by JS Taylor
“I’m not sure…” I begin.
But Adam shakes his head firmly.
“You didn’t know me before,” he says, in a steely voice. “And I wouldn’t have wanted you to know me. But believe me, Summer. The only person who should be frightened right now, is Dez.”
He kisses the top of my head.
“We won’t go on a date tonight, if it makes you feel easier,” he says. “Have an early night here, get some sleep. I’ll come pick you up early tomorrow. We’ll get this shit sorted out then.”
He smiles darkly.
“And this Dez person better hope I’m in a better mood in the morning,” he adds.
Chapter 12
The fear stays curled in my stomach all night. And when I do sleep, my dreams are vivid nightmares, full of Dez’s bloodshot eyes.
I awake to the certainty that I can’t go through with this. I can’t let Adam walk into a club full of Dez’s friends. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened.
My mind considers possible alternatives. Could I arrange to meet Dez earlier, and sneak out? I don’t have his number. And I can’t imagine how I’d get it. Besides, even changing the time could be enough to tip Dez over the edge. He always hated my suggesting when or where we met up.
It’s barely 7am, but my telephone rings, and I pick it up to see Adam’s name on the display. I click to answer.
“Not thinking of backing out are you?”
Adam’s thick voice rolls across the line. I smile slightly, despite my rampant anxiety.
“Yes,” I admit, “but I can’t think of any way to do it.”
Adam gives a little huff.
“I thought as much,” he says, “that’s why I’m phoning you so early. You don’t need to worry Summer. This will be sorted this morning. I promise.”
One way or another.
I can’t help the negative thought. But despite it all, Adam’s words have soothed me a little.
“Don’t even think of running out on me,” concludes Adam. “I’ll be there to pick you up in an hour. Have something to eat. Try to stay calm.”
Yeah. Right.
“I’ll do my best,” I promise, thinking there’s no way I’ll be able to eat breakfast.
“Good.”
He hangs up, and I slide out of bed. Tammy and George are still sleeping soundly, so I head down the Sing-Win kitchen.
I don’t expect to see anyone at this early hour. But to my surprise, Deven is here, eating a bowl of cereal.
“Hi,” I say. I’m mildly aware that it’s slightly weird to be alone with him in the kitchen. Though in my current state of mental fireworks, it hardly registers.
Deven looks up, obviously not expecting to see me, and then smiles.
“Oh, hi Summer,” he says, looking pleased. “I was hoping to catch you alone at some point.”
“You were?” I say, stepping towards the kitchen cupboards and rifling for cereal. I pick out a box of Cheerios, and a bowl.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a spoon of cereal. “I just wanted to apologise, you know. For our date.”
I look at him uncertainly. As far as I’m concerned, our ruined date was a century ago. I can barely remember it.
“I mean,” he continues, “I should have told you, that contestants weren’t allowed to date.”
Deven gives me a cute dimpled grin. I smile back faintly, and open the fridge to get milk to pour into my bowl.
“And having Adam Morgan show up,” he adds, “talk about embarrassing!”
“Um. Yeah,” I say, not sure how to respond. I grab a spoon, wondering if my face shows that I literally couldn’t care less right now.
Not to mention, the date with Deven was completely erased from my mind, after Adam took me out afterwards.
“The only thing is,” says Deven slowly, “I didn’t see you afterwards at the house.”
He gives a forced laugh. “And there’s this crazy rumour,” he continues, “that you stayed with Adam Morgan that night.”
I swallow a big mouth of cereal to hide my expression.
“Really,” I say chewing. “That’s pretty dumb.”
Deven’s face breaks in relief.
“Yeah,” he says. “I thought so too.”
He munches another spoon of cereal.
“So… Maybe we could try another date?” he suggests. “Top secret this time?”
“Deven, I…”
Jeez. This is the last thing I need.
He holds up a hand.
“It’s ok. I get it. The show comes first. I understand. You don’t want to break the rules.”
I give him a forced smile.
Let him think that.
“I guess I’ll have to wait for you to get voted off, to go out with me,” adds Deven with a wink. “Maybe we can fix a date for next week.”
I stare at him slightly shocked. Even with everything that’s going on for me this morning, I can’t help but miss the inference. And the arrogance.
It sounds as though Deven’s had inside information, that we’ll be voted out.
“You think we’ll get voted off next?” I say slowly, wondering if he knows something I don’t.
Deven looks embarrassed and then shrugs.
“Well, you know. You got a tough break. Teaming up with Dev.as.station. Everyone knows that George and Dushane can’t stand each other.”
“But Dev.as.station could be voted out instead of us,” I point out, feeling defensive.
“I guess,” says Deven. “But they have a big garage following don’t they? Lots of fans ready to vote.”
“What about you?” I ask, “or Scandelous? Why shouldn’t you be voted out?”
I know I’m being rude, but something about his certainty irks me.
How can he be so sure? Unless he’s got some advantage I don’t know about?
Deven looks away. Something about the gesture strikes me as strange.
“I just don’t think that will happen,” he mumbles.
Something’s going on here.
If my mind wasn’t so caught up in the danger of Dez, I’d think about this more carefully. But right now, my head is not in that space.
Dez catches my expression, and gives me a sympathetic smile. He’s obviously thinking that my thoughtful face is for the show. If only he knew.
“That’s showbiz,” he says.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply bluntly. Right now, I could hardly care less about the competition. Deven has no idea, what’s going on in my world.
No idea at all.
Chapter 13
Adam picks me up as promised, and it’s hard not to fall apart with nerves as I’m climbing onto his bike.
Despite his multiple reassurances, I just can’t see how this is going to be ok.
All I can do is hold on tight as we sweep through London towards the east, and enjoy the fleeting moments of tranquillity I feel, pressed up against Adam’s back.
But it doesn’t last. Central London filters away to the east. The imposing historical buildings clear away for a hotchpotch of trendy bars, ethnic restaurants, and crumbling Victorian pubs.
We turn onto a street of liquor stores, and betting shops. A steady litter of girly cards and cigarette butts scatter the pavement.
A swinging pub-sign announces our destination. From the peeling paint you can just make out the shape of a rabbit.
Looks like we’ve arrived.
The Jugged Hare is a shady-looking Victorian pub, whose windows were long ago blacked out, to make it into a late night strip club. At night there’s a neon sign which reads ‘GIRLS’. But this has been switched off, and the building looks deserted.
As Adam and I pull up, my fear is reaching critical mass.
What is Dez going to do, when he sees Adam?
My heart is in my mouth.
“Are you ok?” asks Adam as he helps me off the bike.
I try to nod, but I can’t disguise my trepidation.
He pulls me tight, and kisses my h
ead.
“This is the last time you’re ever going to have to deal with this shit, ok?”
I manage to nod my head this time. But the ice-cold fear swirling in my stomach, makes it difficult to think straight.
“I would never have brought you along,” adds Adam. “But I wanted you to see once and for all, that you’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
He gives me a little smile.
“Then we can get on with more important things,” he concludes.
How can he be so calm?
I smile back weakly, eyeing the building.
The pub is tiled and tumbledown, with Victorian window frames, and a foreboding door of thick dark wood and glass panels.
Old pubs like these are tourist attractions in some parts of England. Their red tile exteriors are polished to a shine, and their hanging signs are smartly painted.
But in this area of London they’re mostly left to rack and ruin – and criminal activity.
“Aren’t you even the least bit nervous?” I whisper, as we make for the entrance.
Adam’s mouth twists.
“I’ve been worse places than this,” he says simply. “And I know how to take care of myself.”
His eyes flit to me.
“I’ll take good care of you too,” he adds, squeezing my hand.
I eye the wood and glass door of the pub uncertainly.
Somehow the daytime makes it look even more seedy than at night. The front of the pub is so obviously neglected, with the old frontage peeling away in places. The windows are filthy. At least under cover of darkness, the neon sign draws your eye from the general crumbling exterior.
I’ve been in here once before, and was shocked at how the men sat leering at girls in their underwear. At least now it’s early morning. So I’m guessing there won’t be too many people around.
I feel a tremble of fear to think that’s how Dez planned it. Me. Alone.
I’m suddenly so grateful that Adam is here.
I squeeze his hand in return as we walk up to the small door. Adam pushes it confidently open.
We’re greeted with a rush of stale beer fumes and fresh cigarette smoke.
Obviously a few punters are still here.
The entrance to the pub has been fashioned into a partial vestibule, to prevent customers from walking straight in without paying. There’s a dirty curtain separating six feet of grimy corridor from the wider pub beyond. And to my surprise, a tired looking woman sits at a chipped table, with a Tupperware tub of bank notes.
I guess there’s no closing time for a girly bar.
The woman is wearing only underwear – a luridly pink bra, panties and suspender belt – and her face looks much older than her scanty clothing would suggest.
Her make-up has etched into the lines around her eyes, and her bright lipstick is feathering into the creases around her mouth.
She looks up at us, first wearily, and then in slight surprise.
I’m guessing she’s trying to work out if Adam is who she thinks he is. After a moment she evidently decides he couldn’t possibly be, and shakes the plastic tub at us. The coins beneath the few notes rattle.
“Three pound each,” she says, “unless you’re looking for a job,” she adds, eyeing me kindly. “Then you wait here and I’ll get the manager.”
Adam drops a ten pound note into the tub. Then he produces a fifty, and passes it to the woman.
“Can you tell me anything about the men inside?” asks Adam. “We’ve a meeting,” he adds.
The woman hesitates, and then evidently decides we’re not police. She leans forward and takes the fifty.
Sitting back comfortably, she tucks the note deftly into her bra.
“Don’t know much about who’s in there,” she says slowly. “But I can tell you there’s no firearms come inside. The club takes too much money to mess with that kind of shit.”
She looks sad at this last part, as though she once believed more of that money would come her way.
Adam nods, considering this.
“Doesn’t stop knives though,” the woman adds, her eyes raking us both. “Or razors. There’s a couple of men who came in earlier, who looked like they were carrying.”
“Thanks,” says Adam. He gives the woman a wink, and she suddenly looks ten years younger, smiling shyly under his gaze. “We’ll see you on the way out.”
Still holding my hand, Adam pulls me towards the thick curtain, and moves it aside.
Chapter 14
The pub looks exactly the same as I remember it. With the exception of having far fewer people inside.
Battered wooden bar stools litter the patterned carpet, which is sticky underfoot with beer spills. A dark wood bar lines the centre, and a tiny television is bolted high up, showing a racing channel. There’s a row of old fashioned beer taps, and ancient bar towels scattered along to mop up spills.
Instead of a handful of girls taking turns on the tiny makeshift stage, there’s just one woman in her underwear, walking round collecting money. There are three men slumped at the bar, sipping from pints of beer, but their backs are to the stage. Instead they’re glued to the racing on the small television.
Adam walks straight to the bar, where a middle aged barman is leaning, also watching the racing.
“We’ve got a meeting with a man named Dez,” says Adam.
His voice has a quiet authority about it which makes him sound dangerous. In that moment my fears subside a little. He’s totally at home here.
The barman’s eyebrows raise slightly. But if he had been told to expect me alone, he doesn’t question Adam. Instead he gestures with his thumb to a small room at the back, reserved for private dances.
Adam nods and walks towards it, propelling me with him. I notice the half-naked woman do a double take as Adam walks by. But she, like the door-woman, doesn’t seem inclined to believe that the real Adam Morgan would wander into her seedy dive.
Adam pushes open a door, which is attached to a badly made partition wall. On the other side, is a semicircle banquette of seats, and a round table.
And Dez.
My heart begins pounding.
Dez is not alone. Sat either side of him, like henchmen, are two men I vaguely recognise. They were always present when Dez was conducting some deal or other, and they have the air of violent men.
Are they the men who came in with knives?
Something tells me they are.
The round table is crusted with residues of white powder, so I’m guessing Dez, or all three of them, have been taking cocaine or speed recently. There’s also a stack of papers which I recognise.
My old contract! I guess Dez bought it along to show off his hold on me.
I see a glimmer of shock on Dez’s face to see Adam, but it quickly subsides beneath a drugged-up arrogant cruelty.
Dez sits forward slowly, as if relishing his power.
“Well, well,” he says finally, raising his eyes to Adam. “Do you mind telling me, what the fuck you’re doing here? I told Summer to come alone.”
I glance at Adam’s face. His blue eyes have a steel about them I’ve not seen before. Right now, I’d believe him capable of almost anything.
Dez catches the look too, and even through the fug of drugs I see a twitch of fear.
“You threatened my girl,” says Adam simply. He shifts his weight imperceptibly, and I notice the men on either side of Dez tense. Obviously they’re less drugged up than their leader.
“So,” continues Adam, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, “by rights you should be a dead man.”
A ripple of shock edges through the three men.
Dez’s fists clench slowly.
“But,” continues Adam, “you’ve caught me in a good mood. So I’m inclined to be lenient.”
He takes a deep drag, and breathes out slowly.
“Give me Summer’s contract,” Adam continues. “And apologise to her. Promise to leave her alone. If Summer’s happy with that, then. Well
. You’re a lucky man. Because I’ll not bear a grudge.”
There’s a long pause. The men on either side of Dez look stunned. Then Dez issues a long choking laugh. He claps his hands slowly. His henchmen look relieved, as if they weren’t sure which way things were going to go.
“You come in here,” sneers Dez, “into my pub, issuing threats? You might be a pop star out there,” he spits, gesturing with his hands to the wider world outside the pub. “But in here, you’re nothing.”
Dez leans forward threateningly.
“In here,” he sneers, “I’m the King. And you’re about to learn a lesson in respect.”
Adam places his cigarette carefully into an ashtray on the table.
“I suggest you do what I say,” he replies calmly.
Dez’s face contorts in outrage. He glances at the men on either side of him.
“Hold him down,” Dez commands.
The two men leap up with surprising speed, but they hardly get within a foot of Adam.
It all happens so quickly I can barely register it. One of the men pulls a knife. But as he advances, Adam’s foot comes out like lightning, kicking the weapon free from his hand. Then Adam’s elbow ploughs into the second henchman, who reels back and falls to the floor.
In the seconds that follow, the knife arcs through the air. Adam catches it easily in his hand.
My eyes shift to the standing henchman. He’s looking in disbelief at his friend on the floor, and at his knife in Adam’s hand. But he continues to advance, even though Adam is now holding his blade.
He swings a punch, but Adam dodges expertly, ploughing his fist into the henchman’s jaw, knocking him out cold.
Then, Adam spins the knife in his hand, and levels an assessing gaze at Dez. Dez watches in disbelief as Adam takes aim, and suddenly, the knife is lodged deep in the wall, less than an inch from Dez’s head.
I stand frozen in shock. The remaining conscious henchman is on the floor groaning. He begins the right himself. Then the man’s gaze rests on Dez’s terrified face, and the knife buried in the wall, and he settles back onto the floor again.
Adam picks up his cigarette from the ashtray and takes a drag.
“As I was saying,” he continues calmly. “The contract, and an apology.”