He came back out a few minutes later.
“He said he’ll be right down. Get you something while you wait?”
Harry shook his head.
“I’m good thanks.”
As they waited Harry saw the man throw surreptitious glances at him. Eventually Harry caught his eye.
“You alright over there?”
The man laughed.
“I’m really sorry Mister Sands but growing up granddad told us so many stories about you. It’s just kind of funny to see you here, in the flesh so to speak.”
Harry laughed.
“Bloody hell, son. I’m just another old man now, I’m trying to sort out my pension!”
“Are all them stories true?”
Harry held out his hands.
“Not heard them but probably not, your granddad always liked to blow a story up.”
“Did you really . . .?”
The man faltered.
Harry held his gaze and the man looked away.
“Best leave that one, eh?”
The young man nodded and went back to cleaning the espresso machine. Fifteen minutes later Eddie Nax stuck his head into the café.
“Harry!”
He waved a gloved hand and then looked over at his grandson.
“Nico, if your mother calls I’m feeding the pigeons in Covent Garden. Harry we’re going for lunch!”
Eddie Nax wore a heavy camel hair overcoat, burgundy scarf and a brown fedora. He looked to be about eighty. Harry jumped down from his stool and walked over to the door. “See you later, Nico, and don’t believe everything you hear.”
The two men walked in silence up Shelton Street, crossed Charing Cross Road and sliced into the underbelly of Soho.
“How’ve you been, Harry?”
“Same old, same old. Seems like a different place ‘round here now.”
“Not so different,” muttered the old man.
Harry stopped and looked at Eddie.
“I know, I know,” said Eddie. “You still remember me twenty five years ago – you’re asking yourself where did that handsome young Maltese go!”
Harry laughed. “You were fifty then, Ed.”
Eddie shrugged.
“The girls said we looked like brothers, Harry.”
The old man turned and hugged Harry.
“It’s been too long. I’ve had no one to beat at chess for a long time.”
“Where are we going for lunch?”
“French house?”
Harry nodded. “Why not. Is Gaston still there?”
“No, he retired not long after they sent you away. A lot of changes after you left.”
“All the old faces gone?”
“Most, but not all. Perhaps a few left from our time. You have someone in mind?”
“Howie, fucking, Kinski.”
Eddie stopped dead and his old head turned like a tortoise towards Harry. “Yes, Kinski’s still around.”
Harry nodded and walked on.
“Come on, Eddie. I need a fucking drink.”
Lunch consisted of steaks with halves of lager on the side. Once the food was done they moved on to Ricard, just like in the old days.
“I need to ask you something, Eddie.”
Eddie gestured with his hand for Harry to continue. Harry took Rhian’s picture from his pocket.
“You seen her around the way?”
Eddie took the photo and studied it.
“Harry, you have to remember I spend most of my time in the flat at Clerkenwell. It’s not like the old days. I could ask Nico, but he is a good boy – not like we were.”
“And I need my money, Eddie.”
“You don’t worry, Harry. I’ve kept it safe.”
Eddie passed three hundred in twenties to Harry under the table and put a bank card down in front of him.
“The other six grand’s in there. The PIN is one seven nine eight.”
“Thanks, Eddie. I need to know something else - where can I find Kinski?”
“Harry, I don’t think I should tell you that.”
“How long have we known each other, Eddie? I need to see him and make sure it’s done.”
“The only way it would’ve been done is if you had buried your axe in his head that night.”
“I did. But the cunt’s still walking. Persistent fucker to say the least.”
“And still the same from what I’ve heard.”
Harry looked Eddie straight in the eye and laid the photo of Rhian on the table between them. “That’s my granddaughter, Eddie. Tell me where Kinski is.”
“He sits in the Montagu Pyke with his boys through the afternoon.
Harry looked confused.
“The Marquee Club as was.”
“How many boys?”
“Usually there are two. Please don’t do this, Harry.”
“I have to see him, Eddie.” Harry stood, legs unsteady from the Ricard. He looked down at himself.
“I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Eddie remained seated.
“Go and see Marnie first. She’s working in Chinatown. She missed you, Harry you should see her, she’s waited a long time for you.”
Eddie held out a piece of paper and Harry took it.
“And we should play chess again, just be two old men playing chess in the café.”
Harry looked back for a moment and then he was gone into the night.
*
Harry lay in his bed in the bail hostel in Camden, the liquorice taste of Ricard thick on his tongue, as the room tilted and tipped. On the inside Harry had steered clear of the hooch prisoners made from fermented fruit so the afternoon’s drinking session had been his first in a quarter of a century and he was feeling it.
Harry tried to concentrate on the light fitting above him. The shadows around the room seemed to close in on him as he stared up and he felt a familiar feeling begin to worm its way inside him where it grew and grew. Harry closed his eyes but that just made it worse and made the feeling rush up on him more quickly a car passed by in the street below and the light thrown by its headlights made the shadows flex as though they were grasping hands reaching for him. This feeling had been with Harry since he was a small boy in a council flat on East Street, above the market. Even with his mum and dad in the front room, telly blasting through the wall, and the hall light shining under the door Harry had felt the exact same terror he felt in the bail hostel.
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, opened his eyes and looked at the dark around him. He placed his hands palms down on his knees and closed his eyes again – total dark. He began to count in his head. Even as he felt sure that fingertips were reaching out of the shadows to caress his flesh, he kept his eyes shut tight and maintained his count. Harry’s heart pounded like a copper’s fist on a front door at five A.M, his breathing quickened and sweat broke out on his forehead. With his eyes shut Harry’s imagination ran rampant with thoughts of what could be going on around him; things slipping out from beneath the bed, doors of wardrobes opening as hidden attackers crept out and the dark itself wrapping around him in a black embrace. He reached the count of five hundred and his breathing and heart rate slowed as the sweat dried on his forehead he swung his legs back under the covers, eyes still shut tight against the night. He lay back and fell asleep.
*
Morning brought with it waves of sickness and a headache that made Harry curse Eddie and The French House. He headed out into the rain that had been falling since dawn and bought a latte to drink on the tube. He caught the Northern Line to Leicester Square, headed up Shaftsbury Avenue and cut back into Chinatown. The familiar sights and smells cheered Harry he’d spent a lot of time in the warren of alleys and side streets that spider-webbed around Gerrard Street and Lisle Street.
He checked the address on the piece of paper that Eddie had given him the night before. Royal Vale House, a large red brick block of apartments, sat almost unnoticed in the heart of the West End.
Harry rang
up on the intercom.
“Yes?” The sound of Marnie’s voice made Harry’s heart jump.
“Marnie, its Harry. Harry Sands.”
Silence.
“Marn’?”
A sharp intake of breath, audible even through the static of the intercom.
“Come on up, Harry.”
Harry heard the buzz of the door being released and the click of the handset being replaced.
Harry looked at the lifts for a moment and then took the stairs. He climbed to the fourth floor and quickly found the door he was looking for. It was open. Harry stepped through into the dark hallway, the smell of incense touched his nostrils.
“Marnie?”
“In here, Harry.”
Harry followed the sound of Marnie’s voice and found her in the lounge, which was nearly as dark as the hallway had been. Marnie sat behind a round table and for a moment, in the shadows of the room, it seemed to Harry that no time at all had passed since he had last seen Marnie.
“Hello.”
“It’s been a long time, Harry. A lot of years – wasted years.”
“It has at that.”
Marnie offered a hand and Harry stepped over to take it. He looked down at Marnie; eyes like chips of blue ice set in a pale face and framed by dark hair that still had a hint of the Rockabilly look that Harry remembered. He could see that the years had been kind to Marnie but they had still left the mark of their passing.
“You haven’t changed a bit, babes.”
Marnie slapped her free hand against Harry’s stomach.
“You’ve toned up. You’re looking good for a man who lost a third of a lifetime.”
Harry shrugged.
“Still the same old Harry – man of a thousand words.”
Marnie laughed.
Her laugh reminded him of when they first met – her a croupier and him a doorman at a casino off Russell Square.
“You should never have let them push you so far, Harry.”
“They pushed a bit and I pushed back. That’s all.”
“And now you’ve got other problems?”
Marnie squeezed his hand.
“That your gift talking?”
Marnie winked at Harry.
“Oh, my gift’s still working, Harry.”
She gestured around the room.
“It pays for all this and I don’t have to work the tables anymore. No more séances in the back rooms of pubs in Hackney and Kilburn with a pint glass passed round for change either.”
It was Harry’s turn to squeeze Marnie’s hand.
“Then I need you to tell me something, babes.” Harry put the picture of Rhian on the table.
“Who is she?”
“My granddaughter. I’ve never got to see her, Marn’ and now she’s gone.”
“Sit down next to me. You’ve seen how this works before, Harry. You just sit there and I’ll do the rest. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Her lips brushed Harry’s and he kept hold of her hand as her eyes closed. Her face lost expression as the muscles slackened and her lips began to move quickly in silent conversation. Harry tried to pick out the words but Marnie’s lips moved too swiftly for him to follow. She reached the trance state much more quickly than when Harry had seen these performances two and a half decades earlier. He waited a moment.
“You there, Marnie?”
Marnie’s head lolled to one side and her breathing changed, growing huskier.
“You there?”
“I’m here, lover.”
The voice wasn’t Marnie’s. It was pure Bow Bells whereas Marnie was from down on the south coast near to Brighton.
“Who’s that?”
Marnie’s hand grew colder in Harry’s grip.
“You can call me whatever you like as long as you’re buying but most people call me Peaches on account of ‘ow sweet and plump I am!”
“I’m Harry.”
Marnie’s eyes fluttered open, they were distant and unfocused.
“Oh, you look like a catch, bit old for me but still. Get a girl a drink, Harry?”
Harry looked around the lounge and spotted a collection of bottles on a sideboard.
He carefully placed Marnie’s hand into her lap and walked over to the drinks.
“What’ll you have?”
“Gin, straight. No ice and don’t be a miser.”
Harry threw a good measure of Bombay Sapphire into a glass and carried it back to the table. Marnie reached out and brought the glass to her lips and took a hearty swig.
“Got a smoke?”
“Sorry, I don’t.”
A throaty sigh.
“Well, I guess a girl can’t have everything. What can I do you for, Harry?”
“I need to know if someone is on . . . your side of things.”
“Oh here in the dark you mean?”
“I suppose I do,” replied Harry, trying not to think too hard upon what he was asking.
“Who you looking for?”
“A young girl - fourteen. She’s my granddaughter, she’s missing up here and I think it might have something to do with some bad things that happened a long time ago.”
“And you think she might have fallen into the dark place where I am?”
“I pray to God she hasn’t but I need to know. Certain things might have to be done.”
Marnie threw the remains of the gin down her neck.
“Well I’ll go and have a look-see while you make me another drink and see if you can’t rustle me up a fag while you’re at it, handsome.”
Marnie’s eyes closed and her head made a slow roll on her neck until her chin touched her chest. Her breathing grew deep and rhythmic. Harry got up and refilled the glass with another large measure of gin. He searched the drawers of the sideboard and found half a packet of Mayfair’s and a lighter. Returning to the table he took up his seat next to Marnie and waited.
The time passed slowly and Harry was thinking about getting a drink for himself, hangover half forgotten, when Marnie’s head snapped up and she let out a loud gasp.
“Marnie? Peaches?”
“She’s not there, Harry. I think I’ll take the rest of that drink now, please.”
Harry put the glass into her hand and helped it up to her lips. The thing inside Marnie drained the glass and licked the last drop from inside. Harry took a cigarette from the packet and placed it between her lips. She took a long drag and blew the smoke up to the ceiling. Harry held the cigarette for her.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“What did you find? Tell me, Peaches, I need to know.”
She took another deep pull on the cigarette.
“Rhian’s not there, but there are others - too many others. One of the others knew her. They talked about the dark ones, Harry. And what they did to them before they came to where I am. Horrible things, Harry! Things that shouldn’t be done to any girl.”
Nails dug into Harry’s arm and Peaches began to sob within the vessel of Marnie. Marnie’s eyes rolled back to the whites. Harry grabbed her shoulders.
“Marnie! Marnie!”
Marnie coughed. “I can taste gin. Have I been smoking?”
Harry laughed but it sounded hollow. Marnie looked tired and drawn.
“You okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down.”
Harry helped her up.
“Who did you talk to?”
“Peaches.”
It was Marnie’s turn to laugh.
“Oh, she’s a live one. No wonder I can taste gin and cigarettes. Surprised you didn’t give her a jump what with being away for so long.”
Harry felt heat grow in his ears.
“I’m joking. Come and lie down with me, Harry, like you used to.”
Marnie was asleep as soon as she hit the sheets. Harry took off his boots and lay down next to her. He turned and studied her face while she slept. She was right about the wasted years. Harry remembered the days they spent lying together in Marn
ie’s one room bed-sit after they’d worked the late shift at the casino too wired from the nights work to sleep they would drink and smoke with the other workers from the casino and then they’d head back to hers.
Good days, thought Harry.
Soon after he’d been busy collecting debts for the casino owner and his friends in Gerrard Street. But even then he’d lay down with Marnie for a few hours of peace. He could’ve been happy if it wasn’t for them. Harry put a blanket over Marnie she rolled over and murmured his name in her sleep. He sat for a moment and then laced up his boots and left.
*
Harry found a telephone box on Charing Cross Road and called Nicola. She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me. Dad.”
“Have you found her?”
“Not yet. But I might be able to find the boyfriend. What does he look like?”
“Well he’s taller than you so about six one. Dark hair; gelled on top, short around the sides how all the boys have it. He’s sort of slim but not too skinny, not a bean pole but not built.”
Harry tried to picture the boy in his head.
“Does that help?”
Harry nodded and then realised he hadn’t replied.
“Yeah, it should. As soon as I know more I’ll let you know.”
“You have to find her.”
“I told you I’ll try.”
“Find her, please! The coppers are worse than useless, couldn’t find their arses with both hands.”
“Calm down, Nicola.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Have you found her yet? No, you’re just like the rest of them what have you ever done for me in my whole life?”
“Nic, I’ll phone you when I know more.”
Harry hung up the ‘phone. A temper just like her mother, he thought as he walked up towards The Montagu Pyke.
*
The Montagu Pyke was a barn of a pub which had been a cinema a century earlier and the shape of the frontage still displayed the fact that it had begun its life as a picture house Harry went in through the back door on Greek Street. He headed to the closest bar and ordered a pint of lager.
Strolling slowly through the pub, Harry let his eyes move far ahead, watching for familiar faces. Sipping his pint Harry scanned the room. Nothing. He moved through into the next part of the pub and quickly stepped behind a pillar when he saw a face he knew. It was Howie Kinski.
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