Perfect Death

by Helen Fields

  ‘You want something in that drink?’ a man walked in front of her, barring her way. He was big but it was excess weight rather than muscle, not that she could afford to get into a confrontation.

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine,’ she said, dropping her English public school accent and adopting her best Glaswegian, moving to one side and waiting until he let her pass.

  ‘Here alone?’ he asked, ignoring or oblivious to her hint.

  Ava sighed. ‘I’m meeting someone shortly. Could I get past, please?’

  ‘I have good pills,’ the man said. ‘They loosen you up, yes? You prickly.’ He was 6’4”, closing on sixteen stone, Ava estimated. Not someone she wanted to have a fall out with so early, although later on she might feel differently. For now, she had to excuse herself without getting into a row.

  ‘I’m just coming down from something else,’ she said. ‘I’ll find you later though, yeah? Get a pick-me-up.’

  ‘No charge for you. I haven’t seen you here before. Your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Pixie,’ Ava said, wondering where the hell that had come from. ‘I’ve only just moved into this part of the city. Thought I’d check out the scene.’

  ‘You tell barman, Domo said free drink tonight. I look after what you need,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Domo,’ Ava said, moving past while he was being nice. ‘I’ll remember that.’ She located a booth and parked herself in it, wishing she’d thought to buy two drinks to indicate that someone else was coming. Domo was obviously on the payroll here, providing drugs and who knew what else. The music cranked up a notch, and the upper balcony brightened to reveal girls stepping into dance cages. The lighting changed shade, leaving the club bathed in swirling red and gold hues. She checked her watch. It was nearly 11pm. Another male wandered towards her and Ava shook her head immediately, grateful that one was easier to dissuade. Two women walked past, one supporting the other as she swayed and lost control of her stiletto heels. Whatever Domo was persuading women to put into their drinks, she didn’t want it in hers. Taking a pretend sip, she pulled out her mobile and made a show of texting. It was getting busier now with the pubs tipping out. There were maybe one hundred and fifty people spread over two floors, not that she had any intention of taking the full tour tonight.

  It was another half-hour before Ava saw the club’s owner, Joe Trescoe. He swaggered in, wearing a shirt that should never have made it out of the sixties, with Levis that would have looked better on a man with a lesser beer gut. His hair was thinning and slicked back over his head showing his age, but his eyes were as alert as a young snake. Ava watched him watching his employees – checking who was smiling, who was working fast, who was cruising – and knew he missed nothing. He wasn’t interested in the women who walked passed him topless. Joe Trescoe’s gaze didn’t stray for a second from his business interests. He greeted a few people as he walked the floor and to his side, half a step behind like a monarch’s spouse, was the man Ava had seen outside the club persuading the dancing girl not to make a fuss about being touched. They strolled towards the VIP area, a bouncer moving red cords aside, and stepping out of the boss’ way.

  The curtain behind the ropes was pulled back to facilitate Joe Trescoe’s entrance, and Ava caught her first glimpse of Knuckles since their disagreement at Glynis Begbie’s house. A four-fingered brass duster on his right hand shone as it caught the light, a warning to everyone not to approach without permission. She noted with some pleasure the bruising that dappled his face, presumably from their encounter, but given the nature of his work she guessed there were plenty of people who might throw a punch in his direction over the course of a normal week.

  ‘Your friend not coming?’ Domo asked, appearing in her booth.

  Ava shifted her gaze away from Knuckles, smiling politely. ‘He’s just running late. Do you need a ticket to get into the VIP area? It looks nice.’

  ‘Invitation only and must be member. You pretty though. Good body. Maybe you get membership cheap,’ Domo said.

  ‘That’s … kind of you,’ Ava said. ‘But I don’t need membership. I usually work late so I won’t be able to get here that often.’

  ‘Maria,’ Domo shouted. ‘Bring glass prosecco for lady.’

  Ava considered refusing the free drink and realised she couldn’t. It was one thing making excuses but she had to stay in character. She accepted the glass the girl brought over gracefully, pretending to take a sip. ‘Thank you,’ she said, waiting to see if Domo was going to leave her in peace. Apparently he wasn’t. ‘So how long have you worked here?’ she asked, her heart sinking as he sat down next to her.

  ‘Year and half,’ he said. ‘Hey, Perry. Get some girls upstairs. Many men with nothing to look at.’ Ava looked round to the man Domo was shouting at, tensing as the big man whose testicles she’d fried sauntered towards them. She picked up her glass and held it to her lips, obscuring at least part of her face and giving her something to focus on.

  ‘I’ve just sent two more girls up there. That enough?’ Perry asked.

  ‘One more,’ Domo added.

  ‘D’you want me to take her up?’ Perry motioned towards Ava.

  ‘Idiot. This is customer. Apologies,’ Domo said, waving Perry away with the back of a hand. Perry turned to go, glanced back over his shoulder and faltered. Ava averted her head and held her breath, wondering just how close Perry had come to recognising her. By the time she risked another look around, he was walking up the staircase with a slope-shouldered woman trudging behind him.

  ‘I heard Joe Trescoe owns this place. Is that right?’ Ava asked between sips.

  Domo stiffened, looking at her more sharply, his eyes darting towards the VIP area.

  ‘Why you ask about Mr Trescoe?’ he said. His voice was soft enough but there was no mistaking the drop in temperature. Ramon Trescoe’s brother obviously valued his privacy.

  ‘My dad used to talk about him, back in the day. Said they used to party together when they were in their twenties. I guess Glasgow was a bit different back then. Nowhere like this around for a start,’ Ava said.

  Domo responded by pulling out a mobile and snapping a photo of her before she could object. ‘Mr Trescoe like to know who in his club. What you say your name is?’ he asked.

  Joe Trescoe was obviously more paranoid than Ava had anticipated. She smiled obligingly. ‘Pixie MacDonald. He won’t know me though. My dad moved away from Glasgow and spent the last few years of his life behind bars courtesy of the fuckin’ polis. It’s just nice to know that dad’s friends are still around. It would’ve made him happy, his mates having made it out of the dirt.’

  ‘Father dead now?’ Domo asked.

  ‘Couple of years ago,’ Ava said, wondering just how far she was going to have to spin the lie. ‘Heart attack. If that man ever ate anything not deep fried then I didn’t witness it.’

  Knuckles appeared from behind the VIP curtain and waved in Domo’s direction.

  ‘Must work,’ Domo said. ‘We talk later.’

  Ava smiled, masking her relief. Domo’s English skills might be limited, but he wasn’t stupid. No doubt that was why he’d been chosen to control the floor. A noisy gang entered and Ava was able to relax as they filled the remaining ground-floor space. Braving the bar, she bought a second drink and put it in her booth untouched. A girl passed her by, then back-tracked to talk to her.

  ‘You alone, hen?’ she asked.

  ‘Waiting for someone,’ Ava said, trying to figure out where to look. The young woman was topless, wearing a skirt that had no business pretending to be more than a handkerchief and heels that could double as an offensive weapon. Ava guessed her age somewhere between twenty and thirty but with the layers of makeup it was hard to be precise.

  ‘Right. I like your basque. That’s a gorgeous shade of red. Auditioning today, are you? I’m Sugar,’ she said, sitting down in the booth and sliding along next to Ava.

  ‘Auditioning?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Job interview. I saw you with
Domo. All the girls have to do an evening to see how they get on with the punters before they get taken on. You’re a bit older than Joey usually likes his girls but you’ve got nice tits so that’ll make up for it.’ Ava opened her mouth to comment, decided she was better off just smiling, and closed it again. ‘You should get up and move around a bit. We’re supposed to socialise rather than just waiting for men to come over. Get ’em swinging, if you know what I mean,’ Sugar winked.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ava said. ‘So you like working here?’

  ‘Pays the bills. Some of the guys are creeps but ain’t that just the way of things? It’s warm. The drinks are free, although there’s a limit to how much you’re allowed. They want us friendly but not pished. That’s some good muscle definition you’ve got there. Go to the gym, do you? That’ll help when they get a bit frisky.’

  ‘Occasionally,’ Ava said, looking at Sugar’s arms which were pale and dimpled, her skin a testament to the perils of unhealthy living. ‘Is that who runs the place then, Joey?’

  ‘Joey and his brother, Ramon.’ Sugar leaned her head in and dropped her voice. ‘He only got out of clink recently and Joey’s been in a mean fuckin’ mood since Ramon came back. So much for brotherly love. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Pixie,’ Ava said, cringing as she said it aloud again.

  ‘Pixie, I like that. Suits you. You can hang around with me if you want. The regulars like a new face. I bet between us we could chalk us some serious tips. Might help if you undid a couple more buttons on the basque. The harder these boys are in the trouser department, the freer they are with their wallets.’

  ‘Maybe in a while. I’m still a bit nervous,’ Ava said. ‘So Joey’s brother. What’s he like?’

  ‘Bloody gorgeous,’ Sugar said. ‘Doesn’t talk much. He’s got those smokey eyes and these really long fingers. For an older bloke, he’s quite sexy. He watches, all the time. Doesn’t join in with the bullshit. Some of the girls think he’s scary, but I reckon he just got used to his own company when he was inside.’

  A man appeared at their table with a stupid grin on his face and a ten-pound note in his fist. ‘Sugar, you wanna dance with me?’ he slurred.

  ‘I’d love that.’ She smiled sweetly, getting up and keeping her back to the drunk as she mouthed ‘fuckwad’ at Ava. ‘See you later, pet.’

  Ava got up when Sugar was ensconced on the dance floor in the arms of the drunk, and moved to a table with a better view through the curtains into the VIP area. A few other people were making their way in now, each ushered through by Knuckles, with Domo loitering nearby to make sure plenty of drinks were being handed around. The music grew louder and slower, the lighting more intimate and new girls appeared. Then Ava saw him. Ramon Trescoe walked down the stairs as if he were on a film set instead of what was simply a new take on a strip joint. His left hand touched the balustrade only lightly, and he moved with an ease that was extraordinary to watch. More notable on him than his brother, were the effects of his Middle Eastern heritage. A cigarette in his right hand in spite of the smoking ban, he was wearing an impeccably laundered white shirt, only a few flecks of grey showing in his black hair.

  Ramon paused a few steps from the bottom to survey the scene. Ava kept still, wanting him to notice her, rather than drawing attention to herself. He did, his eyes ceasing their arc of the room to rest on her face, although he didn’t look her up and down as she’d expected. Ava broke eye contact first, diverting her attention towards her drink. Ramon continued down the stairs and entered the VIP area as Ava kept her head turned to the side. It was one thing getting his attention. It was another being too obvious about it. She risked a glance towards the VIP section to see Ramon watching her. He smiled and Ava felt a sickly rush of adrenalin, shifting uneasily in her seat as she decided whether to commit to her plan of making direct contact with Ramon Trescoe, or get out while she still could. Getting close to Ramon was the fastest method of confirming her theory about Begbie’s death, but Ava was taking an unquantifiable risk and she knew it. It wasn’t as if she’d never done undercover work before. She was familiar with the procedure. There were no credit cards or identification documents in her handbag, she’d rehearsed her cover story in her head and even removed every piece of paper from her car in case anyone got that far. Even her mobile was locked, with both fingerprint and coded security systems.

  Ava made light of Ramon’s interest, raising her glass casually in his direction. In reply he tilted his head to one side and crushed out his cigarette before taking Knuckles by the arm and whispering to him, as he glanced back in Ava’s direction. She pushed the pepper spray deep into her bag, making sure it was fully covered by a scattering of makeup, her purse and mobile. By the time she looked up, Knuckles was pushing through the now crowded dance floor in her direction. That was it, then. Ramon Trescoe was inviting her into his den. She swallowed her nerves, thought of George Begbie dead in his car, of Glynis who would face old age alone, and steeled herself to avenge the Chief’s murder.

  ‘Qu’est-ce que tu fais? What the fuck are you playing at?’ a voice cut across her thoughts. Callanach was striding towards her. She held up a hand to stop him before he got too close. Knuckles was halfway across the dance floor. If Callanach said her real name out loud they would both be in serious trouble, and any chance she had of getting close to Ramon Trescoe would be lost.

  Heads turned as Callanach walked through. Absolutely bloody typical, was all Ava had time to think. Her detective inspector had a face that was difficult to forget, and he’d given plenty of televised press conferences on behalf of Police Scotland. She moved towards him and further from Knuckles.

  ‘Don’t say another goddamn word,’ she told him. ‘Not one.’

  ‘Hey, you,’ Knuckles called out. ‘Mr Trescoe has invited you into the VIP area. You’re keeping him waiting.’

  ‘She’s busy now,’ Callanach said, stepping up.

  Ava pushed in front of him, keeping her own body between Callanach and Knuckles. ‘Could you tell Mr Trescoe thank you. My friend here was just leaving. I’ll see him out then I’ll be over.’

  ‘I can see him out for you,’ Knuckles said. Ava didn’t need to worry about him recognising her face. The man couldn’t get his eyes more than half an inch above her cleavage. ‘You can go straight over. Mr Trescoe won’t mind me helping you out.’

  ‘I’ll only be a minute,’ Ava said. ‘Would you be a love and tell him Pixie said thank you. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Aye, well, clock’s ticking. That invitation won’t last all evening. Best be quick,’ Knuckles said.

  Ava hustled Callanach towards the reception area. ‘You’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘You’re about to ruin everything.’

  ‘That’s fine, I’m leaving and you’re coming with me,’ Callanach said. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to achieve, but you’ve scared Ailsa and that’s something I thought I’d never witness.’

  Ava pulled Callanach towards her, ran a hand around the back of his neck and pushed her mouth forwards onto his cheek, millimetres from his mouth. Keeping her fingers wound through his hair, pressing her body against his, she pulled them together into the shadow of a wall.

  ‘Ava,’ Callanach said softly. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Stop talking and keep your face shielding mine. This place is more of a scum magnet than I’d realised. We have to get out of here now. Some members of Edinburgh’s least desirable drug dealing crew have just walked in and whilst they won’t recognise me like this, they’ll sure as hell recognise you. Keep your face down and let’s get out of here.’ They made for the door, walking slowly at first then hurrying towards the corner of the street and away from The Maz.

  Ava pointed at her car. ‘Get in,’ she said, opening her own door then slamming it hard. ‘Could you explain what the fuck you’re doing here? Do you have any idea how much danger you put us both in back there? Those are not the sort of people you screw around with. At least two of the bouncer
s were carrying weapons. Are you really so moronic, you can’t figure out that when I’ve gone to so much effort to be unrecognisable, you are the very last person I should be seen with?’

  ‘Have you finished?’ Callanach asked.

  Ava stared upwards, counted to five in her head, then leaned forward to rest her forehead on the steering wheel. ‘I’m your superior officer. If I’d wanted backup, I’d have arranged it. If I’d wanted you to know where I was going, I’d have told you. You had no right.’

  ‘You are unbelievable,’ Callanach said, tugging a pack of Gauloises cigarettes from his pocket and sticking one in his mouth, the desire to actually light it stronger than he’d felt at any time in the last year. ‘I’m here because you had an agreement with Ailsa. Do you remember telling her you’d phone every twelve hours? Eight o’clock was your deadline.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Ava said quietly. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Yeah, you forgot. I didn’t follow you here. I was back in Edinburgh doing my job. I knew you’d lied to me about the hen party and I let it go, but then Ailsa called me. You’d requested information from Lively about this club. Given how you were dressed when I called round earlier, it didn’t take much to find you.’

  ‘How much do you know?’ Ava asked quietly.

  ‘I know that if this was about Louis Jones you’d have done it on the record and with backup. I also know you are the least believable person to have a name like Pixie, so perhaps more realistic preparation wouldn’t have gone amiss. You might be my superior officer but still, you should have come to me,’ Callanach said.

  ‘I couldn’t. I still can’t,’ Ava said.

  ‘I thought you trusted me,’ Callanach replied.

  ‘Trusting you and feeling entitled to drag you into a potentially criminal conspiracy are worlds apart. I’m going to drive you to your car and I expect you to go home. We can’t talk about it anymore. Promise you’ll let it go.’