Killer Instinct tcfs-1

by Zoe Sharp

  I peeled off the gloves, washed my hands, then scrubbed my teeth thoroughly. For someone who's not normally sick, I'd spent far too much time throwing up lately. I didn't want to end up needing expensive dental work because the acid from my stomach had rotted out my teeth like an anorexic.

  As I staggered back through to the lounge I wondered long and hard about calling Superintendent MacMillan. I thought about it, dug out the card he'd given me with his phone number on it, turned it over in my hands.

  Trouble was, I'd been pretty badly mauled during our last encounter. I'd no desire to be accused of fabricating the note myself in order to reinforce what MacMillan saw as a dubious claim that I was under threat.

  I had a growing conviction that the man they were after was Angelo. It had to be. Who else was there? Unfortunately, I didn't see that the Superintendent was any more likely to take my word for it now than he had been the first time I'd mentioned Angelo's name.

  Besides, the police had already dismissed him as a suspect on the strength of an alibi I now knew to be bogus. The trouble was, Gary's admission had not been extracted without a certain amount of coercion that would probably make it totally inadmissible in any court in the land. And MacMillan was certainly not likely to take my word for it.

  Then I remembered. Tris had told me that the police had enough forensic evidence to eliminate him from the suspect list as soon as they'd run the right tests. If I could get Angelo taken into custody, for whatever reason, they'd have their chance. I was sure MacMillan's finely-honed instincts would do the rest.

  The only thing I could think of straight off was the possibility that Angelo was involved with supplying drugs at the New Adelphi. Trouble was, if I just made an anonymous tip-off about chemical activity at the club, it was likely to get raided, and that meant all the staff would probably be arrested. All of them. Including me.

  I knew Marc had sworn to deal with Angelo in his own way over that matter, but the stakes had risen since then. Way risen. And besides, if Angelo was also guilty of rape and murder, I wanted more than the beating Marc was likely to arrange for him. I wanted justice.

  And I wanted it quickly.

  I looked again at the sheet of paper on the table. I couldn't do nothing. Couldn't let him stalk me, torture me with threats and promises. I had to act. Had to! If I wanted to stay sane.

  If I wanted to stay alive.

  And if I wasn't prepared to place my trust in Superintendent MacMillan and simply tell him the whole story, right from the beginning, I had to do it some other way.

  I picked the phone up, dialled a number, listened to it ringing out. On the tenth ring, just as I was about to give up, it was answered by a voice thick with sleep.

  “Hello?”

  I ignored a pang of guilt when I realised it was only just past eight-thirty, and on a Saturday morning at that.

  “Hi, it's Charlie,” I said. “Yeah, I know what time it is, sorry, but listen, I need to ask you the most enormous favour. Are you into clubbing?”

  ***

  When I went in to work at the New Adelphi Club that evening, my nerves were racked so tight I could hardly breathe evenly.

  Burning a hole in the back pocket of my jeans, wrapped in a plastic bag, was the threatening note I'd received that morning, together with MacMillan's card. I thought I might need both before the night was out.

  We went through much the same ritual I'd been through the Saturday before. The security team all clipped on their walkie-talkies, straightened up their bow ties, and disappeared into their own areas of responsibility.

  Len came stamping in, glowering at everybody, but particularly at me, it seemed. I wondered if I was just being paranoid, or if Angelo had told him about my failed attempt at entrapment. If he had, I wasn't sure if that meant things had just got safer, or twice as deadly.

  I had plenty of time to think about it. The evening started painfully slowly, but put on speed and weight with an air of overwhelming menace, like gathering storm clouds in the tornado belt.

  I went through the motions of my job, patrolling the ladies' washrooms, breaking up a cat-fight between two girls who'd just found out they'd both arranged to go home with the same bloke. I thought they should have been tearing lumps out of him, not each other, but I kept that opinion to myself.

  I tried taking the quieter of the two out of the fray, but that didn't quell things. I ended up propelling the more aggressive of the pair towards the door. She was making an almighty racket, and grunting with the effort of trying to embed a four-inch spiked heel into my shin along the way. It probably made me not quite as gentle with her as I could have been.

  We waltzed our way to the main entrance, and I gave her a bit of a push-start into the car park. She reeled away, dishevelled, screeching her thoughts on my parentage and sexual preferences to the world at maximum volume.

  I listened with polite disinterest. When I'd had enough I turned away from her, catching Angelo and Len studying me with an intensity that jarred my already edgy nerves.

  “What?” I demanded, my voice harsher than I'd intended.

  Len shook his head and stalked away. Angelo flipped his cigarette end spinning into the darkness with a deliberation that was almost an insult.

  “Getting a taste for this, aren't you?” he said. “Thought you would. Hasn't taken you long, though.”

  I was saved having to think of a suitably cutting reply by the arrival of a new group of punters. Among them was a bearded man with baby seal brown eyes. He looked nervous and fidgety, eyes dancing everywhere, fingers never still.

  Angelo took one look at him and wanted to see the contents of his pockets. In the top one of his shirt was a twist of paper containing a couple of elongated yellow capsules.

  “Oh yeah, and what's this then, sonny?” Angelo sneered.

  “They're for me sinuses!” the man protested, none too convincingly.

  Angelo just smiled and confiscated the pills, but waved the bearded man into the club.

  Just then, my walkie-talkie crackled. “Charlie, it's Len. The ladies' on the upper floor need checking. See to it.”

  I thumbed the transmit button and murmured my agreement.

  Angelo's leer was still in place as I made my way back inside. I gave him a stony glare, which he ignored. I was halfway along the entrance passage when I heard him on the radio to Len, with the obscure instruction for him to go to seven.

  I'd heard Angelo and Len trade the same message the week before, and hadn't thought any more about it. Now it gnawed at me like a starving rat.

  I made my way through the growing throng and caught up with the bearded man in the general press by the top of the stairwell on the first floor.

  “So,” I asked him quietly, checking round for signs that any of the security staff were watching our exchange. “What were those pills?”

  Sam gave me his most innocent smile. “They really are for my sinuses,” he said, “but with the name scratched off. It's not my fault if King Kong back there didn't believe me.”

  “I'd be careful who you say that to,” I told him. “I know he's just a big ape, but if the real King Kong gets to hear about it, he might well be insulted enough by the comparison to sue for defamation of character.”

  Sam just grinned. I'd warned him about the dress code, and he looked surprisingly smart in black trousers and a reasonably stylish shirt. It made a change to see him out of leathers.

  I told him to keep his eyes peeled and to make out like he was a man in need of replacement chemicals, then climbed another few flights of stairs to find out what Len was after. Not a lot, as it turned out. I got the distinct impression I was just being given the runaround.

  By ten-thirty my head was starting to ache with frustration. My eyes were twitchy from constantly scanning for some clandestine movement in the crowd. No one seemed to be very interested in selling anything to Sam other than over-priced drinks.

  I dropped in past one of the bars, seeing Gary in his usual frantic guise
. He looked up and caught sight of me, a mixture of fear and loathing on his face. The savagery of it took me aback. Christ, I didn't make him steal from his boss. I just helped catch him at it.

  Dave was in his usual position, nodding so hard to the beat of the music that it moved his whole body, like the tail of a dog who's really happy to see you. He was wearing skin-tight trousers and another high-necked jumper, stained dark with sweat.

  He also gave me a cooler glance than was his norm. I tried to work out what I'd done to offend him. Maybe he'd been told about my part in Gary's disgrace. I'd stepped over the line from being one of the gang to teacher's pet. It was like being in No Man's Land.

  I kept my eye on Angelo as much as I could, but he barely shifted from the door, apart from a couple of short breaks. Well, I suppose you can't crack heads all night without a rest.

  Just when I was starting to think I was utterly wasting my time, that I'd dragged Sam out on a wild goose chase, he brushed past me deliberately in the crowd.

  “Bingo,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

  I fought hard not to show any reaction to the news, just followed him casually into a quiet corner.

  “What?” I demanded. “What's happened?”

  He looked around, then fished a couple of tablets out of his top pocket. Small round, white pills, slightly bulbous on the sides, without sharp edges. There was an impression stamped into them, but the meaning wasn't clear. It didn't take a genius to recognise Ecstasy.

  “Where the hell did you get those?”

  He smiled at me. “I have to admit it's a slick operation,” he said smugly, basking in the fact he'd got my full and undivided.

  I rolled my eyes. “You're the one who's going to need an operation unless you tell me who dealt you those,” I growled.

  Sam, however, wasn't to be deflected from his moment of glory. “You see, they take anything you try and bring in with one hand,” he said, “and sell you something else with the other hand. Very neat.”

  “Sam—” I warned.

  He must have seen the glint in my eye, because this time he cut to the important bit. “The bald-headed bloke on the door took my own stuff off me, then one of the other penguins sidled up to me and offered me something for the weekend,” he explained.

  “Just like that?” I asked, my face blank with something approaching disbelief. “He offered you drugs right there in the middle of the dance floor?”

  Sam gave me an old-fashioned look. “No, not just like that,” he said. “He made some casual remark about me looking like the type of bloke who wanted more than a quick drink in a place like this.” He laughed. “To start with I thought he was offering me a woman.” He flashed me a quick grin and I realised that to Sam, this was all an adventure. A game. He hadn't seen first-hand what the penalties were for losing.

  Terry had, though. Seen and suffered them. I came down hard on that line of thought. It was too dangerous to my resolve.

  “And?” I prompted now, sharply.

  “Well, we went up to the gents' on the upper dance floor, and by this time I was thinking, no he isn't going to offer me a woman, he's going to offer me a rent boy.”

  He paused for me to make the appropriate response to his mind-bendingly funny joke. I glared at him in the sort of silence that has rocks in it.

  He swallowed and went on. “Anyway, once we're inside he asks me what I want, tells me how much it's going to cost me, and shoves me in to one of the empty cubicles. He tells me to stay put for a minute – and it was only a minute – and when he comes back and opens the door, there they are. Cost me a packet – about twenty percent over market value, I reckon, but then I suppose they have got a bit of a captive audience.”

  “How come you're such an expert on Ecstasy prices all of a sudden?” I challenged.

  He grinned at me again. “Come on, Charlie, I work at the university. The place is crawling with students. You work it out.”

  “So who was it?”

  “Well, we didn't exactly swop names and addresses so we could send each other Christmas cards,” he said with a sarky tone to his voice.

  I wanted to scream at him, but settled for grinding my teeth instead. “OK,” I said with remarkable calm, “tell me what he looked like!”

  Sam shrugged. “Like a bouncer. I don't know – a big bloke in a dinner suit.”

  Terrific. That description fitted most of the lads working security. “But not the same one who was on the door?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “Oh no, definitely not.”

  Not Angelo then. Christ, just how many of them were in it with him?

  “Can you point him out to me?”

  Sam grinned again, said no problem, and we moved back towards the main body of the club. I'd already got a sneaking suspicion about who he was going to tag, but I needed to have it confirmed.

  It didn't take us long to find him. We were moving along one of the galleries when Sam nudged my arm and pointed down to the next level where one of the security men was leaning on the rail, watching the milling clubbers below him.

  “There you go,” Sam said. “That's the feller.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, not really doubting him, but wanting to be dead certain.

  “Absolutely,” Sam verified. “Why – who is he?”

  “That,” I said grimly, “is Len, who's head of security. He's the one who's supposed to be in charge of keeping the drugs out of this place.”

  I suppose, really, I should have known. Only the previous week Len had told me of his involvement in a roundabout sort of a way. “Nothing – but nothing – goes on in this club that I don't know about!” he'd said. “Clear?”

  Oh yes, it was clear now. He and Angelo were in it together. In it up to their necks. In it plenty deep enough to resort to murder to keep Terry from exposing their activities. And to have me worked over as well.

  So where did Susie and the rest fit in? Maybe they were just a diversion – a little side-line that Angelo was running for his own amusement.

  I couldn't prove any of that. Not without the forensic evidence that was out of my reach. For now, the drugs would have to do.

  I pulled Sam away from the balcony rail, so we were out of Len's possible sight.

  “Listen, Sam, I want you to get out of here – right now,” I said, trying to get urgency across to him without the fear. I fished Superintendent MacMillan's card out of my pocket and slipped it into his. “Call MacMillan, tell him about the drugs. Tell him if he wants to catch the guy he's after for the murders he needs to come down here mob-handed. Tell him,” I added, taking a deep breath, “that I'm going to go and try and find those drugs before Len or any of the others has a chance to destroy them.”

  Sam took all this in open-mouthed, but wisely decided against long questions. “OK,” he said. “I've borrowed a mate's car tonight. It's only a shitty old Peugeot, but he's left his mobile phone in the glovebox. I'll call ’em from the car park.”

  “Just make sure none of the security lads see you doing it then,” I cautioned.

  He sobered when he realised there wasn't a hint of humour in my voice, then nodded, swallowing, and started to turn away.

  “Oh, and Sam?”

  He paused, turned back. “Yeah?”

  I mustered a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Tell MacMillan he'd better hurry.”

  Twenty-two

  I watched Sam leave the club, feeling a certain sense of relief as he cleared the front door without any apparent attention from Angelo or the rest of the security crew. I wasn't aware until he'd disappeared from view that I'd been holding my breath.

  I picked my way back upstairs, feeling as though I'd got a neon sign over my head announcing my intentions. I suddenly couldn't think how to act natural, relaxed. My movements felt jerky, lacking in coordination, and I'd begun to sweat.

  My nerve almost failed me. I stopped climbing on the next floor, breaking off my ascent to needlessly check round the bar area and washroo
ms. I glanced at my watch. When had Sam left the club? I cursed the fact I hadn't made a note of the time. How long would it take MacMillan's men to get here? More to the point, would they come at all?

  Either way, I had to find that proof.

  Unable to put it off any longer, I hit the stairs, reached the top level. I paused there for a while, peering over the balcony down to the floor below. I caught a glimpse of Len marching through the crowd, but he didn't look like a man in pursuit.

  Even so, I couldn't help but wish he was further behind me.

  I observed the gents' washroom Sam had indicated for a few minutes, mentally counting people in and out. When I reckoned it was about empty, I pushed myself upright away from the rail, and covered the distance to the door.

  It was instinct to glance furtively round me before I went in, but I forced myself not to do it, not to look as if I was doing anything out of the ordinary. If you've got enough front, you can get away with anything.

  Inside, the gents' was larger than the ladies' washroom on the same floor. The walls were completely covered with dark blue tiles, lit by low voltage spots sunk into the ceiling. I walked quietly past a row of uninhabited urinals to my left, with sinks beyond. Two big square pillars spaced along the centre line of the room helped support the roof. I checked carefully that there was no one lurking behind them.

  There were no cupboards under the sinks, and no obvious breaks in the grouting round the tiles to suggest a hiding place. I thought of the ceiling, but when I looked up all I saw was solid textured plaster. No lift-out panels. Besides, there was no overall lock on the door to the gents', and I didn't think Len would want to be so exposed if anyone came in unexpectedly.

  To my right was a row of numbered cubicles. They looked much more promising. I made my way along them, pushing the doors open carefully as I went. The cisterns were all enclosed in the tiled wall behind each toilet bowl. Just above, though, was an access hatch about eighteen inches square. I was sure I was getting warmer, but I could tell by the layers of undisturbed paint that this one probably hadn't been removed since the club was refurbished.