“They who?”
“What do you mean ‘they who’?”
“Let’s assume I’m unaware of the incident.”
“But you… Ahhh! OK, OK.”
“Be quick, Manny. I can hear rustling over there.”
“The fucking – the, the, the…”
“Deep breath.”
“The Aussies! The rugby team. Your homie, the midget—” Bunny applied a little more pressure. “Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh.”
“He prefers dwarf.”
Bunny had no idea if this was true or not.
“The dwarf. They – they kept trying to touch him for luck.”
“I see.”
“He went crazy, man. That dude has some issues! I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen anything like it. And he’s a biter. Please let me up.”
“So what happened?”
“What do you mean? They touched him; he said stop. Your friend, the black dude, tried to calm them down. One of them says, ‘Your friend has a short temper’ – next thing the midg— I mean the dwarf – dwarf! He’s in there like a fucking demon and you’re backing him up. Five guys went to the hospital.”
“Including the dwarf?”
“No, man. You three all hightailed it out of there.”
“Let me get this straight. Me and two other guys put five guys in the hospital?”
“One other guy,” corrected Manny. “The black dude hid under a table.”
“Me and this dwarf fella took on a rugby team?”
“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. Maybe they were a soccer team.”
Bunny nodded. “Yeah, that seems more likely.”
“Please let me up.”
Bunny thought for a second. Then he pulled the medal out of his pocket. “Any idea where I got this?”
“We used to give ’em away to people who drank a yard of ale.”
“Used to?”
Manny was back to scanning the bags again. Bunny was a little hurt. The guy must really have a thing for rats. “Yeah,” he said. “Clint says we ain’t doing it no more – attracts the wrong crowd.” Manny glanced back up at Bunny. “No offence.”
“None taken. What about this?”
Bunny pulled out the pink bra.
“Seriously?”
“I think I’ve got some cheese here somewhere.”
“I don’t know. The Pink Slipper Gentlemen’s Club is two blocks west of here.”
Bunny nodded and then took his foot away. “Thank you for your assistance. Count to ten and then you can get up.”
“Can we make it five?”
“Seven – but only because I like you, Manny.”
“Feeling ain’t mutual.”
Bunny shoved the bra and medal back into his coat pocket as he limped out of the alley. “Jesus, Manny, there’s no need to be so mean.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Matt took a long drag on the cigarette and looked out at the view. Even on a dull March day it was impressive. You could feel like the king of the world up here.
The offices that Lanark Lane Investments had moved into only three months previously were on the seventeenth floor of an eighteen-floor building on Park Avenue. The eighteenth floor was taken up by the South African consulate. The story Matt had heard was that the whole building had been paid for using South African rands back in the days when apartheid was alive and well. It wouldn’t surprise him. It’s not like it’d be the only beautiful skyscraper in this skyline that had been built using blood money. Of course, these were very different times now. The South African consul general was black, as were about half of his staff. Very friendly they were too. Brad had got to know one of the top aides when he’d been kind enough to hook him up with his favourite dealer for what Brad called “fun-time Fridays”. The aide had repaid the favour by getting them access to use the consulate’s balcony garden when they needed to smoke in a city where doing that anywhere was now frowned upon.
Matt had tried to give up smoking during a health kick he’d gone on a few months ago. He’d been spending too much time with Brad, and Charlie had staged a one-man intervention. Jesus, Charlie. Every time someone said the name, Matt felt a knife being stuck into him. OK, he hadn’t been perfect, but Charlie had been Matt’s best friend, and now he was dead. Jennie was still alive though, and Matt had to focus on that. Right now, the only thing he cared about in the whole world was not having his sins passed on to his blameless baby sister.
The door opened behind Matt.
“For fuck’s sake, dude.”
Matt didn’t need to turn around to know it was Brad. He stood beside him for a moment, struggling to light one of those ridiculous thin brown French cigarettes that he’d recently taken up smoking. The guy really was a douchebag of the highest order.
They stood there for a second, smoking.
“How did it go with the cops?” asked Brad.
“Fine,” responded Matt.
They’d been interviewed separately. Cole had explained how it would happen. Their housemate and colleague was dead, and the cops would naturally want to talk to them about it. Matt had stuck to the story: Charlie was his friend, but he had no ideas about his sexual preferences. Well, the guy liked women, he knew that. That was why it wasn’t a big surprise when he didn’t come home last night, as he was quite the fan of the sleepover. He and Brad had been beyond stunned to find out both about his death and the particular circumstances. The police assured them that there would be an arrest soon; they had a very strong suspect.
It had been surreal. Matt had felt like he was having an out of body experience while he watched himself lie with such ease. Once Cole had dropped them outside the office that morning, he’d gone upstairs and taken a pill and a few minutes to calm himself. He had known that he needed to keep it together for whatever came next.
“Did you cry?”
“What?” asked Matt.
“Did you cry?” repeated Brad. “Y’know, when the cops talked about Charlie?”
“No.”
Brad nodded. “I did. Bawled like a baby. I felt it was expected, y’know? It was easy – I rubbed my hand on these fucking burns – soon had the tears flowing, dude. Niagara Falls.”
Matt stubbed his cigarette out in the free-standing ashtray provided. “So the police told you that your friend had been brutally murdered and you sat there the whole time weeping and rubbing your crotch? Nice job.”
“Shut the fuck up, man!” Brad was angry now. Matt watched as his features fell into the little snarl that Matt was beginning to suspect was his true face. “This is all your fault!”
“Fuck you.”
Brad shot out his right hand and pushed Matt. “What did you fucking say to me?”
Matt giggled.
“Jesus, are you high?” said Brad.
Matt shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t say high. I’ve taken the edge off a little.”
“All your fault,” Brad repeated.
“Yeah,” said Matt, “I made you make the deal with the devil, did I? You’re full of crap.”
“We’d have been fine if you’d kept your damn mouth shut!”
“Define ‘fine’ here. I mean, I know you don’t understand the whole plan, but you do get the bit where—”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up! Fuck, man! You don’t know who the hell is listening.”
Brad looked around. The reason they liked this garden so much was that they knew the South Africans got their entire office scanned for listening devices once a week. Brad’s buddy had explained it to him one night over a few lines of blow. These days it was mostly industrial espionage stuff, but still, you had to make sure nobody was listening in on you. It had struck Matt a few months ago, when they’d started to realise the full extent of Miller and company’s reach, that they were probably being watched. This space was the only one they could use and at least have a reasonable hope of privacy.
Matt stepped forward and leaned on the metal railing of the waist-high glass wall that surrounded the
terrace.
“I’ve been thinking, dude,” said Brad.
“Oh? Always a treat.”
Matt could tell Brad had a lot on his mind, because he didn’t automatically snap back as he usually did at any perceived slight.
“The… Miller and… I’m worried, man, that if we do what they say and fulfil our end of the bargain, they might still… y’know, kill us.”
Matt burst out laughing.
“What the fuck, man?”
Matt looked over his shoulder at Brad’s outraged face and that just made him laugh harder. He turned and leaned his back on the railing, his laughter now taking on a manic edge.
“Jesus! Pull yourself together, dude. This is serious.” Brad lowered his voice to a whisper. “They might kill us.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re definitely going to kill us.”
Brad flicked his foul-smelling cigarette at Matt. “Screw you, you fucking degenerate. It’s OK for you – I’ve got a fucking bomb inside me.”
His face was turning red now. Charlie had called it defcon 4 – the point where you had to calm Brad down or bad shit would happen. Matt didn’t care. Bad shit was already happening.
Instead he made the sound of an explosion and wiggled his fingers in the air.
Brad went for him, charging like a bull.
They came together and wrestled like two men who had never been in a proper fight. They fell to the ground, limbs interlocked. Matt had fifty pounds and a few inches of reach on Brad, so he managed to get Brad’s head locked in the crook of his elbow. After a moment, Brad stopped wiggling.
“Understand something, you entitled little fucktard: I don’t care if I die, and I certainly don’t care if you die, but whatever happens, I’m getting my sister out of this. So, shut the fuck up and let me get on with—”
The door opened and Piet, Brad’s buddy from the consulate, popped his head out. Behind him, Matt could see a few other concerned faces peering out at them.
“Hey, fellas,” he said. “Everything alright?”
Matt let Brad go. “Yeah – sorry, Piet. We’re… a bit emotional.”
“Yeah,” said Brad, quickly getting back to his feet. “We had some really bad news.”
“Yes,” said Matt, lying back on the grass and looking up into the gloomy sky that threatened rain. “Brad is dead.”
“Christ, yeah.” said Piet. “I heard. Shocking. You mean Charlie though, obviously.”
Matt looked up at Brad and their eyes locked for a long moment.
“Sure,” said Matt, before adding quietly to himself, “him too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“We’re closed.”
Bunny had been having a conversation with the bouncer at the Pink Slipper Gentlemen’s Club for nearly five minutes now. It was a conversation only in the sense that two people were both talking. No information was being imparted.
“I know you’re closed. You’ve already said you’re closed. What I’m trying to say is I’m not a customer. I was a customer here on Saturday, I think, and I just need to speak to someone who was working then. Were you working then?”
“That ain’t none of your business.”
The guy had two earrings in his left ear, one eyebrow and zero intention of being helpful. He had the kind of muscle that you got from picking heavy things up and putting them down in the exact same spot. As he stood there, Bunny could see him literally flexing his pecs through his T-shirt. Either that, or it was where he was keeping his scant supply of brain cells and he needed to wiggle them to accomplish thought. In which case, his man boobs needed considerably more jiggling.
“Could I talk to the manager then, please?”
“No. Know why?”
“I’m going to guess it involves—”
“We’re closed,” finished the bouncer. “Nobody is allowed in.”
“You don’t say. If you’re closed, what’re you doing here?”
“What?”
“If the place is really closed, as in closed closed, as in nobody gets in, then why have a doorman on duty? As opposed to say, just a closed door.”
“We’re closed.”
Just then, a nervous-looking girl in her early twenties walked up to the door.
“Hi, I’m here for the…”
The doorman picked up a clipboard. “Name?”
“Clare Cleaver.”
The doorman took a step to the side. “Go see Tiffany.”
“Thanks.” He shifted to the side to let her pass and then resumed his position as a human door.
“So,” said Bunny, “when you said nobody was allowed in?”
“I meant you. You ain’t allowed in. Know why? I don’t like you.”
“That’s a real shame, because I felt we were really connecting. Look, it’s been a long day. I’m not here to cause trouble, I just need to talk to the manager.”
“Oh, you should have said.” The doorman picked up the clipboard and pretended to read it. “Yeah, it says here, we’re closed.”
“I’m trying to ask nicely.”
The doorman took a step forward and put what little neck he had to use by rolling his head around his shoulders. There was a cracking noise as he did so.
“You can ask un-nicely, if you like.”
Bunny sighed. “Un-nicely isn’t a word.”
“I ain’t finding you funny.”
“Trust me, gobshite, you’ll be rolling around on the floor in a minute.”
“You can—”
“Bunny – hey! I thought that was you!”
A redheaded woman in sweats had just appeared behind Bunny. She was carrying a gym bag and smiling warmly up at him.
“Cheryl, you know this guy?”
“Yes, Bruno, that’s why I just said his name.” She turned to Bunny. “What are you doing here?”
“I, ehm, just dropped by for a quick chat.”
“Come on in.”
Cheryl moved towards the door.
“He ain’t coming in.”
“What did you say?” said Cheryl, in a melodious Texan drawl.
“He ain’t coming in,” repeated Bruno.
“The hell he isn’t. He’s here to see me.”
“He didn’t say.”
“I just said.”
The doorman folded his arms. “No. No way.”
Cheryl furrowed her brow at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said no.”
“You said no. Really? You said no?” She fished her phone out of her pocket. “OK.”
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m calling Mrs Kane – y’know, the owner of this here establishment. I think it’s time we clarify if my rights as manager supersede yours as doorman. Let’s see which of us she sides with.”
He unfolded his arms. “Don’t do that.”
They locked eyes for a long moment and then Bruno stepped to the side. He muttered something under his breath as he did so.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Cheryl.”
“That’s what I thought. You’ve been a real bitch since you gave up smoking, y’know that, Bruno?”
“Sorry, Cheryl.”
Bunny took a seat in the booth in the back that Cheryl directed him to.
“Just hang on there for one sec.” Then she walked over to the half-dozen girls that were milling around near the stage. “Good afternoon, ladies, I’m Cheryl. Thanks for coming down. If you would all just grab a seat. Has Tiffany given y’all your application forms?”
This was greeted with nods and held-up clipboards.
“Awesome. Well, I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes and then we’ll go through the rules and all that fun stuff. Then, once I’ve answered any questions you might have, we can move on to your audition pieces. OK?”
Heads were nodded again.
“And relax. Y’all look like you’re waiting for a pregnancy test!”
This was gr
eeted with smiles and laughs.
Cheryl executed a neat turn and headed back towards Bunny. She slid into the booth opposite him and offered him a warm smile. Now he got a proper look at her, he could see she was stunning. Make-up free, her heart-shaped face had a warm glow to it, with a dimpled grin and lively blue eyes that could really carry a smile. Gun to his head, Bunny would’ve guessed she was late thirties, but she could certainly pass for ten years younger.
He nodded towards the stage. “Looks like you’re going to be busy.”
“Yeah,” said Cheryl. “Donna is going off to have her second baby and Ellen finally finished her master’s, so…”
Cheryl noticed something change in Bunny’s facial expression. “What? Shocked that a pole dancer can have a master’s?”
“Well, I mean, no offence like, but it’s not what you’d expect.”
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised. Let me guess, you imagine this profession being filled with broken women from broken homes?”
“Well, I…”
“I run a good club. Do you have any idea how many applications we get for jobs here? The girls are taken good care of, strict no-drugs policy and woe betide the man who thinks this is one of those clubs where the rules are really just guidelines.”
“Yeah, I’ve met your bouncer.”
Cheryl pulled a bottle of water from her bag. “Oh, forget Bruno, he’s window dressing. I’m about to be a certified Krav Maga instructor. You want a demonstration of my own policy on personal space?”
Bunny raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I apologise.”
She waved his apology away. “Don’t worry about it. I guess I get a little defensive on the topic. Seriously though, we run a good club here. See those girls over there?” Cheryl took a gulp from her water as she waved in the direction of the stage. “They’re here because they know they can earn six figures. Eighteen months from now, I’m out of here – and I’ll own my own dojo outright. I’m a businesswoman, and I ain’t the only one in the building.”
“I could use a couple of classes myself.”
She gave him a lopsided grin. “I dunno. From what I remember from Diller’s report on the incident with the Australians on Saturday night, it sounds like you held your own.”
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