, Jock, this is civilisation. He had a heart attack. It was instant.’

‘So where do I come in?’

Sam’s smile was tense. ‘It’s really just a matter of… ’

Bill interrupted him.

‘You save me the unpleasantness of laying my hands on an elderly policeman.’

Bill ordered more drinks. Out on the dance floor the music had changed to an R’n’B beat. The girls still had their stockings and panties on, but now they’d each equipped themselves with high heels and were stalking around the men waving purses in front of them, getting the audience to pay up if they wanted them to go further.

In the booth Sam said to Bill, ‘William’s straight up. Tell him the whole story and he’ll help you out. Won’t you, William?’

I shrugged.

‘See?’ Sam smiled. ‘I told you he was the boy for the job.’

Bill shook his head.

‘What does it matter? We’ll be gone soon.’ He took another puff of his cigar and resumed his story. ‘I said that Monty and my dad went way back?’ I nodded. ‘Well, they didn’t like each other. In fact, I’d go as far as to say they hated each other’s guts, but they helped each other out. I asked my dad why once and he changed the subject. I assumed it was just business.’ Bill gazed out over the dance floor, but I got the feeling he wasn’t seeing the half-naked girls still teasing the drunken policemen. ‘Last week Monty shows me an envelope and says my dad paid a lot of money to keep its contents quiet. If I keep up the payments I can keep it quiet too.’

‘So what was in it?’

Sam interrupted. ‘He didn’t say.’

Bill gave Sam a stern look.

‘He was enjoying himself. Said it was something my dad wouldn’t want me to know, but now that he was dead it was up to me to decide whether I wanted to or not.’ Bill took a swig of his drink. ‘My dad was no angel, but… ’

‘But you don’t think there would be anything diabolical in his past.’

Bill shrugged.

‘We all do bad things. Who knows? But I don’t think so, no. He straightened out a lot after my mum went. He did what he had to do,’ Bill glanced over to where Montgomery had Shaz on his knee. ‘But my dad always knew where to draw the line.’

I looked for a telltale drunken glaze in Bill’s eye, but his grey gaze looked clear. I wondered why he was telling me all this.

‘Maybe you should sleep on it.’

‘This is the last night this place is open. I’ve sold it.’ He grinned. ‘I’m getting out, bought a yacht. Me and Sam are going to have a taste of the easy life before we decide what to do next. Tonight was meant to smooth the way. My dad had to duck and dive to make a living, but he gave me a good education and a good inheritance. I’m cutting old ties and that doesn’t mean sending some copper hush money every month, no matter how far him and my old man went back.’

‘So buy it from him and burn it.’

‘That’s one option.’

He looked at me.

Bill’s plan started to dawn but I said, ‘Where do I come into all this?’

Sam said, ‘It’s in the inside left-hand pocket of his suit jacket.’

I remembered Montgomery’s smile, sharp as a broken razor-blade and reached for my coat.

‘I’m sorry gents, you picked the wrong conjurer.’

Sam’s voice was injured.

‘Come on, William… ’

Bill silenced him with a look.

‘Leave it out Sam. He does it voluntary or not at all, that’s what we agreed.’

‘But…’

Sam shot me a glance like a man betrayed, but Bill put his hand gently on top of his lover’s. His voice was soft.

‘Get William a bottle of Moët from behind the bar would you, Sam? Help compensate him for his extra time.’

I said, ‘There’s no need.’

Sam gave it one last try.

‘Go on, William. I’ve seen you do harder than that. Think of it as a bet.’

Bill’s voice was harsh.

‘Just get the champagne will you.’ He paused and smoothed a bit of finesse into his tone. ‘Please.’

Sam got to his feet and left the table without looking at me.

‘Thanks for the drink and the cigar.’ I pulled on my jacket. ‘I don’t need any extra compensation. Good luck with your new life. I’d like to help, but I’ve got worries of my own.’

Bill glanced towards the bar, making sure Sam was out of earshot, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of IOUs it had taken me months of hard losing to accumulate with my bookie. His voice was low and sympathetic, like a nurse about to stick a needle into a particularly tender portion of flesh. He said, ‘Are any of them financial?’

*

Pick-pocketing is not as easy as some people would have you believe. The greatest defence is a crowd, where a little bit of physical contact won’t be unduly noticed, a packed subway or a busy lift. The second-best defence is distraction. Luckily for me the biggest distraction in the world was right in front of the inspector’s eyes, sex. Jacque made her way up to our booth, there was a slight stagger to her walk and I could see a glaze in her eyes that might have been drink, drugs, an attempt at detachment, or maybe all three. She shook the full-looking bag in front of us. It was all notes.

Bill said, ‘Leave it out, Jacque.’

But I took out my wallet and dropped in a fifty.

‘I’d like to buy Mr Montgomery a retirement present.’

Jacque tucked my fifty in tight with the rest.

‘You could have saved your money, that lot out there have already paid for him.’ She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Ta all the same.’

Back on the dance floor there was a cheer as the girls peeled off the remnants of their costumes. They were shaved and vulnerable in amongst the suits and studied casualness of the men. Bill said, ‘I guess this is where I leave you to get on with it. Sam and me’ll be upstairs in my office when you’re ready to deliver.’

Jacque and Shaz were on the floor, the men crowding round them now, shielding them from my view.

I asked, ‘Will they be OK?’

Bill said, ‘They’re whores. OK doesn’t come into it.’ A second cheer went up. Jacque was standing in front of Montgomery, loosening his tie. The men beside him had pulled back. I watched the men’s eyes as Jacque worked her way down the Inspector’s body, sliding his tie between her legs. I finished my drink and made my way towards the bar as if in search of another. When I passed the knot of men I reached over and grabbed Jacque by the waist, pulling her towards me.

‘Any chance of a private dance, doll?’ Montgomery got to his feet as I’d hoped he would, pushing me to one side. I lurched to the right, still holding the sweat-slicked girl in my grip, and dipped his pocket, feeling the envelope, sliding it out quick and sure, tucked between my thumb and index finger, then crabbed it in my hand and conveyed it to my own pocket, pushing the naked girl towards him as I did so. ‘Hey, no harm meant pal.’ Making my accent thick and drink-addled.

One of the men gave me a shove, ‘Stupid bloody Jock.’ But the scene was quick to resume itself, Jacque flashing me a sharp confused look that might have spoken of suspicion or regret or perhaps just of disgust. I gave her the briefest of smiles, and then went to deliver my prize.